Martins, Diana



I’m on a bus. It’s been about 20 minutes and 15 feet since I got on. My French quiz just started and my hair is a bit frizzy. I’m simultaneously “so over” school, but desperately relenting that it is soon coming to an end. I tell myself I’m happy, since of course it’s 9:47 AM and the view outside this moving vehicle is lovely. I don’t feel the same way at a quarter to midnight, or sometimes at 3:45 AM as I distract myself in bed from thinking the large pile of clothes on my bed is a disfigured monster plotting my death. I have most of what I need in life, and a sustainable amount of what I want. My faith has been dwindling as I’ve chosen not to think about questions of higher powers and spirituality that have only frustrated myself with more questions. The good weather is slowly leaving and I feel like my good disposition might too.

But another part of me knows the worst has passed. That seasons and unclear futures are nothing I haven’t already endevored. Maybe I’ll be just fine.

… I didn’t go to class though. Merde!

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“ There’s a word in Portuguese — I can’t remember the name — it means melancholy — but not exactly — it means you are full of longing for someone who is far away — ”

—    Sarah Ruhl (via lovequotesrus)

(Source: lifeinpoetry, via jairuhme)

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I want to be alone for a long time. And then maybe one day, love again, without bullshit and unnecessary complications. I’m excited to be working on myself again after so long.

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There’s is a girl in my class that is deaf. I’m trying to be as polite as possible while writing this so excuse my lack of maybe politically right ways of referring to people but it is what it is, why sugar coat? Anyways, it’s for an analytical English class where there’s going to be a lot of discussion. The girl has two sign language interpreters and someone to take notes for her. This all seems to be what most people might expect any school to provide. But I never realized how truly impossible it is to convey everything to someone. She misses out on little things like when a teacher says bless you to someone that sneezes or when she laughs under her breath— these are signs that any person uses to get a feel for what kind of professor they have. Also, for things like calling attendence, nobody interprets for her people’s names so that she can just hold some sort of useless information about someone. All that is ever translated for her in the audible world is standard useful educational knowledge. She’ll never hear someone mutter a desperate curse under their breath when they’re having a bad day or a grateful cheer when something goes right. Basically I’m ranting now, but i want to do so much so that people with certain restraints can feel as similar to us as possible. But then, why do they have to conform to us. They probably pick up on so much more body language than we can possibly imagine. I absolutely respect her eagerness to continue through all this, and I know it takes a lot of will power to. #yayher #woot #endofthought

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P.S. I hate when someone sits down and small talks with me. Like go the fuck away.

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The Starbucks by my house closes right before 11pm. Its located on the top of a hill in the heights with an always busy road ahead. They installed these wide wooden benches right against the shop, and even added a community bookshelf with a sign that says “take a book home, and bring one back.” The point of this isnt to highlight some gentrified artistic community movement in the heights. It’s to just describe how serene it is when the neighborhood is all quietly in their homes, and I can just sit here alone late night and relax. The best thing is when it rains, because the bench is blocked from the rainfall, so I can sit back and enjoy it. #nobodycaresdiana #butido

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