Evelyn Hugo

"But if you have to go, then go. Just go knowing you were loved."(c)

It feels strange to start regaining myself. When did I get lost to begin with? Was it when I was curled up on the floor screaming your name for the first time? Was it when I decided to pursue a relationship with a random guy and then masturbated on FaceTime with yet another guy when the first one was sleeping right next to me? Was it when I bought a bike and biked around Swedish streets? Was it when I sat on a cold ass fall beach miles from home in complete solitude? Was it when I took the first intercontinental flight? Was it when I decided that going to law school was such a great idea? That anything below top law firms was not prestigious enough? Was it when I first started taking my amphetamine pills? When did I lose myself?

I do not know. All I know is that I can no longer write. I mean I can write some words but they are not THE words. I became dispensable. I lost my passions, my feelings. I no longer know any good music to cry to. The whole exercise of listening to music is frankly laughable. I downloaded Spotify - something I have been fighting for a long time. I mean... I was driving for the next two hours, so figured listening to music would be a great idea. So there I was, make-upped (not a word), dressed, heels, and my newly installed Spotify. I went to my default artists. Downloaded a couple of playlists and started driving. Maybe 20 minutes into it I realized I have no clue what are some of the new releases. Russian music seemed terrible? English music seemed not deep enough. So there I was - stuck between fucking songs. Clicking "next" every minute. Truth is I am not stuck between fucking songs. I am stuck between who I am and who I used to be. 

So maybe my point is that I am not regaining myself. I am finding a new me. Ugh, so cliche. We are not in Eat, Pray, Love for God's sake. My new me or whoever that bitch is is just an amalgamation of everything there was before today. People. Smells. Tears. Number of naps. Cups of coffee. Rejections. Wins and losses. So here I am. Broken. Cynical. Calculated. Tired. Hopeless. 

This whole post is actually about nothing. Do not read too deep into it. Today I downloaded Audible. It has to be better than Spotify, right? Idk what my book selection says about me but oh well, here we go:

1) Can't Hurt Me

and then I took a while to find out what else I want to listen to. I succumbed to the best expert ever in the field of "read-worthy-book-recommendations" - TikTok. Listen, I fought the urge to get the next book. I did not succeed. So 

2) The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo 

it is. 

It seemed like the quest was over. But no. Then I started torturing myself with all the philosophical considerations and bitter-sweet memories of the time when I had time to read books. You know like actually sit down and read. Not listen. No headphones. Actual fucking pages. That time is gone. What a joke, right? And then I started thinking that it is all just a part of a system. Do I sound like a conspiracy theorist yet? No? Brace yourself for my next point then. Listen. There is no time bc Audible exists. And Audible exists bc there is no time. We are so fucking busy chasing God-fucking-knows-what that we have no time to sit down and read a freaking book. Too ADD? Too undisciplined? Too whatever? So here we are in a rat wheel, being capitalized on by Bezos, being a part of a system. System that perpetuates "no time for anything" concept. System built by Bezoses. System built for the mere purpose of capitalization. Imagine the world in which we had time to sit down again and read a book. Time to go to stores. Time to go to a concert. Time so slow down so that we can watch an ant crawling up the tree. What will then happen to Amazon, Apple, Netflix, Spotify, Instacart, and shit ton of other arbitrary services the mere purpose of which is to mask our miserable lives by disguise of convenience? 

So here I am. Buying fucking Audible for $15/mo. Being self-delusional old bitch at 2 am philosophizing about the system. If that does not show you that I will never find my old self, then I do not know what does. Love the irony of me posting this on Google platform with activated AdSense. 

I wanted to say many things that are more romantic and idealistic than the bs I just wrote. Hence, my quote in the beginning of this post. It seems completely irrelevant now, doesn't it?

I wanted to tell you about time, and wanted to tell you about songs that I do remember. About lights and about how I fill my voids. I wanted to say that I miss you. Say it in a way that is not obvious but readable between the lines. But I do not know how to write that way anymore. It seems like now is the time to be direct as I do not know any other way anymore. I hope you fell in love. I hope you are smiling like a child you used to be. I hope there is time in your life for good books, for deep songs, and slow fucking ants on a tree. I hope.