Working days

Wrote a chapter of my novel. Still a bit Eeyore, but will soon perk up.
Studied for exam.
Watched co-students get drunk and high.
Did not get either drunk or high.
Sang a Leonard Cohen medley with Mathias, who was particularly drunk and high.
I should learn how to play the guitar, I would get all the girls.

Only 24 days before I'm done with the year.
Only a month before I party with Yeli for her birthday.
Only a month and a half before I get my German on.

So many plans for next year. I can't wait.

Letter to myself:

I'm proud of conquering my fears day after day, of waking up with a smile, of kicking ass. I'm proud of my brains, proud of my quickness, proud of my tiny legs, proud of not believing everything I'm told, proud of being a feminist, proud of being a champagne-swilling, world-changing, granola-eating idealist, proud of pushing myself a bit more every time.

I'm proud of myself. It took a long time, right? Whatever the future holds, I will have this, this knowledge that I can take it, the loss, the grief, the betrayal, the dizziness of life.

I'm proud of having taken the risk of falling in love and proud of my pain, proud of my humanity. I'm happy I can forgive myself, for mediocrity and lies. I'm happy I can go beyond the mediocrity and lies of others. I'm so glad I can get to know people on a deeper level than most, even when shy and awkward. I take emotional risks, and I pay for it. But in the end, I have beautiful friendships.

Thank you, self, for being proud of me. And now, work.