I had one this morning, just as I do every six months or so. My brain nags, “whywhywhy?” and I say “I don’t know. No reason…” and then it all crumbles.
But I’ve finally realized why they occur, and how to fix them. These little crisises can’t disappear, because they are there to remind me that I am not infinite. That there is futility in struggle. But the key to living is to pretend that you are infinite; to romanticize yourself and all the crap you do, all the rituals that mean nothing, all the effort that is for naught. Play make believe like you are five again, tell yourself that you are as smart as Hermione and Rory Gilmore and as pretty as Cinderella and as curious as Luna Lovegood and Alice and as strong as Mulan, and just push through as other people. Because being yourself is good and all, but it is often the very fault that breaks me.
Okay, I’ve got essays to write and pagesandpages of notes to do and finish listening to the HPA Accio Books Celebration and etc.