feeling anxious at a social event. gonna pick at my cuticles. surely i will not rip off too much skin, thus causing me to awkwardly hold a blood-soaked tissue to my thumb for the remainder of the event. surely i have learned my lesson by now.
turns out, reading a lot, exercising, loving people without expecting anything back, protecting your alone time, focusing only on improving yourself, and sometimes staying out late with friends who make you laugh until it hurts is a pretty good way to live.
The kindest thing literature does is remind you that your peculiar little feelings have always existed. Someone, in some century, was equally confused by love, bored by society, tired of performing, and hungry for meaning.