Sometimes shit happens. Or sometimes you see some bad shit, or sometimes someone tells you about their bad shit either with words, their eyes, or their body. And then you can’t stop thinking about it. You can’t wash it off. The world is very beautiful, but also very ugly and unfair. People can be very nice but also little, insignificant bullies. When you can’t throw bags of shit to the little bastards, it stays inside. And that’s not good. Some people cope better than others. I know some people who just allow shit to wash over them. They emerge unscathed. Or at least that’s what it looks from the outside.
Today I washed my clothes, finally. It was quite expensive. But the man at the laundrette was very nice. But I couldn’t quite wash shit off.
3 mesi di merda / 3 shit months 