June 2011
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May 2011
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My dreams appear to have deep meaning.
According to the three theories of dreams, I’m taking neural hiccups and making them have meaning, I’m recycling memories from the day, or…my unconscious mind is trying to tell me something. I don’t think I’m trying to impose meaning on my dreams. But honestly…when someone in your dream says “This is all you ever wanted.” as they guide you and a few...
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Internal Dialog(ue) Part One
I’m sure what to call this…poetry or just stream of consciousness. If anyone can think of a better title, I’d appreciate it.
Virgin Mary. In Jesus’ name, amen.
She was a lizard.
Or a rape victim. Or divinely blessed. What’s a blessing to the dead, anyway? Nothing. Everything is so nebulous, floating through space.
What do we care?
Not much apparently, it’s always so...
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First day at my first job.
I touched more money than I probably have in my entire life.
I’m bad with money and I got a job as a cashier…not the most brilliant plan. I may not have worked a full shift, but the entire time I was there I was standing at that cash register. Ah well, all my co-workers are nice enough (and have a decade or two on me).
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Reblog this if you can pronounce...
I can, but I don’t see the point.
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Mariel Clayton's artwork... →
so fucked up I just keep going through the slideshow.
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That moment when you realize how many people...
Even though I haven’t been the friendliest or nicest person, everyone seems sad that I’m leaving. And fuck, I know it isn’t going to be a sad ending, I know I’m going to be happier where I’m going but…
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“Those who do not move, do not notice their chains.”
– Rosa Luxemburg (via corwood)
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“Bigotry and judgment are the height of insecurity.”
– Jasmine Guy
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Since some people are so concerned about...
Stop reblogging racist shit and leaving it on my dash. I don’t find it funny. And I get that I can be offended all I want and I get that you still have the right to reblog it. Bigotry on my dash=automatic unfollow. No exceptions. Sorry, I’m just intolerant like that.
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Kiddie pool conversations:
glimmering,
offering
a temporary relief
from the scalding heat,
of sunlight and judgement;
once immersed
sink to the bottom,
discovering none,
back exposed
to painful lashes
as light flashes against plastic;
crack it, shatter
the endless chatter,
breaking shards of
turtles
fish blowing bubbles
mermaids
all set in a mold
uniform folds;
discover
you are blue—
too much...
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Good Parenting →
shmoops:
Someone on my Facebook posted this and called these parents “coo-coo,” but I actually really like this idea a lot.
Ridiculous…not the parents. The reactions. “Friends said they were imposing their political and ideological values on a newborn.” Well actually, by giving away the gender you’re imposing society’s view of gender roles on the newborn....
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Why?
I have a hard enough time remembering to eat properly. I hate when I have weeks without any appetite whatsoever. It freaks me out. It makes me feel dead.
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People who smoke
are unattractive. It doesn’t matter what they look like.
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This is post three hundred.
And I just felt like stating the obvious.
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Tumblr
fucked my formatting dead.
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First sign of a migraine: Light sensitivity
I’m sitting in my bed wearing sunglasses.
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Why am I still awake?
Because I don’t intend to sleep? By the time I’m through with writing this (“this” in reference to the write-up for the research paper, and not this post) it will be time to wake up anyway. Might as well eliminate the step that’ll make me late to class.
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This week and the last have made me feel like a...
Cooking dinner, baking bread, grocery shopping, laundry, cleaning…blegh. All of it’s necessary I suppose, but I’m balancing my finals as well so it’s all very time consuming. Speaking of, I have a research paper to type up and another research project to complete. And there’s some work I didn’t do but have the opportunity to make up. I feel like two of the...
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I did a lot this weekend,
and now I feel selfish.
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“Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative.”
– Oscar Wilde
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It's the middle of may, isn't it?
It’s 49 degrees Fahrenheit here.
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Note to self:
Your singing sucks; it really does. It’s just the music that sounds good. So when someone hits the pause button, you should be embarrassed.
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I want to put on a pretty dress,
some sexy underwear,
and dance until tomorrow—
or maybe
even the day after,
doesn’t that sound nice?
