“I am lonely, yet not everybody will do. I don’t know why, some people fill the gaps and others emphasize my loneliness. In reality those who satisfy me are those who simply allow me to live with my ”idea of them.”—Anaïs Nin (via kari-shma)
Everyone knows that awkward moment when you're standing next to someone and they're chattering in another language.
Sometimes you wonder, “Are they talking about me?”. Well, it’s much more awkward when you’re standing next to that person talking in a foreign language and you know what they’re saying. Honestly, you may not realize I can understand what you’re saying, but that makes it ten times more awkward. And it’s fucking distracting when I’m at work.
When music is this gentle and sweet I can’t help to think of waking up next to a girl I really care for when it’s pouring rain outside and we both just decide to cuddle all morning as we enjoy the soothing sound of the droplets hitting the window. As we are still tucked under the soft bed sheets, the silk gracefully caressing our skin, and our bodies keeping each other warm on a wonderful rainy morning.
“I want your flowers like babies want God’s love.”
i want to be beautiful, and by beautiful, i mean beautiful in a way that people don’t usually mean beautiful. i don’t mean beautiful hair, and skin, and eyes —although i do want them, i do need them, i do find them beautiful, and i need you to find them beautiful in…
My sister hasn't been home in two weeks and she childishly threatened to move out.
That’s cool and everything; go ahead and prove to us all that you don’t need us after all, but stop fucking coming home to do your laundry here and eat our food. And stop bringing all of your fucking friends over; instead go get a damn job. Because it’s seriously rude to drop in for the first time in weeks on the first day I have enough time that I can take a nap to get the sleep I lost. And it’s even more inconsiderate to remark upon the messy state our kitchen is in when I had to do midnight laundry just so I could go to work in clean clothes. You’re petty and annoying. And it’s truly distressing to have to deal with you when believe you don’t need to depend on your mother and you were just obviously rummaging through our cabinets for food I haven’t had the time to eat when I’m the one helping to pay bills. Really it’s okay, I can sleep and do laundry on my day off. Oh wait, that’s right, I don’t have one. Stop having fucking tickle fights in the room you claim to not need and stop screaming as you thump on your floor and have little wrestling matches with your boyfriend. Seriously, go join the spam followers and go the fuck away so I can get enough sleep to keep blacking out again.
knowing you don’t have any days off and you’ll still be broke on Friday
compulsive urge to clean gets worse at work
Things that don’t suck quite as much:
I keep getting complimented at work by customers
my bosses like me
I have a job
I have figured out where everything goes
Now if only some aspect of my life was free from my job and place of employment I would feel a bit more content. I want to have time to write again and not because of insomnia preventing me from much needed rest.
And it’s fucking bright out. It’s four in the morning. For about half a minute I thought I would be going back to sleep before I realized that it wasn’t fucking happening. I can’t say that I didn’t try.
Well, add 5 inches to 35. Because it an even number, no rounding up. Measuring around the fullest part of my bust, it’s 42 inches. To find the cup size, subtract band (40) from bust (42). The difference is two inches indicating that I’m a B42. I’m fairly sure that B42 is a type of fighter jet or airplane or something. I think I’ll get over my hangup of strangers touching my boobs and put myself out of my misery by getting myself properly fitted. It’s not even a lack of self-confidence, I just don’t wanna be touched. As a personal note, I’m 42” 32.75” 41” assuming my measurements are accurate (going across the fullest part of my breasts, just above my navel, and around the fullest part of my butt). And I now know I need new bras. I hate shopping. And math. And strangers touching my boobs.
Dear tumblr, I don't have a dad. Or rather, I do, but he has been estranged for my entire life.
And so, with Father’s Day coming up, I have felt much indifference. Except there is now a stepfather figure in the picture. Again, this fact is met with much indifference on my part. However, my mother expects me to buy him a Father’s Day gift. In my eighteen years of life I’ve never done this before. What the hell does one buy a man for Father’s Day?