other than the fact that I have GERD I'm pretty much a perfect human being
$LAYYYTER
styofa doing anything
AnasAbdin

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RMH

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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Mike Driver

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Sweet Seals For You, Always

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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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i don't do bad sauce passes
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@arugulalover
other than the fact that I have GERD I'm pretty much a perfect human being
cut my hair today because i was starting to feel a little unreal and now im going through the stages of grief every time i look in the mirror bc tomorrow i have to give a presentation to a bunch of colleagues and program directors with fuckass bangs and a bob i didnt have when i saw all these people 2 days ago
instagram.com/thejungalow/
Robin Williams as Armand Goldman
The Birdcage (1996)
listening to the hunger games audiobooks currently giggling and kicking my feet over the gale / peeta / katniss love triangle this series is the blueprint fr
I HOPE YOU CAN LOVE THE ACCOUNTANT IN ME
Need this rn
at the stage in trauma processing where i will be going about my day and randomly remember something that happened 10 years ago and be like ohhhh yeah actually that was fucked up. just because i didnt realize it was fucked at the time doesnt mean it wasnt. and i don't need to feel bad about it, i didn't have any other experiences to gauge and realize what was normal or abnormal. this is kind of therapy 101. but like the process of remembering brings so much pain its hard to deal with at first, but then you realize the pain was there all along.
In the first poetry workshop I ever took my professor said we could write about anything we wanted except for two things: our grandparents and our dogs. She said she had never read a good poem about a dog. I could only remember ever reading one poem about a dog before that point—a poem by Pablo Neruda, from which I only remembered the lines “We walked together on the shores of the sea/ In the lonely winter of Isla Negra.” Four years later I wrote a poem about how when I was a little girl I secretly baptized my dog in the bathtub because I was afraid she wouldn’t get into heaven. “Is this a good poem?” I wondered. The second poetry workshop, our professor made us put a bird in each one of our poems. I thought this was unbelievably stupid. This professor also hated when we wrote about hearts, she said no poet had ever written a good poem in which they mentioned a heart. I started collecting poems about hearts, first to spite her, but then because it became a habit I couldn’t break. The workshop after that, our professor would tell us the same story over and over about how his son had died during a blizzard. He would cry in front of us. He never told us we couldn’t write about anything, but I wrote a lot of poems about snow. At the end of the year he called me into his office and said, “looking at you, one wouldn’t think you’d be a very good writer” and I could feel all the pity inside of me curdling like milk. The fourth poetry workshop I ever took my professor made it clear that poets should not try to engage with popular culture. I noticed that the only poets he assigned were men. I wrote a poem about that scene in Grease 2 where a boy takes his girlfriend to a fallout shelter and tries to get her to have sex with him by tricking her into believing that nuclear war had begun. It was the first poem I ever published. The fifth poetry workshop I ever took our professor railed against the word blood. She thought that no poem should ever have the word “blood” in it, they were bloody enough already. She returned a draft of my poem with the word blood crossed out so hard the paper had torn. When I started teaching poetry workshops I promised myself I would never give my students any rules about what could or couldn’t be in their poems. They all wrote about basketball. I used to tally these poems when I’d go through the stack I had collected at the end of each class. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 poems about basketball. This was Indiana. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. I told the class, “for the next assignment no one can write about basketball, please for the love of god choose another topic. Challenge yourselves.” Next time I collected their poems there was one student who had turned in another poem about basketball. I don’t know if he had been absent on the day I told them to choose another topic or if he had just done it to spite me. It’s the only student poem I can still really remember. At the time I wrote down the last lines of that poem in a notebook. “He threw the basketball and it came towards me like the sun”
half man ep 2 is such a hard watch oh my god
キュア: Cure (Kiyoshi Kurosawa, 1997) | dop: Tokushô Kikumura.
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i rewatched the cars trilogy and it was an absolute fever dream. anyways here's lightning mctwink insta || bluesky || patreon || shop