Socially anxious adult just trying her best. Love books and knitting, but have time for neither as am constantly on internet, most likely procrastinating.
my friend texted me asking if Iād heard the breaking news and I thought she meant that Megan Thee Stallion got cheated on but she meant that someone shot up the correspondents dinner
I am writing these words after my father came out of surgery to remove a cancerous tumor, which he needs to have every three months. This time, the doctors found two very large masses and four small cancerous masses.
While my father should be in a fully equipped hospital to treat his life-threatening illness, he goes every three months to a medical tent (a mobile field hospital) to undergo surgery that requires general anesthesia, highly skilled doctors, and ongoing treatment. All of this is happening amidst the ongoing siege of the Gaza Strip and the shortage of medical staff, food supplies, and medications.
I don't want to lose my father before my eyes while I have the opportunity to buy medicine and perhaps get him out of this devastated city of Gaza, which is being bombed and besieged, and where medicine and food are being prevented from entering. With your donations, we can save my father and give him a life like everyone else suffering from this disease. Please don't hesitate to donate, and donate now to save his life. Please.
me: this is a background character who's in one scene, has two lines, and is completely irrelevant to the rest of the story. i am going to stop obsessing over what to name him and use the random name generator on behindthename.com. i am going to accept the first thing it gives me and move the fuck on.
i miss my beautiful wife joann fabrics it feels as if eons have passed since i last saw her. this guy michael keeps waving her visage in front of me and saying sheās living in his house but he is lying to me. i know this because i went into his house and found only fragments and memories of my beautiful wife joann and pictures of her shadowed face labeled āonline onlyā. michael wonāt even let me order swatches from him
The War Is Almost Overā¦ but Our Struggle to Rebuild Has Just Begun.
Every day here in Gaza feels like a year carved into our chests. The war isnāt like it was in the early daysāthe sky is quieter, the air carries less smoke, and the nights hold fewer explosions. But the painā¦ it still lives under the rubble, inside our memories, and in the empty spaces where our loved ones once stood.
Iām writing this today not because the war has completely ended, but because for the first time in a long while, it feels like the horizon is opening a little. A small space where we can breathe, gather ourselves, and try to rebuild whatās left of our lives.
Yet every step forward feels like walking on wounded memories, and every stone from our destroyed home whispers stories we never got to finish.
We lived through nights so heavy we thought morning would never come. We lost things that can never be replacedāhomes, dreams, pieces of our hearts.
But we are still hereā¦ holding on, trying, fighting to stay standing despite everything.
And in the middle of this long roadā¦ there is a house. A house that once carried laughter, warmth, noise, and life.
Today, all that remains is an image holding a memoryāand rubble longing for the people who once lived inside.
Today, we are trying to rebuildānot just the walls of a house, but an entire life that was shattered.
We are trying to create a new beginning, to live with dignity again, to give our family a sense of safety that weāve been missing for so long.
Weāre not writing this to mourn what was lost, but to ask for a chance to start again.
We ask for your support because rebuilding after a war is not something one person can do aloneāit is a human effort, a shared act of compassion.
We need you.
We need your hearts.
We need your help to stand again.
Every contributionāno matter how smallāmakes a difference.
It becomes part of our story, part of rebuilding a home, part of reviving a life that nearly faded.
The war may be almost overā¦ but our journey back to life begins now.
My name is Naser AbuThaher. Iām 18 years old, and I live in Gaza.
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Thank you to every soul who still feels our pain, and to everyone who reaches out a hand to help us rise again.
Shout out to this dude who sent his deranged blorbo ramblings as fan mail to Marvel Comics in 1991. I guess when you couldn't post on tumblr you had to make do with the end page of Uncanny X-Men #274.
I have been digitizing a mountain of my dadās homemade cassettes from the 90s that I have now inherited and tbh itās a grind cause a lot of them are unlabeled but sometimes you just find a āØgemāØ
walked into a burger place to pick up my order and the girl behind the counter looked at my shirt funny so I look down and the shirt is a picture of a girl excited about eating a hamburger and fries. i'm such a fucking cartoon character right now. this is the shirt
jbbartram-illu
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