izzy's playlists!
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YOU ARE THE REASON
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
⁂
noise dept.
Sade Olutola
Discoholic 🪩
wallacepolsom
$LAYYYTER
i don't do bad sauce passes
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
we're not kids anymore.
tannertan36
KIROKAZE
PR's Tumblrdome
h
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@cezille07
Hello Tumblr, just wanted to share this link
It's an original song I wrote (ages ago) and recorded (recently, after finally buying a mic some months ago, and finding the motivation to sing again).
My SoundCloud has other original songs too, so if you like sentimental songs and stuff you might find something you like!
kthxbye, take care of yourselves and drink some water! ♥✨
The Anxiety Button
And its alternate forms: "Send Email", "Post", and "Submit"
Also "Reply" god why is it so hard to talk to people I want to be friends with???
The Anxiety Button
And its alternate forms: "Send Email", "Post", and "Submit"
never mind
So I remember now why I stopped visiting Tumblr in the first place. Because <person> is there and I could see all this pain they're hiding that I have no right to know because I'm not even that close of a friend to them lol, and watching that hurts and I can't reach out/talk to them about it. I used to want to be more (much more) but lol who am I kidding. I can't even be a decent friend (GOD I WISH I KNEW HOW), what can I even offer.
Wanted to post a rant (about something else entirely) but yeah, like on Facebook, or Twitter, or anywhere else, nobody cares, so why bother screaming into the void. That rant was about my social ineptitude but damn. Will keep running away again, to another platform, to another universe.
HELLO WORLD I AM BACK FOR A FEW SECONDS TO RANT ABOUT PERSONAL PROBLEMS, PLEASE IGNORE ME! LEGIT I FORGOT I MADE A TUMBLR ACCOUNT until I scrolled down into my old status updates on another site where I said I made one.
things that made me stop wanting to die that require no effort whatsoever
change the color used to highlight text on your laptop
move the pictures on your wall
stack whatever clutter is in your room into piles even if you don’t have time to clean it all
slightly vary your commute, even just by one street
change where you sit and scroll aimlessly on your phone even if it’s only to the chair in your room instead of your bed
drink water or juice out of a wine glass in the morning because nothing is real
shower with the lights off, without music
buy $3 flowers at trader joe’s—they look bad next to the more expensive ones but they look so good in your room
start typing things you don’t post into your notes. your thoughts can be worth documenting even if you don’t deem them worth sharing
wake up super early just once. you don’t have to make it a habit it’s just extra satisfying to go to bed that night
listen to the entirety of your favorite album from 2015
Almost all of these are about variety. Humans need stimulation! We need enrichment! We literally cannot do the same thing every day!
The other day I was feeling miserable, so I hopped on a bus and rode it all the way back to where I’d started, and my brain, which had finally had some proper stimulation via new environments, was suddenly ready to go again!
This is why taking walks/drives and trying new hobbies are good for you! Don’t turn yourself into a sad zoo animal! You need some pumpkins to roll around in your enclosure!
(last)
Watching you is just giving me depression It’s super toxic, and I think I’m done dramatizing what I could do (= nothing) in my head I have my own life to live (I guess), my own problems to worry about (not really) I have to stop being so victimized by this coward’s crush
Will I always be, always be screaming alone? While beside me you stand and wait, clutching your phone Am I doomed to this grief? Will I always bemoan My incompetence with friends, set forever in stone?
Help I need to gush about a FFIX fanfic from 2002
Also I need a Vivi plush doll
To cope with fic-induced grief, I have decided to write a self-indulgent, over-dramatic tragedy of my own. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Re: plush dolls - the ones on Square Enix’s site is a mere 7 inches big. It’s not nearly huggable enough
Help I need to gush about a FFIX fanfic from 2002
Also I need a Vivi plush doll
I bid my dreams farewell, goodbye Inktober only makes me cry Not one more line remains inside this stupid, fractured, hopeless mind
I hate this feeling,
making Twitter my Facebook and making Tumblr my Twitter;
avoiding everyone, even though I just want a friend to sympathize, but no one can because I’ve locked my soul in. I’ve never even made the effort of making friends, so why do I deserve any now?
Meanwhile my heart is breaking with every disappointment
Also never say you’ll be happy when the other person is around because what if they never are?
Never never never put your happiness in someone else’s hands
[unfinished prompt attempt]
All there was in his world was the sound. The hum of the air conditioner in his small, cramped room. It was there when he woke up, chilling the life out of his brittle bones, and he wished there were at least four more blankets available for him. It was always so cold, and the hospital was always short on blankets.
Eric shivered, and both the pain of the action and the heat it generated calmed him down. He opened his eyes and took in the very same room he'd been lain in for the last two, three months. His legs had become useless in that span of time, and his arms could only barely carry a full glass of water. A nurse, or a friend, would need to feed him, or he would starve. And no one would be the wiser: for an old, obese man, no one pitied him if he went hungry. "He deserves it," they say, "He'll be better off without the extra calories," and "He should get sicker so he might lose that weight." Statements he had heard all his life suddenly felt stronger in the absence of voice, his strength, his will to fight back.
He recalled himself to the present, to the cozy, rectangular room in which he lay. In front of him sat a television set that played 90's shows. He mainly tuned in for the commercials, however; these replays had been done to death; he can swear he memorized every line of S Club 7's teen drama, mimic Spongebob's antics and sing all his songs, and if he still had use of his limbs he might direct, act, and produce his own series. O Youth! It had passed too soon; now that the blood in his veins was as tired as he was, he could tell the difference between his prime years and now. He wished to be a decade younger; that was still young enough, still early enough, to make the changes he wanted in his life, and in the world. And if he did, then there would be at least one friend in here, sitting by his bedside, talking to him, and drowning out the pathetic sound of his air conditioner.
Kyle loosened his grip on the steering wheel; he exhaled slowly through his nostrils, hoping that the trick to ease his anxiety might work sooner than his meds kicked in. He had taken the pills on time, but he had heard the news way before that: he was suddenly thrown off-balance; the ground at his feet suddenly seemed absent. He would have collapsed, but he was sitting at the dining table with his brother, Ike.
Ike had delivered it like he was remarking on the weather, which never changed at all, except in the hottest of summer months. "Your old friend Cartman had a stroke. I checked him up last week, doesn't seem to be doing well."
Kyle spit out his coffee and gripped his own chest. "You didn't tell me sooner. Why?"
Ike shrugged. "I thought you knew. You were his friend, so I assumed you knew."
But Kyle didn't; the guilt alone ate at his conscience for the rest of breakfast.
The Broflovski brothers lived in Kyle's house, had been living together since Ike's wife passed, leaving him childless. Kyle was never married, went from girl to girl, but never found the spark he'd been looking for. They opted for brotherly companionship so that at least they weren't alone even in their old age.
Ike was a doctor; Kyle worked from his home office, managing remote development teams. Their days were mostly quiet; breakfast together, wine in the evening after dinner. Alternate chores, just like when they were younger. Kyle relished the peaceful, silent life he'd had, forgetting that he had friends. Those friends lived turbulent, ordinary lives; he felt above them. With no wife or children to dote on, he could entertain his higher faculties and focus on what really mattered: his job.
He wished he had lived that ordinary life he looked down on.
Where were Stan and Wendy? Butters? Craig? Token? After drifting apart in college, he lost touch with his old friends, and in his eagerness to excel in his career, lost his human touch. He had achieved everything he wanted, but to what end? With whom could he share his success?
And Cartman. He had pegged Cartman to die before 30 from diabetes or heart complications, but somehow he had gotten through 60 without a hitch...until now. Kyle was confused, concerned, but mostly curious: he had to see Eric; his heart won't let him rest until he did.
On the drive to the hospital where Ike worked, he encountered every possible roadblock there was: vehicular accidents, slow pedestrians, asshole drivers, construction detours... Maybe the universe was telling him otherwise: Cartman never made an effort to reach out, so he was probably fine, with his own new set of shiny friends, all the women he could handle--Kyle subconsciously envied Cartman. He had the charm, and that was pretty much everything he needed to get what he wanted. Did he ever use it for the greater good, or simply personal gain?
Kyle reminded himself to calm down, or he might just get an aneurysm. "He's fine. He's never been otherwise." But the longer he waited, the more the anxiety gnawed at him. What was this preternatural feeling of dread? And why? Why now? Why him? Why Cartman...?
Eric had unsuccessfully tried to turn to his right side for the fifth time when he heard the door open. A nurse led a tall, frail man with graying hair inside; he wouldn't have recognized him if not for the familiar freckles and fiery green eyes.
"Kahl," he exhaled as if it were a prayer. His body relaxed into the hard fabric of the hospital bed.
The nurse ran to him to check his vitals, but everything looked fine. With a confused sigh, she exited as Kyle took the seat next to Eric's bed.
"What's up?" opened Eric. "It's been too long." He chuckled, sounding maybe half his age for the mirth in his eyes.
"I came as soon as I heard. And from my brother too. Why did news like this take two months to reach me?" Kyle asked earnestly, looking both guilty and concerned. He sounded as old as he looked, but Eric still recognized the intense tone underneath. Those same eyes looking at him, feeding him energy that he hadn't known in decades...
Then Kyle reached out, hesitantly at first, then grasped Eric's closer arm with both hands. Those gloved hands were cold, frail, but there was love in the motion. Eric closed his eyes and relished the sensation.
"You're cold," Kyle observed, rubbing Eric's hands until a semblance of color returned to them.
"I'm fine, Kahl, it's always cold in South Park anyway." Eric said this more to fill the silence on his end, but he didn't really want Kyle to stop. A human touch, a human voice, so close...
"I'll come back tomorrow and bring some extra blankets," Kyle said. "Where do you live these days? I can get you some things from your house too, if you want."
"For meeee?" Eric grinned cheekily. "My my, my favorite Jew at my beck and call, like it's supposed to be," he added.
To this, the redhead rolled his eyes.
doing nothing
she loves me if loving me meant not even knowing i exist
she is precious and i—lost— watch her with a longing so deep my feet are lost in the darkness
when she speaks it is with uncertainty self-distrust as if her own voice was so foreign
her fears of future, past, and self are raw and real but her laughter eases most if not all the pain
and she i love her, i think? if loving her meant watching sadly and doing nothing
