a 🦋shitshow🦋

22 | my toxic trait is that i justify my stupidity by claiming i have an undiagnosed mental illness | soft and Indian 

[shivorce]

they should invent a kind of going outside that doesn’t cost money

[1anonyymous1]

do i deserve back pain at this age

[disconnectedacademicfish]

the love existence holds

There’s so much in this world - to see, to do, to read, to listen to, to feel, to take in, to just EXPERIENCE. How do you get over the fact that right now, in this exact moment, you don’t know it all? How am I supposed to calm down while holding above my head the (more than) half empty bucket of ART and EMOTIONS and all that which makes humanity beautiful? You are worried about pop culture while I am here daydreaming about myself as a person who has read every book, seen every painting, felt the most beautiful and the most gruesome emotions, and yet is still alive and painted and tainted with the best of existence.

[beckrl]

the universe has a sense of humor and I can respect the commitment to the bit but girl please.

[disconnectedacademicfish]

of love and skill and validation

We do the things we love. The things that make us happy. The things which make this world a little more tolerable for us to live in. The things which become our safe space. We do those so much that we eventually train ourselves to become skilled at them, knowingly and/or unknowingly. So here we are, in a state of mind where we are HAPPY because of, and a MASTER at, something. Do all of us become masters? Or do some of us remain the jacks? Is it necessary to be a master? No. Right? 

So yes. We simply continue with our lives. Continue doing the things we love, not giving “skill” any thought. And then one day, we decide to take this a step further. We pursue our favorite stuff out in the open. We are in our own space, but it is so conspicuous, to all the public. And then we notice that no one notices it. It is RIGHT THERE. People might come across it. People would not get the chance to be acquainted with it. People look at it. People don’t look at it. People ignore it. People marvel at it. People aren’t bothered by it. People are bothered by it. People, people, people… 

Did we realize? That no one cares? That no one readily acknowledges the one thing you absolutely love doing? We don’t. What’s right in front of us is what we choose to ignore. We decide that we would rather overthink the implications of it. We decide that “we love this thing; it makes us happy; we couldn't care less about the fact that we aren’t the masters of it; we just want to feel content and peaceful; so we do what we love without hiding. And then we are bothered because people aren’t noticing; we are bothered because we feel that this thing isn’t worth it because no one cares about it”. Do you get it? Wasn’t this the whole plan all along? That we don’t care if anyone cares or not as long as we are happy? 

Do we actually care and love what we do? Or are we all here for validation? Is THAT what we want ultimately?

[jumex]

I love being quiet . Genuinely one of my favorite things

[samtf]

am i a human being or am i just a bunch of "??????!!!!!!" glued together

[why-the-heck-not]

01.03.22, tuesday

have I once again backed myself into the "u have 4 hours 'till the deadline and u haven't even started" corner? yes. yes I have. Have I lost all drops of motivation and the fucks I give ? also yes.

[ashstfu]

ok but would you give me an annotated book and a chocolate wrapped up in a handwritten note and a kiss on the cheek yes or no

[rainekeiko]

by no means am I average

[disconnectedacademicfish]

I know for a fact that I'm only average at my best, but I will still delude myself into thinking that I'm superior than everyone

[ashstfu]

sometimes being a girl is just about being a little sleepy all the time

[ecig937272837282]

If you love something gatekeep it

[drunkenacademia]

i zoned out in 2019 and never zoned back in

[nikasholistic]

Write for yourself. No, this approach is not selfish. Write for yourself because you need to fall in love with your story. You will have to edit this thing, you will have to rewrite some parts, you will have to work on it. If you don’t like it, you won’t find enough motivation to finish it. Don’t write for the market, write for yourself.

[disconnectedacademicfish]

✨hello flops✨

I am new to this - the whole writing scene. I have always wanted to write. Reading a lot has made me fantasize about writing to an extent where I am obsessed with the idea of being a writer. Everyone tells you that you don’t have to be GOOD at something you love doing. Which is fair I guess, given the fact that not everyone can be a master of whatever they’re inclined to. But how do we get over this compelling obsession with being the best at what we attempt? How do we get over the fact that we can’t be the best at everything, no matter how much we love it? How do we convince ourselves that we don’t have to stop loving a certain art due to a single, ordinary fact that we aren’t the best at it? How do we make our hearts and minds okay with the mortifying ordeal of being average? Why again, is it such a mortifying ordeal? Being average. Is it so bad, really? Is being skillful, the best at stuff, the only way to satisfy our humanly worth? Is a piece of art only worth it when it has the “potential” of being monetized? Are we at the peak of civilization? Is this what we were meant to be? The place where “money”, a social construct born out of manly greed for material things, determines if “art”, a way of life and the most beautiful way of displaying emotions, is worth it or not can’t be our endgame, can it? How sad are we to just un-love something because it isn’t worth being priced? Why does it have to be anyway? The love and pride that fills inside of you with what you do should be enough, right? That being said, I don’t think I can deny the absolutely terrifying reality of me being afraid that I will never be as good as the people whose pieces I admire so much. This brings me to the confession that I am probably ranting about this just to console myself that this is the best I could come up with, that I will always be an average writer of sorts, that I will never be able to top anything, that maybe one day I would grow tired of not being good enough and start un-loving writing, and that maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to feel so bad about myself for that. (Or maybe being sentimental masks all my technical writing faults and being dramatic is a good way of making people fall in love with the words I throw up)