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Love Begins
Misplaced Lens Cap

JBB: An Artblog!
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
d e v o n

tannertan36
Cosimo Galluzzi

titsay

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Monterey Bay Aquarium

ellievsbear

roma★
occasionally subtle
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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we're not kids anymore.
Claire Keane
ojovivo

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@eclipsxntice
When my son was about to turn two, strangers would offer condolences. There’s a collective cultural dread of toddlers, who get described more like animals than people. Kids in their "terrible twos," I was warned, are illogical, unregulated, and feral. "Good luck," people would say. "He'll grow out of it."
I'm lucky: My son is a very easygoing kid. But I remember the first tantrum he threw for me. He was standing by our front door and asked to go outside. So I opened the door and grabbed his shoes. But as soon as he stepped onto the porch, he pointed back into the house.
"Inside," he said.
"Okay," I said. I picked him up and brought him inside.
But as soon as I shut the front door, he pointed outside.
"Outside!" he said.
You know where this is going. We went back and forth, inside and outside, again and again. He got more frustrated. And I got more frustrated. Eventually he wound up straddling the threshold of our house, sobbing. When I tried to comfort him, he screamed at me. "You go wherever you want!" I said. He just got madder. I felt trapped, convinced he’d concocted the whole episode as a pretext to unleash his rage at me. It was ridiculous. I consoled myself with the thought that he was just being a toddler.
But later I kept thinking about him wailing at our front door, one foot inside, one foot outside. His misery wasn't unreasonable, or trivial, or silly. My son was experiencing the agony of wanting two things that were impossible to have at the same time. What a fundamentally human sorrow! My son wasn't being a toddler; he was being a person. Adults may not walk around howling, but that same pain rages within us. In that moment, as a father, I was powerless to solve my son's problem. I told him he could go wherever he wanted, but of course I was wrong. To be where he wanted was impossible.
Make Believe: On Telling Stories to Children by Mac Barnett
Me, tears streaming down my face, sobbing, as I stare at the stars: it’s just so beautiful
The medieval peasant I went back in time to give a bag of Doritos to, concerned: what terrible and powerful sorcerers they must have in your age, to be able to veil the vault of heaven itself from view, as you say
Me, sniffling: I didn’t realize, I can’t, it’s so much, I, I… are the chips good, at least?
Medieval peasant, trying to make me feel better: they’re… magical, strange traveler
it lowkey irks me that people exclusively depict “pick-me’s” as these wimpy little bimbos and not like,, fake bitches who’ll happily throw her fellow girl into the metaphorical lion’s den for a chance at dick
your average pick me is looking the other way while your drink gets spiked because that’s her man’s friend and she can’t get involved— not dragging her vowels and comparing hand sizes with her crush
She literally does not give a damn what that old fool is yelling about
the lion does not concern herself with papa
Slipping into my clean bed with my clean bed sheet and fresh pillow case aaaa is there anything better?
you are not an endearingly rude and unfriendly cartoon character you need to be nice to people
The thing they don’t tell you about executive dysfunction and poor time management is that you will feel guilty every second of every day for your entire life.
whipping this out of nowhere i feel so INSANEEEE im literally gonna throw up thinking abt this goddamn old man
you hear him before you see him—
the slow, careful shift of sheets, the heavy exhale through his nose, a muttered curse as he sits up. it’s barely light, the sky outside tinted blue-grey, and you catch the silhouette of his back— broad, slouched, silver streaks catching soft morning light. he rubs his neck, an old injury bothering him, then scrubs a hand down his face and lets out a low, bone-deep groan.
“fuck. gettin’ old.”
you should be asleep. shouldn’t be watching katsuki fumble for his glasses on the nightstand, shoving them up his nose with a grumble. you definitely shouldn’t be watching the way his sweatpants hang low on his hips, the little flash of tummy where his shirt’s ridden up.
but you are.
and god, you’re squirming, heat pooling low in your belly, cheeks burning.
he stretches, spine popping so loud you almost wince.
“y'good over there?” his voice is rough, sleep-thick, but there’s a glint in his eye when he turns, catching you staring like a lovesick idiot.
you try to hide your face in the pillow, but he’s already smirking, one brow arched, looking all annoyingly handsome with those damn glasses and that messy, silver-laced hair.
“what, y'get off on watchin’ me limp around?”
you just make a strangled sound, mortified, and he laughs, all low and warm.
“sick little freak,” he mutters, fond, sliding back onto the mattress and hauling you close, the aches forgotten now, his lips brushing your ear—
“c’mere. think s'funny? hips still work fine, y'want proof of purchase?”
brothers best friend trope but you’re the older sibling, and yet your brothers best friend still somehow manages to overtake you and pin you beneath him with this feral kind of grin, almost like he’s wordlessly claiming his win over you
today i give you…
arguing with katsuki over the phone, completely fuming and talking a million words a second, leaving him no room to even try and defend himself.
just lots of “b-“ “w-“ which you don’t even hear over the sound of your own voice and the feeling of red hot anger through your bloodstream.
at this point, he’s over it and can’t remember what you’re even complaining about now. he stretches his legs across his desk in his agency office, reclining his chair back to get comfortable and even puts you on speaker to rest on the table. he just stares at the phone waiting for you to shut the fuck up, watching the time duration of the call increase.
when you’ve finally stopped ranting, heavy breaths from you on the other line maybe even a sniffle, katsuki takes this as his chance to finally get a word in.
“where are you?”
he says it nonchalantly like he was asking where to pick you up for lunch or something. this one question sobered you up real quickly, scrambling whether to tell the truth or lie. at home? my friends? grandmas?
you both knew you were more talk than action because katsuki will humble you as soon as he steps through the door. he’d be so calm with you, sprinkling a little bit of sweet talk because he knows you just need your little attitude rocked with. and if you weren’t gonna let him do it over the phone, he’d do it to your face. he’d so easily set you straight with the pads of his finger tracing your jaw, leading to you somehow apologising for how you acted and begging him for some type of attention.
it was always attention you wanted at the end of it all.
“in my apartment,” you whispered, closing your eyes and already accepting defeat.
“see you in a couple minutes, princess.”
some of you are mentally unwell bc your reusable water bottle is filled with black mold go wash that shit
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
hi i was drinking mold all my freshman year and got the most sick ive ever been in my life here's good ways to avoid that shit:
number one rule is get stainless steel shit. stainless steel water bottle stainless steel straw, you dont want that rubber plastic etc shit it grows mold like a mf. turns out that was the main culprit of what happened to me, my reusable water bottle was plastic and it didn't matter how much i let it soak or cleaned it out.
get this either if you can or can't afford the stainless steel stuff and just be really on cleaning it; staw cleaner looks like this:
and get one its mammas the bottle cleaner for your cup:
this one is 3 dollars you get soap in there and spin this shit around and push it up and down and the mold will be begging for mercy
My additional piece of advice: get a pack of denture cleaning tablets. These are especially good if you use your bottle for anything other than water (squash, coffee etc) or if you’ve got a built in straw with awkward curvy bits.
You put that tablet in the bottle, add hot water, let it fizz and soak for a bit and hey presto, any stains or discolouration or weird little crevices are suddenly removed of their hidden nasty bits.
My niece kept saying her water bottle tasted weird, and she washed it and washed it, and then me and my mum were like GIVE IT HERE and we put a denture tablet in it and added the straw to it and it started fizzing up the straw and all this black gunk started coming out the weird curvy bits of the fitted straw like a Coke-mentos experiment.
It’ll taste slightly minty unless you rinse rinse rinse rinse rinse rinse but that’s not a terrible thing, and let’s face it, denture tablets are for cleaning dentures so, you know, designed to clean things that go in mouths.
Anyway: wash your water bottles! Wash your flasks! More often than you think you need to!! Keep denture tablets in the cupboard!!
HOW TO TURN OFF GOOGLE AI in GMAIL:
Open Gmail in your browser
Click on the Gear Icon ⚙️ in the upper right
In the General Tab, scroll down to "Smart Features" and UNCHECK THE BOX. It is about halfway down.
Then, right below that is Google Workspace smart features. Click on the "Manage Workspace Smart Features" and make sure both toggles are OFF
If you're wondering why there's so much resistance to the idea of a 4-day work week, or why automation hasn't actually led to people working less like it was supposed to...
They complained about the 5-day week, and before that the 6-day week, and less than 12 hours in a work day. But I know how much wasted time there is in a workday...
THE advantage of memorizing poetry is that when somethings happening, maybe even you’re in a situation or a location, you can just go “ok. lady of shallott time” and boom. you reclaimed your mental space and attention for YOU for the next ten minutes
Everyone should be able to do one card trick, tell two jokes, and recite three poems, in case they are ever trapped in an elevator.
— Lemony Snicket, Horseradish
i know this is humorous but! i learned from one of my college friends (who learned from a therapist) that reciting a poem you have memorized is a great grounding & focusing technique when you’re spiraling into anxiety or panic. i can personally attest that The Tyger has staved off several panic attacks.
so like if said “situation or location” is freaking you out really badly, “lady of shallott time” can help reclaim your mental health too
Ok everybody share what poems you can recite in case we’re trapped in an elevator.
I’ve got the first 42 lines of The Canterbury Tales in Middle English, the first 10 lines of Beowulf in Old English, the first canto of Tolkien’s Lay of Beren and Luthien, and Sonnet XVI by Pablo Neruda (“I love the handful of the earth you are”). I used to have the Proem of the Kalevala but I’m a bit shaky on it it now and I think i’ve only got the first two sentences. Anda handful of others I half-remember which i could probably do if I were with someone else who half-remembered the same ones and we could prompt each other back and forth.