tendency for chaos

Hi. My name is Kathleen. I am perfect and I love dogs and the Red Sox. I never know what is going on. pencil(s) sharpening GRYFFINDOR { wear }

[pleatedjeans]

24 Pictures That Prove Pit Bulls Are Nothing but Big Softies

[rebelholmes]

Such dangerous beasts…

[huffpost]

Studies show that women apologize more than men, often for perfectly reasonable acts like, you know, taking up space. 

So watch this Pantene commercial here to inspire you to stop saying sorry for no reason. 

[filedrive-deactivated20150824]

[hueandeyephotography-deactivate]

[a-heist-of-words]

Be proud of your place in the Cosmos. It is small, and yet, it is.

Cecil Palmer (via celestinevibes)

[quotes-shape-us]

This is an important lesson to remember when you’re having a bad day, a bad month, or a shitty year. Things will change: you won’t feel this way forever. And anyway, sometimes the hardest lessons to learn are the ones your soul needs most. I believe you can’t feel real joy unless you’ve felt heartache. You can’t have a sense of victory unless you know what it means to fail. You can’t know what it’s like to feel holy until you know what it’s like to feel really fucking evil. And you can’t be birthed again until you’ve died.

Kelly Cutrone, If You Have to Cry, Go Outside: And Other Things Your Mother Never Told You (via quotes-shape-us)

[anarchocapitalismkills-deactiva]

Almost a thousand people in West Africa die from ebola and nobody bats an eyelash, yet 2 white people in the US contract it and miraculously a cure is released and given to them because they’re an “extreme circumstance.” Satire is dead and real life is a dystopian hellscape

[en-entropy]

my number 1 goal is to be the top result when you google my name. 

[girl--legs]

[en-entropy]

this happened on my facebook feed. plz educate urself 

[ninjatengu]

"Doctors are Human"

Photographs of physicians before and after 24 hours of duty, by Leticia Ruiz.

Something to look forward to. And yet with work hour restrictions in effect, we’ve still had it better than our predecessors. It’s still by no means easy, though.

[darksilenceinsuburbia]

Broke Diderato

Brooke DiDonato is a fine art photographer based in New York City. 

Her work blurs the boundaries of fiction by fusing real-life narratives with surreal, dream-like elements. She is inspired by the subconscious mind and its relation to our emotions and perceptions.

Brooke’s work has been nationally recognized by Photographer’s Forum Magazine, Creative Quarterly and College Photographer of the Year. She received a gold in illustration from College Photographer of the Year in 2012.

[en-entropy]

im rebuilding my friendship with this guy who i stopped being friends with almost four years ago and like im so happy like we wouldnt have stopped being friends at all if a lot of stuff hadn't happened and i feel like a lot of things are coming full circle this summer and i feel pretty good even though i feel bad

[willow]

my heart says yes but my bank balance says no

[flatsound]

i wanna feel how dogs feel when you let them go in a big field 

[stability]

[nevver]

[inkskinned]

A FAT LITTLE GIRL is eight years old, she’s got pink cheeks that her grandmother calls chubby. She wants a second cookie but her aunt says “you’ll get huge if you keep eating.” She wants a dress and the woman in the changing room says “she’ll probably need a large in that.” She wants to have dessert and her waiter says “After all that dinner you just had? You must be really hungry!” and her parents laugh. A FAT LITTLE GIRL is eleven and she is picked second-to-last in gym class. She watches a cartoon and sees that everyone who is annoying is drawn with a big wide body, all sweaty and panting. At night she dreams she is swelling like the ocean over seabeds. When she wakes up, she skips school. A FAT LITTLE GIRL is thirteen and her friends are stick-thin ballerinas with valleys between their hipbones. She is instead developing the wide curves of her mother. She says she is thick but her friends argue that she’s “muscular” and for some reason this hurts worse than just admitting that she jiggles when she walks and she’ll never be a dancer. Eating seconds of anything feels like she’s breaking some unspoken rule. The word “indulgent” starts to go along with “food.” A FAT LITTLE GIRL is fourteen and she has stopped drinking soda and juice because they bloat you. She always takes the stairs. She fidgets when she has to sit still. Whenever she goes out for ice cream, she leaves half at the bottom - but someone else always leaves more and she feels like she’s falling. She pretends to like salad more than she does. She feels eyes burrowing through her body while she eats lunch. Kate Moss tells her nothing tastes as good as skinny feels, but she just feels like she is wilting. A FAT LITTLE GIRL is fifteen the first time her father says “you’re getting gaunt.” She rolls her eyes. She eats one meal a day but thinks she stays the same size. Every time she picks up a brownie she thinks of the people she sees on t.v. and every time she has cake, she thinks of the one million magazine articles on restricting calories. She used to have no idea a flat stomach was supposed to be beautiful until she saw advice on how to achieve it. She cuts back on everything. She controls. They tell her she’s getting too thin but she doesn’t believe it. A FAT LITTLE GIRL is sixteen and tearing herself into shreds in order for a thigh gap big enough to hush the screams in her head. She doesn’t “indulge,” ever. She can’t go out with friends, they expect her to eat. She damns her sweet tooth directly to hell. It’s coffee for breakfast and tea for lunch and if there’s dance that evening, two cups of water and then maybe an apple. She lies all the time until she thinks the words will rot her teeth. She dreams about food when she sleeps. Her aunt begs her to eat anything, even just a small cookie. They say, “One bite won’t make you fat, will it, darling?” A FAT LITTLE GIRL is seventeen and too sick to go to prom because she can’t stand up for very long. She thinks she wouldn’t look good in a dress anyway. Her nails are blue and not because they are painted. Her hair is too thin to do anything with. She’s tired all the time and always distracted. She once absently mentions the caloric value of grapes to the boy she is with and he looks at her like she’s gone insane and in that moment she realizes most people don’t have numbers constantly scrolling in their heads. She swallows hard and tries to figure out where it all went wrong, why more than a granola bar for a meal makes her feel sick, why she tastes disease and courts with death. She misses sleep. She misses being able to dream. She misses being herself instead of just being empty. A FAT LITTLE GIRL is twenty and writes poetry and is a healthy weight and still fights down the voices every single day. She puts food in her mouth and sometimes cries about it but more and more often feels good, feels balanced. Her cheeks are pink and they are chubby and soft and no longer growing slight fur. Her hair is long and it is beautiful. She still picks herself apart in the mirror, but she’s starting to get better about it. She wears the dress she likes even if it only fits her in a large and she doesn’t feel like a failure for it. She is falling in love with the fat on her hips. She is eating out with friends and not worrying about finding the lowest calorie item on the menu when she hears a mother tell her four year old daughter “You can’t have ice cream, we just had dinner. You don’t want to end up as a fat little girl.”

Why do we constantly do this to our children? /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)