@lilgeese - Tumblr Blog

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Reasons why I cried today

-It was very slippery and I was scared

-I almost hit someone with my car

-I told Fred that I almost hit someone with my car

-planet fitness took out $80 and now I can’t afford gas and payday is 6 days away

It’s been a long fucking day

thetrippytrip

I can’t believe they oblitered straight men like that

castlevanian

@tabbran please add lemon man story to this

tabbran

PRESENTING LEMON MAN

themightyglamazon

That was a wild goddamn ride

wereralph

god this was worth the read

dinkywinks

god, it’s so crazy we all have bones… like, just these big hard rods holding our meat up. that’s so fucking wild, i can’t believe it

rolodextra

one of the main reasons i don’t want to get pregnant is i can’t handle the idea of growing bones and not keeping them

dinkywinks

this is a very reasonable concern. you go to all that trouble growing new bones and then some shitlord infant steals them out from under you. disgraceful

blurryhaveitjoeway

Me showing up to work after getting minimal sleep

spoookyscary

After succumbing to a fever of some sort in 1705, Irish woman Margorie McCall was hastily buried to prevent the spread of whatever had done her in. Margorie was buried with a valuable ring, which her husband had been unable to remove due to swelling. This made her an even better target for body snatchers, who could cash in on both the corpse and the ring.

The evening after Margorie was buried, before the soil had even settled, the grave-robbers showed up and started digging. Unable to pry the ring off the finger, they decided to cut the finger off. As soon as blood was drawn, Margorie awoke from her coma, sat straight up and screamed.

The fate of the grave-robbers remains unknown. One story says the men dropped dead on the spot, while another claims they fled and never returned to their chosen profession.

Margorie climbed out of the hole and made her way back to her home.

Her husband John, a doctor, was at home with the children when he heard a knock at the door. He told the children, “If your mother were still alive, I’d swear that was her knock.”

When he opened the door to find his wife standing there, dressed in her burial clothes, blood dripping from her finger but very much alive, he dropped dead to the floor. He was buried in the plot Margorie had vacated.

Margorie went on to re-marry and have several children. When she did finally die, she was returned to Shankill Cemetery in Lurgan, Ireland, where her gravestone still stands. It bears the inscription “Lived Once, Buried Twice.”

lindeloffspring

what did i just read

harokissmile

Irish women are strong as fuck

lord-kitschener

“I lived, bitch” irl

knightlyhoods-deactivated202404

this has got to be THE funniest sentence ive seen all day im gonna cry

cheese24k

modmad

We interrupt your usual schedule to bring you a very small pig descending a set of stairs.

bugtears-deactivated20150413

HE JUMPS RIGHT INTO IT AND MAKES LITTEL SOUNDS N0

vladtheimpalainvalhalla

Constant state of oink

lilgeese

HIS NAME IS HAMLET

meanplastic

I’m in tears but also bopping

surprisebitch

have you ever listened to something so horrible that you just had to continue listening even though it’s much healthier to just stop it cause that’s this

thats-sowild-blog

This is what they were training us for…

likkistu-ormur-deactivated20200

I went to the farmer’s market yesterday and at the honey guy’s booth and there were all these bees just hangin out. Checking out the beeswax tabs, floating around the honey jars, not being aggressive, just really gentle and investigating or something

and as he was giving me a sample of the wildflower honey one of them landed on his hand and he just took a drop from the jar and dabbed it on his hand for the bee, and when I asked if they were his bees he said “No, but they show up every time I come out, I think they just know my truck” and this guy is well-known among the local bees and lets them sit on his hand and eat his honey and I just really like the bee guy

fieldbears

What more of an endorsement could you hope for

hashtagloveloses

you met a fucking forest nymph

randompalegirl

mepphy-land

sirartwork

reblog for noises

whitebear-ofthe-watertribe

TURN THE SOUND ON FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING GOOD TURN THE SOUND ON

peopleareaproblem

*dry food crunches*

Ridiculously small kitten: “Myam myam myam. Njam njam njam njam njam njam njam! Myam myam myam nyam nyam myam. Mmmam. Mrrrrram. Meep!”

@captioned-vines

writing-prompt-s

Your wife changes her hair color every season and her personality adjusts slightly. You’re secretly only in love with Autumn wife. She just came home sporting her Winter color.

inkskinned

it’s my fault. it’s just that when we met it was autumn; her red-orange hair and crackling laughter. there’s a little spooky in her, a lot of play. and what a better time for falling?

i didn’t realize it for the first few years - something shifting, something so subtle. the winter makes us all cold, the summer makes us all a little out of our minds. i just loved her, because she was incredible, and i was the luckiest person alive.

it’s just that i realized that spring came with sudden bursts of cold. it’s just that summer frequently raged in with fire sprouting from her lips. it’s just that winter was the worst of all, her eyes dead. it’s just that autumn loves me different; throws herself into it without the clingy sweat of summer. i used to love that summer girl, you know? i loved how wild she was, the way in summer she took every risk she could. but i carried her home drunk one too many times, cleaned up one too many of the messes she made for no reason than to enjoy the sensation of burning. and winter was worse; the shutdown, the isolation. how she became distant, a blizzard, caught up in her own head, unable to tell me what was wrong and unable to think i actually wanted to listen.

she comes home, her hair bleached white. a dark smile on her lips. the shadowy parts of her are back. they loom like icicles overhead. she kisses me with her body held at a distance, a peck on my cheek that feels like an iceberg. she makes polite conversation and we go to bed early, our bodies untouching.

it is a lonely season, i think on the ninth day of this. winter is cold. winter is known for the death of things. when i look at her, i see the girl i fell for, inhabited by an alien. she was the first women i loved so much i felt it would kill me. i can’t leave. when i wake her up with my crying, she tells me to shush and go back to sleep. she’s different like this, quiet, doesn’t eat.

three days later i stare at myself in the mirror. i wonder if it’s me. if the fat on my body or something in my face or the wrinkles and she doesn’t love me. i try prettier lingerie, lean cuisine, i try different hair, more makeup, try harder. it doesn’t work. she looks at me the same; that empty gaze that neither loves nor condemns my actions.

somewhere in februrary i lose it. we’re fighting again, from car to restaurant to car to home again. we fight about stupid things, small things; i tell her i feel she doesn’t love me, she says i’m not listening. the circle goes around and around, old pain peeling back, new pain unhealing. i sleep on the couch.

i wake up when i hear her crying, white hair around her all messed up. the kind of sobbing that only comes at two in the morning, heavy and thick and hurting. my winter girl. my heart is breaking. she looks up at me like i’m her anchor. “i’m sorry i’m like this,” she says. and i start saying, it’s okay i’m here we’re married, but she just shakes her head and says, “I know this isn’t the real me.”

i hold her cold hand. she stares at the blankets. “i am different in winter,” she whispers, “i know i am and i’m sorry.” she looks at me. “why do you think i dye my hair? cut it off? get rid of the old me?”

i tell her it’s okay. we’re together and it’s okay, and then she whispers, “i’m sorry you married four of me.”

we lay there like that, her head on my chest. she falls asleep. i stare at the ceiling, thinking of the way she sounded when she was crying. how i helped put her in that pain. how i promised in sickness and in health and everything in between.

the next day i spend at the library. there aren’t enough books on how to love someone with seasonal affective disorder so i make my own, notes and pages and little ideas on post-its. and i take a deep breath and make myself a promise.

she comes home to her favorite dinner and we kiss and she’s uneasy but that’s okay. the next day i bring home flowers and the next day she finds little love notes in her pockets. i love her quiet, the way winter demands, understand her sex drive is faltering; spend more time just cuddling. we drink wine and we kiss and some part of her starts relaxing.

the truth is there is no loving someone out of their mental illness. the truth is that you can love someone in despite of it; love them loud enough to give them an excuse to believe they can make their way out of it.

and i learn. i remember the rebirth of spring, when she starts thawing. we kiss and have picnics in pretty dresses. i remember her joy at little birds and her rain dancing. i fall in love with the flowers in her cheeks and the little bursts of cleaning. i fall in love with summer’s slow walks and milkshakes and shouting to music playing too loud on the speakers. i fall in love with her dancing, with the sunfire energy. and when winter comes; i am ready. i remember that snow used to look pretty. i fall in love with the hearth of her, with the holiday, with the slow smile that spreads across her face so shyly. i fall in love with how she looks in boots and mittens and every day i find another reason to love her the way she deserves - they way i always should have.

she comes home with her white hair and dark smile and a package in her hands. i ask to see what it is and that small shy grin comes creeping out. it’s a sunlamp packed in with medication. she looks at me with those wide eyes and that beautiful winter blush. “i’m trying to get better,” she whispers, “i promise.”

recovery doesn’t look immediate. sometimes it isn’t neat. i can’t say we never fight or that we’re suddenly complete. but each day, that tiny girl’s strength gives me another reason. i love her. i love her while she tames the roller coaster of spring; i love her for reigning in the summer storms; i love her for taking her winter and trying to be warm. it is hard, because everything worth it is hard. she spreads out her autumn leaves; mixes the best parts of her into everything. learns to take winter’s silence for a moment before yelling in summer. learns to take autumn’s spice and give it to spring. we are both learning.

one day she comes home and her hair is different, but it’s a style i don’t know. i kiss it and tell her that she’s beautiful and the inside of me swells like a flood. i’m so glad that she’s mine. every part of her. the whole. i am the luckiest person on earth. and i always have been. but she’s hugging me and saying, “thank you for helping me,” and i can’t explain why i’m crying.

this is what love is; not always an emotion but rather your actions. the choices we make when we realize our lives would be empty if the other was absent. this is what love is: letting them grow, helping them find their way in out of the cold. this is what love is: sometimes it takes work to see how the thing you planted together actually grows.

this is what love looks like in an autumn girl: it is winter and she glows.

sarahakele

I’m actually sobbing jesus christ

whyisthisfrenchguymasturbating

my heart is aching??? this is gorgeous

imjustbeingfriendly

Wow. Worth the read, don’t scroll.

bannableoffense-deactivated2018

This is everything.

Everything about how to love.

mr-prism

I was not prepared

mindlevelzero-deactivated202208

Nor was I.

“this is what love is; not always an emotion but rather your actions. the choices we make when we realize our lives would be empty if the other was absent. this is what love is: letting them grow, helping them find their way in out of the cold. this is what love is: sometimes it takes work to see how the thing you planted together actually grows.”

hypdom-deactivated20180116

Honestly, if you scrolled… Go back up and read it.