My inspirations @mezaju1699 - Tumblr Blog

Hey guys!! I just re-installed tumblr! So much has happened since my last time on the platform! I have recently graduated with a Bachelor's of Software Engineering!! This blog was a source of motivation throughout my academia ✨ I wish all the best to any one who might stumble upon this! I did it and you can do it too!!

All the love,

J.M. ❤️

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The human brain knows exactly how every aspect of a human body functions and simultaneously doesn’t know anything about the human body until it is taught about the human body

sosuperawesome

Crochet Tops // Alisda Knit on Etsy

forever70s

Mon Tricot magazine, 1977

soothifying-sounds-asmr

Strawberry Shortcake & Lemon Meringue Cardigans by theycallmelash

(she doesn’t have a shop but is planning to start one soon)

(here is OP explaining her technique and where she found her patterns)

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To people in 1923, 2023 is utterly unrecognisable and was impossible to predict. 2123 will be unrecognisable to us and is impossible to predict.

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Freckles are nature’s glitter.

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The sun has never actually risen or set

soft-lovely

Dresden, Germany

amygdalae

Keying/graffiti-ing someones car is old news now if someone cheats we go at their wardrobe with a seam ripper

yknow what? Fuck you *unstitches all your shirts and jeans*

melyzard

My mother did this to my father once. They got into an argument, my very pregnant and hormonal mother stormed off…except they lived in a tiny apartment so the only place to go was to shut herself into the closet for a good long sulk. And while she was sitting in there, fuming, she looked up and saw her sewing kit on the shelf, and all my father’s uniforms hanging right there.

So she picked one shirt and one pair of trousers, carefully, methodically ripped every third stitch out of every seam, and then hung them back up together so that he would be likely to pick them at the same time. This took her a couple hours, so by the time she was done, the anger had worn down. She came out, she and my father had a talk that ended in apologies, after which they were tired and went to bed. My mother swears up and down that she meant to warn my father about the sabotaged clothes in the morning, but he wore a different uniform set and they were both still feeling a little raw, so she didn’t want to bring up the fight again. She decided to tell him that night instead.

And then she forgot.

Anyway, about four days later, my father apparently came home roughly an hour after he left for work, his clothes slowly, gently shredding off his body, the most bewildered expression on his face. “Paula,” he said, his voice mildly shell-shocked. “Paula, my clothes are broken.”

My mother promptly burst out laughing so hard that she went into labor. And that’s the story of my birth, heralded by petty vengeance and utter confusion.