how it feels to come back home alone being a girl during winter at 5:32PM and it's about to rain.

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how it feels to come back home alone being a girl during winter at 5:32PM and it's about to rain.
I just saw a 6 year old doing instacart like she was with her mom but the kid was the one holding the phone and grabbing all then products and taking pictures of them and shit. AND SHE WAS LIKE 6. WHAT THE HELL
"This animal tastes frightened."
"What does "frightened" taste like?"
"It's acidic."
heartbroken because i really wanted to see supportive wag max fewtrell in the back of the mclaren garage but he's not going to be there
EDIT: there's a chance that he could be there: he doesn't actually know yet. there's just the fact that lando's family are going to go too. he could just lurk in mclaren hospitality with like quadrant or something
The clock says 3pm
The view out of the window says 6pm on a rainy day
😑 i hate wintergrey
You can look at some anime series and know exactly what you are getting with it. However, there is this thing that can happen – a thing that
WHAT IS ACTUALLY THE POINT OF THIS APP ANYMORE
12am thoughts of a soon-graduate
The anticipation through the years, at different points in my education life, changed rapidly, excitingly at 7 through 9, lost some speed from10 to 12, slowed down even more till 14. 15 was the year I was forced to grow up and face the realities of life and its monsters. Then the anticipation started to plateau, plateau, and soon stagnate. Now at almost 22, with less than 10 months to go before I am faced with “the real world”, the “university of life”, I find myself more lost than ever.
Since kindergarten, teachers always asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” The answer through the years changed rapidly, excitingly. A teacher. A writer. An artist. Yet at every fork in the road, when forced to choose between the well-worn path to society’s norms and standards of “success” and the treacherous-looking path towards the warmth of colours, paints, and canvases, I always dropped my head and dragged my feet/ran headstrong towards society’s ideals. You choose the path you want to be on.
Yet now at almost 22, I look back and see the gleaming medal bouncing on my chest at 19, but also the canvas collecting dust atop my sofa, and I can’t help but sigh. You chose the path you wanted to be on.
It’s 4 minutes past 12 and I am looking back at the path I had carefully trodden, and almost hate every step of it.
What do I want to be when I grow up?