#work before play

[hystii]

he’s a ginger adam driver 

[yepthatsacowalright]

*sits down at computer to do work* *sees that favorite fan fic writer has just posted a 15000+ word fan fic in its entirety on AO3*

[goldmune]

Day 19

Sorry for the delay, everyone! Star Wars has taken over my life these past few weeks.

[ask-the-wicked-and-the-damned]

This blog hasn't been very active recently... Exams?

Unfortunately real life gets in the way sometimes which is why it's been quieter than usual on the blog. A lot of the cast have school, exams and some of us have even been moving. Hopefully we'll be more active as the workload decreases as we're all pretty eager to rock on with asks and plot!- Bee

[jedijenkins]

Work Before Play || Tucker and Washington college au p.5

 alpha-mel

Washington glanced towards Tucker, who was laying his head on the side of the desk. "Not very engrossed in the essay part of this assignment, are you?"

[you-were-perfectly-fine]

I had the opportunity to go see Fall Out Boy in Oakland but because its the weekend before finals I decided that school comes first.

Cheers to being a responsible adult.

[fate-ff]

I am about to update! Then I will work on a little bit of 05.2 and then I'll be off for a bit. I have a project and math homework.

[dearaimee]

Bored- Margaret Atwood

All those times I was bored out of my mind.  Holding the log while he sawed it. Holding the string while he measured, boards, distances between things, or pounded stakes into the ground for rows and rows of lettuces and beets, which I then (bored) weeded. Or sat in the back of the car, or sat still in boats, sat, sat, while at the prow, stern, wheel he drove, steered, paddled. It wasn't even boredom, it was looking, looking hard and up close at the small details. Myopia. The worn gunwales, the intricate twill of the seat cover. The acid crumbs of loam, the granular pink rock, its igneous veins, the sea-fans of dry moss, the blackish and then the greying bristles on the back of his neck. Sometimes he would whistle, sometimes I would. The boring rhythm of doing things over and over, carrying the wood, drying the dishes. Such minutiae. It's what the animals spend most of their time at, ferrying the sand, grain by grain, from their tunnels, shuffling the leaves in their burrows. He pointed such things out, and I would look at the whorled texture of his square finger, earth under the nail. Why do I remember it as sunnier all the time then, although it more often rained, and more birdsong? I could hardly wait to get the hell out of there to anywhere else. Perhaps though boredom is happier. It is for dogs or groundhogs. Now I wouldn't be bored. Now I would know too much.  Now I would know. 

It's my father's birthday. This poem embodies a certain part of my childhood. We would always help our parents out, doing whatever they asked/needed...we didn't have chores, or allowance, we just did as we were told. no if's, and's or but's about it. This was especially true during those times when I had to hold the plank of wood as my father sawed off an end for whatever project he was working on. But I am beyond grateful that our parents made us work before play, that they taught us the fundamental lessons in life. & I am so glad they taught us how to shovel. Like shovel snow, cos some of the neighbors Hayes & I have are so lost when it comes to clearing snow, it's sickening. Even more so because I know for a fact they lived in NH all their lives. & I'm glad they made us dig holes in the back yard for a new deck, I'm glad they made us mow the lawn, built our own swing set (that lasted 'til we took it down for our wedding in 2010) rake leaves, plant flowers/trees, spread granite rocks, paint our 2,000 sqft house every four summers. I'm so thankful they made us earn it.