I am so delicate right now.
I am so lost to my own fatigue and it is driving me insane. My family doesn’t like it too much either. I’m suffering from residual stress. I have to remind myself that there are no more projects due, that I can’t work on that paper, that there’s nothing left to submit. There is a huge fucking fissure where all that stuff used to be and I can’t deal with it.
LOOK AT THIS POOR OPPRESSED WOMAN AND WHAT HER COUNTRY IS MAKING HER DO.
Even in her eyes it says “help me”.
This is why we have to stop these misogynistic societies.
I’m sorry but no. I acknowledg that this is terrible, but don’t you think we should fix our own countries mishaps before we deal in other countries affairs? We have corrupt businesses, crime, poverty, homelessness, and believe it or not starvation.
Does anyone even know the threat that walmart has to this country?!
I hope you’re being ironic ouo
everything about this is horrible tbh
Isn’t that Benedict Cumberbatch?
That’s Benedict Cumberbatch.
IVE BE EN LAGUHING FOR THE PAST 500 YEARS
I don’t really want to go home.
This is weird for me. I always want to go home. But home means siblings and their kids to take care of. Home means driving everywhere and destroying the environment. Home means my messy bedroom and old toys that still need to be sorted through. Home means sitting alone for hours at night and hating my life. Home means going back to shelving books. Home means talking to my old friends, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
Home means leaving my friends here. Home means I don’t get to go to class or work here anymore, two things I have really come to love even if it means working and stress. Home means I won’t be around cool people. Home means arguments with my mom and worries about my dad.
I try to comfort myself and say I’ll be able to write and I’ll be able to run outside and I’ll be able to read whatever I want. But the freedom will be the worst thing in the world. I’ll fall apart again, and then I’ll loaf around and waste my life. I’ll drive to the museum twice a week and I’ll go to the library and I may work at a bookstore, but it’ll just be work and I’ll hate it all and I don’t want to go back.
my head is full of poetry I will never write down
every waking minute is pure, unadulterated stress