You’re unattached. Just like me… Fine. Good.
To my followers -
This blog has been here for me through years of difficulty, but I am in recovery now and I’m blogging happily at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lokithoroughbredofsin :).
I’ve also started a penpal blog at https://myhearthasayoushapedhole.tumblr.com/ so if you’re looking for a certain kind of penpal, please have a look!
Love to you all.
You’re ideally British for time zone reasons, but that’s not the most important thing. You’re around about my age (twenty-two), and you are very open-minded.
You unashamedly love pop music, even though you have a strong appreciation for a large range of ‘real’ music – pop is popular for a reason, goddammit. You often ‘hate’ things when they’re released, but they grow on you. You resent them for a while and then you love them. You know that at some point soon, you’ll realise that you can’t continue to believe you dislike Ariana Grande
You use all the new ‘hip’ language ironically, and then somehow it’s not ironic and your speech contains hashtags which are ‘totes on fleek’ (or actually a little outdated but you’re not quite that DWTK). Oops. #YOLO
Buzzfeed quizzes take up more of your time than they should, and it doesn’t matter whether they relate to you or not, you will complete them and share your results with me, as I will with you. You don’t hate the fact that every other article mentions a Kardashian.
Your visual media interests will be eclectic. Horror films, First Dates, and Bargain Hunt are great subjects of conversation.
You love to gossip and will fill me in on all your everyday dramas. I will tell you the outrageous things I hear on the bus on the way to work in return.
We will communicate via WhatsApp and Snapchat.
im serious about that “stop saving things for special occasions” bit tho like. even if u aren’t in your 20s. thats for everyone. its one of the most useful things ive learned lately
stop! just stop. eat the special snack. drink the expensive hippie tea. use the incense or the bath bomb or whatever you paid way too much for because you were feeling really bad and retail therapy makes u feel alive
when we save things for special occasions/rainy days it contributes to us feeling like A.) our day to day existence is lackluster and B.) you have to be feeling a certain level of Bad, or have to reach a certain level of Socially Accepted Achievement, to enjoy things
just give yourself stuff. there are definitely sometimes reasons to withhold things from yourself - as motivation, if it’s something you consciously want to use sparingly, etc - but at least for me half the time it just turns into self-flagellation and also cool things and cool experiences and nice treats just collect dust while i wait for some fabled day when i convince myself i finally Deserve it
just fuckin give yourself stuff dude. life’s so mindblowingly short
my grandmother died having only used her china like twice in her life. during the year or so before her death, she was starting to package up and give things of hers to her kids, and gave mom the china while sighing “oh i wish i had used the china more!” and mom tried so hard to convince her to just keep it, then, and eat corny dogs off it if she wanted. she insisted she couldn’t possibly, you need a special reason to use the fine china.
when nana died, we used her fine china as our everyday dishes for years. i was 18 when she died, and never really stopped having that in the back of my head.
now, when i hear myself say “i wish i had a reason to wear/do/eat/use X!” i hear nana regretting never really using her china. and let me tell you a thing:
spaghettios taste great when eaten from fine china.I’ve seen this post making the rounds. Just wanted to add something to it that my sister-in-law once told me:
“A ‘special thing’ can make any occasion special.”
She told me this when I objected to her opening a really expensive bottle of champagne just to watch a movie. And you know, she was right. The champagne was amazing and while we always sit around and watch movies, that bottle made that night a really special occasion that I will always remember.
So, cut yourself a little slack and remember that an ordinary day can become special.
i. maybe it’s 2015 and gay marriage is legal in all fifty states: but when someone asks my sexuality, my tongue still sticks to the roof of my mouth for a moment.
ii. my best friend in the front seat asks over her shoulder, “if you’re 80% gay, does that mean you only love him with 20% of your heart?”
iii. the first time i kissed her, the boys around us made it about them, about their howls. i stopped breathing on the cusp of her lips. i was made holy by her.
iv. in church, we bow our heads. how can i move my mouth in a prayer for forgiveness when i fully intend to sin again. i say, “forgive me father” anyway, just in case it sticks.
v. my father does not forgive. i say, “she’s hot,” absently. his face turns white, then red. “not in my house,” he says.
vi. the first time i come out in public, it’s to a boy smoking cigarettes. he spits and laughs. “bisexuals aren’t really part of this discussion, sweetie.” my girlfriend holds my hand and i don’t throw up. i learn my place quickly: gay rights do not belong to me.
vii. they are ace. the two of us make jokes back and forth about the cloak of invisibility we must be harnessing. when they are too drunk, i walk them home. when i have fallen yet again for the wrong girl, they hold my hand while i tremble. we do not go to the pride parade, where we do not belong, where i will be a breeder and they will not even be acknowledged.
viii. “but are you really gay? so do you love him? so do you love him?”
ix. it is fine and we just won’t tell her parents. it is fine and my grandmother can’t ever know it. the world is different now, i hear. in frat houses, i am the picture of their wet dreams. on tv, i’m just a picture, the girl who is “just experimenting.” in “my” community, i am only allowed in by the skin of my teeth.
x. it is 2015. he asks me if i’m “like that” and i feel my whole body exploding.
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| — | [”but it’s 2015, honey, with all that freedom, aren’t you happy?”] // r.i.d (via adifferentkindofson) |
