I Just Remembered, The Whole Reason I Made A Tumblr Account Was Because A Tumblr Person Said They Wanted

My workplace finally added a place to insert a card on the vending machine, so I got to eat a smol pie on my lunch break

I am doing this because I can

nice

There was once a time where I would respond to my mother calling my name by asking "what did I do?" because the only reason she would be calling me is if I had done something wrong. It's not that she would ignore me or something during other times, she just always thought I was doing something wrong.

This Valentine’s Day we all need an inspiring rival who we share values and insane competitive tension with. There should be services for acquiring a nice glamorous nemesis, just saying. I am deprived. 

Music is powerful because it hurts. It actually, very physically hurts. It feels like a thick balloon is inflating behind your chest and it's spreading to your stomach and arms and fingers and you want to curl into yourself as if that will stop it from growing but it continues on. The nostalgia will only ever be nostalgia. The weekly visits with a friend are now barely even a text every few months. The fandom you dedicated your life to is barely even a passing thought anymore. The ideas that ran through your head now gather dust as a forgotten word document. Life is better, sure, but life used to have them. Why couldn't life be better and still keep them?

This would have never happened if you hadn’t listened to that music. But oh how beautiful those memories are, and there's a smile on your face despite the balloon threatening to pop if you listen a moment longer.

currently creating an AMV in my head about characters that will probably never actually be part of the stories I’m writing and therefore wouldn’t have any visuals that I could actually make an AMV out of

No I am definitely not writing a character that’s aromantic so that I can have someone to project on, why would anyone think that that’s a ridiculous notion

I don’t go anywhere and I don’t do anything and I don’t have close friends I can trust with my life.

How am I supposed to write a book if I don’t know what living feels like

My mom literally got mad at my brother because he grabbed a purple towel instead of a blue one. She really said, “I’m not like this open-minded generation. I’m not like you guys.” Like, okay???? We know???? That’s not something to be proud of mother

Sometimes my dreams have so many crazy plot twists that actually make so much sense within the context of the story and the world they’re set in but then I wake up and spend so much time trying to remember the details of how the story got there that I forget it by the time I get to writing it down.