Today’s Motivation For Getting Out Of Bed: Wanting To Show My Brother An Oddly Shaped Skittle I Found

You are doing awesome and I hope you have a wonderful day

Thank you?

I know I said “good 4 u” was at my ex best friend, but I don’t really associate it with her, because my little brother introduced me to it in the same hour that I started reading Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo and I always think of Kaz and Inej because of it. Good times.

I cried today at work.

There was a girl who was kind of a new coworker, and I complimented her voice. She was shocked, and thanked me profusely, and told me that she is very insecure about her voice and that it meant a lot to her that I liked it. She said that just yesterday she had been feeling down because of how much she disliked it.

I didn’t cry a lot, but my eyes got watery and a few tears leaked out. I was devastated that she didn’t like her own voice, because I adored it so much and it hurt that she didn’t see the beauty in it. But mostly I cried because of how sincerely she thanked me, and it felt so good to be able to lift her spirits at least a little bit. As I walked away and continued my work, it dawned on me for the first time in my life that perhaps I really am useful, and that I am a good person.

If all I have accomplished by the end of my life is complimenting her, then her reaction alone makes my life worth it.

Goodbye, goodbye. Eyes, once alive, are now dead in another life.

I Used to Write

I used to write. I used to have paper and pens and pencils and crayons and markers stuffing my purse to bursting, and I used to USE them. My purse would be full of character ideas and dialogue and descriptions of lights and sounds and emotion. There were words in everything I did, my mind narrating my every action as if I were in a parallel fantasy world.

And now my purse is full of pens that don’t work, pencils with no lead, and half-filled papers with faded words that will never know their fate. My mind only speaks my fears. I feel nothing but regret and longing for a time where I could feel more. I used to write.

Why do people ship Race and Spot from Newsies? They never meet, why are you shipping them? I don’t see the appeal? I need a full on analysis for this.

Not just for this, I need a full on analysis for any ship that isn’t partially explored or at least aesthetically obvious. Like, Jack Frost and Elsa? They never meet but understandable, ice magic for the win. Mycroft and Lestrade? No! They don’t have any screen time together, how did this happen? Spot and Race? WHERE ARE YOU GETTING THIS FROM

Ooh, that’s a good AU idea right there. Someone’s probably made it, so now I must go and find it. If not, I shall make it in my own head.

MY ENTIRE SHORT MXTX LIFE I THOUGHT THE GUY IN WHITE ON THE COVER WAS WEI WUXIAN BUT IT’S NOT MY LIFE IS A LIE IT WAS LAN WANGJI THE WHOLE TIME

Me, pulling my weighted blanket back onto the bed because it had fallen off halfway through the night and suddenly feeling like an AD 30 fisherman who is not able to draw the net because Jesus filled the right side of the ship with a multitude of fishes

I'm here now. I'm in college, I'm still alive, I WANT to be alive, and I have friends I love and adore.

Still don't know how to write a book, but I'm doing my best!

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

I had a friend from high school that came out as nonbinary, but I completely forgot to get their number before we graduated. I could just ask their parents to see where they’re at, but I don’t think their parents know that they’re nb? How am I supposed to get their number without outing them? Because they changed their name too and I don’t want to use their dead name.