i imagine getting my own place all the time and going down to the grocery store early in the morning before everyone else and to the coffee shop and having a really small place with wide windows and lots of plants and shelves of books and a tiny kitchen where i can make tea and noodles and a bed with a pile of blankets and just a place i can make uniquely my own or maybe a place i could share with someone but i just think about this place a lot idk
One of my professors is an extremely famous, well-known painter who has been in galleries since he was a young man in the 80s. He once asked me in class, “Alyssa, what are your dreams and aspirations for the future?”
You should have seen the puzzled look on his face when I described something similar to the post above.
“Why so humble?!” He laughed. “You know you’re talented, right? You could aspire to a lot more than that for sure.”
And I had to take that moment to explain to him that this is what my generation is given, this is how low our standards for happiness have to be. A humble existence, a small piece of the world for ourselves, and comfortable stability are just as out of reach for some of us as fame and reknown was for him in the 80’s. His face went somber immediately.
I remember first learning that you can cry from any emotion, that emotions are chemical levels in your brain and your body is constantly trying to maintain equilibrium. so if one emotion sky rockets, that chemical becomes flagged and signals the tear duct to open as an exit to release that emotion packaged neatly within a tear. Everything made sense after learning that. That sudden stability of your emotions after crying. How crying is often accompanied by the inability to feel any other emotion in that precise moment. And it is especially beautiful knowing that it is even possible to experience so much beauty or love or happiness that your body literally can’t hold on to all of it. So what I’ve learned is that crying signifies that you are feeling as much as humanely possible and that is living to the fullest extent. So keep feeling and cry often and as much as needed
SHIT WHAT
Also let yourself cry. It really is a biochemical release valve to dump out all the chemicals that make you feel stuff.
I honestly think one reason men in western culture have so many problems is that we don’t let them cry, and literally their brains get stuffed with all this crap that doesn’t have a release valve. Men, please cry. You’ll feel better. It’s ok. You are not lesser for taking care of your health.
This is why tears from different emotions look different under an electron microscope. They’re literally made up of different things.
Happy tears are structurally different than sad tears than angry tears than overwhelmed tears etc.
I looked it up, cuz that tidbit was dope to me and..
glad to see science finally agrees with me that onion is an emotion
Okay, this makes me want to carry a microscope around with me if I ever have another severe mixed episode, so I can analyse the tears and work out wtf emotion I’m feeling.
when i was 12 i babysat this girl for a few years and she would come to me and show me her art, drag me by my wrists and point at the pieces she’d made during the week. and she’d be like “do the voice” and i’d put on a sports-announcer olympics-style voice and be like “such form! this level of coloring! why i haven’t seen such perfection in crayola in a long time. and what is this? why jeff, now this is a true risk… it seems she’s made … a monochrome pink canvas…. i haven’t seen this attempted since winter 1932… and i gotta say, jeff, it’s absolutely splendid” and she’d fall back giggling. at the end of every night she’d check with me: “did you really like it?” and i’d say yes and talk about something i noticed and tucked her in.
she was just accepted into 3 major art schools. she wrote me a letter. inside was a picture from when she was younger. monochrome pink.
“thank you,” it said, “to somebody who saw the best in me.”
sirius black is 145 days older than james potter and don’t think for a moment that he didn’t hold that over his head
sirius, inspecting his facial hair: don’t worry, prongs. you’re bound to hit puberty soon, i’m sure of it.
respect your elders, prongs: dumbledore, mcgonagall, your mother, me.
what’s that? i’ve got a watch from your parents before you? 144 more days, prongs. hang in there.
age before beauty, prongs. no wait, i’ve got that, too.
as the fairest, tallest, and oldest marauder present, you ought to listen to me.
to lily, when she turns 20: i can’t believe you’re married to a teenager.
how am i one-hundred and forty five days older than you, and i look so young? one of life’s mysteries, i suppose.
to a hungover james: when you’re older, you’ll be able to hold your liquor properly, young buck.
And then one day Sirius is 146 days older than James. And I imagine he probably kept track of every one of those days he was older than Prongs, even in Azkaban.
yea just rip my heart out of my chest why dontcha
To be fair I ripped out my own heart when I thought of it. I just wasn’t going to suffer alone. For those of you who are curious and because I saddened myself…
-October 31st 1981 is the final day Sirius is only 145 days older.
-Sirius dies June 18th 1996.
-So if we go from October 31st 1981 to October 31st 1995 that’s 365 days a year multiplied by 14 years. Ie 5,110 days. But we can’t forget about leap years. In that time 1984, 1988, 1992 are all leaps years. So we can add an extra 3 days to that making it 5,113 days.
-So then we just need the amount of days between October 31st 1995 and June 18th 1996. Keep in mind 1996 was also a leap year so February is going to have a bonus day. So we need to tack on an additional 231 days.
-That leaves our grand total at 5,344 days older than James. Providing I could math properly today. (Forgive me I’m an English major).
-Or perhaps more helpfully that’s 5,199 days without James.
Math has never been more heartbreaking. The math is only going to get even worse if I start considering Remus. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go bury my face into my pillow and scream into the void.
In heaven somewhere watching the trio hunt horocruxes:
Sirius: Don’t worry, Prongs. He’ll be fine.
James: Either one must die at the hands of the other. That’s what the prophecy said.
Sirius: I know. And Harry’s gonna send that smarmy dick straight to hell where he belongs.
James: How can you be sure? What if-
Sirius: I just am. You’ll under stand when you’re older.
*james rolls his eyes, cracking a reluctant smile*
5,344 days older, to be exact.
I’m so glad someone was able to make something non feelsy out of this math. Keep up the good work my friend.
It’s an adorable story about a little “narwhal,” living with a narwhal family under the sea, but take a closer look.
Over the following pages, Kelp struggles to fit in. Kelp is different in so many ways; nothing ever feels fully right. Eventually, by pure chance, Kelp happens to get blown off by a stray ocean current and winds up on the ocean surface, where a remarkable discovery is made.
Um. Wow.
And despite their nervousness…
Hurray! And then the question:
I’m dead. This book killed me. So much perfectness was never to be survived. Kelp, I love you.
(And you, too.)
And yes, I realize that it could just be a lovely story about a narwhal, not a metaphor for anything bigger, but isn’t that the beauty of all the best sorts of books?
wupacing 