Why do things make less sense the more time goes on. Time doesn’t even
leave me with questions. Just a malaise. A kind of unsettled confusion
that’s not even specific enough to be a question mark
This, and more on our next episode of “I should go the fuck to bed"
I’m thinking of making another blog. I don’t know. With the recent flare up of all of these illnesses at once, and the realization that the physical and psychological pain I’m living with is all both chronic and incurable (hahaha yaaaay), I want to be able to get my thoughts out, but I don’t know if I necessarily want to bother you guys. It’s between that and creating a specific tag for you guys to be able to blacklist if you want. I dunno. I partially hate talking here, but I also hate shouting my frustrations at a totally empty room, you know?
Someone once deluded me into thinking that I was objectively beautiful, and for that I will never forgive them or myself
If I were a billionaire. If I didn’t have to worry about if I could afford my rent, or if I could keep up with my bills, or job security, or being able to retire before I keel over…Well…
Money talks. And mine would tell the government to put their officers through a rigorous mental health, racial sensitivity, and weapons safety screening process before they were every considered for the street. It would create programs encouraging people to vote for their local officials and educate them on where, when, and how, and why it’s important that we have lawmakers, judges, and officials that carry out justice against attackers rather than turn a blind eye to their victims.
My money would have the KKK finally labeled a hate group and shut down. My money would shut down cosmetic testing on animals. My money would force regulations on factory farms until they were forced to show their animals out to real pastures. My money would tell pet shops to stop housing goddamn adult Syrian hamsters four to a small cage.
My money would bolster programs for reproductive health from menstruation to sex education to easier access to HRT to access to safe abortion to during pregnancy care to maternal leave and aid after birth.
My money would reprint children’s history books to include the genocide of Native peoples and POC wouldn’t have to get a history month because they’d be included all year. George Washington Carver wouldn’t be the only black man they’d be taught about.
Jesus Christ I’m so tired.
Do you ever realize that you’re just a statistic and it fucks you up
I’ve had a fucked couple of days and it makes me wonder if this last year or so of love and support has made me soft. I used to be an animal Queen, and she’s still inside me, but she’s been sleeping by the fire so long. She’s waking now and I have no idea what to do because there’s nowhere to direct her.
Realizing that this is the last month I’m probably buying things like vegetables and granola and I’m simultaneously feeling spoiled and devastated
The future of my existence feels like a waste of sentience.
Yep I’m definitely having a crisis
It’s Wednesday. The show opens unofficially monday. Not only did my professor not put my last piece in the kiln (he won’t let me do it because he doesn’t want to waste a whole kiln on my smaller piece)- SOMEONE BROKE THE WHOLE LEG CLEAN OFF
I. I’m. I’m not freaking out only because I’m in shock.
I have a plan B but it’s not approved and I’ll be fucked if it works but what the fuck who the fuck touched my piece who the fuck. If it was my professor I will fuck his shit up say goodbye to your family you’re spending the next week with me
I’m upset and I want mac and cheese
The Carving Witch 