Surely It's Not Just Me Who Finds Those Fucking "be Nice, I'm In Charge Of The Pills" Pins You Sometimes

actually, growing up is feeling like i turned sixteen two days ago. i’ve been eighteen for years. fifteen year olds seem so young. wasn’t i fifteen just a few weeks ago? all my friends and i are still twelve. i’m closer to thirty than to being a baby. i never got to be a kid. i never grew past eight. i can’t talk to my mom. i want to sit in her lap forever. i want to decide everything for myself. i need someone to tell me exactly what to do. the week is going by so slow. an entire year has passed.

Since when did I start going to bed at 5 and waking up at 3?

theres something about being disabled and needing to sit down constantly in public spaces that makes you notice how often benches are put up as tributes and memorials. and before i hit an age where i really started to need them as frequently i think i never fully understood the sentiment but now its become very endearing to me. a bit of relief and care for you in the name of someone who offered us the same… i dont think i had a point with this post but i hope everyone thats been memorialized as such knows how loved they were to become synonymous with respite even to total strangers

Shortly before those mortal events in the Camber dooryard, Cujo's remains were cremated. The ashes went out with the trash and were disposed of at the Augusta waste-treatment plant.

It would perhaps not be amiss to point out that he had always tried to be a good dog.

He had tried to do all of the things his MAN and his WOMAN, and most of all his BOY, had asked or expected of him. He would have died for them, if that had been required.

He had never wanted to kill anybody.

He had been struck by something, possibly destiny, or fate, or only a degenerative nerve disease called rabies.

Free will was not a factor.

~ Cujo, Stephen King, 1981

Orsino & Ophelia

i would be soooooo powerful if i wasn't so deeply afraid of people and places and also things