Idk If It’s The Mental Illness But Sharing Literally Any Information Feels Like Oversharing. I’ll

I was meant to be a character in a low budget horror movie in 2005 wearing a short sleeved shirt over a long sleeved shirt to signify to the audience that I am an enjoyer of music

Window appreciation post

reeeeally been learning a lot about myself lately like oh. my life is actually just beginning

(yearns for a past that does not exist) (yearns for a past that does not exist) (yearns for a past that does not exist) (yearns for a past that does not exist) (yearns for a past that does not exist)

Kinda in love with the idea that different places on other sides of the world can look so similar. Something something universal human experiences

human beans

farmers market soup haul

can’t criticize plastic surgery as an institution because it’s none of your business if a woman wants to “fix” her insecurities. can’t criticize the makeup industry or beauty standards because some women feel good when they shave and wear makeup. can’t bring up the challenges women face in the workplace because some women want to be stay at home wives instead of working. everything a woman does is automatically feminist and we shouldn’t stop to think about the context surrounding her actions because that would be misogynistic. here’s what i had for girl dinner. according to my girl math the barbie movie was a revolutionary piece of feminist media. i may not show it but i feel the life slowly draining from me day by day.

i just think they are always on the kitchen floor you know what i mean. like they’ve lived in this shoebox flat two months now but can’t be fucked to buy any furniture all they’ve got is a scratchy red sofa and some bookshelves and as a table they’re using a flipped-over cardboard box that’s got peeling tape and ‘records books other shit’ written on the side in blue marker it’s waterlogged and has mug rings on both sides and that’s all they have so they’re just sitting on the kitchen floor sleep-rumpled in pjs eating their toast in the morning and sitting on the kitchen floor in silence after moons and missions covered w dirt and blood and bruises and some nights they’re sitting on the kitchen floor passing a bottle of cheap liquor between them and they’re laughing and listening to records and sharing a joint and the window is open w a breeze coming through and also sometimes they’re sitting on the kitchen floor eating cereal in the middle of the night w their knees touching sneaking little glances at each other and other times they are fucking on that kitchen floor and other other times they are just quietly saying i love you. on the kitchen floor.