desgovender

[desgovender]

Who has not asked himself at some time or other: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?

Clarice Lispector, A Hora Da Estrela (via italodiscomegamix)

[desgovender]

[desgovender]

[desgovender]

We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.

T.S. Elliot

[desgovender]

The Depression/Messy House Cycle

When I first started Unfuck Your Habitat, it was a housekeeping blog very squarely aimed at lazy people. Mostly because I am one. As the blog gained momentum, though, I started hearing from people who were using the fundamentals to help them battle through something more serious than laziness: mental illness. More specifically, depression.

Now, I’m no stranger to depression. I don’t make it a secret that I have issues with depression and anxiety, just like I don’t make it a secret that I have poor eyesight and a bum knee. Depression, however, has its own set of related life issues that my poor arthritic knee has never caused. And one of those is the self-perpetuating cycle of depression and a messy home.

When you’re in the midst of a depressive episode, cleaning your house comes in on the List of Things You Want to Do somewhere after taunting a hive of bees and tap dancing on live television. Things are awful. It’s a struggle to walk to the bathroom. Making dinner seems more impossible than advanced calculus. Anything that’s not your couch or your bed might as well be hot lava. And so the mess builds around you. I purposely use the passive voice there because when you’re depressed, it seems nearly impossible that you’re contributing to the chaos of your house, because that would require energy, and you sure as hell don’t have any of that to spare.

Then you look around your messy house. And you feel worse. You feel more depressed, because now you’re exhausted and hopeless and can’t pull yourself out of bed, and on top of that, your house is a shithole. Which makes you feel useless on top of everything you were already feeling, and then probably overwhelmed on top of that, and quite frankly, having that many feelings at once during a depressive episode is like being crushed by a ton of bricks. So your depression gets worse, and your mess gets worse, and the two keep feeding on each other and it seems like there’s no end in sight.

Keep reading

[desgovender]

The best way to complain is to make things.

James Murphy

[desgovender]

Kurt Vonnegut on the Shapes of Stories

[desgovender]

#me.

[desgovender]

“You fight like a girl.”

I’m sorry

I didn’t

realise

that 

was 

a

bad

thing

[desgovender]

“For the award-winning writer George Saunders, the process of crafting a good story means not condescending to your reader. It means creating sentences that clue them into something unnoticed about the character, and allowing them to figure it out. “A bad story is one where you know what the story is and you're sure of it," he says in this short film, George Saunders: On Story. For Saunders, storytelling is a stand-in for day-to-day life—and the same considerations you take when approaching how to tell a story mirror the freedom to self-determined identity that you give your loved ones.”

[desgovender]

[desgovender]

[desgovender]

Sometimes the best deals are the ones you can strike yourself. Check us out as we go thrift

[desgovender]

[desgovender]

People aren’t the only ones with vivid imaginations

[desgovender]

rest in fucking pieces, mr. darcy

[desgovender]

‘The Spider and the Fly’ by Mary Howitt

“Will you step into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly; “’Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy. The way into my parlor is up a winding stair, And I have many pretty things to show when you are there.” “O no, no,” said the little fly, “to ask me is in vain, For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”

“I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high; Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the spider to the fly. “There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin, And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in.” “O no, no,” said the little fly, “for I’ve often heard it said, They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed.”

Said the cunning spider to the fly, “Dear friend, what shall I do, To prove the warm affection I’ve always felt for you? I have within my pantry good store of all that’s nice; I’m sure you’re very welcome; will you please to take a slice?” “O no, no,” said the little fly, “kind sir, that cannot be; I’ve heard what’s in your pantry, and I do not wish to see.”

“Sweet creature!” said the spider, “You’re witty and you’re wise! How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes! I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf, If you’ll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.” “I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you’re pleased to say, And bidding you good-morning now, I’ll call another day.”

The spider turned him round about, and went into his den, For well he knew the silly fly would soon be back again: So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly, And set his table ready to dine upon the fly. Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing “Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing: Your robes are green and purple; there’s a crest upon your head; Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead.”

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little fly, Hearing his wily flattering words, came slowly flitting by. With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue; Thinking only of her crested head — poor foolish thing! At last, Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast. He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den, Within his little parlor; but she ne’er came out again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read, To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne’er give heed; Unto an evil counselor close heart, and ear, and eye, And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.