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Biodiversity is bad, actually. I think there should be one big bug that rules everything.

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In the rye, straight up "catching it". and by "it",. haha, well, Let's justr say.. the innocent sincerity of childhood

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“the monster is supposed to be good-looking” “why didn’t gatsby just move on” “romeo and juliet is about two teenagers being stupid” “of mice and men is ableist” “wuthering heights romanticizes incest” “lord of the flies is about the innate evil in human nature” “holden caulfield is a whiny brat” “if i was orpheus i wouldn’t have turned around”

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THE LAST OF US Season 2, Episode 4: Day One

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joel in hell watching ellie be the dad that stepped up

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I realize I’m preaching to the choir, but if you use ChatGPT you’re a little piss baby bitch.

Awwww using a regular search engine is too hard for you? Piss baby bitch can’t even check the validity of their own sources?

Uh oh, writing simple emails is too tough for the wittle piss baby bitch? Do you need ChatGPT to wipe your ass too?

Grow the fuck up

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Bumper sticker I saw on my walk today

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nobody lures you into the fog anymore

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im having way too much fun

credit: blinkies.cafe blinkie maker

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what if you were a MED STUDENT and it was you FIRST SHIFT in emergency medicine and then you spilled MYLANTA on yourself and you had to CHANGE YOUR SCRUBS and then a patient BLED all over you and you had to CHANGE YOUR SCRUBS and RIGHT AFTER THAT a boy BARFED BLOOD all over you and you had to CHANGE YOUR SCRUBS and then a some guy PEED on you and you had to CHANGE YOUR SCRUBS and you looked like a BABY OWL

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is it too early to announce my conclave (2025) frontrunner

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This little one acts completely feral unless you make the "mommy greeting kittens" noise at them. When my phone isn't making them unsure they will come charging to the front of the cage for attention by the second trill.

You can see the body language change in the ears with the first and second trill real well

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Put baby in pelican mouth poster. For you

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I am someone who, despite all of my mental health issues, is kind of incapable of giving in to hopelessness. I’ve come close a handful of times, but in those moments I have still had enough inherent hope to seek help.

I’m hard to fucking kill. Stomp me under a boot and I’ll keep dragging myself across the linoleum. Chop my squirmy little legs off, burn me with a magnifying glass, I go on anyway.

Currently, being that kind of person is excruciatingly painful. I’m yo-yo-ing constantly between hope and despair. My inherent, indelible belief that there is goodness in the world keeps floating me back to the surface where, once again, a giant wave will crash over me and suck me under.

And it’s that over and over again right now. I feel so powerless. I feel so devastated. I feel like I’m watching our lives fall to shit and futures crumble before we can reach them.

But I don’t know how to live without hope. It’s how I’ve survived this long. It’s so fucking painful to feel it, but I can’t not feel it. Maybe that hope is being chipped away at. Maybe I’ll wake up one day and the last dusty slab of it will disintegrate and I’ll have to find some other way to wake up in the morning.

At the moment I guess I have to live with the daily singe of it and the weekly sobbing fits that smash through it when I read the news for too long.

I always feel better after a good long cry. Maybe I’ll throw something across my apartment or scream in a pillow to muffle the sound. And it works for a little while. My nervous system resets. And the cycle starts again.

There’s no point to me writing this. I think too often I try to put a button on things. I try tie my terror up in a pretty ribbon — for my own sake most of all. But I don’t want to do that today. I am in the throes of dismay. I am discouraged. I’m exhausted. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

I’m not smart enough to know what to do. I see so many people screaming about how awful things are — and I get it. They’re right to scream. But no one is saying what we do about it. I know how bad it is. I’m well aware. I want answers. I want a reason for this hope to live in my chest like it does.

I don’t know.

John Green has said a lot lately that writing is how he thinks. It’s how he processes. And I feel the same. I can’t not write. I have to. It’s how I make sense of the world. So I guess this is me trying to make some sense out of the senseless. I don’t know what else to do with this hopeless hope.