self-destructive-vixen

[self-destructive-vixen]

[self-destructive-vixen]

[self-destructive-vixen]

[self-destructive-vixen]

[self-destructive-vixen]

[self-destructive-vixen]

[self-destructive-vixen]

i used to think that a foot of parchment was a lot and feel bad when harry potter characters were assigned to write that much

but then i realized the paper i write on is 8.5 by 11 inches.

so a foot of parchment is the equivalent of like, a page and a half of paper.

they complained SO MUCH about essays that were like

a page and a half

wtf guys

get your shit together

[self-destructive-vixen]

[self-destructive-vixen]

[self-destructive-vixen]

[self-destructive-vixen]

[self-destructive-vixen]

my friend: [needs comfort]

me: oh Dang what are the Comfort Words

[self-destructive-vixen]

hey its me, your local burden,

[self-destructive-vixen]

[self-destructive-vixen]

[self-destructive-vixen]

Sometimes writing is like having an enormous lake in your head, and you want to get it out of your head and into a proper place for a lake so other people can come and go swimming and ride jet skis and stuff, except all you have to move the lake is a teaspoon. So you’re just sitting there frantically flinging water out of the lake with your teaspoon and telling people, “Guys, this lake is going to be so cool when it’s done,” but it will never be done. There is so much lake.