The design is meant to be humorous and convey a sense of defiance or opposition, as if the panda is refusing to do something or disagreeing with someone. It could be interpreted as a playful way to express frustration or dissatisfaction.
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All that running around outside yesterday really tired Benny out! I hate to tell him that a horrible snowstorm will be arriving soon... 🙀 . . #sleepycatsofinstagram #sleepingcats #catselfie #tiredcat #greyandwhitecat #kittyheaven #kittycuddles #felinefriends #specialneedscats #catfamily🐾 https://www.instagram.com/p/CmCKj9MLRzQ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
(via "Tired Cat inside the Cup of Coffee with the Text: I hate Morning People.. and Mornings.. And People" Tri-blend T-Shirt for Sale by ShopUniverese) Tired Cat inside the Cup of Coffee with the Text: I hate Morning People.. and Mornings.. And People.
In this weary scene, a tired cat takes refuge inside a cup of coffee, accompanied by a sign that reads I Hate Morning People... And Mornings... And People. The cat's fatigued expression and the message on the sign perfectly capture its feelings towards early risers and social interactions. With a touch of humor, this image portrays the cat's exhaustion and disdain for the start of the day. Whether seeking solace in a warm cup or displaying its grumpy charm, this tired cat embodies the struggle of facing mornings in a sour mood.
#redbubble #redbubbleartist #tiredcat #coffeecup #morningpeoplehate #grumpycat #sleepyfeline #morninggrumpiness #disgruntledsign #coffeelover #morningdislike #funnycat #morningroutine #sleepymorning #cathumor #disdainfulexpression #coffeetime
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do you have a sexuality crisis every month or are you- jk even if you're in a constant sexuality crisis you're still normal and fantastic but i gotta say this is a bit tiring
Something about this year sapped what was left of my will to live. Not in a way where I’m going to do something final about it, but in a way that has left me not much more than a husk. Mortality hit me. Mortality sank into my weary bones. Those bones that unwillingly trudge towards the grave.
What’s after this? Probably nothing. Hopefully something. But according to the anecdotes of those who died but were brought back, there’s nothing. A peaceful, comforting nothing. The final act of passing on sounds like the best sleep I’ll ever have, and that’s relieving in some way. Dying does not shake me, but death does. It’s something carnal that gnaws at the back of my mind. I don’t want to stop being me. I don’t want this to be over. I don’t want to leave behind this life I’ve got, these people I’m close to, these hobbies I care about. And the thought of mortality, of how unavoidable it was, it hollowed me.
A skeleton sits in the chair where I once did. The joy of hobbies no longer meaningful, and the time spent with others feeling pointless. A life with no color. I want to see the world heal. I want to see myself heal. But to what end is all this for? My body grows weaker as time goes on. I will age, get sick, and wither away. If this doesn’t get me, something else will in due time. And yet, I continue to trudge on, still feeling some odd drive to move forward. To pursue hobbies, friends, life.
To persevere, despite my weary bones, towards the grave.