thelifeofmatmat

[thelifeofmatmat]

[thelifeofmatmat]

hey guys...i put a picture of a kity under the cut...

I LIED!!! HA!!! THERE ARE TWO KITTIES!!!!!!!!!! APRIL FOOLS

[thelifeofmatmat]

REBLOG IF IT'S OKAY FOR ME TO BOTHER YOU IF YOU'RE MY MUTUAL

[thelifeofmatmat]

petting the kitty

(via)

[thelifeofmatmat]

“Time for Plan B.”

“Dude, we’re on like Plan Ansuz at this point.  Plan Omega was a while ago.”

[thelifeofmatmat]

At 40, Franz Kafka (1883-1924), who never married and had no children, walked through the park in Berlin when he met a girl who was crying because she had lost her favourite doll. She and Kafka searched for the doll unsuccessfully. Kafka told her to meet him there the next day and they would come back to look for her.

The next day, when they had not yet found the doll, Kafka gave the girl a letter "written" by the doll saying "please don't cry. I took a trip to see the world. I will write to you about my adventures."

Thus began a story which continued until the end of Kafka's life.

During their meetings, Kafka read the letters of the doll carefully written with adventures and conversations that the girl found adorable.

Finally, Kafka brought back the doll (he bought one) that had returned. “It doesn't look like my doll at all," said the girl.

Kafka handed her another letter in which the doll wrote: "my travels have changed me." the little girl hugged the new doll and brought her happy home.

A year later Kafka died. Many years later, the now-adult girl found a letter inside the doll. In the tiny letter signed by Kafka it was written:

"Everything you love will probably be lost, but in the end, love will return in another way."

[thelifeofmatmat]

“Do I look like I eat bugs?!”

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late night thoughts #kittycatandmanlyman

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Hand mixers and Sewing Machines are Two different Types of horses

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At first I was annoyed by the incessant new follow notifications from the bots. Now it's kinda fun. It's like playing whack-a-mole. One pops up and it's a race to block it as fast as I can before the next one pops up.

[thelifeofmatmat]

My dad and I once had a disagreement over him using the adage "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

I said, "That's just not true. Sometimes what doesn't kill you leaves you brittle and injured or traumatized."

He stopped and thought about that for a while. He came back later, and said, "It's like wood glue."

He pointed to my bookshelf, which he helped me salvage a while ago. He said, "Do you remember how I explained that, once we used the wood glue on them, the shelves would actually be stronger than they were before they broke?"

I did.

"But before we used the wood glue, those shelves were broken. They couldn't hold up shit. If you had put books on them, they would have collapsed. And that wood glue had to set awhile. If we put anything on them too early, they would have collapsed just the same as if we'd never fixed them at all. You've got to give these things time to set."

It sounded like a pretty good metaphor to me, but one thing I did pick up on was that whatever broke those shelves, that's not the thing that made them stronger. That just broke them. It was being fixed that made them stronger. It was the glue.

So my dad and I agreed, what doesn't kill you doesn't actually make you stronger, but healing does. And if you feel like healing hasn't made you stronger than you were before, you're probably not done healing. You've got to give these things time to set.

[thelifeofmatmat]

Bongchon Bride

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[thelifeofmatmat]

i get so thrown when i see people call tumblr a hellsite and start talking about discourse theyve seen. when i call this place a hellsite im referring to the fact that if youre on mobile and interact with your queue in any way itll immediately launch you back up to the top.

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[thelifeofmatmat]

be running up that road // be running up that hill // be running up that building

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The Portrait

Based on the prompt: “we’ve been engaged to be married since we were three but this is the first time we’ve met and your portraits really don’t do you justice”

Fifteen years ago, when nine year old Derek was sat down by his parents and informed of his duty as a prince to his kingdom, he didn’t fully grasp what it meant to be engaged. There was brief talk of marriage that he’d let fly right past him, so far in the future it wasn’t a concern, and the vague knowledge that he was spoken for, but it had little impact on his life at the time. 

He was told his betrothed had just turned three, like Cora, which brought up the memory of his little sister throwing his favorite book in a full toilet just the week before, and then he dismissed the entire issue from his mind when Laura called for him to join their game of hide and seek. He had more important things to worry about than some baby in another land, ruining other people’s prized possessions.

Ten years ago, they received word that Queen Claudia had passed, and fourteen year old Derek had dutifully signed the condolences his mother penned from the family, but it hardly affected him beyond pulling him away in the middle of his sword training. It was a distant death in a distant northeastern kingdom, affecting people Derek had never even seen before. He returned to his training alongside his best friend and future guard Boyd, and that was that.

The same happened nine years ago, upon the marriage of King Jonathon and his new wife, Queen Melissa; he signed the longwinded letter of congratulations, sat through a brief lecture on the importance of keeping up on these things and staying informed of these types of changes for political reasons, and then dashed back outside to where Boyd was waiting with their horses, forgetting it all in seconds. They were a distant family he had no personal connection to, he couldn’t say he felt strongly either way about their brand new union.

Eight years ago, the reality of his situation came crashing down on him with the arrival of a portrait.

The Portrait was the only portrait of his betrothed that was ever sent, and Derek was grateful for King Jonathon’s foresight. The first was upsetting enough on its own, as was the realization that Derek was going to be joined in holy matrimony to its subject, and he didn’t need the customary annual portraits to remind him of his fate. He tried to be less shallow about it, look for the inner beauty and the whip-smart mind his mother always praised after her visits to the north, but there was no getting around it. 

His fiancé was terrifying.

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