honestly really sexy of tumblr to keep follower numbers private. how many people are following me? you'll never know unless I tell you. maybe it's a million, or a thousand, or five, or maybe it's just you. maybe you're the only one here, all by yourself, unable to see if there's anyone standing next to you.

and you'd never know, because status here is based on opinion and not numbers; how popular you think someone is is a vibes-only calculation, and besides the chronological algorithms-optional feed, it's genuinely the best thing tumblr's ever done.

A hummingbird thought a man’s orange hat was a flower [x]

realizing that sticking to the "do it bad" "do it scared" mentality implies theres also a "do it bored"

What's the matter? Lives flashing before your eyes?

Highly suggest using it.^^

Follow me for more 🌿

One time I was explaining to my dad how unfair it is that every big city has at least a couple gay bars but there are only like 20ish lesbian bars left in the country and he responded with "That's cause gay men have a good party culture. Lesbians don't have time to party, they're too busy debating the sociological implications of things and studying for postgrad degrees" and as much as I wanted to tell him he was out of line for that, as a lesbian who spends all her free time on Tumblr debating sociological implications and messaging other lesbians in discord servers where everyone has a PhD or masters for some reason I felt like I might not be the best person to make that argument

tv shows with time travel organizations/bureaus/police/agencies/whatever should have a department with instead of a tech genius eating candy, it’s a harried seamstress or fashion designer who is like

“1450 italy? does it look like I have the time to dye you wool? nO. YOU’RE GOING TO THE 1980s”

and throws shoulder pads at the hapless time agent

it is once again... binturong appreciation hour

i love living in western washington. i can literally just get on the ferry

Also if you regularly work with kids/teens I cannot stress how important it is that you know someone who's like really into lame emo junk. There was a girl my dad was working with who just flat out refused to talk to adults or anyone at all and one day I was there and I saw her wearing a homemade bracelet that had beads that said YLDNDAHFHHACYCSYCDAYDKK and since I was also once a 14 year old making niche homemade mcr merch I was like "oh my god you like dnd Audrey Hepburn Fangoria Harry Houdini and croquet you cant swim you can't dance and you dont know karate!!!" and she looked at me like I'd said literal magic words and now we talk about music all the time

found a dude who does VR cruisin and boozin and im IN LOVE

a smidgen of self indulgent wintertime angst (context not included)

how?? just how?

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?