i have a tasty dark lunch but like.

it doesnt LOOK appetizing it's chili with melted cheese on top it looks like a chili should, like red-orange slop

do yall want the pic anyway???

Some musings while picking dandelions

why do we have butt cheeks i dont understand why did we evolve this way

what use do butt cheeks have 

Important safety information about the eclipse on Monday

You *can* remove the eclipse glasses during totality; not before or after.

If you find yourself falling apart instead of falling in love, turn around, bright eyes.

It is no longer considered best practice to cut the beating heart out of a human chest at the top of a pyramid to bring the sun back; nowadays, they just short out a LUCAS device.

If you are imprisoned by an evil bishop, break out, and look for a hawk and a wolf who are in love.

Most critically - No matter what, do not buy any strange and exotic plants which mysteriously appear during the eclipse.

if you opened discord’s april fools day loot boxes how long did it take you to get all the items? it took my friend 18 boxes but me 65 and i want to see how bad my luck is

Wanna draw

Have to work

Capitalism dilemma

no third option you have to pick one, reblog after voting <3

Instagram: if you like anything other than my latest 3 posts I'm gonna assume you're a stalker or a spammer and block you >:(

Twitter: someone private quote retweeted my post, I guess I have a hater now

Tumblr: I have 24 hours to mass spam the notifications of anyone who crosses my sight, and with god as my witness, I will do just that and they will like it

This is Rodger. He's staying with us for a while

Rb for larger data set yadda yadda

There’s NOTHING wrong with still living with your parent(s). Whether you’re in school, dropped out or graduated. Please take your time, especially if you’re not being pressured to move out. This is your time to really build a solid plan, save money and be sure you won’t have to return once you’re ready to move out. Do not let anyone pressure you because you’re in your 20s and still at home. It’s no joke out here. Believe me. Take your time baby.

Hey.

Help your neighbors.

Check in on them.

I just found out mine were getting evicted from a home they had for DECADES. They are the coolest goths I've ever met, and I'm devastated. I helped carry possessions out of their home. I watched YEARS of their lives packed into boxes. I'm taking care of their bearded dragon until they can find somewhere safe. I have plants they've taken such loving care of, and I pray to any god that will listen I can keep them all alive.

Housing should be a right.

Help your neighbors.

If we don't help each other, there will be nothing left

Reblog to open a rail line from your blog to the person you reblogged this from

Audra McDonald, Anne Hathaway and Raúl Esparza in Twelfth Night by Brigitte Lacombe, 2009.

My solution for bloatware is this: by law you should hire in every programming team someone who is Like, A Guy who has a crappy laptop with 4GB and an integrated graphics card, no scratch that, 2 GB of RAM, and a rural internet connection. And every time someone in your team proposes to add shit like NPCs with visible pores or ray tracing or all the bloatware that Windows, Adobe, etc. are doing now, they have to come back and try your project in the Guy's laptop and answer to him. He is allowed to insult you and humilliate you if it doesn't work in his laptop, and you should by law apologize and optimize it for him. If you try to put any kind of DRM or permanent internet connection, he is legally allowed to shoot you.

With about 5 or 10 years of that, we will fix the world.

i love my therapist but i hate being in therapy. 10 minutes before my appointment, i'm in a meeting with my boss - we discuss my artistic choices; my boss recommends i artistically choose less. 10 minutes after therapy, i wash my hair and think about everything that was said, and then i have to switch it off, like a lamp, and go back to work again.

i was on a walk the other day and someone had the perfect combination of his cologne and whatever-else. it was almost exactly his scent. i fucking hate that. after all these years, i remember that? i tell my therapist - i feel like a fucking wolf. try telling a middle-aged blonde lady. oh i scented him on the air. i'm 30, and i'm having a panic attack over something that would be a plotline in the omegaverse.

what they don't tell you about mental illness is that if you are lucky enough to survive it into adulthood; it becomes a weird slice of your life. because you do, eventually, have to build a life. i realized in a panic somewhere around 22 - oh. i don't know what i'm fucking doing, because i always assumed i'd just go ahead and die. i didn't die, and i'm grateful for that, and i'm very happy about that choice. but it does mean that i am an adult in an apartment, living with my conditions side-by-side like. oh, that's my roommate, adhd. ignore the glass, bytheway, that's ocd.

so you pick your stupid life up by the scruff of the neck and you're, like glad for it (so much laughter and light and friends you would have never thought possible, when you were in the worst of it). but it feels so strange to be dancing around these odd little microcosms, these patchwork moments of your symptoms. if you have a panic attack at night, you still need to wake up and walk the dog in the morning. if your depression is making everything boring, well, you don't have any sick days left, and a job's not really supposed to be that exciting anyway. your ocd tears out each individual leg hair, and then, an hour later, you sigh, patch up the bloody bits, and go get dinner with friends. and the life is kitten-quiet, mewling and pathetic, but it's also like - it's yours, so you're fond of it.

and it's like - you're real. so you still enjoy pushing the shopping cart really fast and then riding on the back of it down an empty aisle. and you're not, like, so sick anymore that when you accidentally drop a mug you burst into tears (except for the days you do that. which are bad). and no, you're not allowed around certain items anymore. oops! but you've learned to be good about brushing your teeth most days of the week. and yeah sometimes in the middle of the day you have a little freak-out about how fucking unfair it all is, how fucking hard, how other people can just do this without having to fucking hurt the whole time. and then you sigh and force yourself to sit down and fucking journal about it so you can tell the nice middle-aged blonde woman yeah i had a hard day but i practiced grounding. you still sometimes want to burst out of your own skin, but you force yourself to eat kind-of healthy and to take your vitamins. you let yourself chop off all your hair in the sink in a dramatic poetry of control and relief - and you also have developed good hobbies that help you move your body more frequently. you feel helplessly behind, lost in the shuffle - but you also practice gratitude, taking stock of what you have garnered. because you're trying. even if you're never gonna be normal, you have something... close enough.

and the little kitten of your life, this mangy, starlit tigercub, this thing you expected to rot so young: in your arms, it turns itself over, belly-up. exposing this new soft part, all the organs and guts. like it's saying i trust you now. you won't give me up.