After “Do not stand at my grave and weep”, author disputed:
Do not stand at your bowl and meow.
I gave you food. It’s in there now.
I feed you at the dawning light,
I feed you at the fall of night.
I feed you kibbles mixed with meat
And wet food for a special treat.
I feed you even though you scoff
At all the food within your trough.
I feed you and still yet you yell
Like as a beast from deepest hell.
Do not stand at your bowl and cry.
I gave you food. You will not die.
Cut a newspaper sheet into quarters, then fold each quarter in half.
Find a beer bottle or other cylinder (~2" in diameter) and wrap a folded quarter-sheet around it. Ensure the "hanging" portion of the wrapped sheet is longer than the radius of the bottle.
Fold the hanging portion over the end of the bottle to form the bottom of the pot.
Remove the formed pot from the bottle.
Roll the rim inward to help the pot maintain its shape. The weight of the soil should prevent the bottom of the pot from unfolding.
The end result is a biodegradable dirt-holder. This size is ideal for starting seeds.
the best time to grieve is when it spites the people who tell you not to
[ID: a 4-panel comic in medieval manuscript style of a person in blue sitting on a basket. /In 1 a person off-panel says: "What are you doing over there?" /2: That person comes on panel wearing yellow and helps Blue hold down the basket. Blue: "Trying to push down my grief about my illness" Yellow: "Have you tried platitudes?" /3: Blue yells at the basket: "'It could be worse!'" /4: A dragon pushes up the lid of the basket to yell: "It could be better" /end ID]
“Many people seem to think it foolish, even superstitious, to believe that the world could still change for the better. And it is true that in winter it is sometimes so bitingly cold that one is tempted to say, ‘What do I care if there is a summer; its warmth is no help to me now.’ Yes, evil often seems to surpass good. But then, in spite of us, and without our permission, there comes at last an end to the bitter frosts. One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.”
— Vincent Van Gogh
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