you're in the habit of denying yourself things.
if someone asked you directly, you would say that you love a little treat. you like iced coffee and getting the cookie. you drink juice out of a fancy cup sometimes, and often do use your candles until they gutter out helplessly.
but you hesitate about buying the 20 dollar hand mixer because, like. you could just use your arms. you weren't raised rich. you don't get to just spend the 20 dollars (remember when that could cover lunch?), at least - you don't spend that without agonizing over it first, trying to figure out the cost-benefits like you are defending yourself in front of a jury. yes, this rice cooker could seriously help you. but you do know how to make stovetop rice and it really isn't that hard. how many pies or brownies would you actually make, in order to make that hand mixer worthwhile?
what's wild is that if the money was for a friend, it would already be spent. you'd fork over 40 without blinking an eye, just to make them happy. the difference is that it's for you, so you need to justify it.
and it sneaks in. you ration yourself without meaning to - you don't finish the pint of ice cream, even though you want to. the next time you go to the store, you say ah, i really shouldn't, and then you walk away. you save little bits of your precious things - just in case. sometimes you even go so far as putting that one thing in your shopping cart. and then just leaving it there, because maybe-one-day, but not right now, there's other stuff going on.
you do self-care, of course. but you don't do it more than like, 3 days in a row. after that it just feels a little bit over-the-edge. like. you can't live in decadence, the economy is so bad right now, kid.
so you don't buy the rice cooker. you can-and-will spend the time over the stove. you can withstand the little sorrows. denial and discipline are practically synonyms. and you're not spoiled.
it's just - it's not always a rice cooker. sometimes it is a person or a job or a hug. sometimes it is asking for help. sometimes it is the summer and your college degree. sometimes it is looking down at scabbed knees and feeling a strange kind of falling, like you can't even recognize the girl you used to be. sometimes it is your handprint looking unsteady.
sometimes it is tuesday, and you didn't get fired, and you want to celebrate. but what is it you like, even? you search around your little heart and come up empty. you're so used to denying that all your desires draw a blank.
oh fuck. see, this is the perfect opportunity. if you had a mixer, you'd make a cake.
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Playing BOTW: I am in a vast wilderness! I am exploring nature! I am collecting apples! I am finding treasure!
Playing TOTK: I am in a vast wilderness! I am exploring nature! I am collecting - oh my god the trees are alive and trying to kill me! Who thought it was a good idea to give the floormaster steroids?! THE BASEMENT IS FUCKING HAUNTED!!!!!!
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i cant get over the ball being so CLEARLY all for crowley i can't get over aziraphale trying to woo him with a WHOLE FUCKING BALL because that's what he knows that's what romance IS for him because he's been wanting to dance with crowley ever since dancing was invented and he's so stuck in time with the way he dresses and talks and he still thinks a dance is the high of romance AND HE MADE A WHOLE ENTIRE FUCKING BALL FOR CROWLEY JUST SO HE COULD DANCE WITH HIM like now it's so fucking obvious he gave away his BOOKS without a second thought and it was all for crowley he organised a whole JANE AUSTEN THEME BALL just so he could have an excuse to finally dance with the love of his life and i can't get over this i'm shaking my fists and pacing up and down he did not give a single fuck about anything other than dancing with crowley and HE BARELY TOUCHED OTHER PEOPLE'S HANDS WHILE HIS WHOLE FUCKING PALM WAS PRESSED TO CROWLEY'S AND i need to lie down
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fucking bonkers to me that people watch movies in theaters. you can't control the volume. you can't rewind when you miss something. you can't choose your own subtitles. you can't even pause to use the bathroom??? there's only like 7 movies to choose from????? and you must pay money for this privilege? grotesque. repugnance. act of torture.
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You know Ghost has to be the best fucking pillow. He's a giant of a man, beefy and strong, with a nice warm layer of softness covering his muscles. He's a radiator of heat. Laying on the couch, can hardly fund one that's long enough his feet don't hang off the edge, you just want to drape yourself on top of him. Snoozing against his chest, your legs tangled with his, he drags his fingers up and down your spine soothing you deeper to sleep.
Sleep is so hard for Ghost to come by, but he's happy to be of service for you. And maybe he even finds himself dozing, his fingers trailing slower and slower until his head drops to the side, his eyes too heavy to keep open any longer. He naps on the couch with you, snoring as you raise and lower with each intake of breath into his barrel chest. Neither of you have ever been safer, neither of you less alone, neither of you have slept better than you do right now.
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