i honestly think ppl should stop making fun of new/beginner artists the amount of times i saw someone posting a drawing and a lot of ppl commenting shit with the intent of making a joke out of it is heartbreaking especially cuz most of the ppl who post the drawings have so much potential and seeing others sayng things that can really discourage them from practicing and improving is just. yeah

Okay, I've come up with a new strategy to actually practice violin regularly.

If I practice once a week until December, I'll be able to justify buying myself a viola for Christmas.

It's so weird growing up how fast you get disinterested in eating sweet food. Like I've gone from 'I can eat a bag of Gummi Bears and drink a liter of coke and have a big bar of chocolate in one evening' to 'i'll have sweet things sometimes but I get so sick of like eg Gummi Bears so quickly. A handful is really on the verge of too much sometimes' in so little time.

Soooo many women seem to HATE, and DESPISE their body despite being objectively charming and pretty - and interesting and as loveable as anyone else regardless - and this hate infuriates me. Like, I want to slap them at this point, to tell them to stop this. To stop putting themselves down. It's stupefying how distorted and hateful their vision of themselves is. It used to dismay me but yesterday I had to witness a pretty women make horrible distorted faces to "exagerate" the way she looks (she didn't even slightly look the way she thought she did), and now I only feel quite furious.

Sure, someone put this in your head that you're ugly and should be grateful anyone looks your way and also if you're not perfect (a subjective, abstract concept nothing ever reaches), no one will really want you BUT AT THE RESPECTABLE AGE OF 42 CAN YOU NOT!! TREAT YOURSELF!!! THAT WAY!!! AS IF YOU'RE YOUR OWN ABUSER!!!?! FUCK!!!!

i think the reason that i get so mad about jane eyre discourse (aside from the fact that this story is very dear to my heart and i don’t like seeing people shit on it) is that it just continues to confirm to me the utter lack of tolerance for any woman making subversive art, especially if it’s not subversive in a way covertly sanctioned by societal conventions. like everyone knows that female artists are morally policed much more closely than their male counterparts, but i really do think that any female artist, especially these days, who isn’t making completely palatable, easy to swallow art will be eviscerated as either a bad person or someone who’s ~naive~ and ~just didn’t know what she was doing bc she’s such a silly woman~ unless she has the “excuse” of some sort of trauma/other vector of oppression, etc. 

They are BROS.

It's bedtime and I'm being very sappy, but I just came across a joke that my ex taught me, way back when, and it was good to have a reason to think of her and smile.

There's a great nothing where we used to be, and I feel like I recall the broad strokes and the bad details whenever I think of her. Her trauma and my unassuming arrogance in trying to help her, the nights she wouldn't reply to my texts because she knew I would stay awake terrified she'd hurt herself, the way the only thing she knew how to do with someone who cared for her was to manipulate them just to feel in control of something, and all I knew to do when I knew someone was trying to be better, when they wanted to be good and wanted me, was to stay with them - more importantly, to never give up being wanted by someone I wanted in return.

But the bad is never the whole story. And it's not excusing the fucked up little ball of issues we made together, but we wouldn't have fought so hard for us without the good. And she did teach me jokes and I did get her to sleep at my house that one time, early on, and I smiled up at my ceiling feeling floaty and warm while she slept because I was safe enough to fall asleep around when nobody else was, and she tried as hard as she knew how no matter what anyone else said. Of course she sucked at it. Of course I should've stood up for myself, of course it shouldn't have gone on for as long as it did. Neither of us even knew we were together until it was over and didn't find out we were lesbians for another five years after the end.

But she brought me to her dorm before I ever really understood the risk she was opening herself up to by having someone in a small and empty room alone, I clearly remember the first time she touched me (head on my shoulder) after months of me being careful not to touch her lest she jump out of her skin or start trembling, the paint speckled up her arms the first day of our class together, and the way it felt to have earned every morsel of her stunted and spiky affection. The nights we lingered in my driveway after she got in her car to leave, the cramps in my muscles after leaning for so long and how bright the stars always looked for all of those extra, stolen minutes. Her body weight across my lap while I threaded my fingers through her fine, fine hair (which I could probably still find attached to something, somewhere, even after 8 years). It was like becoming friends with a feral cat and I got scratched plenty. It's much healthier to read about than to live, I promise.

But it's okay to acknowledge that our explosive and often terrible attempts to care for each other were rooted in the earnest attempt to be good to and for the other, whatever our personal reasons why. And sometimes, many times, certainly more as the years went on, we succeeded. There's still nobody I would rather haunt that town with. Those moments of joy snatched from two conflicting kinds of broken shine all the brighter for the confusing mess of hormones and feelings and pasts we snatched them from. How it felt to be safety for someone who had never known it, to feel that sense of purpose before I was old enough to really understand why that was such a problem. I could go on until the sun comes up, but that's okay. Maybe one day I will. But for now I read that dumb little joke and, just for a second, I can remember how she smelled and the way the light that filtered through the old library windows poured over us like beams of honeyed time unspooling around us, the way I rolled my eyes and tried not to laugh lest I break the hush of the third floor - the wicked pride in her eyes, the surprise in them at discovering how much she liked that she made me laugh... and the smile it brings to me isn't bittersweet anymore.

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my beautiful autistic mind is so picky and annoying sometimes because my biggest struggle with writing at the moment is the fact i dont like how the name bobby looks written out but i like how it sounds and also know that is his name it literally cannot be anything else. but every time i look at the letters i'm like.......

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god I’ve become a retail therapy girly

yo so i reblogged something with a tag and i wanted to make it a full post. it’s my own opinion, but very much informed by what i’ve seen on here for more specific situations:

we should focus more on loving the discriminated than hating the oppressors

i understand anger against the oppressors, especially if you are a victim of their actions, and i by no means am telling you to quash that anger. it is fair and justified. however, if you are an ally to a marginalised community, uplift the afflicted rather than just hating the people who cause pain.

im so mad at people who think time travel will ever exist. thats not how physics works buddy I would know (im 13 and have never studied physics in my life, however, due to an intense ego, I believe that everything my brain tells me is true because it sounds true) you are not larger than the universe you cant just grab fucking time like that and fuck with it. how would you even calculate where to go? the universe isn’t sentient or a thing it doesn’t register your HUMAN MORTAL concepts of time. you cant just tell your machine to go to 2009[1] and it’ll understand what the fuck youre talking about . shut the fuck up. listen I have childish dreams and ambitions too but you know what im NOT. an OPTIMIST. you are NOT time traveling. these are also the same reasons for visual snow and why teleportation isnt possible as well.

in 2009 stephen hawking (rip king i miss you I dont care about epsteins island you will always be in my heart) made a party for time travellers, after the party ended he released the invites . nobody showed up of course. or DID THEY? maybe they showed up but told Stephen hawking not to tell anyone they did because that could fuck up the timeline? No they didn’t. time travel isnt real. go fuck yourself hawking. love you though!

cleaned up the extra alternate wordings and so on and im like 149.8k in my draft. 125k in pt1 and 23ish in pt2. so much left to go also aaaaaaaarrrrrrggghhhhh (clutches my head and wails)

thinking about nature wives in the blaseball au. im gonna have soooo much fun with them.

also did you guys know there’s a tag limit cause i decided to scramble my thoughts down in the tags so i would remember and that’s what i learned today.