amazing, isn’t it, that the only things keeping us from colliding with each other on the road are some painted lines and colored lights? yet some people feel restrained by these safety precautions and try to cut corners or skirt the edges and then they wake up in the hospital.
i still have driving anxiety. Continue reading
It is 9:50 AM, and I have just woken up from a dream where I was trying to drown one of my favorite people in the world.
I had Avatar powers (think air/water/fire/earth-bending) and I had an accomplice try to help me kill this guy, and the accomplice had powers too but slowly lost them, so they just sat by as I tried to kill him. Then I started losing my powers too, so in the end I was simply trying to shove his head underwater. Finally, I gave up and awoke. Continue reading
This is part of my Summer Reading 2.0 series.
I have a special place in my heart for the books that Urban Outfitters sells. I can buy ~4 books for the price of 1 skirt.
While I was there, I picked up Austin Kleon’s Show Your Work!, a bright yellow book that could fit into my tiny cross-body purse.
This book is intended for writers, artists, and anyone who has some sort of creative passion but feels trapped in an amateurish state. It’s a concise work that states simple truths in ways unconsidered.
For me, it eliminated many doubts and boundaries that my mind had constructed about getting myself out there.
It made me realize that a journal is not just a journal, but rather a sketchpad for portraying, or a drawing board for brainstorming. Continue reading
A piece of advice that I’ve happened upon many times in my internet searches of “how to write blog” can be summed up as “write as much as you can…don’t be afraid of failure or mistakes, otherwise you will never improve…you will never grow.”
I’ve always skimmed over this tip but never given it much thought, always writing for this blog what I thought others would surely enjoy, nothing that would be too risky.
However, I was thinking the other night, and realized this, that
If I’m ever to grow as a writer, I’ve got to embrace the concept of backlash, the prospect of defeat, and the idea of failure. Continue reading
— Guest post by anonymous —
Last summer was a long summer, I spent most of my days in the basement on my computer because I had nothing to do the whole season, but I couldn’t stand it anymore THE MONOTONY WAS DRIVING ME CRAZY the only place I knew of was a lake in the middle of a forest near my house, and I wanted nothing more than to swim in this beautiful lake, with the perfect temperature to counter the warm summer air, with water so clear you could see every pebble at the bottom, standing so still that I felt like I was staring into a giant mirror…yet, I was scared, because I’d never really gone swimming before in my life, as I’d only been to pools where the water never rose above my shoulders, surrounded by lifeguards who would leap to my assistance in a heartbeat, but this place was different because since the water was deeper and the lake was isolated so that no one could save me if anything went wrong. Continue reading
In a Bustle article, a woman de-constructed her Instagram pictures and explained them in two ways: how she hopes they come across, and the actual thought process that accompanied each post.
My interest in this app has waxed and waned over the years, but in my earliest days, when I was obsessed with getting followers and likes, I used to use 30 hashtags (I kid you not) hoping that my posts would trend just a little bit.
I’ve only admitted this to two people so far, so two thousand or so more can’t hurt, right?
I’ve come a long way, mostly abandoning the popular practice of hashtagging, but it’s time to be brutally honest.
I think the way people interact with their Instagrams is important, because this app is a visual representation (or so we hope) of ourselves, in a world where people have become increasingly obsessed with the way they are portrayed.
We care about the number of followers and likes that we get so much that we have websites dedicated to tracking and analyzing all of these things. (Don’t lie, you’ve visited Friend or Follow at least once.)
The editing that the latest updates allow, along with the variety of filters available has basically allowed IG to become our own DIY public Photoshop space.
Isn’t that exactly what social commentaries have been attacking for so long?? Continue reading
To put it simply, Bryant is my oldest friend. We’ve known each other since the beginning of time, way before pre-school began. During the rough elementary years, we didn’t attend school together, but I think I saw you here and there at tennis practices and remembered the fun times we’d had as toddlers, toddling around Disneyland and North Carolina and whatnot. Continue reading
The song at the bottom corresponds perfectly with this GIF
She watched him pull out a dinged up can from his drawer and dump the contents out onto his desk: a few crinkled bills and scraps of paper, but mostly just a shower of coins.
“My prized coin collection from seventh grade,” he muttered. “Never knew it’d end up like this.”
With a smirk, he slowly counted them up, picking through the pile for the quarters first.
“Sixteen dollars so far. Quarters really add up, you know.”
Clink, clink, clink. Continue reading
It’s been over a year since I last saw Michelle, despite her being one of my best friends. This might be a problem in a normal friendship, but what M and I have is nothing close to normal.
< Related: This Kid I Know: Michelle >
In the cyber-digital age, when LDRs have gone largely online, the two of us have somehow managed to keep in touch despite not having conversations every day, every week, or even every month. Continue reading
The wolf feels the arrows. It feels the pointed ends sticking into the flesh between her shoulder blades. Damn, how did the hunter find her only soft spot? The tenderest part? The hunter was skilled; the wolf feels the arrowheads stab her sharply with every movement…every lifting of the paw, every crane of the neck. Every movement, a reminder of coming death.
She looks down at the skull in front of her, a face that had once been so soft and loving and now hard and empty, reduced by death to near nothingness. The arrows seem to dig deeper underneath her skin, blood matting fur.
There is only one word for this feeling: hopelessness.
Utter, despairing, pervading hopelessness.
Creds to Amelia for showing me this: