ok, bye again

last friday i thought it was thursday all day up until 4pm when i was *about* to post a tbt to instagram

*procrastinates finishing work to tell you how work was last week*

i have been working so much that i had bad anxious stress dreams last week almost the whole week where i would design in my sleep the whole night and have to wake up at 7am to get it out of my head sos sos so

plz help

scottmccallthealpha:

Oh we don’t own our heavens now
We only own our hell
And if you don’t know that by now
Then you don’t know me that well

(via getyourassbeat)

heeeeey this is important http://klsekelsey.tumblr.com/post/97005791356/some-selfiezzzz 

"

Now we have a TV show called Girls, about girls who hurt but constantly disclaim their hurting…

These girls aren’t wounded so much as post-wounded, and I see their sisters everywhere. They’re over it. I am not a melodramatic person. God help the woman who is. What I’ll call “post-wounded” isn’t a shift in deep feeling (we understand these women still hurt) but a shift away from wounded affect - these women are aware that “woundedness” is overdone and overrated. They are wary of melodrama so they stay numb and clever instead. Post-wounded women make jokes about being wounded or get impatient with women who hurt too much. The post-wounded woman conducts herself as if preempting certain accusations: don’t cry too loud, don’t play victim, don’t act the old role all over again. Don’t ask for pain meds you don’t need; don’t give those doctors another reason to doubt the other women on their examination tables. Post-wounded women fuck men who don’t love them and then they feel mildly sad about it, or just blasé about it, more than anything they refuse to care about it, refuse to hurt about it - or else they are endlessly self-aware about the posture they have adopted if they allow themselves this hurting.

The post-wounded posture is claustrophobic. It’s full of jadedness, aching gone implicit, sarcasm quick-on-the-heels of anything that might look like self-pity. I see it in female writers and their female narrators, troves of stories about vaguely dissatisfied women who no longer fully own their feelings. Pain is everywhere and nowhere. Post-wounded women know that postures of pain play into limited and outmoded conceptions of womanhood. Their hurt has a new native language spoken in several dialects: sarcastic, apathetic, opaque; cool and clever. They guard against those moments when melodrama or self-pity might split their careful seams of intellect. We have sewn ourselves up. We bring everything to the grindstone.

"

"The Empathy Exams" by Leslie Jamison

This is such an important book, but goddamn if this passage wasn’t the one that brought me to tears. We have been told and told ourselves we are no longer allowed to fully feel and express our pain and it is bullshit.

(via queeringfeministreality)

(via getyourassbeat)