My roommates got married last week and said today that they’re planning on moving to somewhere else in the city, and asked me to move with them when they do.
Which I appreciate so much, they’re both fantastic roommates and I really don’t want to try and find another place on my own, but also. Jesus Christ what a look. “Hiii we’re the Thompsons, we just moved in down the street, that’s my husband and that’s the ghoul who used to live in our basement”
One of the worst feelings in the world: when you are just desperate, like claw-your-own-skin-off desperate, to create, but the only thing that even vaguely appeals to you to work on is a nebulous half-feeling that might be dreamily related to some half-formed notion of a concept. I must! Make! No thing! Only make!
Everything is boring. All activity is meaningless. I understand why Sherlock Holmes did cocaine.
I don’t know if teachers still do this, but every time I ignored the teacher telling us not to use Wikipedia for an assignment and cited everything in the Footnotes of the page I referenced I got an A+
In 1944 a kitten named George (short for General Electric) was saved from drowning by a U.S. Navy crew member. George was then photographed and given a liberty card and detailed health record. Source.
