last night’s dream was super bizarre. from what I can remember 12 hours later, it took place in a modified version of the house I’m renting with my friends. Or rather, it took place in a house I knew to be my residence, with the same people living on the same floors, but that is where the similarities end. the downstairs had a totally different set-up, and i can’t remember how our upstairs apartment looked. the situation was that someone was hogging the bathroom in the downstairs apartment, so shawn came upstairs to take a shower before her boyfriend came home (because IRL and in the dream, he basically lives with us). While she’s in the shower the doorbell rings but no one bothers to open the door, assuming someone else will get it. After a few rings it finally stops and I go down to investigate. I find shawn’s boyfriend lucas huddled in a pile on the kitchen floor all by himself, shivering and crying from cold. it seems he’s been outside, poorly dressed, for a while. I hold him and comfort him and wonder why no one else bothered to see if he was okay. The way the downstairs apartment is set up in my dream, there is a large archway leading in to a carpeted living room where the other housemates and some unknown people are sitting on a couch. no one looks up or interacts with me while i’m downstairs. shawn does not return from her shower before i woke up.
A Civil War Hits London, This Shocking One Second a Day Video Shows How it Destroys a Little Girl’s Life
Hugging shorter people and resting your head on theirs
Hugging taller people and having your head against their chest
Hugging people your height and pressing your face against their shoulder
Hugging people and getting picked up by them
Not having people to hug
Giving a hug that comes off as weird
This post describes me in every way
I HAVE THREE WORDS THAT WILL BRING JOY TO YOUR HEART:
little league quidditch
#all brooms fly like 3 feet off the ground#the bludgers are stuffed animals#keepers often get distracted by clouds#the seekers are better at playing tag than catching the snitch#games are over when it’s naptime
Joan Miró, This is the Colour of My Dreams, 1925
hey look it’s my url!
This is amazing, but I get the worst anxiety
Please keep this circulating. Cops are getting more and more brazen, know your rights!
Hermione Granger inspired scented candle!
Scents are layered, from top to bottom: new parchment, fresh cut grass, and spearmint.
Click image to purchase!
I LOVE THIS MORE THAN WORDS CAN EXPRESS
I NEED THIS.
I hardly ever hear people say my name. My family all have nicknames for me and my friends seem to just not say it. Strangers stumble over the extra consonants, the weird vowel placement, even other Indian people mispronounce it, telling me my Sanskrit scholar grandfather misspelled my name when he named me (Dhaaarani. your name is Dhaarani! Thank you random stranger. Clearly you know what my name is better than I or my family. I fucking hate Indian people and their misplaced self-confidence).
I appreciate the fact that someone took the time and effort to name me with reason and purpose. I was named for the mother Earth- the Divine Bearer. Pronounced correctly it is a delicate name. Unfortunately very few people can pronounce it correctly. Fewer still want to bother learning how.
End result: I hate the sound of my own name. When roll is called teachers apologize as my cue to raise my hand- that miserable cobbling together of letters is me. Don’t torture your tongue and your pride trying to pronounce it. I’ll just sacrifice my pride instead. My boyfriend avoids saying it to the point where it sounds weird coming out of his mouth. It’s a turn-off when he tries to reciprocatively say my name in bed. I’m reduced to explaining the pronunciation by comparing myself to a Pokemon. My beautiful, thoughtfully chosen name is a source of frustration at best. Torture at worst.
I would watch about a hundred seasons of a romcom where two lady serial killers wind up sharing an apartment and trying to hide their crimes from each other
YES GOOD PLS