No context, but it is kind of heartwarming when your mother puts forth the idea of suing the hell out of someone on your behalf if something doesn’t work out.
Unrelatedly, is is also heartwarming when your mom accepts the idea that some day (when you have the money and the recovery time saved up/arranged) you want to totally get rid of you breasts because not only are they a physical problem, but they also cause pretty severe mental/emotional distress.
Still have yet to get a first tattoo and have been hit by an idea for Yet Another Tattoo.
Which, given that it fits thematically with two/three other ideas that both relate to phrases/songs that meant a lot to me when my anxiety and depression hit the Worst They’ve Been So Far (::knocks on wood::), I’m not actually surprised.
Hello, my future tattoo artist(s), I am a Words Person but I am trying to figure out some things to go with, so it’s not just text.
That awkward feel when apparently your mom found your Old Spice deodorant that you were kind of hiding because you didn’t want there to end up being a Conversation about it, and now you are wondering if there will end up being a Conversation about hiding it.
And it only got found because you still live at home at 30 because the economy is shit, the job market is shit, that higher paying white-collar job you had for a while fucked over your mental health, shit is expensive in general, and…sigh.
I love my mom. And I never would have survived my teaching job if she hadn’t stayed at my apartment with me. But sometimes living with her is hard 😐
I am in moderately dire need of a hair cut, and it’s not getting cut until Wednesday, which means I am doing the things I sometimes do when I can’t get my hair cut just yet:
Look on Pinterest at a category I like to call “Hair Cuts I Would Love to Try, But Probably Could Not Get a Job With in This Area Because of Gender Norm Bullshit.” 😐
My list of tattoo ideas has reached ten now.
Planning on getting one as a survived-this-job/30th birthday gift to myself.
Just have to decide on which one.
That amusing yet awkward moment when you are having a minor panic attack and discover you have been gifted with new dry erase markers and your initial mental response is, “Master has given Dobby a sock!”
Going into my last week at job, feelings going between, “I do not give any fucks,” “I give way too many fucks,” and “I give no fucks but have to act like I do.”
Also, ‘sup Anxiety.
Gave my two weeks notice yesterday.
Hoping I can find a decent job in the area so I can keep my apartment, because I like my apartment:(
Also pretty sure small pocket of one class is growing more convinced I’m gay.
Having tweens speculate about your orientation is a strange feeling.
Just had a 7th grader ask me if I was a stud.
Kirkwall Was Totally Built On a Hellmouth 