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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

Andulka
Today's Document
Peter Solarz
$LAYYYTER

tannertan36
we're not kids anymore.
trying on a metaphor
Sweet Seals For You, Always
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izzy's playlists!

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DEAR READER
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@slushytwaddle

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Proverbs 26:11
As a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly.
Gonna keep posting this one until he’s finally gone…

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This post will be about politics
I realize I am preaching to the choir here, but this is more of a therapy post since I have been invited by a lady who lives in my house to "never post about politics on facebook ever". She's not wrong so I guess i'll scream into the void here.....
“I’m turning forty in August. Three kids, full time job. All my kids are under the age of seven. The amount of mental energy it takes, you know, juggling all of them and the constant questions about nothing. I mean, mom is busy, please, just give me a second. My husband tells me that it’s just the season we’re in. We’ll get back to it. But I just want it to slow down so I can pause and breathe. Everything just changes so fast, you know? When you’re a little kid, and you turn into a teenager, it’s like: ‘Oh, I’m changing now.’ But you’ve been coached. You’re prepared for it. Then you go from teenager to college. That’s a big change. Then from college into your twenties, still changing. But at some point you kinda feel like I’m an adult, and I’m done. But you just keep going. It’s like oh shit, no, no, I’m going to keep changing. And these aren’t like the earlier changes. These aren’t the ones you get to plan for. Well some of them are, like: ‘We’re moving to a new place.’ Or ‘I’m going to get a new job.’ Those you can be ready for. But as you get older shit starts getting thrown at you that you’re not planning for. Dodgeballs. And you’ve just got to pivot. And all of the sudden you realize, that moment in time, right before the dodgeball, that was the last time you saw the old you. And you didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
I think this is year 4 of our Christmas boeuf bourguignon tradition and it’s my favorite thing ever. Food reasons and family reasons, all of it. ❤️
Ithaka
BY C. P. CAVAFY
TRANSLATED BY EDMUND KEELEY
As you set out for Ithaka
hope your road is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
Hope your road is a long one.
May there be many summer mornings when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you enter harbors you’re seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn and go on learning from their scholars.
Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you’re destined for.
But don’t hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you’re old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.
Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you wouldn't have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.
And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you’ll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.
Back when teenagers still tried to connect to their emotions through music, I found anger in heavy metal, emo navel gazing in new wave, teen angst in grunge, and some small town texan self awareness in country. Jimmy Buffet was weirdly the only constant throughout my musical eras, truly the soundtrack to my teens and early 20s. We’ve been listening to some old albums all morning and I’m shocked by how many rando deep cuts I still know all the words to, and how his lyrical turns of phrase are ingrained into my own language, 25 years after I stopped listening to him. I loved the idea of his lifestyle, what I knew of it anyway, and even though I live nowhere near a beach I still feel it…the feeling that the ocean is vast and that life is short so pour a drink (literal or figurative) and don’t sweat the small stuff.
Ohhh, these moments we're left with
May you always remember
These moments are shared by few
And those harbor lights, lord, they're coming into view
We'll bid our farewells much too soon
So drink it up, this one's for you
Honey, it's been a lovely cruise

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The Day Of Our Divorce Hearing
By Ruth Lepson
The Day Of Our Divorce Hearing
you treated me to lunch, a spaghetti place.
We had never been so kind to each other.
When you said I’m still a slob, we laughed.
After lunch, we stood in the parking lot.
You said, you have the last word,
but I said, No, I’m tired of being
the one who sums things up.
You get the last word.
But you couldn’t think of one.
So off you went to our silver car,
I to our red one.
It’s three years later.
And even that’s just a story now.
Lately I don’t feel as if I lived with you.
But I remember our kindness that day,
when it no longer mattered.
Our similar day was when we finished mediation. One long hug and a thank you. That was it, but it was enough.
Neighbors by James Crew
Where I’m from, people still wave
to each other, and if someone doesn’t,
you might say of her, She wouldn’t
wave at you to save her life—
but you try anyway, give her a smile.
This is just one of the many ways
we take care of one another, say: I see you,
I feel you, I know you are real. I wave
to Rick who picks up litter while walking
his black labs, Olive and Basil—
hauling donut boxes, cigarette packs
and countless beer cans out of the brush
beside the road. And I say hello
to Christy, who leaves almond croissants
in our mailbox and mason jars of fresh-
pressed apple cider on our side porch.
I stop to check in on my mother-in-law—
more like a second mother—who buys us
toothpaste when it’s on sale, and calls
if an unfamiliar car is parked at our house.
We are going to have to return to this
way of life, this giving without expectation,
this loving without conditions. We need
to stand eye to eye again, and keep asking—
no matter how busy—How are you,
how’s your wife, how’s your knee?, making
this talk we insist on calling small,
though kindness is what keeps us alive.
Imagine This by Freya Manfred
When you’re young, and in good health,
you can imagine living in New York City,
or Nepal, or in a tree beyond the moon,
and who knows who you’ll marry: a millionaire,
a monkey, a sea captain, a clown.
But the best imaginers are the old and wounded,
who swim through ever narrowing choices,
dedicating their hearts to peace, a stray cat,
a bowl of homemade vegetable soup,
or red Mountain Ash berries in the snow.
Imagine this: only one leg and lucky to have it,
a jig-jagged jaunt with a cane along the shore,
leaning on a walker to get from grocery to car,
smoothing down the sidewalk on a magic moving chair,
teaching every child you meet the true story
of this sad, sweet, tragic, Fourth of July world.
William Stafford

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The Loneliest Job in the World Tony Hoagland
As soon as you begin to ask the question, Who loves me? you are completely screwed, because the next question is How much?
and then it is hundreds of hours later, and you are still hunched over your flowcharts and abacus,
trying to decide if you have gotten enough. This is the loneliest job in the world: to be an accountant of the heart.
It is late at night. You are by yourself, and all around you, you can hear the sounds of people moving
in and out of love, pushing the turnstiles, putting their coins in the slots,
paying the price which is asked, which constantly changes. No one knows why.