it’s amazing how women are able to navigate crowded rooms without ever touching a palm to a man’s lower back

you'd think occasionally men would need to touch other men like this to manoeuvre them out of the way but it never happens

once these 15 million different stressful situations resolve themselves I’m gonna be so normal again. I can be normal and not exhausted

I don't like sharing my house with a tiny nude man.

what they DONT tell you about clarinets is that you have to fucking build the damn thing every single time. "what instrument do you play" fucking legos man idk

about build clarinets damn do DONT every fucking fucking have idk instrument is legos man play" single tell that the they thing time. to what "what you you you

I really need to start reading the blog name because I thought I was having some sort of moment right there.

idk who needs to hear this but it’s healthier for you to just accept that you’re gonna be kinda fat than it is to live the rest of your life miserably trying to monitor yourself to maintain a skinny weight your body doesn’t want to hold onto

i am worthy of receiving my basic needs without worry or struggle. i deserve to be taken care of, i deserve to have my needs met, i deserve to show up for myself no matter what is going on, and to be present!

every time you make art of any kind, a stat that is not visible to the player goes up. also, this is the most important stat in the game

does singing in the shower count as art

does a strong as fuck ice mummy have ice powers

Genuinely, thank you so much for this.

im like if a irish goodbye was a person

It's like. you don't get your own childhood. not "didn't get the childhood you wanted," it's "didn't get a childhood that was yours." and you're supposed to be normal about it. and people tell you Oh you didn't miss much it was bad and awful for xyz reasons you really don't Actually want to be raised as a girl. well, what if I was a girl anyway and everyone acted like I wasn't. called me a name that wasn't mine. told me I was a person I wasn't until I believed it and clung to that fake person until I saw it was cutting into my hands. it wasn't mine. that child wasn't me; wasn't allowed to be me; wasn't even allowed to know there was a me. what if, on a very real level, my childhood was not mine? what if I wanted a childhood where I was actually seen, even if it hurts? and I'm supposed to be normal about it

not many people know this but when talking about your multiple pronoun-using friend you build up a combo meter for every subsequent unique pronoun you use