Beautiful Souls Make Beautiful People

Fight like an Aries

Eat like a Taurus

Laugh like a Gemini

Love like a Cancer

Wear like a Leo

Walk like a Virgo

Flirt like a Libra

Dream like a Scorpio

Party Like a Sagittarius

Hustle like a Capricorn

Be genius like an Aquarius

And so there’s this big Pokemon race, right, with a bunch of money reward and entry into a clan, some bullshit like that And here are some of the competitors

  Well yeah, that makes sense, I guess, horse in a race, there is the issue of the fucking fire coming out of its entire body but you know, magic monsters, whatever

And this one works too, going to have a hell of a time holding on but what doesn’t kill you makes you really good at Wipeout games I guess  But then BUT THEN

WE GET MISTY, WHO IS LITERALLY JUST LEVITATING OVER THE FUCKING GROUND

THIS ASSHOLE WHO CAN’T POSSIBLY BE SITTING ON ANYTHING OTHER THAN SPINES, LIKE ONE SUDDEN STOP AND YOU’RE IMPALED IN THE JUNK OK, GAME OVER

carry flowers everywhere

pink or gold eye shadow 

wear long ankle dresses

soft humming

anyway i go in to see paul one week in the summer of 2016, and i’m doing my usual bullshit which consists of me talking shit about myself, and paul is staring at me, and then he cuts me off and says that he’s got a new tool for helping people recognize when they’re using negative language, and gets up and goes over to his desk

and i’m like alright hit me with that sweet sweet self-help article my man, because i’m a linguistic learner and whenever paul’s like here i have a tool for you to use it’s pretty much always an article or a book or something

paul opens a drawer, takes something out, and turns back around. i stare.

i say, paul.

is that a nerf gun.

yeah, says paul.

i say, are you gonna shoot me with a nerf gun in this professional setting.

he happily informs me that that’s really up to me, isn’t it. and sits back down. and gestures, like, go ahead, what were you saying?

and i squint suspiciously and start back up about how i’m having too much anxiety to leave the house to run errands, like it was a miracle to even get here, like i’ve forgone getting groceries for the past week and that’s so stupid, what a stupid issue, i’m an idiot, how could i–

a foam dart hits me in the leg.

i go, hey! because my therapist just shot me in the leg. paul blinks at me placidly and raises an eyebrow. i squint again.

i say, slowly, it’s– not a stupid issue, i’m not stupid, but it’s frustrating me and i don’t want it to be a problem i’m having.

no dart this time. okay. sweet.

so the rest of the hour passes with me intermittently getting nailed with tiny foam darts and then swearing and then fixing my language and, wouldn’t you know it, i start liking myself a little more by the end of the session, which is mildly infuriating because paul can tell and he’s very smug about it