Teaching creative writing to 8 to 12 year olds this summer, a demographic whose stories include a shocking amount of murder. The use of “unalive” was so egregious I had to tell them, “if you aren’t comfortable using the words death, die, and kill, you aren’t mature enough to be writing about them yet”. Kiddo asked me if that applies to adults as well, and I told them it very much does, so here’s a PSA.
If you aren’t comfortable using the words death, die, and kill, you aren’t mature enough to be writing about them yet.
actually, i love you, so you cannot be ugly to me. sometimes i think i have no idea what you actually look like. i know we’ve been friends for like a while but if someone asked oh who’s that i’d talk about how funny you are, how charming. about how i have watched you grow as a person, about how you often choose kindness where i would honestly choose a feral violence. i know you keep a tally of your mistakes and they run around your brain - but in mine? i think they never even make it past the front gate. when i think of you my heart swells up with all the weird shit we’ve done together and how you’ve talked me through heartbreak and how i’ve held your hair back and how we both are like, in therapy, and totally above gossiping, but also like, are going to spill the work tea.
i know! i know you feel ugly. i know you hate that you show symptoms, that you’re not normal. you said once - i’m afraid to show others the real me. but i see the other things - about these little quirks that are so, so endearing to me. how you are gentle to strangers. how you stand by your friends. how comfortable you make everybody. how you say hey, did you get home safe? even when it’s like 6 feet i’m walking.
i love you. yesterday you spent an hour liveblogging the episode of owl house that you’re on and i was like - this person is so fucking amazing. last night you said sorry for infodumping. as if you have anything to apologize for. as if part of the reason we’re friends is because i love it when you do this, i love listening. i love you, idiot. i love you so fucking much. i want to stick you in a cage so you stop getting random injuries. i want to throw you into a garbage disposal every time you send me that one specific meme. i love you, i love you, i love you. you mean absolutely everything to me.
To be fair 99% of our evolutionary stress response was meant to deal with far more immediately conclusive scenarios than the tedious bullshit we put up with these days.
very very slow tigers are chasing me
not to leave a serious comment on a silly post but one of the best pieces of advice I ever got about stress was to SLEEP but secondly, when overwhelmed, lay in a bed and intentionally hold all your muscles clenched. clench EVERYTHING. hold it for a few seconds, then let go. It tricks your animal fight-or-flight monkey brain into thinking it had, and won, a fight, and some of the stress response will leave you
#turn a slow tiger into a fast tiger with this fucked up trick
“Very very slow tigers are chasing me” is the most hysterical way I’ve ever heard my state of being described
Humans are persistence predators and then created deadlines and out-persistence predator’d ourselves
I’ve reblogged this before. But that last comment deserves another.
don’t get me wrong I want sex and I want your body on mine and I want to make you moan but more than that I just wanna fall asleep with your arms around me and your hand in mine and not a care in the world
