anonymously tell me your credit card number ill reply with what I bought
(Source: heleanorcalder, via danneels)
Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but “Mom’s” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breathe in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes. — Unknown (via blua)
(Source: kalynroseanne, via casexuality)
"When I was about 20 years old, I met an old pastor’s wife who told me that when she was young and had her first child, she didn’t believe in striking children, although spanking kids with a switch pulled from a tree was standard punishment at the time. But one day, when her son was four or five, he did something that she felt warranted a spanking–the first in his life. She told him that he would have to go outside himself and find a switch for her to hit him with.
The boy was gone a long time. And when he came back in, he was crying. He said to her, “Mama, I couldn’t find a switch, but here’s a rock that you can throw at me.”
All of a sudden the mother understood how the situation felt from the child’s point of view: that if my mother wants to hurt me, then it makes no difference what she does it with; she might as well do it with a stone.
And the mother took the boy into her lap and they both cried. Then she laid the rock on a shelf in the kitchen to remind herself forever: never violence. And that is something I think everyone should keep in mind. Because if violence begins in the nursery one can raise children into violence.” — Astrid Lindgren, author of Pippi Longstocking, 1978 Peace Prize Acceptance Speech
(Source: jillymomcraftypants, via lielabell)
(Source: lifegoblet, via kingofdisease)
*points at a tiny singing bird* you shut the fuck up
An election is a job interview, and if you hire a plumber who tells you he can’t fix your toilet, but he’ll pray for the water to recede - the six inches of shit in your bedroom is what you deserve. — Bill Maher (via alphabetmae)
Rhododendron ponticum. During the search for the missing children, Sherlock identifies the vegetation sample from a footprint as belonging to the same plant that can induce a death-like sleep, reducing a hearbeat to almost nothing. It can also result in watery eyes, if Sherlock crying on the rooftop is what Moffat describes as ‘out of character’.
OH MY GOD.
WHAT IF THAT WAS IT.
WHAT IF THAT WAS THE DETAIL THAT WE’VE ALL MISSED.
I…I think that might be it.
*dry heaves thru adulthood*
One of the best feelings is knowing that you’re wanted. Knowing that someone wants to talk to you, wants to know how you’re doing, wants to se you. Whether they pick up the phone to send you a quick text or stop by your house to catch up, someone or something reminded them of you specifically. It just feels really nice to know that you’ve been on someone’s mind and that they care enough to let you know that.
Feel like shite.
(Source: gold-kushkloudz, via aldergroves)