Let it be on the record; I am predicting that a Macklemore + Florence and the Machine production will be the most musically orgasmic thing since ever.

I see it.

It will happen.

Be prepared. 

I’m done reblogging my(old)self

carry on peasants. 

So because my macbook was doing weird/mean things with its screen ie: showing lines instead of the proper display unless i pinched it in the right places or it felt like it,

my parents are sending me my mom’s new hp computer. 
I am actually quite excited to use an HP . I like how sturdy the keyboard is and so like…grudge-y. I also never got around to buying Microsoft Office, something I severely need. 

I am NOT excited to be using Windows 8 however. because Windows. and because Windows 8; an evil-looking operating system.  I will miss having spaces and feeling like I am exclusively capable of running multiple things at once and still be efficient, even though I know that’s kind of a lie. 

Also hers is a massive PC that is pretty ugly, I’m afraid. And I’ll need to download Mathematica again, and Matlab. 

Oh I had also dropped my computer the other day; It literally flew out of my hands as I was walking down the steps to the living room in our house . It was closed and when I opened it up, the monitor was cracked(on the inside,mostly) and whatnot. MYLYFE. 

And MY MUSIC!  

I also kinda hate the HP trackpads. like… A LOT. 

I’ll miss my keyboard. and how cute my macbook looks closed. with the apple in the middle. 

Ohhh my goodness my parents are talking to one of our African family friends who’s in his 20’s about African Mystics that they’ve witnessed and stuff and it’s just too much and it’s been like an hour and I can’t take them srsly anymore even though I probably should.

final thoughts, today:

• I probably know why Americans hate on Canadians
• I love rediscovering my favorite tumblr people. 
• I am bitter, though more level-headed. But forgiving will be hard.
• There are things that are happening, and I’m not sure how to deal with the fact that I know they are happening. There is also no one with whom I can talk about it all.
• I don’t know why you’ve become so hostile, I wish it would stop. With all the angry words, you’re saying less and less. 
• …I’ll go watch/finish an old film or perhaps a funny tv show. 

i think i’m giving myself a time out.

I literally don’t want to do anything else right now. I don’t want to walk outside of my room. I hate this. I hate being angry. I’m not even crying, I’m not even sad. I’m just sitting here, rotting from the inside. 

brains, hearts, organs & limbs, skin, stomach, brain.

I sincerely hate anger. 

It comes to remind us of things that we already know, 

and have long been trying to ignore.

It signifies the passing of time and the shortness of laughter

it warns us of familiar mistakes, and life: ratified and non-stopping

regardless of preferences.

It reminds us that alone, we’re poor. 

We’re sad, and saddening to the onlooker’s eye,

incapable of standing alone,

unable to call our deepest thoughts our own.

Anger reminds us that independence is an illusion,

security and control, all invented words, crafted.

Power, a term for gauging and for physics, not possession

It reminds us vulnerable, palpable and affected. 

Anger is theft, experiencing stolen-ness. 

of Understanding, objects, truth, trust, chances. 

Silently, it kills. Loudly, too.

No bad news go unnoticed, no bad side goes un-woken.

brokenness is welcomed and help, unspoken

all is on the table, and victims feast,

unable to be satisfied by anything besides the absolute immediate. 

nonicknamegaelle:

have you ever been so pissed off at someone that you want to cry?
like not even sad, or heartbroken, or anything. 

Just so disgusted and annoyed and wanting to punch them in the face that, out of nowhere you feel the same way as when you’re just about to start crying?

reblogging for relevance. He laughed when I told him that I couldn’t see straight. I was being literal. 

GAH

you guys, my swollen toes hurt and itch RILLI bad. 

and when I itch them, it’s like that amazing releasing feeling when you scratch a good itch, except it’s frustrating because it causes pain and an infuriating desire to keep scratching my poorly surface-area’d, swollen and occasionally throbbing nubs. 

I am also pretty sure my feet have the same temperature as autopsy corpses. 

We couldn’t afford turning on the heat.  

I love writing and tumblr-ing at the same time late at night until my head clears from exhaustion.

I hate it, also.