“The only evidence to the contrary was the mute protest in your own bones, in the instinctive feeling that the conditions you lived in were intolerable and that at some other time they must have been different.” -George Orwell, 1984.
if i start posting on tumblr again, is it ok if it’s not all reblogs? and i tell you about things?
i’ve got that feeling, where you think you’re missing something.
it’s HORRIBLE.
no sex, Mr. Schue.
textbooks are ridiculously expensive.
(via sabino)
my insides
new pens
and hand-writing what you easily could’ve typed
favorite movies that become background noise, yet you can still pick out the good lines while knee-deep in biology notecards
memorization stories my dad taught me, that i always claim never work. but always work
“testing out” my mom’s christmas present, 1) because it’s a necessity, and 2) because your mom’s gift is the only gift this is ok with. i mean, it’s your mom
my cluttered script that blends somewhere between cursive and print, that other people admire too much
is there any good news out there? i’d love to hear it.
