this song = my life
23 years old. Queer. New York. BA in Gender Studies. Germanophile, writer, reader (see my books here), feminist, runner, writer, lover, nerd. More about me :) In recovery from an eating disorder; living with PTSD. Trigger warnings always apply, please take gentle care. What's up, babycakes?
today: walk Spencer & Ella (check). shower. breakfast. clean room. video trainings. lunch. moar training (reading or videos). feed & walk S & E. traininggg. something fun? (…ttttarget?) dinner. Skype with David (YAY!). bed.
today: shower. breakfast. tea with Autumn. home: pack. lunch (?). take brother to see campus. home: paaaack. dinner out maybe? home: watch something? bed.
p.s. this is weird this is weird this is very weird…
Headed out to buy heating pads (mmm), print papers and whatnot for Daddy-related stuff, and visit his favorite bookstore.
Remembering singing with him in the garage. He had such a beautiful singing voice before he got sick.
this morning, just before I left for work: “…I don’t think my leggings are long enough.” (laughs) (suddenly: sobbing)
wow, that’s something I haven’t done for a while. in that particular way maybe since before It1. Significant? Probably.
Sadly I had to make myself stop crying (even though it felt right, although not-fun) because…ha, I’m in college and I’m 21 years old and I had to go to work.
I adore this picture.
Something about sleeping in the living room leads to lots of dreams. Over the past two nights, I had the dream about the run, I dreamt of small sheep in Manhattan (?), being in Grand Central, being in a terrifying version of the Hunger Games and having to run away to escape (my German teacher was the one who told me how to escape and rescued me in the end?), and I also dreamed about having a really great cuticle cream & pusher set (wtf?). My BRAIN.