i hate tumblr’s (and fuckin society’s) obsession with being ‘intellectual’
and fuck that ‘date a girl who reads’ thing
if you fall in love with a girl who drinks jack like apple juice and likes cutting down trees and getting into fights
do that shit
love is love you bourgeois fucks
My mum has made arrangements to take my princess to the vet in the middle of August. I should say “our” princess. Sometimes it’s a relief to know that you don’t have to go it alone. I know my mother will always stick up for the dogs because she loves them as much as I do.
And I fucking love her.
My dog didn’t want to eat her food today. Last night she didn’t want to eat the snack we usually give to the two of them so that that they don’t go to sleep hungry either. I got so scared when she refused to eat her food today. I started crying and pleading with her to eat but she just sat down and didn’t touch her food. I made her eat some by taking some of her food in my hand and putting it by her mouth but she only ate a little and then started licking my hand. My mother then gave her a couple pieces of chicken which she finally ate.
Her eyesight has really deteriorated now and she can barely see. She has cataracts and I want to take her to get surgery for it but my father is all like, “she’s an old dog, you all are wasting your time!” My mother doesn’t share his view and we’re going to do what we can for her.
I feel so guilty when I think about her. I feel as if though I’ve failed her but when I look back at my journal entries, I realize I tried really hard with her and I’m still trying. But still it’s just not good enough.
She’s ten years old. I’m afraid I’m going to check on her one morning and see that she’s not alive. I can’t deal with that. I can’t deal with that again. I’m feeling the fear I felt from that night when my other baby died, who incidentally was her son. He used to look the most like her of all her puppies and they used to fight a lot.
I just feel like my hands are tied by people who give up far too easily or who just don’t care or who just aren’t willing to make the effort. If everyone had the same love and hope and drive to never give up, the world would be a much better place and many lives would be saved.
I’m really scared right now though. I’m scared of my princess going before I can make her dreams come true.
Whenever I read the comments that a lot of guys leave at the end of feminist videos, I often end up asking myself,
"why do I want to find love again?"
"why do I waste my time dreaming of someday finding "the one" again?"
"why do I even like men again?"
"why couldn’t I just be a lesbian?"
Maybe living a life separate from men, an idea which so many feminists are terrified of even contemplating, isn’t such a bad idea after all. Clearly men don’t think much of us anyway and an essential part of male sexuality is apparently viewing women as sexual objects which lack those characteristics which make one human such as emotions, thoughts and opinions. An essential part of male sexuality according to the nearest men magazine to you is thinking of women as mere masturbatory devices.
I don’t need that kind of shit in my life. I’m happy with myself. At least I think I’m human and I take a pride in my humanity and in my thoughts and feelings. My opinions and thoughts are who I am. I fucking adore myself.
I don’t need some person to give me worth. Especially a person who regards me as an accessory or appendage to him. A thing he sometimes finds useful. A thing he’ll soon grow tired off and need to replace.
I’m not someone’s useful device. I am a complete human being.
When I was seventeen years old I fell completely for a guy, or rather became infatuated with him, solely on the basis of his looks. I knew what his name was and where he was from, but I didn’t know who he was. I knew nothing about his personality or what kind of person he was but I insisted that he was the one and went to great lengths to get his attention. Like everything else that I put my heart and soul into, I succeeded, but it blew up in my face. The guy wasn’t who I thought he was. He was something that I thought he couldn’t be. And he wasn’t very nice. It all thankfully abruptly ended, whatever it was, and I’m glad that it wasn’t worse. It could have been so much worse. It still messed me up pretty badly though but it taught me a valuable lesson: don’t fall for guys based on their looks alone. Looks don’t tell you whether a guy is kind, smart, thoughtful, a pervert, an asshole or a liar. You have to know a man in order to fall for him and only his actions can tell you what kind of person he is. Not his stupid face.
Everyday my thoughts are filled with him and what could have been. Everyday I grieve and everyday I’m trying to survive and get by and not fuck up the whole semester. Everyday I realize that this life of ours is destined for inevitable sorrow, so whenever we spot some joy around us, in a joke, a smile, a breeze through the hairs of our skin, the evening sunlight, the morning hopefulness, we should take it with both hands and really feel it. Really enjoy it, appreciate it. Because the underlying sorrow is not going to go away. And we need some balance otherwise we’re really not going to make it.