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— Marguerite Duras, Hiroshima, Mon Amour (1959)
The fucking sound he makes kills me every time
shoutout to people working weekends and overnights and overtime, people working in hospitality and retail and food service, who are sacrificing time with their loved ones, so fuckers with weekday desk jobs get to live comfortably with the amenities we provide while simultaneously shitting all over us for not getting “real jobs”
This literally does not happen
You literally have no concept of the grown-up world.
how the fuck am i supposed to make life decisions i’m not even sure i want to be alive
"Potentially psychedelic drugs could be for Psychology what the telescope became for the science of Astronomy."
i used to be so weirded out by the fact that everyone takes notes in pen in college because that seems so permanent right, what if you mess up a word, youll have to scribble it out and live with ugly notes
now that i write in pen i realize that i no longer have the strength of will to push down a pencil hard enough to make legible marks. im literally too dead inside to use a pencil. pen is the only way to make proof of my existence at this point