have you ever thought about how weird sleeping is like we basically dress ourselves in special sleeping clothes and lay on special sleeping mats then spend the next few hours completely comatose all the while hallucinating vividly
I don’t care how weird it is, it feels soooooo good when you do it right.
“We went to Kineshma, that’s in Ivanovo region, to visit his parents. I went as a heroine and I never expected someone to welcome me, a front-line girl, like that. We’ve gone through so much, we’ve saved lives, lifes of mothers, wives. And then… I heard accusations, I was bad-mouthed. Before that I’ve only ever been “dear sister”… We had tea and my husband’s mother took him aside and started crying: “Who did you marry? A front-line girl… You have two younger sisters. Who’s going to marry them now?” When I think back to that moment I feel tears welling up. Imagine: I had a record, I loved it a lot. There was a song, it said: you have the right to wear the best shoes. That was about a front-line girl. I had it playing, and [his?] elder sister came up and broke it apart, saying: you have no rights. They destroyed all my photos from the war… We, front-line girls, went through so much during hte war… and then we had another war. Another terrible war. The men left us, they didn’t cover our backs. Not like at the front.” from С.Алексеевич “У войны не женское лицо”
In Soviet Union women participating in WWII were erased from history, remaining as the occasional anecdote of a female sniper or simply as medical staff or, at best, radio specialists. The word “front-line girl” (frontovichka) became a terrible insult, synonimous to “whore”. Hundreds thousand of girls who went to war to protect their homeland with their very lives, who came back injured or disabled, with medals for valor, had to hide it to protect themselves from public scorn.
This has always happened in history: Women do something important. Then they get shamed for it (so nobody will talk about it) and it gets erased from history.
And then certain men will say: “Women suck, they’ve never done anything important.”
Look into history and learn that women have played a far greater role then douches (present and past) wanted you to know.
…male or it didn’t happen?
futuristicninja: A poem about androgyny in people / genderqueer people.
captchaloguethat: I just thought it was a poem about people.
Whenthepawn-hits: Actually sex isn’t as interchangeable as gender. You cannot change your sex unless you have sexual reassignment surgery. You can change your gender though. So you shouldn’t say that “Women are women regardless of sex” because sex matters. Sex isn’t just about genitals either, your sex is apart of you biologically. Even if you change your genitals you have to take hormones to make yourself sound, look, and feel like the opposite sex. Don’t say sex doesn’t matter.
Me: Actually you don’t get to decide these things or police how other people view their gender OR sex and I think you missed the point of that sentence because what it means is “you don’t have to be female-bodied to be a woman” and how dare you try and tell trans* or gender-fluid women that they are less woman? And also our physical bodies are only a small portion of who we are and you can’t tell other people they are wrong for expressing themselves outside of an oppressive system that demands and either/or answer to a question that’s a whole lot more complex than that and ALSO like saying that there is a certain way to “look” or “sound” or “feel” like a certain sex is very problematic because that just plays into the cis-central oppressive ideals created by the patriarchy and you’re contributing to the erasure of a ton of identites so like, educate yourself before you start telling other people how to live their lives and be themselves. How rude of you.
look at the way he holds her. look at his facial expression. it’s as if he feels like if he lets her go, it will be forever. his desperation to stay holding on to her is simply rare. he’s holding her with the intention of never letting go. he needs her. and this is what I find beautiful.
If somebody held me like this I think I’d melt into the gravel.
Too bad this follows up seasons worth of emotional abuse and manipulation and cruelty. Too bad Jackson, as with everything else in his life, only accepted Lydia’s love when it was convenient to him, when it furthered his agenda and saved him. Too bad this is the laziest trope ever ever ever and following up a damaged and unhealthy relationship with “LOL tru luv fixes all” is not only lazy writing but also rather irresponsible.
People; if your significant other treats you half as poorly as Jackson treated Lydia, leave them. No amount of tight hugs or true love can fix that. Don’t settle for someone that you can fix: search for a love that fixes both of you.
sometimes people who are sad dont always need the “it gets better talk”
sometimes people just want to hear “you are sad, you are trying your best, and it’s okay. you’re okay and you’re alive and that’s a big accomplishment”
because i know for myself unconditional optimism gets really fucking annoying. sometimes i just want to be sad and have it be okay that im sad.
don’t make me feel weirder than i already do in my own skin.
Ugh I decided to post a selfie because I haven’t in like 129832908408324 years but I hate literally ever single picture of me ever so…. here’s the one that I found least awful.
when friends make plans in front of you but don’t invite you
when accidently making plans in front of friends you don’t want to invite and they invite themselves
when someone hits your pokemon and its super effective
you know what that means, right?
SEE YOU ALL IN REHAB, MOTHAFUCKAAAAAS!
oh shit, I just laughed so loud haha
Rebloging purely for that ^
we should form a support group
internet addicts anonymous
“hello my name is jennifer, and I’m an internet addict.”
but tumblr is our support group
we need a support group for our support group
TRIED TO MAKE ME GO TO REHAB BUT I SAID
A poem about androgyny in people / genderqueer people.
I just thought it was a poem about people.