Locking myself out of this tumblr. I’ve done a lot of looking back, and I don’t need that. It’s definitely the last thing I need. I’m no longer waiting for my future, it’s here, I’m making it.
(via tangotoinfinity)
(Source: crestas, via takes2totengco)
(Source: yours-to-kkeep, via tangotoinfinity)
hey grandma, you couldn’t just like the album?
this. and my mom too.
kyle, why does she type in caps all the time?
RON WEASLEY?
When things in your life seem, almost too much to handle,
When 24 Hours in a day is not enough,
Remember the mayonnaise jar and 2 cups of coffee.
A professor stood before his philosophy class
and had some items in front of him.
When the class began, wordlessly,
He picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar
And proceeded to fill it with golf balls.
He then asked the students, if the jar was full.
They agreed that it was.
The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured
them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly.
The pebbles rolled into the open Areas between the golf balls.
He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.
The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar.
Of course, the sand filled up everything else.
He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous ‘yes.’
The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively
filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.
‘Now,’ said the professor, as the laughter subsided,
‘I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life.
The golf balls are the important things - family,
children, health, Friends, and Favorite passions –
Things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, Your life would still be full.
The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, house, and car.
The sand is everything else —The small stuff.
‘If you put the sand into the jar first,’ He continued,
there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls.
The same goes for life.
If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff,
You will never have room for the things that are important to you.
So…
Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness.
Play With your children.
Take time to get medical checkups.
Take your partner out to dinner.
There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal.
‘Take care of the golf balls first —
The things that really matter.
Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.
One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee represented.
The professor smiled
‘I’m glad you asked’.
It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem,
There’s always room for a couple of cups of coffee with a friend.’
♥
(via takes2totengco)
He was a good-looking, sarcastic jock; I was a gawky, intense girl who briefly had delusions of grandeur.Gorgeous - Rachel Vail
My leg 24hrs later; pics for the lawyer LOL. Mr. Cavanagh insists I sue. It’s so sore, hurts like crazy. I didn’t know it was so bruised until 3rd period today, holy asdfjkl;.
Living is like tearing through a museum. Not until later do you really start absorbing what you saw, thinking about it, looking it up in a book, and remembering - because you can’t take it in all at once.Audrey Hepburn (via todayithought)
since i know you don’t wanna know, i’ll tell you anyways! this is my leg right now. it hurts like a asdfghjkl. the neighbor’s dog decided it would take a bite. got back from the ER a few hours ago. yay.
“We’re trying to figure out if I might have PTSD from my mom’s…accident.”
“You have PTSD from your mom tripping?”
I get it. You didn’t hear her scream. You didn’t hear the pounding on the door. You didn’t open the door and see her sprawled on the sidewalk. You didn’t watch her labored breathing, barely coming out through her mouth. You didn’t call 911. You didn’t talk to the operator. You didn’t take her pulse. You weren’t shouting her name. You didn’t have your hands shaking as badly as your voice. You didn’t see her try to move. You didn’t see her try to reach the phone. You weren’t holding her hand. You weren’t whispering “I love you.” You weren’t worried that these were her last words. You weren’t the one not knowing if she was about to die in your hands. You didn’t hear the sirens. You didn’t watch the gurney roll in. You weren’t running to find her purse, her medicines. You didn’t talk to the firemen. You didn’t watch the firemen treat her like an idiot. You didn’t talk to the paramedic. You didn’t watch three little kids standing there crying. You didn’t have to scream what to do. You didn’t hear her mumbling. You didn’t talk to a shocked husband on the other side of the country. You didn’t see her try to pull off the neck brace. You didn’t make the rush to the ER. You didn’t wait for eternity in reception. You didn’t see her in a hospital bed. You didn’t see her a mess, covered in vomit, leaves, and braces. You didn’t have to meet the rude nurse in a dire time of need. You didn’t see her hooked up to dozens of leads and IVs. You didn’t spend the night in absolute shock. You weren’t completely alone in a life or death situation. You didn’t have to repeat the story hundreds of times by noon the next day. You didn’t wake up the next morning deprived of any feelings. You weren’t put into the most real flight-or-fight response of your life. You didn’t spend over two weeks without sleep. You didn’t spend days in the ICU. You didn’t see her brain scans. You didn’t see her scars. You didn’t see her fracture. You didn’t see her skull. You didn’t monitor every condition. You didn’t deal with emotions of hundreds of other people. You didn’t spend nights in the hospital. You didn’t talk to dozens of nurses. You didn’t hear her vitals mentioned every couple hours. You didn’t stand by her bed for hours just watching her and holding her hand. You didn’t give her medicines every 4 hours. You didn’t have talks with her until 3AM. You didn’t set up a bed in her room to keep watch on her. You weren’t yelled at when you were doing your damn best. You didn’t have to nurse her for weeks because she wouldn’t let anyone else. You didn’t walk her to her bathroom, down the hall, around the house, around the hospital. You didn’t hate yourself for feeling completely responsible for nursing her and feeling like you’re failing.
You don’t have nervous breakdowns because you feel like you can’t do enough. You don’t watch her mood swings. You don’t think about it every damn day. You don’t worry about her every time you’re not around her. You don’t have nightmares about her getting hurt, and not being able to help. You don’t feel worthless every time she gets upset. You don’t see her crushed skull, bald and flat. You don’t feel the need to cry every time you remember. You don’t see the sidewalk where she got hurt and cringe. You don’t make the walk she made before it all, and rethink it all. You don’t hate yourself for not being there sooner. You don’t cry every time she says that she doesn’t think she’s lucky to be alive. You don’t worry every day that she might relapse. You don’t go day by day, week by week, counting how long it’s been. You don’t remember the time it happened and get scared that time every day. You don’t have the story you repeated hundreds of times etched into your memory. You don’t have the details so scarred into your mind that you can recall it perfectly, three months later. You don’t feel that it’s still October 20th.
I get it. You didn’t, you don’t. But don’t you dare say all that happened was that my mom “tripped”.
