you ever thought that maybe the reason girls say they’re fine when they’re not, or they’re not mad when they are, is because the second they show any semblance of emotion they’re written off as hysterical bitches that are probably on their period?


Reblogging again, because this will never be irrelevant. 

(via timirilisinvisible)


someone saying that they’ve missed you


or that they appreciate you


or that something reminded them of you


basically someone making you feel that they’ve thought of you and that you being around means something to them


(Source: jaclcfrost, via nerd-in-the-tardis)


Welcome to Townhouse #2, wherein dwell four women: A Biochemistry Major, an Anthropology Major, A Math Major, and A Pre-vet Biology Major. Three have an exam tomorrow, the fourth an essay due. Enter the villain of our story. The vicious microwave. Viscous growls echo through the halls as it’s malicious eyes flash with lightning. Then after our heroines have defeated the beast, barely escaping after pulling its plug, the biochemistry major learns of yet another villain— The Clothes- From-The-Drier-Remover. She valiantly retrieves her laundry, in hopes that all of her underwear and socks have made it back to the abode. Our heroines recline, content in their victories, ready to carry out the evening chores, when alas! The Sink- Beast strikes! Water pours forth from its gaping maw. The water is too much. The math major goes to close the shut off valves, vanquishing the beast. She fails. The heroines begin to carry water down to the washtub a story below. Finally, at long last, a maintenance worker arrives seconds after the Math Major finally manages to shut off the shattered faucet. They are told the faucet will be fixed upon the morrow. And so, our heroines, hormonal women diverse, straggle off into the cold, in search of sweet, frozen dairy products. And possibly chocolate.

No one is  perfect.

What  use would  “us” be if either “you” or “I” was?

Being sick is miserable.  It is not  caring whether or not your bed is made. It is not caring whether or not a mug is clean,  until you want it to make tea.  It’s not  caring how  eloquent your  writing is. It’s not having the strength to reblog all those  posts  you liked  on tumblr. 

Green jacket by the door.

Today I noticed my  jacket hanging on the back of the door.  I  haven’t worn it  since the last  time  I was in the stable,and it still smells ever so faintly of horse.  My  mind  automatically  combined  the  musky  scent of  horse with the springlike air. 

I  can  just  imagine myself,  green  jacket and  all,  rapidly  turning gray with mud as  I groom my  mare.  Actually,  I  would  probably  grow a   fur coat of my  own if  I tried to  groom the shaggy beast right now.  I  would  most likely forget about the mud, and swipe an  arm across  my  face and  give my  self a  muddy beard.

Its because of moments like these that  it’s  days like  today  that  I miss  the barn  the most.  You know the kind; the  sun finally peeks  out from  behind the clouds to  shimmer across the puddles.  You can  look out  across  any stretch of  grass and  so  easily picture the  mud forming in the pastures  back home.

Gotta love winter.

Winter in New York is something special. Its not something that you can pin down; everyday the weather is different.  Two days ago, The wind was bitter cold, and the  littlest bit of  snow dusted the campus paths.  I’m  almost positive the  tip of  my  nose fell  off from  frostbite that day.  Fast forward a few days, and the Sun is shining glinting off of the remains of the previous days snowfall.  Today,  the  temperature  rose to tolerable  levels; I could have  gone to class in a sweater, instead of my wool coat.

I know  many  people who  rejoice when the temperature rises above freezing.  I am not  one of them.  the 30’s are a  bane to me; I can never seem to stop shivering.  It is also then that the  snow begins to melt, the paths  fill with puddles and slush, and the  quad  outside my building turns into  a  swamp. No,  I definitely  prefer the coo, crisp, twenties: warm enough that your  toes remain firmly affixed to your feet,  but cold enough that the  snow  does not  melt during the day, only to freeze in the frigid night air.

Give me snow and sun  any day, and I  will  cheerfully bundle up  against the chill.  Pour down on me with rain and thunder and bone deep shivers,  and you’re  just  asking for me to stay indoors.

I love getting messages, it makes me feel kinda, I dunno, important. I’m also always looking for followers.So all of my followers (both old and new, past and future), feel free to message me about anything, anon or not! I’m really not a scary person!

A bit about me I guess,

I’m a  college  student  in New York State. I don’t think I’m a  fabulous writer,  but I  do an okay job. I like horses and Doctor Who.  Harry Potter and I go  way back  ( the book that is)

I never used to like hay lofts.

Oh, I  had a  multitude of reasons. I  hated the  dust.  I was even once  afraid of heights; that year,  I couldn’t bring myself to the scale the ladder.    Now however, There is something  oh-so-relaxing, and oh-so-familiar about a  hay loft. 

In the summer,  the  sun  peeks through the windows at the ends of the barn, and dust motes drift to and fro on the breezes that find themselves trapped indoors.   I like to sit among the  beams that cross the open space, just sit and listen.  When the  horses are indoors,  their chomping and stamping echoes up the ladder. But even  when they are  outdoors, the  barn is not silent. The swallows chatter and the cats prowl; you never know when a cat will drop down on your  shoulders from above. Hoof beats and noisy whickering work their  way through the  wooden walls and comfort me.

In the  winter,  the  barn is quiet.  Most of the  cows have  left the  property until spring, and the swallows  have  fled the frigid air.  The loft though, is  still cozy. Mounds of  hay  trap what  little warmth has  not been  driven away.  The cats still  hunt for sleepy-eyed mice. And I  still sit  here, and listen to the sound of my mare breathing below me.

I think that hill has gotten taller since the last time I’ve climbed it.

No, I am positive.

The walk took seconds, once upon a time. I  used to scale the  hillside in such a cheerful mood;  I was happy, and bubbly, and my music made the walk  go faster. Now my  thoughts swirl round and round as heavy as an anchor.  Thoughts of waves and chemical reactions, and the ever  present thoughts of you threaten to shove me down the mountain.

+EFFERVESCENCE: I need more blogs to follow...


So, here’s a list of the stuff I like…

  • Doctor Who,
  • Harry Potter,
  • Arts and crafts,
  • Humorous stories,
  • Chronicles of Narnia,
  • Fandoms in general,
  • Fangirling,
  • Prose/writing/short stories,
  • Comics,
  • Boys, ;)
  • Percy Jackson,
  • Music (<3),
  • Jokes,
  • Drake and Josh,
  • Creepy/stalkery/funny posts,

(Source: strawberryfielcls)

Seriously guys

I don’t really  post here much.  My fandom/ random  blog is justforkickandgiggleIf you actually  want to see posts,  follow me there.

I’m serious.



Every. Single. Person. That reblogs this will get a customized doodle of their URL based on what their blog looks like. I’m bored and have waaaay to much time on my hands.


(via thewhovianmaster)

Sometimes I find myself just wanting to curl up in a corner. Either that or shout curses to the sky. Today is a day dominated by those moments.

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