“I called him and I was like ‘Gary what’s up? What’s happening? Tell me it’s not the truth!’, I’ve never heard someone sound more dejected on the phone than he was. He was so sad he can’t be doing it.”—
Josh Hutcherson about Gary Ross not directing Catching Fire
do you ever feel like you like someone a lotmore than they like you and then start to feel like you’re just annoying them because while you always want to talk to them they probably don’t always want to talk to you and it stresses you out a lot and then you just start to feel really depressed about it
i’d like to admit that one time i didn’t finish an essay in time for the 12am submission deadline in my senior year of high school, so i emailed the document with my unfinished essay, but at the end i just keymashed a BUNCH of 1s, 0s, and random letters
and then i said it must have been an upload error
and got a whole extra overnight-until-early-morning amount of time before my teacher noticed and emailed me about it, and then i just emailed the completed paper!
I’M JUST SAYING THIS BECAUSE I THINK IT WAS PRETTY GOOD AS FAR AS PROCRASTINATION TECHNIQUES GO.
i’ve been guilty of saving files as .docz or whatnot and emailing it so it LOOKS like there’s something there but they can’t open it. so then i’m like “i’m on a new computer idk why it formatted that way!” and then email the actual paper when they contact me about it.
I have done all of this.
Also, this is a PSA to make sure everyone knows about the great trick of changing all your periods and commas to a font size bigger than everything else.
“Once upon a time, there was a girl who talked to the moon. And she was mysterious and she was perfect, in that way that girls who talk to moons are. In the house next door, there lived a boy. And the boy watched the girl grow more and more perfect, more and more beautiful with each passing year. He watched her watch the moon. And he began to wonder if the moon would help him unravel the mystery of the beautiful girl. So the boy looked into the sky. But he couldn’t concentrate on the moon. He was too distracted by the stars. And it didn’t matter how many songs or poems had already been written about them, because whenever he thought about the girl, the stars shone brighter. As if she were the one keeping them illuminated.
One day, the boy had to move away. He couldn’t bring the girl with him, so he brought the stars. When he’d look out his window at night, he would start with one. One star. And the boy would make a wish on it, and the wish would be her name.
At the sound of her name, a second star would appear. And then he’d wish her name again, and the stars would double into four. And four became eight, and eight became sixteen, and so on, in the greatest mathematical equation the universe had ever seen. And by the time an hour had passed, the sky would be filled with so many stars that it would wake the neighbors. People wondered who’d turned on the floodlights.
“I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.”—Augustus Waters, The Fault in Our Stars (via fullstockofthoughtsanddreams)
if you think it’s cute to stalk your favorite band which is composed of just a few young normal guys while they’re home resting after their world tour, or you think camping out by their family homes is acceptable because they’re famous and being endlessly harassed “comes with the territory,” or you take pride in your creepy photography while they’re trying to enjoying their little time at home because the rest of their time is spent catering to your needs as a fan
“The reality is that fat people are often supported in hating their bodies, in starving themselves, in engaging in unsafe exercise, and in seeking out weight loss by any means necessary. A thin person who does these things is considered mentally ill. A fat person who does these things is redeemed by them. This is why our culture has no concept of a fat person who also has an eating disorder. If you’re fat, it’s not an eating disorder — it’s a lifestyle change.”—
Okay, so, look. I really love Anna and the French Kiss a lot. Entirely because of the characters (whereas with Lola and The Boy Next Door I love a lot more of the storytelling elements and writing and stuff) and probably 90% because Anna is a terrible GPOY and a lovely character and just good.
But sometimes I flip through the book and I find the one part where I like RAGINGLY HATE HER AND I GET SO ANGRY.
When she yells at St. Clair and keeps saying things like “I don’t think your mom would want you beating yourself up,” “She wouldn’t want you to stop trying,” “she’ll want to see you happy.”
LIKE ANNA HONEY S T O P THAT OMG.
THE GRIEF POLICE ARE THE WORST KIND OF PEOPLE. I WOULD RATHER LISTEN TO LIKE IDK RACIST OR HOMOPHOBIC BULLSHIT OR A NICKELBACK SONG THAN “X PERSON WHO YOU ARE GRIEVING IN SOME WAY WOULD WANT X THING. EVEN THOUGH I DON’T KNOW THEM I KNOW THIS.”
No. Stop that. Go away.
I still love Anna obviously. But guuuuurl, no.
(Additionally I would like to note that St. Clair saying “I don’t know if she looked better or worse than I expected” re: his mom is one of the most, like, piercingly familiar lines I have ever read in a book. I don’t actually appreciate the feelings it gives me.)
This has been a srs post about a fluffy book, with a lot of projecting.
So the fact that I voluntarily ate lunch outside on my break the other day at the mall and I had to sit on the ground with ants crawling around… isn’t something you would enjoy? That’s what I’m getting here.
Fun fact: when it was “nice”* out last month, my TA had discussion section outside. So everyone was sitting on the grass. In the sun. I sat a good 10 feet away, on a concrete stair, curled up so I was in the shade. I was having NONE. I swear I’m not prissy I just really don’t enjoy the outdoors.
* by nice I mean it was like 80 and I wanted and sunny and windy and I wanted to kill EVERYONE because that is literally 30 degrees minimum above what I consider nice, not to mention I can’t deal with the sun touching me.