Learning Multiple Different Languages Just For The Sake Of Trying To Lay My Thoughts Bare

currently...

Life is always better when everyone else is asleep so I can be a complete lunatic and not worry about getting caught

whoever is writing my life has got mad writers block bc wtf am i doing

“I am homesick for a place I am not sure even exists. One where my heart is full. My body loved. And my soul understood.”

— Melissa Cox

i have a whole day planned out for myself. art museum. second hand bookstore. barnes and nobles. poke.

i’m about to go feral on the streets i’m so excited

I just want to be a little hobbit living daily life in the golden days of the Shire. Newly plucked flowers decorating my curly hair, picking vegetables from the garden to place in my basket, a fresh, warm pie cooling on the counter, and wandering the hillsides in my bare feet…what a dream that would be…

Ok fine, I’ll make one of these too

Please interact:

lgbtq+ people, aspiring marine biologists, people who have pins on their backpack, tired people, dog people, bookworms, bakers, folks who don’t own boats, canadians, people who wear bucket hats, anyone that doesn’t live in wyoming, those with niche interests, people that do theatre, mutuals (<3), embroiderers, artists, people that had an obsession with egyptian gods at some point, atheists, people who put the Hamilton playlist on shuffle, cool folks

the fact that is impossible for me, in one life, to study classical studies, archaeology, international relations, all the literature in the world, get a languages degree in italian, german, greek, latin, russian and french; learn how to play the violin and also piano, cello, guitar and the flute; learn how to sing, both modern singing and classical singing/opera; is my villain origin story.

my tumblr isn't even a blog, it's just a hideous amalgamation of all my hyperfixations from the last decade.

I like how the only times I go on tumblr is to recover from books that mentally destroyed me

obsessed with mass market paperbacks. their pleasing rectangular proportions. how they fit badly in a hoodie pocket so you can drag them around everywhere with you like a temporary little buddy. the way they fit in your hand because they're MADE for human hands and not as bookshelf decoration. the way the pages feel when you riffle them gently with your thumb. How pristine and crisp they look when you get them and how creased and folded they look when you're done, even if you try to be nice to them. how that wear is okay, how that's correct actually, because they're made with the philosophy that books aren't meant to be PRETTY, they're meant to be read. that little ripple new ones get on the left side from where you hold them when you're reading, the way the ripple only goes as far as you've read, because u change stories by reading as they are changing you. how you can find thousands of these creased and folded and loved little dudes in every thrift store and used book shop and neighborhood library and you can instantly see the ones that someone carried around in a backpack for weeks or read to pieces or gave up on halfway through because they wear being read like fresh snow wears footprints. I love these poorly made, subpar little rectangles so much. truly the people's books.