I hate when i think of a story idea but it’s so specific that no one else would ever be able to write it but i have no motivation to write it😭
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Almost had to do some work today. Narrowly avoided by principal of other coworker refusing to entrust me with his baby. (Million dollar equipment running an automated cycle) Five more hours to go. We can do it!!!
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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
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a quick stardew valley ship meme for elliott & farmer dallas! they've been on my mind 💞
blank template under the cut 👇
(from what i researched, this template was originally made by a twt user named senaizuuchan, but their account unfortunately no longer exists 😔)
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I barely have any followers (I appreciate ya'll though) but here goes anyway
If this post gets 10 notes I'll make an effort to drink 60 ounces of water per day
If this post gets 15 notes I'll start writing more consistently (at least 15 minutes a day)
If this post gets 30 notes I'll start writing poetry again
If this post gets 50 notes I'll start drawing and painting more
If this post gets 100 notes I'll start getting 8-9 hours of sleep a night and having a consistent sleep schedule
If this post gets 500 notes by June I'll start my fantasy inspired etsy store that I've wanted to start for years but never have
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Chimney discovers a recipe for making Buck do whatever he wants him to do. Only 3 ingredients are needed: a daughter, a pilot and a toy.
He discovers it by accident when Buck and Tommy come over for dinner one day. And it’s a special “I need something and only you can help me” kind of dinner. So they go all out making Buck’s favorite foods hoping that he’d agree to babysit Jee-Yun for a few days while they go away on a shortest, tiniest vacation.
The dinner is over and it’s now or never. Chimney asks Jee-Yun to show Tommy her new toy helicopter while ‘Mommy and Daddy talk to uncle Buck’.
They start off by saying how much Jee-Yun loves him and how great it would be for her to spend so much time with her favorite uncle. And Buck just says “yes”, no hesitation, no questions, not needing them to convince him. That’s when Chimney realizes that Buck didn’t even look at them once, his eyes were fixed on his boyfriend playing with his niece the entire time.
A theory starts forming in his head, because Buck agreed way too easily. Of course, it could be because Buck loves Jee-Yun and his daughter is an angel (most of the time anyway), but his heart tells him it’s not it.
So, Chimney sets out to prove his newfound theory.
At Bobby and Athena’s house he ask Jee-Yun to go up to uncle Buck and Tommy and ask Tommy to give her a piggyback ride. Meanwhile Chimney asks Buck to take over his firehouse quarters’ cleaning duties next shift. Buck agrees.
At the Wilsons’ house Buck agrees to loan Chimney his precious car for a week.
At his house Buck agrees to name his firstborn child Howard.
At the firehouse team and family party Chimney and Maddie once again find themselves asking Buck to babysit Jee-Yun for a couple of days. Buck agrees, looking at them this time, a dreamy look in his eyes. He says he and Tommy love having her around. And they could use the practice.
Maddie jumps up in her seat and asks Buck if he’s thinking about starting a family with Tommy.
Buck shows her his left hand, his ring finger no longer empty. “We already have,” he says, “Asked each other last night.”
Tommy comes over with Jee-Yun on his shoulders, laughing and shrieking “Uncle Tommy” while he tickles her feet.
He sees the stunned expressions on his future in-laws’ faces and Buck twirling his ring, smiling wide.
Tommy laughs, connecting the dots. He sets Jee-Yun down. He grabs Buck’s hand and sits down next to him.
“Maddie and Chim are asking us to babysit Jee-Yun next week,” Buck says happily. “I said sure.”
“Seeing me and her worked like a charm again, huh?” Tommy laughs again while Buck shrugs his shoulders.
Tommy looks at Chimney and Maddie and says, “We’d be happy to,” and adds after a moment, “By the way, Howie. We’re not naming our first child Howard, I’m sorry.”
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