#school has been my whole fucking personality all my life

[sunshine6ixty]

i think this is where i've landed with the whole gaiman thing.

some background, i was a gaiman girlie. i paid money to see him speak, i volunteered for a signing, i've taken pictures in front of the world's largest carousel; hugely formative, resonated on a level that nothing else i've encountered did, and so on and so on etcetera. (i got to say "mr gaiman i wouldn't be who i am today without your books" to him, which is a Different Flavored Memory now than it once was, i can tell you)

and like. though his books had a familiar and fond place in my life, i'd already gotten to a point of... nebulous disenchantment? not disgust or anything-- just that nature was taking its course, and i was drifting away. i started reading neil gaiman at age... what, thirteen? maybe eleven? and i read his work consistently for a while. i'm in my thirties now, and i haven't been keeping track, but i've read american gods once a year for at least the past five years. it was just... kinda time, in a way. he seemed like he'd said what he had to say, and was coasting in a perpetual victory lap, which i was fine with. i'd just... keep picking at the gaiman books again when i was bored.

and i remember thinking, around when i first noticed this distance i'd been feeling, that i was just... running dry. things felt stale and i didn't know where to look to change that.

and then this all happened.

and all of a sudden, my perception of this person has been wrenched into a completely new perspective. just, twisted sideways, seams popping, eyes bugging, can't-unbreak-the-action-figure wrenched. the spell is broken, in an ironically gaiman-esque way, and this mythic figure (~*nEIL GAIman*~) is revealed to be just a shitty, spoiled brat of a complete fucking monster.

i've read the article, i've heard the stories about how weird he was for doctor who, i've seen not-unreasonable allegations of plagarism floating around-- suffice it to say, he's just a shit of a dude. he's... not special. not really. he's a good writer who said one thing with his work, and lived another. who saw something that resonated, and put his name on it. who said something that we felt, and said he gave it to us.

and i realized, from this angle, that the reason i was feeling so dried out was likely because neil gaiman (some might say purposefully) took all the fucking air out of the room. like, nobody was neil gaiman, right, so what right could you have to try to do a neil gaiman? he was the only gaiman. the apex of gaiman. peak gaiman. the mystical, profound, monotheistic god of dark poetic storytelling.

but like. he wasn't. it turns out, he was just a shitty dude. magic or no, he was mostly just entitled.

and i think that sort of broke something in me. if the curtain was pulled back and there was just a weird, shitty little dude in there, then what the fuck have i been doing? in an... i-should-probably-talk-to-a-therapist-about-this sort of way, neil gaiman kept me from writing! like-- i was a kid who took pictures of graves at age five, who made up a story about a child bricked up in the school belltower who's ghost still wandered the halls (and published it in the school newspaper, next to what flavor milk does mrs k's 5th grade class prefer), who believed there was a door to another world beneath their neighbor's ornamental bush, who mapped the lost city (/junk dump) in the open space drainage ditch! this is the stuff i did before i knew gaiman! i liked gaiman because i was into this stuff already, and then after a while, without me really noticing it, neil gaiman became this stuff. the only source of it. the only rightful creator of a gaiman.

and like... if you know you can't do it like neil gaiman, because he's him and you're not, you kind of start despairing before you even begin, right?

fuck that.

i think, what i can take away from the whole debacle is this: it's time for all of us who have ever felt like this to do a gaiman.

... by which i mean, make our art. not the other stuff.

you have every right to be as audacious as neil gaiman with your art. take it as seriously, tell everyone it's as important. put that thing down on paper; the thing you otherwise wouldn't.

look, chances are, you're actually a better person than neil gaiman. he sucks. he was a skilled craftsman, but skill can be learned. what he did was practice and talk himself up. and there is nothing magical about neil gaiman that hasn't also run beneath our fingertips.

there was never anything unique about ~*neiLGAiman*~. not really. neil just made him up to be the special-est most darkest and dreamiest boy there ever was, and it was a fucking lie, and its insidious the degree to which it ate an entire genre.

because, honestly? i want to read more shit like neil gaiman! i've been hungry for more of what he said was solely his for so fucking long! i want to see what weird, fever-dream stories we've all been sitting on because he ate the entire ecosystem! i want to read all of the beautiful, terrible, fucked-up magical things from everyone that never saw the light of day because neil was too busy basking in it!

and now that the mask is off, it's fucking time. i'm going to take my shit back, neil. fuck you.

in a weird, fucked-up way, what a relief.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Hey, you.

If you're American, and you've been having a hard week egg for.. reasons -

I have something to say to the Americans.

Just remember.

They aren't immortal.

Nobility has lied for centuries. They told us they were placed on the throne by God - the rule of the king being the will of the Creator.

The French proved them wrong.

You are young. They are human. They will one day die.

And on the day they die - regardless of if hell is real or not - there will be a movement when they are laying on that death bed. They will feel their live slipping from their grasp.

And they will feel the fear.

The possiblity of eternal consequence.

They will fear what waiting for them on the other side. The one journey they cannot buy their way out of. The moment the bell tolls for thee.

And honestly, the thought brings me peace.

Trumo and Elon AREN'T demons - though it's so easy to think of them as so.

They are evil humans. And all humans die. Trump? He's 80. He's over three times my age. He's older than my grandmother. He eats McDonald's and Diet Coke like no one's business. Knock on wood I'm betting he's got ten years TOPS.

('I'll be the last president' - my ass. If you take a bad fall it's game over dude. You won't release your health records cause you're most likely due for a heart attack soon mfer. Your minions don't like your candy ass Junior enough to have him as a successor and Baron doesn't fucking care so realistically speaking whats your game plan here? 🤨 Elon's kids have too many daddy issues to take your place. You can't even use a sword. Napoleon would slay you where you fucking stand you pansy)

So if you've been struggling this week, I just wanted to remind you.

Black people won our civil rights without the support from the media, without online social networks, without the support from 90% of white people.

70 years ago, around when my grandma was born - I could not sit next a white person in school. If a white man was walking towards me on the street, I'd have to step into the gutter and let him pass. At risk of being actually killed by the whole town if not.

Nowadays in my city I could tell a white guy my age 'Fuck you!!' to your face. Middle finger and all. And they're not gonna put me in jail for it. No stranger is gonna jump in. The whole town isn't gonna care. If anything, people will just record.

That all happened in ONE generation.

So no matter what Trump does.

Remember. He's not immortal. He will die like we all do.

You're young. You'll have the rest of your life to reverse everything he's done.

That's the thing about personality cults. Once the personality is removed, the whole thing falls apart. And the personality in question is once again - an 80 year old who eats Big Macs and wears suits two sizes too large. A man who would probably get genuinely upset if you asked him to recite his 8 times tables.

If Trump dies in the next 10-20 years, before he turns 100, I'll be 35-45. a.k.a - my generation will be entering the older majority. Our generation will be the eldest and the most influencial. What then?

The Trumpettes won't have their leader for their personality cult so they'll have no one - not even their republican parents - to tell them who to think.

We'll be older, wiser. We'll teach our kids the signs. We'll tell them stories what to do, and invest pubic funds to conserve the history of our fight - to never be erased.

If you're scared this week, I understand.

But remember. We've fought harder with less - and we still won.

So keep your head up. Doom is the tool of the enemy. You keep going, you keep living, and you survive to tear down their legacy while the bastard spins in his grave.

Keep going. Keep your angry hearts and clenched fists. Hold on tight to your love and rage. And keep going.

That's what Hobie would want. That's what a Hobie is there to teach us.

Hope this helped someone, anyone, even if it was a little bit. If this helps you get through the day, or the next hour, with the smallest bit of hope - that's all I want.

Thanks for reading this far! Here's Hobie :)

--------------------------------------------------

And bonus:

Ayo I just gotta add this in here -

Word to god, and when I say this I say this with my whole chest -

I'd be DAMNED before I ever say I'm scared of Donald Trump.

First of all, I'm black and poor. There's been a white man wanting me dead since the moment I left my Mama's hoohaa and guess what, I'm still here. That mfer ain't special. Call me when the klansmen come not when done mfers with tiki torches cosplay call of duty.

Cause none of them coming to the hood..tf.. Try that shit in neighborhood with Bloods and Crips.. Y'all not the only ones with automatics and lots of money. It's just the black people with money and automatics keep shit quiet. If these racist mfers had ppl breaking in they house the way Kendrick had mfers breaking in Drake's with choppers they'd be terrified as fuuuckkk

And secondly there's 4chan fellas out there that probably legit jack off to the idea of a black queer trans person crying in fear. And those mfers can kiss my black ass and kick rocks cause I wake up every day smiling. So -

Anyway I'm done lol

I just had to get this out of my system lol. OKAY BYE FOR REAL

[fleur-alise]

so turns out i did end up getting accepted to grad school, and funded too, and now I have to decide if I'm gonna go through with the gap year I decided on when I got waitlisted and sorely need or bite the bullet and go through with it and hope my extreme burnout doesn't get any worse or turn it down and pray that I'll be able to get in when I try again. no scratch that. pray that I try again.

[infizero]

every time i so much as think about that scene where light looks at porn magazines while scowling i go into hysterics its genuinely the funniest thing i've ever seen

[4lexnilsen]

“you’re being ridiculous,  helena.”   alex can only roll his eyes and dismissively wave his hand,  trying to understand what it is that she’d want him to do when his friend is under constant scrutiny for simply existing.   “she’d never lay a hand on you!   and if she did,  i surely wouldn’t just sit by and praise her for it or excuse her behavior.”   he doesn’t allow anyone to speak poorly about helena in his presence,  so why would he allow helena to belittle his other friends?   he puts down what’s left of the churro that he’d been munching on and wipes his lips with the back of his hand,  trying to ignore the spectacle that she’s putting on.   the tears that he’s glimpsed in her doe-like hues must be fake —   this spoiled brat isn’t used to people disagreeing with her or talking back.   still,  his heart aches but he’s too angry to feel much sympathy.   who gave her the right to play freud and analyze his life choices?   project her own insecurities onto him?   “ohhh,  helena wayne said her first bad word.   what would daddy think about it?”   he cruelly taunts,  figuring two can play this game of blatant disrespect.   

“who’s been treating you like shit?   name one person.   sarah?   she avoids you like the plague!   poppy?   that’s all in your head.   she doesn’t have any personal agenda against you.   she just wants to make sure that i’m not replacing her!   for someone who constantly talks about feelings and tries to pick apart every single one,  you have no empathy for her.   how do you know they talk behind your back?   see?   you’re doing it again!   putting words in people’s mouths.   i’ve never heard them say anything rude about you.   period.   again,  sarah doesn’t know you and poppy isn’t hellbent on making a villain out of you.”   he’s reaching for the door,  ready to just get out of her car and remove himself from this insane situation before she begins to throw other things at him.   all because he’s a good friend.   “which one of us are you talking about right now?   a professional guilter and manipulator with a victim complex.   that’s all you,  helena.   oh,  look at me,  i’m so friendly and sweet and i’ve convinced myself other girls just hate me.   do you even hear yourself?”   he zips up his jacket,  shaking his head because she sounds psychotic.   absolutely psychotic.

“a guy with a whole lot of issues?   jesus christ.   you really are crazy.   i’ve got issues because i go on vacation with my best friend who just so happens to be a woman?   i don’t know what misogynistic bullshit you’ve been taught in private schools,  but men and women can be just friends.”   if he only allowed himself a glimpse into the darkest parts of his soul,  he’d know that she’s right about everything —   he does have plenty of issues and trauma that has never been fully processed.   but something that his consciousness refuses to acknowledge.   “sharing a bed.   oh,  how evil of us that was.   right,  because sleeping in one bed means you’re fucking,  yeah?   i have back problems,  helena.   it was an honest mistake during the booking process,  not some great scheme to get into each other’s pants while sarah’s waiting at home.   we slept in one bed because i couldn’t sleep on the floor or the tiny sofa because of my back,  and i sure as hell wasn’t gonna let poppy take the floor.   just like i wouldn’t let you do it.”   he can’t believe she’s actually stalked those pictures,  read the captions.   that’s obsessive behavior.

“unlock the door,  i’m going home.   i can’t handle more of this bullshit.   you’ve offended me enough times for one day.”   but just as he says it,  the car roars to life and he’s squished back into the seat,  fingers digging into the leather beneath.   suddenly,  the temperature reaches a hundred degrees as his heart begins to race.   “what are you doing?   this is crazy.   you’ve lost your mind.   pull over.   i said PULL OVER!”   he doesn’t raise his voice often,  but he’s losing sanity and can’t help it.   is she planning on crashing the car?   he wouldn’t put it past her.   “helena,  slow down.   there’s other cars in the street!   slow down.   what the fuck?!”   he generally hates being the one in the passenger’s seat,  but now…   he’s certain this is how he goes —   all because he got in the car with an insane person.   “give me that fucking thing.   pay attention to the road!”   he unceremoniously snatches her phone,  his left hand grabbing the steering wheel because he doesn’t trust her one bit right now.   “pull over,  i’m getting out.   PULL.   OVER.”

"and it's crazy how you really are the poppy wright DEFENSE attorney." a dry laugh emits. "if she slapped me in the face, you'd have all sorts of defenses even then... 'oh, judge. it's just because she doesn't trust easily!'" mocking him, he makes her head absolutely ACHE and her stomach twist and turn deeply in disgust acting like this. "of course i'm going to talk things–" trying to fight back the urge to curse as angry tears well in her eyes– quickly swiping them away, but forget that, he just gaslighted her ONCE again. the pulse in her neck quivering, throat hardening, before exploding, "of course i'm going to talk shit," forget trying to hold back and saying 'THINGS', "when someone treats me like shit! i don't need to be revoltingly guilted by you for not being a 'girls girl' once it gets to that point. i won't let anyone treat me like shit, whether you like it or not. whether you accuse me of bullshit like that or not. and you... you're such a liar. when i know for certain they say things. you're trying to guilt me all while LYING, alex?!" what kind of terrible game is he trying to play with her? it's flabbergasting and insulting, how STUPID he thinks she is. to play like these girls are so innocent, trying to make her the villain while he in fact is aware he's lying. it leaves her staring at him wide eyed, angry and shocked like she doesn't even know who he is. it's no wonder her instincts had a funny idea about him, he's not that quiet nice guy he portrays so well. he wears a mask. "good idea. i should switch career paths all in order to diagnose what kind of mental illness i'm witnessing. you being a professional guilter, manipulator and a liar."

"doing what? sitting in my car? listening to you talking like a guy with a whole lot of issues? at least we're not on a vacation, sharing a bed right now." like in that picture his friend posted of them on instagram she caught a long time ago. "i told you that you project and now you go and repeat it like a toddler learning a new word because it MUST'VE hit a nerve. and now you entirely misuse the word so often, that it's criminal." rolling her eyes at how ignorant he sounds. "it isn't your POINT of view when it's just you being an accusatory ASSHOLE."

the fourth curse word spewing from her tonight, sounding foreign coming from her voice but who cares about being polite and put well together when inner fury and rage is boiling her blood. no one has ever pushed her so far off the edge like this. heat slithering up her back in hot waves, pooling in her cheeks– temples throbbing. unable to take all of these accusatory and untrue comments, being twisted like she's the one in the wrong from his clique to him making her feel like it's her FAULT why harry treats her the way he does. all at the wrong time he's offering they go visit sarah and harry... of course her ANGER thinks first before anything else. "fine!" mustang is already started and humming, all it takes is helena's right hand to fly to the gear shift and her foot stomping the acceleration to make it growl alive as the car takes off. "two things at once?" how twisted is he to say something like that to her? "i'll show you three things at once then." how to drive chicago like a speed demon without getting caught. let's see who needs control now as the speedometer climbs to 45, 55, 65... let's SEE WHO is controlling. picking up her phone while she's driving and speed still races to the next digit, going to a specific app while she's at it. typing in sarah's name to get her address since she's going to need it.

[silouvertongues]

gotta get up early for class tomorrow im so sleepy but i suddenly felt the urge to calculate how much money's been spent on my post secondary education till now and i literally feel nauseous

[mqonlighting]

real talk in the tags for a second because i have a crush on a girl and i. a hehe. ahehehe.

will be burying this in reblogs and never touching on it again

[thebleedingeffect]

.

[specialgradefckr]

AWHHHH ty for the tag!! i know i've got soooo many wips i wanna see from you heheheh... omg god i STILL have to check out some stuff XD life really does get away from you sometimes

i'll pass on the tag to @eevwrites and @infinitatis-ink i know you bitches got stuff in drafts. show us the goods. gimme. sample.

hhhhh... the forbidden texts... some of which have gone untouched for like. an entire year almost.

but i have some BESPOKE lines in some of my drafts. i swear to god. some of these are absolutely WILD sjhdflghdg i still love them even after months and months~

from my final heatwave fic, omega!gojo getting sex ed entirely from porn:

Satoru had always liked the idea of getting knotted. Like, what omega didn’t? You were his best friend, and you could confirm you liked the idea, too. The two of you had talked all about it – about everything, once you’d both presented and helped each other out through your first heats. The moment you’d reluctantly shown him your collection of knot toys, he’d ordered some for himself. You had to wrestle with him to keep him from borrowing one to try out, complaining that you didn’t trust him at all to sanitize it properly, and then there was that one time you and he were both in heat at the same time- Anyways, Satoru knew he wanted to get knotted. He just hadn’t found the right alpha to do it with yet. But now he has one, and now he’s finally going to get knotted, like he always wanted. So why, when Suguru finally grinds against his ass, does he feel ice in his gut? He tries to hide how he stiffens up but Suguru notices. Fuck. Didn’t it hurt if they didn’t fuck when they got hard? Like, in the porn, the alpha stepbrother always begs his omega stepsister to help him out just this once, and she agrees because she knows that his knot will be painful and hard for hours if he doesn’t cum inside some hot omega pussy. (Listen, he’s not proud of that one. He’d only clicked on it in the first place because the stepsister looked like… someone he knew.)

this fic i started in like. may of last year or something wild. it's such a fun idea, it's SO full of funny moments:

“This is what I looked like in high school. We dated a whole year, you know, I can prove it. The pictures are still up on his profile.” Piercing, bloodred eyes dart from the picture, and back to you. Fair enough. You looked like crap in high school, and you definitely look a lot better now. “I must have had a pretty fun personality, no?” His mouth opens up, but before he says anything, you put your face right up in front of his, eyes locked, smiling deviously. “Or I must have been a complete fucking freak in the sheets.” He barks out a laugh, and you know you’ve got him. Foot in the door. “You’d suck my dick to get a date to this stupid reunion?” Sukuna didn't take you for that sort of woman, but the teasing question falls from his lips so naturally. “I would suck your dick to make Satoru Gojo feel inferior,” You correct. Where have you been all of my life?

and this one is another super fucked up delicious wip of mine:

“Yo! Suguru!” He calls out cheerfully, dragging either twin by the hair. Their mouths are duct taped shut. “These are yours, right?” “Which one do you love more?” His eyes shine a painful white-blue. Like glacial ice in the sunlight. Suguru's breath leaves him. “What?” “Nanako and Mimiko, right? Which one do you love more? You can keep that one, and I’ll kill the other.” Ice in his lungs. His breath. He had never. Never imagined that Satoru would. “They’re innocent – they’re just girls – ” “Your girls killed two women. They’ve got two lives to pay for their crimes with, but out of respect for our long friendship, I’m letting you keep one. Isn’t that nice of me?” “Two monkeys?” He snarls helplessly. “Monkeys to you. To me, they were women. And I say that killing a woman is a crime worthy of death. Choose now or watch them both die.” It’s not a bluff. Suguru can feel him gathering his cursed energy, he can curse faster than Suguru could even dream of stopping him.

silly wip tag game!◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

show us a paragraph, line or dialogue out of context from your current wip[s]. if you aren't a writer, feel free to share one from the last fic you read! ♡

these are from three different wips, the last one is something i wrote in december 2024 (those who remember me talking about nanami and a desi reader...yea), and the second one is something my aashi (@fushitoru) has been asking for since the beginning of time [hint: salaryman choso]

— npt: @gojocon @norikuna @sonnytoru @starmapz @aishi-toru @baepsays @gojosoups @indiewritesxoxo @madamechrissy + anyone else

[zemnarihah]

my best friend has been very distant w me lately and i asked today if she wanted to hang out and she said she probably couldn't bc it's her brothers birthday but she would let me know if she could and i have her location and i just looked and she's at her boyfriends house rn....

[iknaenmal]

WHY! IS! IRL FRIENDSHIP! SO HARD!!!!!

[finalhaunts]

Siigghh

[astrxealis]

started rereading the pjo series the other day actually wawawa still my favorite fr it means the world to me :(( but yeah also! rewatched big hero 6 and ngl it probably really is my favorite movie for many personal reasons hehe AND THEN also watched the first part of hamilton on tv w my parents they loved it hehehe

[onika-t-maraj]

...

[ineffabeatlemindpalace]

born in the 90s forever

[lizardho]

Being at BYU after my mission was weird. Like. Bad weird. Everybody was still acting like missionaries but they had nobody to teach so it all turned into the holier-than-thou bs that missions always degenerate into over time. Just the forced establishment of some weird social hierarchy where value is based on how devout you are, with people digging and scratching and clawing their way around humanity in order to become even more devout.

And this bullshit was actively killing me. The attempts to stay Good Enough were scraping the remnants of my humanity out of my husk like a spoon scraping the last bits of watermelon from a rind - I was doing what I had always done, be Mormon, do what Mormons do, be as good a Mormon as I could be, only it was breaking me. Instead of healing me, making me whole, taking away my burdens, it was pulling the life out of me in exchange for nothing. I was just being squeezed dry of everything I had to offer and being given back shame and isolation and rejection because I didn’t do it first, or fast enough, or with a willing enough heart, or whatever the hell they could come up with.

But despite myself, because most people smarter than me AND dumber than me would have left already, I found myself trying over and over and over again to make it work with no success.

One day, I snap. I’ve had enough. I need answers. I’ve looked everywhere and done everything I could by myself, and nothing had come of it, so I went to talk to a faculty member. A teacher at the school. He taught religion classes and his lessons were powerfully and inspiringly honest, earnest, and filled with raw humanity. I figured if I could get a straight (ha) answer from anyone, it would be that guy. He wasn’t involved in the Mormon rat race. He wasn’t playing the stupid “I’m Worthier Than You” games that were so pernicious on campus. He was being real and open and vulnerable and I needed that from someone.

So I go into his office and I lay my cards on the table. I figure if I’m gonna get helped, I need to be honest. I share with him my weird feelings about dad leaving the church on my mission. About my siblings leaving the church. About my own doubts and hurts. I tell him about how hard it is to be in limbo like this without knowing what to do or where to turn. I tell him I need answers.

And he listens. And then he starts with the usual Mormon apologetics bullshit. And I say “no” because I’m done with that. That doesn’t fly with me anymore. And he sees and hears me say no and he puts a hand on mine, makes direct eye contact, and says,

“You know, you don’t have to go to church, right?”

I, being a person who was hurting, interpreted that as “if you have questions that I can’t answer you should fuck off.” I got defensive immediately and he again listened, put his hand on mine, and said,

“Not what I meant. You can stay if you want, but I want you to know you can leave too. Take a break. Give yourself time to heal. This isn’t supposed to hurt this much, and if it hurts you can take a break and come back when it feels good.”

I’m actually getting choked up just writing that out. Nobody had ever said that to me before. When I talked about my dysphoria to my parents, they said teenagers are supposed to feel like that a little bit. When I talked to people about my difficulties at church they had always told me that it was a sign that church was working. That I was doing it right. That growth was supposed to hurt, that excising the Natural Man from me was supposed to be difficult, that I was supposed to be feeling this anxious and sad and scared. I had never ever ever been told that pain and suffering were signs things were going wrong. I had actually explicitly been told by many many many many many many many many people that it was good, that the hurt and the heartache and the constant feeling of never being good enough and never being able to fit into my own skin or love myself in any meaningful way was desirable. That it was something they envied.

It’s not supposed to hurt. Some things can, and should. My parents were right that some body concerns were normal (although we later found out my specific concerns were more abnormal lmao, I got that tgirl swag). My family and friends were right that challenging myself with difficult assignments and ambitious goals was supposed to feel uncomfortable.

And at the same time, THIS was not supposed to hurt. I was not meant to have this gaping throbbing aching hole in my Me that never let up. It wasn’t supposed to hurt. IT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HURT.

I don’t know when exactly I started crying, but I was crying the whole rest of the day. It was the first time in a while I had to actually take a Valium to clam down. It wasn’t supposed to hurt.

He also told me that if it ever stopped hurting I could always come back.

I think that was the day I really left. Others might say otherwise, I still tried to make it work for a few more months after that, but the idea that it wasn’t supposed to hurt really changed me.

If any of you are reading this - there are things that are supposed to be difficult. Things that are supposed to hurt. But if your faith or your beliefs about the world or yourself leave you feeling like you’ve been hollowed out at a minor mistake or setback, if your failures and setbacks leave you feeling raw and numb frequently, if the company you keep or the places you stay leave you feeling constantly inadequate with out hope or help, then I’ll tell you the same thing that professor told me:

You can go somewhere else. You can do something else. And you can always come back when you want.

But it’s not supposed to hurt.