sherlollysmooch
It’s messing people up, this social pressure to “find your passion” and “know what it is you want to do”. It’s perfectly fine to just live your moments fully, and marvel as many small and large passions, many small and large purposes enter and leave your life. For many people there is no realization, no bliss to follow, no discovery of your life’s purpose. This isn’t sad, it’s just the way things are. Stop trying to find the forest and just enjoy the trees.

Sally Coulter (via judygrimes)

#maybe the hardest part of adulthood for me#’do what you love!!’#i love twenty things none of them are careers#how abt i do something i don’t hate and then pursue my interests in my spare time

(via annesteele)

#being alive to the world is enough (via wintercreek)

I think there is something true here, though the truth is often very complicated.

True story: I probably was always gonna be a writer. It feels less like a passion than an inevitability. But if I’d fallen into gardening before art, you’d never have seen a painting out of me, and I’d be known (if I was known at all) for my absurdly named cultivars of native plants.

It worked out well enough for me. I regret nothing. (For one thing, Digger would have been really hard to do as a photo comic!) But there’s more than one way to go. Sometimes fifty roads diverge in a yellow road, and none of them suck and most of ‘em overlap.

(via when-it-rains-it-snows)

the-profound-assbutt
casterbate:

thedoctorssupernaturalblogger:

cassy-the-fallen-angel:

snackrifical:

a-little-deeper:

psilent-as-in-cjelli:

geargie:

camuizuuki:

inyourpassengerseat:

And she’ll sit there. She’ll rust, fall apart. In a junk yard in a small town. Kids will pass by, run their hands along the rumpled metal that lost its shine after one too many rains. The grass beneath her is pale and dead. No one will look at her and give her a second thought. It’ll be that car that’s always been there. But really, there was a time, so far back that no one can remember now, when two boys rode around in that car. They drove for so long, all their lives, wheels hot, and the windows rolled down. Old songs that no one knows the words to anymore. So many memories cling to the falling paint, and the worn leather. About the two boys who loved her. Who were good. The ones that saved the world a few times. Who fought the monsters people refused to see. But, of course, they were also the boys who died.



And sometimes the weird guy in the trench coat will visit her. That’s when the parents call their children back inside as the man sits on the hood, legs folded up beneath him; just sits unmoving for hours. There’s a rumor that before he leaves, he caresses her side gently and whispers “thank you for taking care of them”.

NO THAT’S NOT OKAY YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO IMPLY THAT DEAN AND SAM DIED AND CAS IS ALONE NO



I DON’T EVEN WATCH THE SHOW AND THAT WAS PAINFUL AND UNCALLED FOR FUCK

how could u i thought we were family

Just when I get to the place where I think Supernatural can’t hurt me anymore, the fandom turns around and stabs me in the back.

casterbate:

thedoctorssupernaturalblogger:

cassy-the-fallen-angel:

snackrifical:

a-little-deeper:

psilent-as-in-cjelli:

geargie:

camuizuuki:

inyourpassengerseat:

And she’ll sit there. She’ll rust, fall apart. In a junk yard in a small town. Kids will pass by, run their hands along the rumpled metal that lost its shine after one too many rains. The grass beneath her is pale and dead. No one will look at her and give her a second thought. It’ll be that car that’s always been there. But really, there was a time, so far back that no one can remember now, when two boys rode around in that car. They drove for so long, all their lives, wheels hot, and the windows rolled down. Old songs that no one knows the words to anymore. So many memories cling to the falling paint, and the worn leather. About the two boys who loved her. Who were good. The ones that saved the world a few times. Who fought the monsters people refused to see. But, of course, they were also the boys who died.

image

And sometimes the weird guy in the trench coat will visit her. That’s when the parents call their children back inside as the man sits on the hood, legs folded up beneath him; just sits unmoving for hours. There’s a rumor that before he leaves, he caresses her side gently and whispers “thank you for taking care of them”.

NO THAT’S NOT OKAY YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO IMPLY THAT DEAN AND SAM DIED AND CAS IS ALONE NO

image

I DON’T EVEN WATCH THE SHOW AND THAT WAS PAINFUL AND UNCALLED FOR FUCK

how could u i thought we were family

Just when I get to the place where I think Supernatural can’t hurt me anymore, the fandom turns around and stabs me in the back.