I need feminism because apparently “my brain is physiologically different… and thus inherently unsuitable for an engineering career”. But not to worry, “it’s not my fault”.
And no, I don’t want to be hired because I’m a woman. I want to be hired because I’m the best.
This is so fucking self-indulgent.
And the crayons have died.
I know I’m being unreasonable, but throwing my pencils at the door is extremely satisfying.
Somebody keep me away from the crayons.
"I wrote TID in part for all the children of divorced parents, who love their stepparents too, who need to believe the One True Love narrative is not the only narrative. That part of the beauty of the human heart is that it regenerates. That if you really love someone, what you want above other things is their happiness, because to me, that’s not just the best part of love, it’s the best part of people."
- Cassandra Clare.
food for thought: conscious speaking
Never ask “Does that makes sense?”, by Jerry Weissman.
procrastination: a poem
Oh, tumblr, thou art lithe and -
actually, let me go make some tea
"Dire qu´il suffit parfois
Qu´il y ait un navire
Pour que tout se déchire
Quand le navire s´en va"
- Milord, by Edith Piaf.
maintenant, jacques brel
Is there a word for the paralysing loneliness that comes from realising that no matter how much you share, how much you hint of what it feels like inside your head, you can never truly climb into someone else’s mind so that they might know you? Complètement, sans réserve?
j’accuse ma france
Listening to Jean Ferrat.
It makes me long for my childhood, for a France long before I was born, a France that I will never know.
A France forgotten. Broken. Born again.
I feel nostalgic, of days past, of days to come, and for the person I might have become, had I stayed in France when I was little.
I wonder what she would think of my choices.
It’s a bittersweet feeling. It brings my life into sharp focus: I feel so grateful for the people and opportunities I’ve been trusted with, and I ache with loneliness for all the things I can never share, all the things I will never know.
I think it’s time to call this siesta quits and go back to jazz and mathematics.
nina simone will get me through fourier series
I am cautiously optimistic.
Once upon a time, there was a spider named Bob,
Made of wool, and queen of all.
She lived in a box, she ate from a bowl, she had
Infinite power over
Her world. Yet Bob dreamt of travel, and music and
Glory and -
and soon it was late, and bob had dreamt
- Adult: So what do you want to be when you grow up?
- Me: An astronomer.
- Adult: You mean an astronaut.
- Me: No, I mean an astronomer.