Some days it just isn’t worth trying to justify or apologize for what you say.

I’m trying very hard not to take it to heart for possibly hurting some one’s feelings or embarrassing them then having them lash out at me. I know I don’t always phrase things well or well enough for some people to understand that what I say isn’t being said to be malicious, or call them out. It just keeps running around my head now though and all I want to do is cry, even though I know it’s an over dramatic reaction to small barbed comments. I guess I just feel like I shouldn’t really talk anymore, or make observations, or ask my coworkers to please remember not to leave food or drinks out. 

I mean I’m only 22 and they’re older than I am. “They aren’t children, they don’t need to be reminded to pick up after themselves.”

So pick up after yourselves so we don’t get fruit flies. Summer’s about here, ya know?

I feel like I’m working at the jewelry store again, not really supposing to be heard or seen.

And again, over reacting, I know but dammit it’s how I feel tumblr journal. Don’t judge me. >.<

For some reason this pony reminds me of Honey Boo Boo.

mldmnnrdrprtr:

crazylipgloss:

thebatmanchild:

athagazagoraphobic:

invisicanada:

About three things I was absolutely positive. First, I had a pokemon. Second, there was a part of me - and I didn’t know how dominant that part might be - that wanted to be the very best, like no one ever was. Third, Gary Oak was unconditionally and irrevocably a douchenozzle.

Reblogging for the comment

How old are you? 

“ten”

How long have you been ten?

“…”

HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN TEN

Misty looked at Ash, his breathing still heavy from carrying her on his bike as fast as he could through the long grass outside of Pallet Town.

“You’re eyes are impossibly huge and black,” Misty said. “Your hair is… incredibly pointy, and doesn’t need product. Your face changes size and shape based on your feelings… and sometimes you speak like - like you’re from the 90’s. You never spend money on anything; you don’t go to the bathroom.”

The silence hung there, thick and heavy like a Snorlax blocking the bike path. 

“How old are you?” Misty asked, not sure if she wanted to know.

“Ten,” Ash replied, with a slight smirk and an almost amused tone.

Misty new that wasn’t true. Ash wasn’t like the other boys her age. He wasn’t even like her older sisters who ran the gym in Cerulean City. He was wiser and his passion was genuine.

Ash didn’t just want to catch them all, he needed to. He was going to be the best there ever was no matter how long it took, which gave Misty this nagging in the back of her mind. She had to know for sure.

“How long have you been ten?” she asked. Her voice weak, knowing full well the answer could change everything she thought she knew.

“A while…” Ash said. His voice trailing off, as if he were losing himself in a flood of memories.

Misty let out a faint gasp. She knew now. She was certain.

“I know what you are,” she declared, as if whatever had been holding her back from accepting the truth, finally let go of her hand and let her fall right down the Diglett hole.

Ash eyes were alive now, flickering like the flame on a Charmander’s tale.

He stared right into her and said, ”Say it… out loud. Say it.”

Misty’s heart was pounding louder than the thud of a Marowak’s bone club attack.

Despite the now eerily silent meadow, she could barely be heard as she whispered, “Pokemon Trainer.”

Help me, for I am slain!!

Yiiissshhhh

becauseiwasdrunk:

Meow

I looked at this and all I could think was why? Why the fuck would you draw/tattoo that and take a picture of it?

Then I noticed the username and life made sense again.