this was a productive afternoon

2

2/100 Days of Productivity 

Spending my Saturday afternoon studying for pathophysiology. This is one of my favourite courses that I’ve taken during uni. I’m hoping I finish everything in my to do list early, so I can relax later tonight. 

Also, I hope everyone has a productive weekend! xx

03.25.2017

2

Autumn Semester - Week 2, Monday

Quick 9 am breakfast (missing: coffee) vs quick 5 pm snack (missing: the banana).
Today wasn’t that interesting, I only had one class. Still, I did all my ‘chores’ from my to-do list. I still have about 20min before my cardio class, and everything will be ticked!
I officially changed my Monday morning class to the Tuesday one earlier in the afternoon!

3/100 days of productivity
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Photo taken this afternoon working on my presentation for next week yet again… but I’m finishing off tonight with some painting, even though I really feel like I should finish this presentation! Sometimes you gotta get what you really feel like doing out of your system, so hopefully tomorrow I will be ready to power forward and get all this uni work done! ☺️
P.S. I need to follow more blogs, I’ll check out accounts that like/reblog this post! (This is a side blog though so any follows will be from my main blog ☺️)

graculus  asked:

what do you think dave and rose's favourite smells are

rose says her favourite is petrichor bc it makes her sound deep and she lives in desperate hope for the likes of john to say “gee rose what does that long word mean”!! (he never does he just laughs at her). but its actually the awful fucking l’oreal kids no tears cherry almond shampoo that mom insisted on buying her since 1997 bc of some biting comment two year old rose made about moms impeccable childcare skills and choice of hygiene products whilst simultaneously rubbing it into her eyes. rose savours the afternoons she spends pouring gallons of it into the hollow insides of various wizard statues around the house so eventually her mom is buying 5 crates a week and has a massive amount of shares in the company because lil rosie just loves it so much! they are at a total stalemate for like 10 years. imps start breaking shit in the house and it seeps out everywhere. ahh nostalgia

daves favourite smell is actually petrichor but if u ask him he’ll say its ass

2

friday 12.5, semester six, week seventeen

Technically, I shouldn’t be counting semesters and weeks anymore, since my last exam of the year/degree was on Tuesday. Ever since Wednesday, my life has been filled with paperwork for next year and my ‘home’, job hunting, cleaning, tidying etc… I also managed to finish two novels (The Upside of Unrequited, and Last night I sang to the monster) and two TV shows (Dear White People, and Sense8) in the past ten days, but that’s not being really productive, is it?
My plan for this afternoon is: organising my notes (because revisions time put a mess in my stuff) and packing my bag for a weekend at my best friend’s, in the city where she studies, with other friends!
EDIT: Lovely desktop by @emmastudies (that I also use in black on my phone)

September - 30 - 2017 🍁 12/100 days of productivity 

This week was stressful, so this Saturday morning I relaxed a bit and watched ‘Wallander’. My mental health really needed that (I was also feeling a little bit sick and not productive at all). The afternoon was more productive. I’ve worked on some physics and right now I enjoy my cappuccino, chemistry homework and some music 😌☕️💛

The Weaver

*continues to throw things at you because Reasons, mostly to do with the fact that this is awesome*

There was once a girl at Elsewhere who spoke to spiders.

She would study their webs, snapping pictures with her cheap instant camera and, later, studiously recreate them with graphite and ink. For the first eight weeks of freshman year her roommate hated spiders, then one evening she opened the door to see ‘him’ feeding the tarantula that had taken up residence in one corner. She never mentioned the odd teeth or the hollowness of his back, and quietly moved all the iron out of the room, bit by bit (except for the bracelet she wore and the old washers she hid in her pillows).

That was when she started weaving.

As a child she had been the one who came home with muddy shoes and dirt smeared on her face and clothes, only willing to take a bath when her father (single, divorced, but still won sole custody - a rarity in 1960’s America) demanded it of her. She grew into the girl in the oversized sweaters that were as comfortable as they were ugly, the sleeves stained with food, ink, and occasionally blood, and never paid attention to what anyone else said - mostly because she never heard. The bloodstains might have been from picked pimples and accidental nicks from the whittling knife she kept hidden in her shoe, but nobody else knew that, and she was a tall girl - six feet even - with the broad shoulders of a swimmer whose father taught her how to punch and kick and scream. So when she went to Elsewhere, the textile industry was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to be an artist, to carve stories and emotion out of wood blocks.

But then, on her first day, she found a large, hairy, potentially deadly spider sitting on her not-yet-made bed when she came out of the bathroom. She shrieked, of course - the spider was nearly the size of her pillow - and grabbed for the plunger next to the toilet (school plumbing was always going to be shit, no matter what school it was). She did not, however, try and hit the spider - don’t hurt the animals, even the bugs was one of the first things the told you at Elsewhere, right after wear your iron and keep salt in your pockets.

So instead, she took a nervous step forward. “Do you need help?” she whispered.

The spider didn’t nod - couldn’t - but the feeling brushed past her face like faint tendrils of web. Yes.

She swallowed nervously. “What do you need?”

The feeling brushed past her face again. Take me.

Her face blanched as certain meanings of the phrase came to mind as she immediately tried to scrub the images away because oh sweet Jesus NO. “Where…where do you need to go?”

Under the hill.

She swore (in Latin) - but the spider rode her yellow rubber plunger to the entrance under the hill, and when she woke up the next day she found a shawl folded neatly at the foot of her bed, made of a strange, silvery material - soft as a daydream and impossible to damage.

She switched her major to textile production that afternoon, and if you needed something stitched or mended, she was always willing - for a price. When she left, she moved back home and started up her own business, taking in customers both humanly and inhumanly strange, accepting payment in oddities as well as in the swipe of a credit card. Everything is handmade on a wooden loom, and everything has its place.

Everything has a story.

[x]