I’m feeling really airy about being dumped, like strong feelings at a distance. it’s so weird to be a libra I get so into people but also feel rigidly detached in my approach to conflict, since dating is essentially a set of behaviors that are acceptable until they become unacceptable. and my unacceptable threshold is like pretty high but once it’s met I’m like, okay, that sucks, but of course that means it’s over, like the course of action seems so much clearer: nothing better will come, get rid of the thing. when I was younger the moments of reaching that threshold, of recognizing where a break had to be made, felt much more raw, devastating. 

rather than raw, they now feel familiar in a way that’s funny, and I vacillate. first I feel myself immediately depleted of the extra touches I put on conversation when I want someone to fuck me. and I notice that difference, that lack of investment manifests in my posture, my affect, my gestures, my most basic willingness to engineer the social situation: how much of being in a couple is talking to fill every gap, asking questions, remembering things, making jokes, stuff I frankly love doing. but I don’t have to do it, and there’s a moment when I stop, a before and an after. this is the second dumping I’ve watched that seemed to affect the other person more than me, in part because, besides that detachment, that sudden relaxation bordering on noneffort that the break allows, I also feel coy and uncomfortable and sarcastic about the situation, like I probably flirt my way through a breakup in some actual way. and people don’t know how to react to my joking unkindness. these poor boys: I laugh when I probably shouldn’t, I smile, I shrug, I am strangely light during these moments too, struggling not to make puns and crude jokes, like I’m in detention and want to humiliate the teacher with my disregard. it’s childish and obvious in a way but also sort of appropriate, in my mind, to these nonevents that are “a few dates,” enough time spent that you have to break up with someone, but only just. like it’s really not that serious, or if it is, wouldn’t we not be breaking up after all?

people sometimes talk about the sex or romance they’re involved in as though it’s happening to them, like they’re trapped by the mere presence of a romantic other in their life, like their love life is out of their hands. and it’s like: that’s okay, that’s what you’ll do. but you know exactly how to do something else, that’s what the couple of dates were like. and weren’t they nice. they were really pretty nice. and actually what i felt happening the other night while being dumped was this person’s encounter with their own cruel attachment to some other besides me, and the shaken sadness that engendered in them: realizing that that feeling of being bound is actually born of desire. him understanding: i want something besides you (who are easy, with whom things work); i want instead this stuck feeling (with an ex, with trouble). and so of course he still wants to be friends. he needs friends to usher him through the break, into the new attachment. but i don’t need any more friends. i don’t need that consolation: he does.

and that cracks me up, it’s this engineered tragedy, the last of the few dates. it feels like it always feels: pretty bad but of no especial consequence. i run out of things to say quickly. there are long, weird silences. suddenly we avoid each other’s gazes, my thoughts drift, i feel sick, i order another drink. i tell him several times i will be okay because he seems so distressed, so worried he is doing something wrong. and in that way it’s easy on me cuz i know i’m not wrong, for once, i remember how good i am, how bizarre this scene is, how sad he is about wanting what he wants, how I can’t help him. I both stop trying to grease the wheels of the social machine that our twoness once formed and try to keep it light but not really in a nice way, and it’s so bizarre, it’s upsetting to the dumper, who wants to be comforted, assured of my approval. and instead i demonstrate this distance, this airy engagement with the twisted logics of romance and attachment, finding them tragicomic in the moment of their rupture. and it makes me seem brutal i think, and mean. because what am I supposed to do, cry when you say you’re not gonna fuck me anymore? like i even believe that. I actually forgot the most important part that sam taught me which is to say: you know you can ask me out again whenever you want. which is true, you can ask my exes. they’re great, I like to keep them around. so it’s also like the breakup only presages a reunion down the line. and it’s funny, it’s staged as this melodrama. but i’m laughing, i can’t help it, it’s obscene, it isn’t fun at all. it’s like: [yackety sax starts playing] [guy who’s leaving me to date his ex grabs my hands over the table] and I’m smiling. and he’s looking at me worried, saying, “are you serious?” and i am.

Do you expect me to pay?

I’ve been in a lot of conversations recently about paying on dates or um, meetings. In grad school (and this was completely new to me until I experienced it myself), I found myself quite shocked to hear that my friend was excited about her date because he was coming to pick her up in a car. Again, coming from my business background perhaps I just assumed that guys have cars and that should be your main method of transportation. I didn’t know that we could revert back to the high school dating method of taking public transportation and that ‘token spotting’ was the way to go. But yes, I found myself doing just that.

A recent post entitled, “Girls can’t have it all their way - they need to pay"  explores this idea. The author explains that he pays no matter what because the chance of finding love is so slim that he might as well make the indication that he wants to see her at a later date (apparently paying indicates this?). Of course, while these are his intentions, the contradiction is that this act is rooted in sexism in which men pay for women because women are more inferior and must rely on a (or any) male breadwinner to provide. I have a friend who is a feminist and will actually be offended if the guy pays. And then there’s benovlent sexism, which takes this thing to a whole new level. I consider myself a feminist on most things but currently, I’m more interested in having the guy pay because of my unemployment status. Is it wrong to have someone take pity on me like that?

I think the confusion lies in our 'modern’ age and what constitutes a date. The line between 'hanging out’ and a date is incredibly blurry. Personally I always just assume the former because it takes the pressure off the entire night especially if you don’t know the guy very well to begin with. I also think that men are more conscious of the fact that if they do pay, women may feel offended. It’s tough. I mean if you ask, how do you even do that especially if the bill isn’t that huge? Amary Wiggin, in her response to the post in the link above is equally confused.

Personally, I’m foregoing any expectations related to paying. I’ve had guy friends pay for me for all sorts of reasons and I’m fine with that but I will also pay for my own drink, thank you very much. I’m also going to stop thinking about what paying or not paying means. I think if it works out, eventually you’ll find common ground and figure it out between the two of you. Until then, enjoy the conversation and see where it leads you.

Oh snap, the Violator and all his brothers: Vindicator, Vacillator, Vaporizer, and Vandalizer. Hurray for the Phlebiacs!

On that note, “phlebiac” is a weird word. “Flee-bee-ack”? “Fleh-bee-ack”? “Flee-bi-ac”? “Fleh-bi-ac”? Never heard it said, but I always said it the first way. What do you guys think?

Crash Course on Quadrants: For Aliens

dequirked for your convenience

Are you an alien confused by the concept of Troll Romance? Well worry not, I will be your guide through this annoying but fascinating concept.

The Quadrant system is represented by four symbols.

<> The Diamond- Representing pale relationships/Moirallegiance

<3 The Heart- Representing red relationships/Matespriteship

<3< The Spade- Representing black relationships/Kismesitude

c3< The Club- Representing ashen relationships/Auspicism 

The Club is a unique quadrant in that it’s sort of a mediator quadrant for a kismesitude, it’s not a “necessary” quadrant per say but sometimes one is needed for any amount of reasons. (Frequent Quad vacillation, making sure shit doesn’t go sideways, etc)

The Spade is one of the two concupiscent Quadrants or Quadrants that will deal with reproduction. Contrary to popular belief, kismesitude isn’t HATING your partner with all your strength. It’s a rivalry, you acknowledge your spade as your equal and would defend and protect them much like you would anyone you care about. Kismesitude is one of the more misunderstood quadrants from what I understand, cultural differences in all so I will break it down further.

Kismesis do: 

  • Spar/Fight with each other.
  • Try to one up the other in different ways
  • Care about one another.
  • Engage in banter and what not.
  • See each other on equal footing.
  • Find the other frustrating in a sort of endearing/annoying you could be so much better but you keep doing this shit kinda way.

Kismesis don’t:

  • Try to hold power over the other in a way that will throw off the relationship completely.

Basically think of it as a sort of how Super Heroes and Super Villains do things but less of the morality stuff and more of the banter and fighting and trying to one up the other back and forth.

The Heart is the closest thing to human romance that can be compared so it’s not that hard of a concept. It’s basically love, I think you guys can understand that much at least. Sure there are some weird troll nuances but that’s it at it’s core.

The Diamond is a bit more complicated than just platonic love but that’s a close enough comparison. It’s basically what could be considered a guardian like relationship but without the other being your guardian. A moirallegiance in short is a relationship to ensure the well being of another mainly and keeping one another grounded. It’s a symbiotic relationship. 


Vacillator (ambivalent/preoccupied attachment)

(Notes and quotes on being a Vacillator, taken from handout “Imprinted to Be a Vacillator” by Milan & Kay Yerkovich)

Vacillator: “looking for intense and consistent connection”

Typically raises by a parent who “needs the child to provide the devotion and attention they missed from their own parents.” Underlying message they give is “Be available and ‘need me’ when I feel like parenting or survive on your own when I don’t.”

Child usually reacts by wanting comfort and connection, but is angry at having to wait. “By the time it might be offered they are too angry to receive it.”

[Personally, can’t trust I will be consistent with my feelings or that someone else will be consistent with their feelings toward me.]

Beliefs carried into adulthood include:
-“Feeling as though they are constantly waiting, they experience connection as temporary, insufficient, unfulfilling, just as they did as children.”
-“They may sabotage the connection before others can hurt them.”
-Have an “expectation that a relationship will take away their painful feelings.”
-Have an idealized romanticism that prevents them from seeing “red flags” and initially unable to see the flaws of their partner.
-“Frequently have a history of broken relationships”
-“Have difficulty realizing their own 'injuries’ create this volatile emotional sensitivity and reactivity.”

Growth Goals:
-Recognize childhood hurts that resurface when confronted with a new painful experience
-Learn to accept both good and bad in yourself and others
-Learn to recognize the sadness and anxiety underneath the anger
-“Learn to recognize when you communicate in an indirect manner and develop the ability to speak more openly and truthfully.”
-“Get sad, not mad, for if you are chronically angry, you will end up driving away the very people with whom you wish to be connected.”

It’s a Squirrel Thing

Perhaps you’re familiar with that INTP stereotype about the inability of an INTP to keep a sustained passionate interest in anything. The stereotype is not without cause, I assure you. I have immense trouble keeping focused for a long time.

Oh, I’ll start strong. There’s a huge pile of projects that I’ve started in my life, but they’re only started. I suppose it makes the few things I’ve actually followed through to completion more special, but sometimes having that many incomplete projects lying around to accuse me of my innate laziness, lack of initiative, and overall epic procrastination skills is just a little bit depressing.

We aren’t total squirrels, though. I really do have a passion–writing–which has stuck with me since I was a little girl. Despite the fact that I’m always starting stuff that has no hope of a future doesn’t mean that I don’t have something solid in my life.

The INTP is known for vacillating, for drifting, for remaining unattached. We have many interests, and we go through many phases. People grow weary with our leaps from one subject to another, from one project to another, from one all-consuming study to another. It’s hard for them to understand that this is how we thrive. We must be consumed for three days by an intense desire to learn Chinese silk painting techniques, even though as soon as the three days are up we’ll never touch the subject again.

And yet, despite these phases, there’s going to be something that we always return to. We’re not quite the mad scientists that we seem to be. Yes, we’re ridiculous, but there’s a spark of sanity within us that’s going to surprise everyone someday.

Well, at least it will when we get around to it.

  • Sei que um dia eu vou superar essa maré. 🌊⬆️
  • É saudade misturada com bebida. 🍻
  • Andou reclamando porque vacilou e meu perdeu. 🗯
  • Seu orgulho falou mais alto que a paixão. 📞❌
  • Saiba que eu sei que ainda pensa em mim. 😏💭
  • Tá vendo que não vai ser fácil me tirar da mente. 💭❌
  • Diz a verdade, que seu coração é meu. ❣️🚻
  • To notando você tão diferente, será que encontrou alguém? 📲
  • Por mim pode ficar de boa, desejo sorte pra você. ☘
  • Não tem limites, gosta do som da Skol Beats abrindo pra aventura começar. 🍺🎒
  • Não tem quem te acompanhe, bebe tequila e champanhe. 🍸🍾
  • Eu preciso sair dessa, dessa de se apaixonar. 🏃🏾💨
  • Não quero mais te ouvir e nem te ver. ☎️❌
  • Me perdeu e chora, grita, implora. 👂🏾🗯
  • Essa é a lei da vida, colhe o que plantou. 💦🌳
  • Quer amor? Eu tenho mais. Quem quiser que corra atrás. 🏃🏾💨
  • Vacilou agora corre, tá com saudade tome um porre. 🏃🏾💨
  • O tempo passa, o mundo gira , o mundo é uma bola. 🌍⏳
  • Vai embora pra bem longe, acabou nosso romance. 💍🚫
  • Não olhe pra trás, odeio despedida. 🚎💨
  • Estou mais que decidida, tô tirando você da minha vida. 🗑
  • Que pena, mas já tenho outro em seu lugar. 💑
  • Pegava todo mundo até que me perdeu. 🚶🏾🔚
  • Agora vai provando teu próprio veneno. ☠️
  • Tchau, adeus e bye bye. 🖐🏾👋🏾
  • Uma dose de amor, tanto faz, pra ficar embriagado e em paz. 🍷
  • Se quiser me ver, vai no meu instagram. 📸
  • É melhor mexer com o fígado do que com o coração. 🍺🍻
  • Bora beber, que eu tô solteiro de novo. 🍺🔜
  • Vou me dar um tempo, pra ajeitar as minhas confusões. ⏰💭
  • Que fique claro pra você que agora vai ser pra valer. 🔜
  • Não tô a fim de relacionamento sério. 🎈
  • Esse lance de amar por enquanto eu não quero. 💟🚫
  • Só estou dando um tempo que é pra não errar outra vez. ⌛️⭕️
  • Eu não quero sofrer arrependido por não ter tentado. 🎓👊🏾
  • Já tô preparado, que na vida nem tudo é pra sempre. 🔒🔓

anonymous asked:

Mamihlapinatapei :)

Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move.

“The Consul presents a motion to vote on the measure.  All in favor, say Yea!”

Senator Mellark sat resolute, lips pressed thin in disapproval. He would never sanction war on the basis of so little provocation, no matter what pretty speeches and base appeals Senator Snow employed to move the Senate. He was well known for a superior command of rhetoric but often, his devices far exceeded the content within them. Those of a lesser mind would be moved by such words but not Mellark, nor his allies, many of whom agreed, at least in private, about the vacuousness of the elderly Senator’s character.  But few would utter those words in public.

No matter. After another hour of calls to action, vacillations and denunciations, Senator Mellark knew his meeting with the other Senators in the weeks leading to this critical vote had been successful.  The look of pure hatred that Snow cast towards him when the vote came down against his initiative was not a figment of Mellark’s imagination but he could care less. He’d won. The country of Panem would not descend into war against its neighbor. Blood would not be shed this day.

After receiving congratulations from his coalition, Peeta took the long road home, hoping that a walk would clear his mind.  Snow was a dangerous enemy to have, and he had made him one in a public way. But there were some things that were worth taking a risk on. And sending thousands of men to war with little more than a wound against the pride of a Senator was hardly that motivation, no matter how they tried to misrepresent it.

By the time Peeta had returned to his home at the outskirts of the Capitol, his feet were dust covered and he was worn and tired.  He sank onto a settee in the atrium of his home, fig and olive trees hanging heavy with fruit around the ambulatory.  He was tired and could fall fast to sleep but he did not wish to retire right away. He longed for food, rest and, if he was quite sincere, the company of one of his own house.  He waited patiently, knowing his relief would soon come.

As if on cue, his preferred slave entered with a tray of delicacies - cheeses, breads, olives and meats, followed by a pair of eunuchs, one carrying the wine decanter and ceramic cup, another carrying a wash basin and towels. Already Peeta felt his body relax, though his heart sprang with newfound vigor at the arrival of his doe.  And though he had never told her, he was sure she knew that he favored her over all the other slaves of his household.

The eunuchs bowed and left quickly, leaving Peeta alone with her.

“Katniss,” he said, her name escaping his lips like a sigh of relief.

“Master,” she said, kneeling onto the marble, undoing the leather ties of his sandals. “You’ve walked far today and have brought all the dust of the Capitol home with you.”

“What else would you have to do if I did not conjure such tasks for you?”

She smirked as she set both feet in the basin.  “You know full well that I am kept quite occupied by the duties you leave for me each day. And I would not have it otherwise. I earn my keep. That is the way of the people of 12.”

She worked vigorously, her olive skin glowing with the easy hue of an unaffected sensuality. Just to look on her set fire to his heart as she soothed his soul.

Her people had been subjugated by General Cato. She was amongst the women brought as booty from the conquest and she had been awarded to his house, for his family had long been allied to that of the General. Such a nervous doe, full of a defiant fear, accustomed to the freedom of the woods. She had no artifice, no guile with which to manage her situation. He took immediate pity on her and made her a maidservant of the house, though there was no lady to order her about. She was his responsibility and though he could do as he pleased with her, from the start, something in him desired to gain her confidence and not force it from her.

It had take months of gentle persuasion but he had finally earned her trust and now, they spoke easily as old friends.  He could never hurt her. He knew this. It had never been his way. And finally, he had convinced his doe of this too.

“You are a credit to your people,” he said sincerely before taking a deep breath, dropping his head against the chair, enjoying the feel of her long, slender fingers, washing away the grime and dirt of his travels.

When she was done, she removed the dirty water, handing him a cloth for his hands while she discarded the contents of the basin and returned, filling his glass with wine.  Peeta had been picking at the olives, placing the pits in a flat plate for that purpose. “Won’t you sit and eat with me?”

“My lord…” Katniss began, smoothing out the folds of her tunic. It was a new one he had bought for her, made of a gentle wool that hung in softly over her curves. He could not bear to see her in the coarser fabrics typical of house slaves and had discarded the ones assigned to her, leaving these in her room instead.

“I’ve begged you to call me Peeta. Please, Katniss, what honest commune can we have if there are titles between us?”

Katniss’s face darkened, a shifting array of feeling from guilt and sadness, to anger and frustration.  “What communion, my lord? When you are my master and I am your slave?”

Peeta leaned towards her, repressing a terrible longing to take her hand and hold it until she bade him to stop.  “Is that all you see?  When I see you, I do not see a slave.”

“And when I look up at the sky, I do not see the sun. And yet it is there, whether I will it or not.”

He was taken aback by her analogy. It was another of the traits of hers that he…admired…so very much. Her intelligence. Her ferocity. His doe was a wild, but tethered creature. He wanted her friendship, desired her free communion, a small concession of affection. But she was not one to give her precious gifts away for free.

He stood but did not move towards her. “Come and sit with me. Be my friend. My equal.”

She raised her grey eyes to hold his, a look that spoke of a bottomless longing for home, of fear and vulnerability, and another sentiment, hidden deep in the flecks of color that burst like starlight. He was captivated by a terrible desire and he realized, it was not just friendship he wanted from her. He loved her, like a tree loves the wind, like the forest embraces fire, like the sea hugs at the shores.  And it frightened him. He would take her hand, her arms, her body, her heart, and cradle each thing against the likes of General Cato and Senator Snow, against the forces that he hated yet had brought her to his door.

For an eternal moment, they held each other’s gaze, unable to move, at a stalemate. His greatest fear was not defeat at the hands of his adversaries but that his doe would turn away, keep to her place in the forest and never cross over to his side again.  And he could do no better than wait like a stupid beast for her pleasure, because terror kept him rooted to his place.

And then the moment passed, as all things do. Katniss dropped her eyes, heaved a shaky breath and turned away. For a moment, Peeta’s heart felt like heavy granite shattering on the side of a mountain, its jagged pieces tumbling in a hail of dust and rock to the bottom of a quarry. He might have even died - he could not be sure.  But then her hesitation visibly fell away and she turned back to take the seat next to the one he had vacated, reaching toward a plump fig on the platter. Peeta picked up the fruit and knelt before her, handing it to her in his outstretched hand.

“This one?” he asked tremulously.

“Yes,” she said, taking it from him, staring at the swollen fig a moment longer than necessary before raising her eyes, enslaving him.  

“Thank you, Peeta.”

Send me a word and I will write you a drabble.

You know you're an ESFP when...

You lack any amount of sentimentality, and don’t have a single picture of family or friends anywhere in your house.

You loathe tradition, and find zero value in doing things the way they have always been done.

Your dream job vacillated between race car driver, interior decorator, Special Forces operator, fashion designer, and downhill skier.

You are always the best-dressed person in the room.

You can learn anything faster than anyone else. Like, ever.

You have probably accumulated an impressive amount of debt over the years.

You find people wanting to talk to you about their problems, even though you don’t really talk about your own emotions or feelings.

You’ve had more jobs, careers, and vocations than anyone else you know.

You are blunt, and have never once in your life sugar-coated the pill of truth.

You walk away from any intolerable situation…even if you don’t have an exit strategy.

You notice the most minute facial expressions and body language cues, and think you are “scary intuitive” (and will always test as an intuitive on an MBTI test).

You find yourself drawn to mystical and spiritual ideas, but are appalled by people who believe in magical thinking in lieu of taking action.

You think that rules are the fastest way to ruin a good thing.

You surprise people with how goal-oriented and disciplined you are. 

You think the greatest sound in the world is of anchor chains, plane motors, and train whistles.

You find public-speaking as natural as breathing.

You have been known to spontaneously break out in song and dance.

Your romantic encounters make James Bond look like a celibate monk.

You avoid conflict on smaller matters, but would shed every last drop of blood for a cause you believe in.

You know that, with your energy, ability to learn quickly, and diverse life experiences, you will leave your mark on the world with that one meaningful thing you hold dear to your heart…just as soon as you find out what that one thing is.

❝Só não me venha com reclamações depois, depois que eu sair do seu pé, não venha sentir falta. Porque quando eu insisto, até sou chato, meio possessiv0 talvez, é porque me importo mas enquanto eu não agir mais assim não vai adiantar voltar no tempo, pedir desculpas, não vai adiantar querer me dar atenção, nem chorar nem implorar, o meu tempo é agora: vacilou, perdeu. Não vou mais sofrer por ninguém, e muito menos ficar correndo atrás de quem faz pouco caso dos meus sentimentos. Não quer? Fique sem querer, eu é que não fico aqui.❞

Seule, elle songe.
Au temps qui passe,
Aux regrets qui rongent,
Aux remords qui lassent.

Ses cheveux vacillent
Dans une danse imparfaite,
Tel un battement de cil
Au sein de la tempête.

Elle est comme suspendu
En dehors du temps.
Un souffle retenu
Dans un corps haletant.

Et si vous pouvez voir
Ses paupières s'ouvrirent,
Dans l'immensité de son regard
Vous pourrez alors découvrir

Toute la tristesse du monde
Dans un écrin de vertu,
Dont son âme s'inonde
Quand la lumière s'est perdue.

Cet art de l'intuition, de la sensibilité et du don, qui dépasse tous les dressages, tous les formatages, tous les enfermements : c'est l'art d'aimer. Quand le nu primitif de nos consciences rejoint le nu primitif de nos corps, embrasant la chair ensevelie de l'émotion remise à neuf…  C'est du grand gouvernail du coeur qui vacille alors,  que naît ce nouvel océan ; le sang qui reprend sens, le monde enfin rejoué à l'endroit.
La joie d'aimer qui se fait jour, qui se fait nuit, et puis éternité belle à jouir.
—  jacques dor
Sun - Uranus Aspects

Sun trine or sextile Uranus: You work well with people are eccentric and embrace their differences. You fight for humanitarian causes. Your ideas can be radical and you have a love for technology and futuristic things.

“The Innovative Revolutionary”

Sun conjunct Uranus: You’re independent and embrace your eccentricity. You know you’re different and you love it. You’re attracted towards others who are eccentric. You have a certain love for technology, computers, and futuristic things.

“The Open-minded Nonconformist”

Sun opposition Uranus: Despite how nonconforming your friends are, you may enjoy staying more traditional. You conform to society and have trouble accepting new and different things.

“The Conservative Conformist”

Sun square Uranus: You often struggle between conforming and rebellious attitudes. You can achieve your goals, but at the expense of having your freedom taken away.

“The Vacillating Captive”