young and healthy

yeah sex can be good with the right person but it’s usually not worth all the bullshit that goes on around it… returning from the ocean to the river of your birth, darkening in color, migrating hundreds of miles upstream past dams and waterfalls, dying, returning your exhausted body’s nutrients to the river so your young grow healthy and strong

I had someone ask me via message on where to start in regards to adopting an “unadoptable” dog, and we had a rather pleasant conversation, but I feel like something needs to be said in public on this blog due to my history of having owned such a creature.

Ethical shelters and rescues do not label dogs unadoptable for no reason, in nearly all cases. There is something about the dog that will determine it being an extremely poor fit for 99% of homes that would be interested, and typically that 1% would need to make tremendous amounts of sacrifice in order to successfully own them. As nice as it sounds- wanting to give a dog everyone else has given up on a home- ethical rescues and shelters have a responsibility to take care of ALL of the dogs in their care and to not endanger those they adopt to or the general public with their adoptions. Taking in unadoptable dogs and keeping them until that 1% person shows up takes vast amounts of money away from perfectly adoptable dogs and ends up killing the friendly, healthy, young dogs that are deemed “more likely to be adopted”. Don’t believe me?

Someone I know from dobermantalk stopped fostering for her rescue when they took in 2 heartworm positive senior beagles to foster from a high kill shelter and left the young healthy beagle that had been surrendered with the older pair. The “adoptable” dog never got a foster. He also never got adopted. When his time was up, he was euthanized. The older pair did not survive their heartworm treatment. Three dogs died because of a focus on unadoptable dogs. Who does that help?

About five years ago, a woman took in two seriously dog aggressive presa canarios to foster. What was left of her body was found several days after the fact- she had been torn to pieces. It was hard for the authorities to determine if the presas had done the deed or if her personal dogs, one “pit bull” bbm and one frenchie, had contributed, but they guessed that the presas, two intact males known for engaging in serious fights with other dogs, had begun to fight and redirected on her when she tried to break them up. Due to their size, they would have overwhelmed her quickly, especially if the other two dogs joined in the frenzy. From there it’s hard to tell what bites were inflicted post-mortum, when the dogs ran out of food and turned to the only available source of meat, and what bites caused her death. Reports from those who found her described the scene as a bloodbath. All four dogs were euthanized. Who does that help?

A small breed puppy mill rescue dog I personally knew, deemed unadoptable for her extreme fear issues, was taken in by a well meaning family member. In a very short amount of time, this family member had been bitten multiple times for offenses as minor as walking by the dog while she was sleeping. Eventually, the dog slipped her harness after spooking due to a loud noise, ran into the road, and was killed instantly by a car. Obliterated. In front of her owner. Who does that help?

Skoll was a dog that had been failed by everyone in his short life. He’d come from known abuse and had clear abandonment issues. He had terrible health and his fear of people and his learned behavior of biting to make the scary things go away were ingrained into him long before he came to me. I gave him a chance anyway, I couldn’t sit by and watch a young dog be killed for something that wasn’t his fault. He mauled me without provocation and I euthanized him two months into our time together. He should have been euthanized on take in- he had a long, long list of documented bites well before he ever came to me, though I didn’t know it at the time. Who does that help?

Instead of focusing on these unadoptable dogs, there is a better solution. If you want to feel like you’re making a difference, find an ethical rescue or shelter and foster! Transport! Volunteer your photography skills! Learn their temperament and health testing process and volunteer there too! Make goods to sell at fundraisers and auctions! Organize a community donation pool! There are so many things you can do for dogs in need that aren’t things that, more often than not, end up with the dog dying anyway. But wanting to adopt a dog labeled, for good reason, unadoptable? Especially if you are not experienced in intense or extreme issues, temperament or health wise, in dogs? You are asking for a lot of heartbreak.

Adopt the adoptable dogs. Accept that we cannot save every unwanted dog. Accept that not every unwanted dog SHOULD be saved. It’s not the dogs’ faults, but neither is it the public’s for not being able to deal with these sorts of issues.

15 things to remember:

1.   that thing you did that was kind of embarrassing and weird, everyone else forgot about that already

2.   you look fine today, if you can’t notice something on your face standing 6 feet from a mirror then nobody else will either.

3.   social lives can go through cycles sometimes, if you feel like your friends are all ignoring you for no reason they’re probably just busy with other things.

4.   if you can’t stop thinking about someone or something, read a book, paint your nails or watch a movie. it won’t solve any serious problems but you will feel better.

5.   listen with the intent to understand, not the intent to reply.

6.   if you want something, go get it. 

7.   drink lots of water, eat lots of fruit, exercise more, go outside, get enough sleep and think positive thoughts.

8.   if you don’t ask, the answer will always be no.

9.   throw away the idea of a perfect tomorrow and live in the moment.

10.  stop comparing yourself to others.

11.  a beautiful day begins with a beautiful mindset. It’s a privilege to simply be alive and healthy. Start acting like life is a blessing.

12.  act the way you’d like to be and soon you’ll be the way you’d like to act.

13.  you will change. You’re not the same person you were three years ago. you’re not even the same person you were three minutes ago and that’s okay. especially if you don’t like the person you were three minutes ago.

14.  you don’t have to open the curtains if you don’t want to.

15.  being happy is the most important thing.

before he sells the beans to jack, he is born in a house that smells of ceder.

his name is Tiffany. a bold bright name. a stardust name. a girl name. but he is not a girl. he knows this, even if others don’t. his mother puts him in dresses, teaches him how to sew, chastises him when he lets his voice get low.

“my great-aunt’s friend’s sister,” says his mother, with her red lips tight, “once knew these girls that spoke and diamonds came out of their mouths. you know what happened to the nasty one? she got toads. that’s your future if you don’t figure out how to be a nice little girl.”

so he speaks gently. but the whole time he is wondering: who gave them the language of gems. who gave them the language that rolled out of them. it must be magic. and if there is magic, maybe there is hope for him.

he takes off in a dark night. a sad night. one where the fire was too low and he was sick of mirrors. he leaves his mother a note: gone to find where the gems grow. 

in the black woods, he cuts off his hair. wears his father’s clothes. feels, at last, whole. runs and runs and runs until his air comes out in a wheeze. walks for weeks and weeks.

he finds the old woman carrying water. she is ugly, her mouth all twisted angry. but she carries the water alone. 

the boy does not have much. but he has shoulders. a good back. hands that work. when he takes her burden, she says, “thank you, young man.” and he smiles at her, but doesn’t say anything.

her house is damp. she feeds him stew, apologizes. says she used to make lovely foods but the price of milk and eggs got far too high. she says: if you carry my water for five weeks, i will give you something special. and he agrees.

she talks for him. spends a lot of time telling him of people he never met. girls with lips blood red. girls with white fairy dresses. boys who fell in love with swans. 

the boy says little. just nods. sleeps on the floor of her empty barn. when she’s not looking, he darns her clothes for her, keeps the floors swept, fills the lanterns with oil, makes her a blanket for the coming winter. 

on the end of the fifth week, she gives him the beans. tells him that they have been passed down in her family, that this was her portion. she says that she is too old now for such adventures. that she hears the beans will bring treasure. fortune. all the things of greed. she says: i will give them to you, for what you have done to me.

in the morning, he takes off. he feels the weight of them in his pocket. he thinks of the old woman and the stories and the sight of her tired hands. he stands in the market for a long time, unspeaking, simply staring at the cobblestones beneath him.

jack’s voice is the last call in the evening. a beautiful cow, young and thick and healthy. 

the boy has no money. he bounces the magic bean in his pocket, and thinks of treasures. 

“wait,” he says. 

jack turns. 

transaction complete: one cow for a handful of magic beans. the boy walks the cow home to the old woman, gets there in the morning. they are both very tired. he falls asleep beside the beast in the hay. dreams of the foods the old woman can cook now that she can get milk.

when he wakes up, he is changed. it is as if he simply turned into who he was made to be. not a new body. familiar. the body he could always see.

the old woman stands at the door of his barn. she says, “good morning,” and then she says a new word. a word he’s never heard. a name. his name. a boy name. 

he repeats it. it is a jewel in his mouth, so he says it again. another diamond.

“time to fetch water,” she says, winking. the whole way, he whispers his name. it never quite tastes the same, always beautiful, always a fine thing, always his. the something special he was lacking.

in the back of his pocket, there is one last magic bean. he will fetch the water and plant it. and he will carry that old woman to the castles she has never seen.

say you won’t let go | 01

 part 01 | part 02 [final] 

Summary: You’ve been eighteen years old for ten years when Jungkook first moves in.
Pairing: Jungkook | Reader
Genre: Fluff/Angst; Roommate/Soulmate AU (In which you stop aging when you turn 18 until you meet your soulmate)
Word Count: 12,038
Author’s Note: I was going to wait and upload the whole thing in one giant oneshot but for the stake of everyone’s sanity, it’ll be split into two parts. props to @minsvga for always being down to beta! 

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The morning comes like clockwork, obviously, but sometimes you wish it didn’t. Sometimes, the morning is like an unexpected gust of wind, blowing away the present and the comfort and leaving you alone with nothing but your thoughts and the disappointing feeling akin to the sensation of something missing from your life. Which, considering everything the world and the fates and the bonds that connect individuals together and all the shit like that, is not too far off from a relevant problem in your life.

The days seem to blend together, time slipping between your fingers but leaving you with no opportunity or way to stop it or prolong it. You certainly feel different, older somehow and probably wiser, and you’re sure it shows in your eyes, in the curl of your lips, in the longing touch of your smile.

But you crawl out of bed in the morning, feet landing like a gentle sigh on the carpet, following the hall down to your bathroom until you’re situated in front of the sink and taking a long glance at your reflection. You don’t know why you insist to yourself to always look at the mirror, because it’s not like anything would have changed overnight, nothing ever really does. You take in your expression, the skin of your face and the darkness of your eyes, a harsh contrast to the youth of your face, the curve of your nose and the sharpness of your jawline—you: fresh, and young and not a day over eighteen-years-old, just as you have been for ten years.

This has been the way of human life since its creation, a science with no explanation and a connection that cannot be seen or heard or even felt. It’s a different kind of connection, moreso the type of link that brings two people together, two people whoever has a hand in predetermination believe would be the best fit for each other. A soulmate, an individual meant to compliment you in every aspect, someone gifted to you from unidentifiable figures; figures you would not even believe existed if not for the world they created and built, a world you now inhabited.

In theory, the unspoken rules of the whole soulmate business seemed easy: a case in which the aging process stops at the eighteen until one’s soulmate came along, done so in order for the pair of them to gain the ability to grow old together, experience life together, be there for each other during the true ups and downs of college and jobs and family. Every single person you’ve ever stumbled upon each has their own story, their own tales of their relationship. You’ve met people in a relationship that never grew, friends who realized they were each other’s everything, individuals who went through years upon years upon years of life with a soulmate fresh out of the gate—always a variety, never a wrong answer or a right one. Yet, they all seem happy, no matter where the path of life seems to take them.

But now that you’ve been eighteen for a solid ten years, you’re ready to call major bullshit on every single individual who dared to look you in the eye and tell you that they don’t care about the unwinding of fate.

Keep reading

fun arthritis things
  • being completely stiff first thing in the morning
  • “what was that sound” “my back”
  • not having full range of motion
  • predicting the weather with your knees
  • not being able to hold a pen 
  • “do you need help getting up??” “no no just give me like five minutes”
  • never finding a comfortable sitting position
  • The Limp

i love young & beautiful so much. right now im at this point where i can just cry thinking about it. thinking about aloysius. all the rooms. zayn puking over louis. eggnog and gingerbread. the hansel and gretel trail. the bat flower. des. ziam’s relationship. ‘Ireland’. the car. louis’ shitty home situation. hoe harry. harry sitting behind that piano, crying. when louis starts to realise harry is a real person and tries to fix him. cat figurines. the picnic in the rain. hide and seek. the i can’t change tattoo. tutoring. the moon knows.

Dilemma of the INTP

When I was young, I always wanted to be right. To know everything.

When I was unhealthy, I decided I was right. That I knew everything.

Now I’m older… I wish I was wrong. I wish people would prove me wrong. My current observation of people leaves me feeling so bleak and depressed. I desperately seek people out to prove me wrong…

but so far… I’m still right.

And that leaves a heaviness in my chest… and not just because I have big breasts.

Tell me I'm lying about having cancer? Enjoy getting chemo vomit on your shoes.

This happened almost a year ago. At the time, I was taking a bus regularly to a hospital for chemotherapy, which left me extremely weak and nauseous. So, when possible, I sat in the handicapped section near the front of the bus. Occasionally people would ask me to move. It’s a bus to a hospital, so a lot of people need the disabled seats, and I am young and outwardly looked healthy, after my hair had started growing back. Of course, they’d understand when I explained that I needed the seat.

Enter Bitchy Lady: a smartly dressed woman in her 60s. She asks me for my seat, and I explain that I just had chemotherapy and I need the seat. She calls me lazy, calls me a liar, and tells me that I “don’t look sick”.

I am too exhausted and nauseous to deal with this bullshit. I’ve been trying to not throw up for the last half hour. “Fuck it,” I decide, and aim.

I puke all over her nice shoes. She screams and jumps back. I wish I’d said something witty right then but I was busy just puking.

She stood quitely, redfaced, at the other end of the bus, and left me alone after that.

In retrospect, I feel like an asshole for making the bus driver clean up my puke. I was too much of a wreck to help–I could barely stand up–though I did apologize to him. It was a spur of the moment decision and I didn’t really think that consequence through. But damn it was satisfying to puke all over that bitch.