Tag: box opener

the grinding horror of [abusive] heterosexuality in musicals cw?

hey does anyone know how to arrange your life so you literally never have to see a musical again? i realize it sounds like im just gearing up to dunk on musicals, and lbr im always ready, but im actually asking because i was obligated to see sweet charity last night for family reasons (my savta wanted to see it), and like guys and dolls and oklahoma before it, it has infected me with a deep miserable horror of heterosexuality so strong that last night i had like three different nightmares about being kidnapped, abused, or assaulted by men 

idk why it is Specifically Musicals that make me want to die so i can’t become str8 by accident, tho it might just be that i can usually walk out of/away from any other form of entertainment that feels like it’s about to crushingly remind me that i’m a woman[citation needed] and therefore deserve everything i get, where “everything i get” is definitely going to be at worst long term engagement with a man who hates every single thing about me and is completely justified in belittling and abusing me, and at best dying alone with only my meagre imitations of a career. which like given the options, please, i would love a useless futile mockery of job aspirations

ANYWAY THAT FUCKING SUCKED

anxpost

i am so scared of classes starting, which is not an experience i’ve had in ages. i love taking classes, i especially love bio classes which is all i’m doing this quarter

it’s just that i spent the whole summer being extremely sick/occasionally straight up bedridden in like four different ways and i am convinced that im no longer capable of doing things or being functional

maximum fear. maximum fear. i want a wild animal to eat my legs so that everyone will understand why i can no longer go anywhere or do anything

i’ve spent all day in a state of paralytic terror. like something inside me is soaking in metaphorical bleach

it makes it really difficult to do things for myself, but i managed to go grocery shopping and start a pot roast on the grounds that my roommates also needed that to happen

the problem with reading nine dorothy sayers novels in two days is even your depression thoughts start sounding like a late-1920s british female member of the peerage, not overblessed with stoicism or common sense, but with a heart of gold and occasionally very useful in a pinch

“my god, life is positively too beastly for words, isn’t it? i really think i may just lie down and expire this time, i really do. don’t you wonder sometimes how anyone even goes on? i think i shall shut myself up inside the dumbwaiter.”

my roommate just dropped her phone down the side of the couch for the third time in the three months we’ve lived here. neither i nor chinchilla have this problem with the couch. for some reason i’m the only person with the spatial reasoning and engineering skills to retrieve it, which is performed by maneuvering a scarf into the side of the couch with a long knitting needle and using it as a sort of phone rescue sling. 

every time it happens she stares at me miserably for a long moment, like perhaps she thinks i ate it