Every morning the powers that be grant us the will to advance our journey in whatever direction we find need of. And every morning those powers watch me choose to advance in the direction of Seasons 2-12 of the Simpsons.
Awake in the middle of the night (actually 7a) with my predator instinct activated (want to chase something and chew on it, not anxiety, not lust, but a third neutral thing)
I'm a boygirl of multitudes I want a corset I wanna binder I want bigger pockets in this princess skirt for my pokemon cards I want to abandon my country
Finally back home to that unquestioned 4 ft² area outside the bathroom which is not tethered to reality and offers a brief surreal experience every time I pass thru it
Telling the guy I've been going out with when he goes to the gay bar without me that should the opportunity present itself he should absolutely make out with a Mads Mikkelsen lookalike. By no means do I want to stand in the way of that experience
*taking pictures of a marble statue's feet while hanging out with romantic interest* I promise it's an art thing, not a fetish- it actually started with my dead grandma