Cathy M

I run and write and want to finish the CCC and an IronMan ⛰️ Scribe in the age of A(G)I✍🏼 All things coconut 🥥

[Cathy M @thisiscathy]

I have a cool job.

If I was asked to map out a 5 year plan to get here, I wouldn’t have been able to.

You just have to keep moving forward.

https://t.co/uvE1gRRs4s

[Space Chick Jen 👩🏻‍🚀 @SpaceChickJen]

Everyone has a duck in the front yard in my neighborhood and they all get dressed up differently. I just caught this one while walking the dog. 😍

[chi @ChiThukral]

*opens nasa careers page*

[machine gun kelly reichardt @LingoUnbound]

I have to admit that thinking for 30 seconds about seeing something like this with my own eyes overwhelmed me with emotion

[ann zhao @annzhao_]

i just thought to myself “christina koch is the coolest woman on earth” and then realized i was wrong because she is in fact not on earth

[•ash• @crosbyterian]

sid was getting chirped by this rangers fan, all kinds of harmless stuff like "hey crosby, you were voted 3rd toughest canadian, behind celine dion and a close second to avril lavigne". he was so tickled by them he gave the fan an autographed stick with a little message

[🐝 ¹⁶³⁴ @marnestri]

if we all hold hands and start singing the canadian anthem like the people in whoville do you think wed score

[boots’ mom @t_kelly15]

Unfortunately my body doesn’t know the difference between being held at gunpoint and watching a Canada vs USA gold medal game

[Libriscent @libriscent]

you literally just have to get really good at continuing.

[Aakash Gupta @aakashgupta]

The math on this image is insane.

New Horizons transmitted at 2,000 bits per second from 3 billion miles away. Slower than a 1990s dial-up modem. It took 16 months to download all the flyby data.

The spacecraft had to hit a target box 100km wide, arriving within 150 seconds of schedule, after 9 years of flight. Miss it and the preloaded observation commands point at empty space.

Ten days before arrival, the spacecraft crashed and went into safe mode. Engineers had 72 hours to restore everything.

The probe is now 5 billion miles out, still whispering data back to Earth. We got 50 gigabits of Pluto photos using technology slower than your phone’s bluetooth.

[Happy Captain @EODHappyCaptain]

Waiting over 20 years after the movie came out for the kids that grew up on it to have this type of money is genius.

[Visa is doing marketing consults (see pinned!) @visakanv]

@JSMilbank my favorite suggestion to combat this misunderstanding:

[Cathy M @thisiscathy]

Some truths only come out after three bottles of Piedmonte, two shots of Blackbird, a dozen oysters, and one A&W Momma burger. And only if you’re with good, trustworthy company. The stars rarely align, but they did tonight. So glad they did.

[The Yale Review @yalereview]

“Divorce is a writer's business,” Anahid Nersessian writes in our new issue. “You can paint a wedding but not a divorce.” https://t.co/fdbxSMHUWY

[Cathy M @thisiscathy]

“It takes romance out of the candlelit room and puts it straight into the calendar.”

Some sentences just knock the breath out of my lungs. I pray the muse visits and drops a banger like this on me. When I see it in the wild, I know the muse has favourites. And I understand why.

[positivity moon @arrtnem]

Because it is the most adult romantic sentence ever written, and it still sounds like a kid blurting out a secret.

Most love lines are about intensity in the moment. Fire. Fate. Chemistry. All that shiny stuff that lives in the first months when you can barely eat and you think their hoodie smells like oxygen. Those lines work because they glamorize desire.

This one does something different. It makes desire feel like time.

It takes romance out of the candlelit room and puts it straight into the calendar. Into the scary part. The part where love is not “I want you,” it is “I want my days to be with you.” Not just my nights. Not just my weekends. My boring Tuesday mornings. My grocery store trips. My flu days. My half dead evenings when I’m not cute. The rest of it.

And it nails a feeling people do not admit because it sounds embarrassing: the impatience of real love.

When you actually know, you stop wanting the highlight reel. You stop wanting the dramatic build. You stop wanting the suspense. You start wanting the mundane.

You want to wake up and not have to miss them. You want to stop doing the “see you later” thing. You want the little rituals that make life feel held - keys in the same bowl, toothpaste beside yours, two mugs in the sink, their shoes by the door. You want the shared language that only happens after months of living side by side. You want the inside jokes that are so stupid no one else would laugh. You want to fight and then repair and then keep cooking dinner. You want the slow accumulation.

So “the rest of your life to start as soon as possible” is not about rushing marriage. It’s about wanting to stop losing time.

Because time is the one thing you cannot flex. You cannot buy more of it. You cannot “work hard” and earn extra years. You feel your life slipping past in tiny, ordinary ways. A commute. A weekend wasted. A night spent half numb on your phone. And then you meet someone who makes those ordinary hours feel like they could finally be the point, not just the space between big moments.

That sentence is the opposite of the cool, detached modern dating posture.

It is the most uncool thing you can admit, which is why it hits so hard.

“I want this to begin now.”

No games. No “let’s see where it goes.” No ironic distance. No pretending you’re above needing someone. It is pure, simple, terrifying sincerity.

It also sneaks in the real thesis of adulthood: love is not about fireworks. It is about wanting the same future on the same timeline.

It is not “you complete me.” It is “I want to build a life with you, and waiting feels like wasting it.”

And it is written with that perfect emotional math. The line ties the biggest commitment imaginable - the rest of your life - to a tiny human urge - impatience. It makes forever feel immediate. It makes eternity feel like a craving.

That is why it stays in people’s heads. It says what everyone feels when they finally stop looking for options and start looking for home.

It is basically one sentence that goes: I am done pretending I have all the time in the world. I want you in my time. Now.

[blue @bluewmist]

just spent two hours crafting a thought, only to realize I didn’t agree with it anymore. this is one of many reasons the act of writing is so important, and should never be outsourced.

thinking hones your writing.

writing hones your thinking.

[♰ @reeceollld]

this would’ve did numbers on tumblr

[positivity moon @arrtnem]

There is this lie we all secretly believed :
if a friendship is real, it will always feel like it does right now.

You remember that version. Three hour calls about nothing. Replying in 0.3 seconds. Seeing a meme and sending it to five people because all of you were permanently online. You could tell who was upset by the way they typed “lol.” You knew their class schedule, their crush rotation, their favorite cereal. Friendship felt like constant contact.

Then somehow one day it does not.

Now your closest friend might reply two days later with “sorry just seeing this.” You stare at that sentence with a small sting, even though you wrote the same thing to somebody else last week. They cancel plans because they are exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with sleep. You reschedule and then you cancel. Whole months pass in voice notes and “we need to catch up soon” and screenshots of flights you might take someday.

It starts to feel like being quietly broken up with in slow motion.

Nobody warns you how much admin adulthood stacks on top of love. Rent, sick parents, work that bleeds past office hours, kids, therapy, bodies that suddenly need more maintenance, nervous systems that finally crack after ten years of pretending to be fine. Everyone is trying to be a decent partner, decent coworker, decent child, decent human in a world that feels like a rolling crisis. Of course the part of you that once had energy to send 17 updates a day is tired.

Less communication is not automatically less love.
But it is a different shape of love, and that is the part that hurts.

Because the scared part of you still keeps score like a 16 year old. They have not texted in a week. They viewed my story but did not answer my message. They were online. They posted. They made time for someone else. It does not matter how many bills you both have now. The kid inside still measures affection in frequency, not capacity.

Adult friendship asks you to grow a second lens. One that can hold “I miss how it was” and “they are not abandoning me, they are surviving.” One that understands that sometimes your friend did not text back because they spent all day trying not to cry in a bathroom at work. Sometimes they are not ignoring you, they are in the same fog you are.

Grace is not “let them treat me however.”
Grace is “I will not confuse silence with betrayal unless they show me it is.”

Check in, not out.
It sounds simple until your own pride gets involved.

There will be days you tell yourself “if they wanted to, they would have reached out” and use that as a reason to lock your phone. You call it a boundary. Often it is defense. It saves you from the vulnerability of being the one who sends “hey, how is your brain” after three months of nothing. It protects you from the possibility that they really have drifted. So you opt out quietly, tell yourself a story about how people change, and let something beautiful die out of sheer fear of going first.

What if checking in is not humiliation. What if it is maintenance.

Sometimes check in is not a deep talk. It is a dumb reel sent at 22:37 with “this is so you.” It is a voice note that says “I drove past our old place and wanted to throw up from nostalgia, how are you.” It is a “thinking of you, no need to respond.” You would be shocked how many people cry over those three words in grocery store aisles and parking lots.

And sometimes, yes, what you find when you check in is that the thread is gone. They give you one word answers. They do not ask anything back. They leave you on delivered until it becomes obscene. That is information. Grace does not mean pretending that is fine. It means you can let it hurt, let it be real, and still not turn it into a courtroom in your head. You can grieve without inventing a villain.

Adult friendship is two people saying, over and over, in a hundred tiny ways: I did not forget you. I am just carrying a lot. Thank you for still knocking.

[maja 🔭🍒 @majamediaco]

this is the best reply to anyone with a creative impulse who resists because “everything’s already been said.” writers have always repeated the same ideas in new language. repetition is how ideas stay alive, and it’s astonishing how quickly we forget