Showing posts with label reddit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reddit. Show all posts
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Saturday, January 05, 2013
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
The Average Life
Reaction to: 11 Ways to be Average
Source: http://www.reddit.com/r/GetMotivated/comments/135jo4/11_ways_to_be_unremarkably_average_credit_to/c71673g
Source: http://www.reddit.com/r/GetMotivated/comments/135jo4/11_ways_to_be_unremarkably_average_credit_to/c71673g
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Old best friends
as a response to the above entry, DiggerW wrote:
Growing up, we had a dog (Digger) and a cat (Gus). Both were healthy, and for years they were best friends. My dog always wore a collar, and I guess we took for granted the sound that it made when he was walking around. Anyway, years after his death, in the garage we found his collar and my brother picked it up... it made the sound that surprised us all with its sheer familiarity -- it was just as if Digger was walking into the room. Not three seconds later, Gus the cat tore into the garage, excitedly looking for his old best friend.
I love my pets, but I've never cried nearly as hard over them as I did that day.
Sunday, June 05, 2011
Help: I'm in love with my best friend, I want to tell her.
From Captain Throwaway:
I'll try to keep this short.
I've been acquainted with her since the 9th grade, but really started to get to know her in the 11th grade, and we became best friends. But, this whole time, I've been head-over-heels in love with her, and don't know how to tell her. It's really, really, bad. I've not really had many relationships before, but she is, sometimes literally, all I can think about. She's had boyfriends and whatnot (has one now), and I just don't know what to do; I can't get her out of my head.
I know I should move on if she's not interested, but I don't know how to talk to her about it (assuming I have the balls to). I've turned down prospective flings/relationships the past two years or so because of her, while she was dating other guys. Looking back on it now, I sort of feel like an idiot.. :/
We graduate from high school tomorrow.
I don't know when to talk to her about it.. I start at one University June 27th, and she starts fall at another university across the state a little in the fall, so there's some time to talk between now and then.
Hah, I even had this convoluted plan to email her "as an anon friend," telling her that this fake email person has noticed how much Captian_Throwaway likes her, and that it might be ruining his chances of other relationships, maybe trying to get her to confront me. I'm so lame lol.
I just feel like I need to get off my shoulders and out of my head before I start college, or it'll affect me there just like it did in high school.
I don't know! Help me, please!
Response by Lieutenant TR:
Captian_Throwaway, please for the love of God read this. I made my own throwaway to respond to you. Reddit has helped me out occasionally with stuff like this, and so here's my attempt to pay back everything.
I was in your exact situation about a year ago. I'm soon to be a soph in college. Met a girl in 9th grade. I was a fat loser she dated douchebags I became her friend I hid my face when she and bf kissed it out near me and suffered in silence etc. I had intrusive thoughts to the point of seeking counseling about her. I visualized smashing her bf's face when I went to the gym to drop forty pounds in six months. I put songs that reminded me of her on my workout playlists. I went with her as a platonic buddy to a ton of shit.
That sounds pathetic and it was. God I am glad it's over now.
So I know what the fuck you're talking about. So please please for the love of God listen to me when I say SHUT THE FUCK UP
Just shut the fuck up. When that little voice says "YOU HAVE TO TELL HER" just keep your goddamn fucking mouth zipped.
Here's why. You need to put a little distance from the situation and ask yourself a couple of questions. Why do you want to tell her? Is it because you hope something will happen? If I read your post correctly she's not single. Do you think she's going to break up with her boyfriend for you now? Even if she becomes single tomorrow and suddenly decides to date again--do you think she's going to go for you right before she heads off to college?
The real reason you want to tell her is because it's something really important to you that you want to get off your chest and get some kind of closure for your ideal. But the problem is that it doesn't exist outside of your own head.This girl in all likelihood thinks of you only as a friend--and how good of a friend is someone who you're keeping such a huge secret from? You need to let this go.
Hah, I even had this convoluted plan to...
OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE ARE YOU 12? No. You're 17 or 18. Or hell maybe 19. It's time to man the fuck up about this. You're going to college. There will be other girls. I repeat THERE WILL BE OTHER GIRLS. And you will get over this if you keep it inside your head. But if you let it out you'll have to live with the consequences.
Overview: Been where you are but not anymore. SHUT THE FUCK UP.
I'm Not Dead Yet.
My father was initially diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in 2000 or 2001. His doctor gave him six months. He went home, curled up on the couch, and stayed there for two days. On the third day he sat up, announced to his wife "I'm not dead yet" (probably not in the Monty Python voice), and proceeded to play guitar, watch football, and get drunk.
Through several months of treatment and testing, his cancer went into remission, and he lived - happily and healthily - until new tumors were discovered in 2008.
He died early Christmas Day, 2009. Less than a week before his death, he was performing with his band at a local pub - just as he had for all his adult life. He never stopped doing what made him happy, and when he passed he was surrounded by people who loved him, loved being around him, loved the person he was and the person he inspired others to be.
His last words to me were "What are YOU so worried about?" as I helped him back into his hospital bed. He never stopped joking around.
He fought cancer with hope. He didn't hate what his life had become. He didn't spew bile about the illness all the time. Yes, he bitched occasionally - he had every right to. Yes, he had days where he was in pain or couldn't eat. Yes, the treatments were often just as bad, if not worse, than the effects of the cancer itself. None of this mattered to him though. He just enjoyed his life, as much as he possibly could, until his time was up.
He was probably the strongest person I will ever know, and it's not because he was strong in the face of cancer. It's because he had the courage to live his life the way he wanted.
We're all dying right now. Every one of us. I could die tomorrow. You might feel robbed of the vague promise of longevity, but really you've been given permission to infuse your life with all the joy, enthusiasm, and reckless abandon most people wistfully reserve for their retirement.
You don't have to wait for the right job, the right person, the right season, the right place. You've been granted the right to live your life the best way you can, right now. And there are thousands of people here cheering you on.
So, do the things you've always wanted to do. Or just do the things that make you happy. Fill your time with enjoyment and appreciation. We should all be living our lives this way, because we could die at any moment.
Be kind to yourself, stay hopeful, and love what you have. My thoughts are with you.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
My Raisin Bran turned into Spider Baby Hell
by Hengist
Funny you mention Raisin Bran. I too have a Raisin Bran tale to tell that forever ruined that cereal for me.
When I was about 20, I got a box of Raisin Bran and I sat down for a delicious breakfast. So I poured myself a bowl and mixed the milk and began to nom. After I finished that bowl, I decided that I was still hungry and that I wanted some more, so I poured another.
What followed was a scene out of hell. An enormous spider rushed out with the bran flakes and landed plop---right in the middle of the milk. It was hairy and easily three to four inches across, with emerald green chelicerae. I was frozen, half-pour, staring at this massive eight-legged eight-eyed horror as it waggled its legs at me threateningly. Apparently, it was just the vanguard of the full assault. Suddenly, the cereal box, which I was still holding half-poured, suddenly boiled over with thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of tiny spiders. In an instant, they were all over the table and spilling over onto my legs. I screamed an unholy scream and dropped the box, leaping back and falling over the back of the chair. They were on my chest and face now, and I was screaming a mix of loud profanities and "Get them off me!"
Understand that I am not usually afraid of spiders, but this was a whole new dimension of arachnophobia that I was experiencing. I made a dive for the cupboard, grabbed a can of Raid, and began spraying the horde down---the table, the floor, the chair, the box, and even my legs. Spraying my legs turned out to be a dumb idea, because the little bastards all over them began biting, each a sting just like an angry bee. In my flailing, I knocked the Raisin Bran box off the table, and it landed on the floor, a new rush of spiders gushing out along with Raisin Bran and several golf-ball sized spider egg sacs.
I had had enough. I was shaking all over as I ran out of the kitchen, closing the door tightly behind me and pushing a coffee table against the door. I was terrified and felt like vomiting. I dashed for the shed in the backyard and grabbed a bug bomb my uncle had left there from when he de-bugged his RV. For disturbing the shed, I got stung by a very angry wasp, which did not help my mood any.
Arriving back at the scene of the spider apocalypse, I activated the bomb and threw it into the kitchen then took refuge in the bathroom where I took a shower. When I finally got the nerve to go back to the kitchen, there were dead spiders everyplace.
Wow, I think I have to go take a shower and hug my cat now. :-(
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Old person responds to a young person's plea: "My friend just died. I don't know what to do."
by GSnow
Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gorged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.
As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)