My therapist once told me, “You are the guiltiest feeling person I’ve ever met” and just to prove her right, I took it to heart. An astrologer said, “You have so much water in your chart. What is it like to feel the emotions of every single person alive, everyday?” and I wept because I sensed he was displeased. A teacher told my parents “She’s very sensitive. Far more than the other kids in her class.” I took my SATs at 9 years old, but they encouraged my mother to hold me back because of how my eyes glistened when I heard the word no. She told them to go to hell. So I cried my way through my education until high school when they said “You take everything so personally, you’ll never survive in a company environment. You wouldn’t make a good employee.” So I employed myself (out of spite or…necessity) and then later, I hired 200 people. A boyfriend told me “Don’t be so dramatic, everything isn’t a movie.” Fine, so it’ll be an album then. The doctor said “This shouldn’t hurt a bit.” I tread daily on a minefield that leaves me classifying the variations in footsteps, the tonality in voice, a change in breath. “Is everything okay? You seem mad” is my pledge of allegiance to this tightly wound bundle of flesh. I am cut open, butterflied and flayed, with every single nerve exposed like live wires and, yes, they all hurt to touch. Each interaction is a litmus test of how well liked I am, and therefore how worthy to live. I wake up every morning and the moral barometer resets, T-minus 12 hours to prove to myself that I am not the bad person I believe I must be. Sleep, repeat. An amnesiac nightmare. Prometheus on a rock and the gull in my guts is myself. I once envied those with greater armor, but not anymore. “Why do you care so much?” Guard yourself from the little grievances, but the shield does not differentiate. The space where I am vulnerable to the pain that passes through is an entry point for the microscopic good that others may miss. I live in technicolor torment. If I could do it over again and choose the comfortable grey, I would seize a knife and cut the little keyholes back into my every limb. So the light can get in.
This seems like a good time to mention the Prisoners Literature Project and Inside Books Project. Both of these organizations send free books to incarcerated people, and are always looking for donations - both books and money -and volunteers! (Prisoners literature project sends books everywhere but Texas - Inside Books project is just Texas).
I was seeing the first photos for the new daisy jones show and this image right here called my attention:
But especially the background of this particular picture:
The paper that the girl is holding reads “they can’t break our daisy chain” and just like that I was reminded that Daisy Jones is inspired by Fleetwood Mac’s band drama during the rumors album 🤣 I just loved the little Easter egg they gave us by playing with “the chain” lyrics “you’ll never break the chain” 🤣
I’m actually really excited for this, March needs to hurry up!!
I think too often we forget that besides being incredible powerful magically, El has to be fucking JACKED. Like, her primary form of mana building was exercising and she’s had to do more crochet because exercise is too damn easy. Like, she’s doing literally hundreds of push-ups just to get ANYTHING mana wise.
In conclusion, El can, should, and does bench-press Orion on a regular basis and you can’t convince me otherwise.
