i love my friends so much like it’s probably dumb to get that worked up over it but i am constantly amazed by what wonderful people they are and how much happier i am when i’m around them. and like. i feel the need to inform the world and universe. because going to them out of the blue like “i love you so much” would probably be creepy. i just need to say. i love them. i love my friends. my friends are great. great friends. amazing friends
other people during winter:
What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are — underneath the year that makes you eleven.
Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five. And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.
Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is.
girls who go clubbing in just tiny dresses and massive heels in the depths of winter are true northern heroes and tougher than any boys ever
i need like 3 shots before checking either my grades or my bank account