Maybe that part of you dies. The part that was deeper than work and laundry and oil changes; the part that felt like there was something more, and that it was right there, just out of reach. Maybe it dies a little every time another soul subtly begs you to show it to them, and, fearing rejection, you suppress it. Tell a lie. Make small talk...

[via fightingforalostcause]

okay, honestly. the more political flyers you send me THE LESS I WANT TO VOTE FOR YOU. they all go straight into the trash. i don't even look at them. i sort of wish i had saved all of them so that i could be empirically disgusted while chucking them all on november 5th.

i was in a spelling bee tonight. in a bar. i did not win. if only i had chosen to take french fifteen years ago.

and yet another reason my coworkers scare me. this is from a refund form.

"Patient paid his bill, then insurance covered it, after he done paid them."

well, shoot dang.

[via swissmiss]