Digital Mercurian

Having qualities of eloquence, ingenuity, while characterized by rapid and unpredictable changeableness of mood

Single woman, 27 seeking single man. Must have complementary assholery, intelligence, wit, arrogance and only stubbornness in things she finds cute or mildly annoying.

Air signs preferred

"Complaining is the only right you have as a New Yorker. Whining is what children do. To complain is to tell the truth. People who refuse to complain, and insist on having a positive outlook, are monsters. Their optimism is a poison. If given the chance they will sell you out."

Hilarity  from a dark post called: 

New York Doesn’t Love You

Yep I’m just going to keep that AWK HTML Copy Paste.  

the VIA 

Hover Text:  It’s been 48 hours. my heart is almost certainly dead already. 
Via

Hover Text:  It’s been 48 hours. my heart is almost certainly dead already. 

Via

"A girl ought to celebrate what passes by"

The Miller’s Song, A Little Night Music

kohler:

That’s a motto we can get behind. But if you need a break from your hard work, check out our month-long exploration of wood designs.
bronsonsnelling:

Work Hard || Stay Humble x Bronson Snelling


Love this one

Reblogged from kohler

kohler:

That’s a motto we can get behind. But if you need a break from your hard work, check out our month-long exploration of wood designs.

bronsonsnelling:

Work Hard || Stay Humble x Bronson Snelling

Love this one

cassandraclare:

Taking a break for the moment but this is an amazing project, no?
sheehanmebaby:

Tessa Gray entering the London Institute Library from The Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare. 
Made with Watercolors.Here’s the rest of my 24 illustrations of Clockwork Angel.


Show.me.the.library

Reblogged from cassandraclare

cassandraclare:

Taking a break for the moment but this is an amazing project, no?

sheehanmebaby:

Tessa Gray entering the London Institute Library from The Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare. 

Made with Watercolors.
Here’s the rest of my 24 illustrations of Clockwork Angel.

Show.me.the.library

"People love a happy ending. So every episode, I will explain once again that I don’t like people. And then Mal will shoot someone. Someone we like. And their puppy."

― Joss Whedon

Dinner party success #omnomnomnom

Dinner party success #omnomnomnom

Contemplating life’s great mysteries. Is the sum of all positive integers really -1/12th? #tbt

Contemplating life’s great mysteries. Is the sum of all positive integers really -1/12th? #tbt

Every day

Every day

How Are You DOING??

People ask all the time. How are you Doing ?? with the two question marks to show they are really invested in the answer. 

And while I am glad that people love me to enough to ask, to really ask. I have no idea. 

And its not that i don’t want them to ask or don’t need to them to ask though sometimes I wish they wouldn’t it is more that  I never know what to say to this. 

I took that advice - you know - the live moment by moment advice. and I am. It’s the only one that works. To even look at the size of the loss- the great expanse of my life without my mother - its like being told i have to swim to London from New York. I can’t even tell you how far that is. 

Instead i fill the hours of the day. With work, and with friends, with reading or with cleaning, with my ever constant daydreaming. 

Eventually something in this will break and i will fall apart. For instance:  

It’s winter and cold and so I’m planning a dinner party. 

I sent out the email and I’ve cleaned alot of the house. Not all of the house, and not the extent my mom would - But alot of the house.

Its this weekend so i should plan the menu. I think about how mom would have the menu planned for a month. Before she sent out invitations, But I don’t get caught up in it.  

I get down the cookbooks and flip through pages.  Should I make a salad? I could make the black and blue - the one from the Miami cookbook, the one mom taught me when I threw my first dinner party at 12.  I smile at the thought and my heart contracts so I move on. Maybe spinach dip? I wanted to have that at the wake but i wouldn’t let any make it - i knew they would fuck it up. Maybe that would be good.

Then it is time go back to work, so i take few calls, plan a few meetings.

The though occurs - I should ask dad. Thinking that will be a good use for our call tonight. I gather topics throughout the day like squirrels gather nuts for winter as we so hard to rapidly build a bridges to each in the flood plain we have been left in. 

 I should check Pinterest. Doesn’t mom have an entire appetizer board? She was so proud of her web 2.0 skills.  

i’m scrolling and scrolling and soon i see only colors as my eyes blur with tears. 167 pins. That number isn’t growing. I can’t call to ask which ones she made already, which ones were good and which were so-so. I try not to beat myself up for not remembering. The tears are falling into my tea cup and i have the space to wonder if it will make it salty. 

For a few minutes I am paralyzed in that pain; at thought of never hearing form her. Never getting voice mails and cards left for Puddy. Of not knowing what to plan for dinner or how to live my life. It’s agonizing and suffocating. I beat my mind against the rails of pain. My body shakes in now all to familiar silent sobs. My face pulls into a grimace and i know it looks just like my mothers when she cried. when she fraught the pain of the cancer we could not save her from.

And so i stop. I don’t want to look like that. Such vanity, such an odd self protection.  

Its a cycle i tell me self. You can’t get lost in the thoughts. Don’t get in the ocean. It’s too deep. 

I remember it’s the middle of the day and there is work to be done. Hadn’t I promised someone, something. I’m sure I had. I should do that and come to the dinner party after work. 

Yes. I can come back to it. 

How am I doing, you ask? 

I can’t decide what to serve for dinner.