Some sketch pages from my latest Good Omens rewatch

soulmate au where instead of your soulmates first words to you written on your skin it’s their last words you ever hear them say so you don’t know who your soulmate is until you lose them

imagine generic last words like “did you get the mail?” “i’ll be down in a minute!” “have you seen my cell phone?” so every time the munain happens your blood runs cold

when you know you’ll hardly know them at all “what’s your name?” “do you have a facebook?” “that’ll be $3.95 with tax” because it’s one thing to lose them and know too late, but it’s something much crueler to never know them at all

imagine being the parent of someone with “did you do the homework?” “my mom said yes” “i really hate P.E.” because you know it will happen young, you know you can’t protect them

people with horrifying ones like “don’t close your eyes!” “i don’t think we’re alone” “didn’t you lock the door?” because they’ll be there when something horrible happens and there’s no way to prepare for that

imagine what you otp’s wrists might say.

I know this is an old post and these soulmate things are cliche, but I woke up this morning with an idea

What if the words on your skin are “fuck you”. So you already know it’s going to end badly. Maybe after a fight. Maybe you never have a chance to fall in love, and it’s someone who hated you. It was hard to accept at first, knowing it was going to end in heartbreak, especially when the people around you have words like “i love you” and various sweet things. But you get over it. It’s okay. Maybe the fight will come late in the relationship after many happy years together. Why can’t you just appreciate things before they end? 

And then you meet a girl with the words “wow, bitch”, and she’s the girl of your dreams. She’s funny and nice, but she has a bit of a temper. Judging by your somewhat matching last words and her firey temper, you’re pretty sure she’s your soulmate. The two of you joke sometimes about it, about what kind of argument was going to be the last argument you ever have. 

“You’re probably going to borrow my favorite shirt and spill something on it,” she laughs. 

“And then you’re going to have a heart attack and die right then and there because you can’t stand ruined clothes,” you tease back. 

When the two of you get tipsy and are looking for a thrill, you say the last words to each other- quickly saying other words after it while jolts of fear shoot through your bodies. 

But when you have a moment to think about it, it sounds terrible. You’re so in love, you can’t imagine the last words she ever says to you being something mean. Sure, you argue sometimes, but it’s never anything horrible. 

Then one day, after years of jokes and speculative conversations about it, she calls you when she’s walking home from work, ranting about some woman at her job.

“Did you know she blamed me for losing that paperwork in front of the whole office, when everyone knows that paperwork never made it to my desk. I never saw the papers! And yet she threatens to fire me for losing them!” she exclaims.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It is! And then she says something about me not looking professional enough for the office- while I’m sitting there in my pantsuit! So I asked her, and she said I should get something more flattering because presentation is key, and the pantsuit isn’t flattering.”

“Wow, bitch,” you laugh incredulously, without even thinking. She laughs too.

“I know right? I’m like, fuck you-” she stops abruptly, and the next thing you hear is a scream. Panic shoots through you as you realize the conversation. 

“Hello?” you ask tentatively into the phone. There’s a strange sound on the other side, it sounds like yells and screams in the distance. There’s a clattering noise, and then an unfamiliar voice.

“Hello- who is this?” the voice asks.

“Who are you?”

“I’m- I’m a truck driver- I- I don’t- there’s- there’s been an accident.”

His stuttering, shocked voice answers all your questions, and your blood runs cold. You had prepared for a fight- you hadn’t prepared for this. 

eye contact is so intimate im saving it for marriage

Justin Bland

baby cherry 🍒

Hey

Does anyone else have like. Anxiety-related memory problems. Like, after you do something, you start wondering if you messed something up or did something wrong, and you get really anxious over possible mistakes you made and you genuinely can’t remember if you made those mistakes or not?

Like for example maybe you write someone a letter and then after sending it you start imagining you made some terrible mistake and despite the fact that you yourself wrote and proofread and sent it, you can’t remember if you did or not?

It happens to me a l o t and it’s terrible and scary because I can’t trust my own memories when I’m anxious

i basically assume that people don’t like me unless they explicitly tell me they like me and then periodically remind me

please

On May 28th, my sister, Edna, turned 31.

 Her mental age is about three years old. She loves Winnie the Pooh, Beauty & the Beast, and Sesame Street. Even though the below picture is unconvincing. 

Edna and “Cookie.” I think she was trying to play it cool. 

My name is Jeanie. I’m Edna’s younger sister. I’m also her guardian and caregiver. 

That’s me on the left. (Hey, you never know. After a year of writing a blog about online dating - Jeanie Does the Internet - I’ve come to learn that there are A LOT of fools on the internet.) 

ANYWAY, I’m not “doing the internet” anymore. I’m taking care of Edna full-time, after completing my MFA in Writing for Screen & Television at USC.

May 16, 2014. I wanted a picture. Edna wanted breakfast.

In case you’re wondering where our parents are, they’re dead. Our mom died of breast cancer when she was just 33. 

Us with mom before she died. (Obviously.)

As for our dad, he peaced-out around the time my mom got sick. His loss - we’re awesome. 

Here we are being awesome at the beach. Pushing a wheelchair in the sand? Not so awesome. 

In case you’re wondering “What’s wrong?” with my sister - as a stranger once asked me on the street  -  NOTHING. Yes, Edna has a rare form of epilepsy - Lennox-Gastaut syndrome - but I don’t know if that’s anymore “wrong” than people who don’t have manners. 

Basically, Edna was born “normal,” and started having seizures as a baby. They eventually got so bad that they cut off the oxygen to her brain, causing her to be mentally disabled. Or impaired. Or intellectually disabled. Or whatever you want to call it - except “retarded,” because in 2010, President Obama signed Rosa’s Law into effect, replacing that word with “intellectually impaired.” 

Which is cool and all, but services for the disabled and the people who care for them are SEVERELY LACKING. Also, there’s a bunch of people working in taxpayer-funded positions who are supposed to help families like us, but don’t. (Big surprise, I know.) They just fill out paperwork (whenever they feel like it) with asinine statements like this: 

YUP. I transport my sister down the stairs in her wheelchair, because that is not only safe, but TOTALLY PRACTICAL. Why doesn’t everyone in a wheelchair just take the stairs, for God’s sake? Stop being so lazy, PEOPLE WITHOUT WORKING LEGS! 

But, as it says above, Edna’s legs do work. Whether or not she wants them to, is another story. 

Edna refusing to go inside. 

These are the stairs that I have to carry her up - by myself - on a daily basis. That is, until one of my legs break and both of us are just sitting at the bottom of the stairs, helpless. 

For six months, I have begged - BEGGED - the State of California to help my sister, which they are required by law - The Lanterman Act specifically - to do so. But they’ve told me “these things take time” and that I “need to amend my expectations.” (That was said to me when I refused to place Edna at AN ALL-MALE CARE FACILITY. Because yes, that was an “option” that was offered to me.) 

Prior to Edna moving in with me in my one-bedroom apartment, she was living with her amazing caregiver, Gaby, back in Tucson, where we went to high school and I did my undergrad. Edna’s reppin’ the Wildcats below. 

But back in November, Gaby also died from breast cancer. (FUCK YOU, BREAST CANCER!) This picture was taken a month before she died. She never even told me she was sick because she didn’t want me to worry. 

By the way, we were raised by our grandma. Edna and her were very close.

She’s dead, too. Surprise.

She died when I was 20 and Edna was 21. That’s when I became Edna’s legal guardian and Gaby stepped into the picture to help me out with Edna. 

So, six months ago, after Gaby died, I moved Edna to California, where I tried to get the folks over at The Frank D. Lanterman Regional Center to help me. I’ve told them I’m worried about our safety - that one of us could get hurt on the stairs -  I’ve told them I can’t afford to pay the private babysitters $15/hour because the ones social services sent me who make $9/hour were unreliable (they didn’t show up on time or at all so I could get to school and work), untrustworthy (one of them let Edna go to the bathroom in the kitchen and then took her into the bathroom because “that what I thought I was supposed to do.”) 

But the people over at the FLRC don’t return my calls, they don’t file the paperwork on time - and the first caseworker that was assigned to us actually LAUGHED AT my sister when he came to our home to evaluate her. When I reported him to his supervisor, she told me, “That’s just [insert name of said jackass].” 

He was one of the two caseworkers that contributed to the report I mentioned above, which also included this: 

So let me get this straight - I have to feed, bathe, dress and help Edna in the bathroom and you can’t deduce whether or not she is able to vote? What in the fuck?!

Now I realize I seem angry. And you can bet your balls I am. I’m also sad. Sad for those who don’t have family to stick up from them and who waste away God knows where, monitored by no one. Or monitored by people who physically and sexually assault them. 

I’m also sad for the caregivers who are SO EXHAUSTED - trying to take care of their loved ones - while also trying to take care of themselves and battling a system that is supposed to help, but does nothing of the sort. And I know a lot of people give up. They let their dreams, their marriages, their friendships slide. All while trying not to resent the very person you’re doing it all for.

Edna wanted to sit next to me the other day while I was writing. Clearly, she’s not impressed. 

Here’s the thing: I REFUSE TO GIVE UP. I’M NOT GIVING UP ON HER OR MYSELF. I’m going to pursue my dreams while taking care of her, AND while ensuring that the people paid to do their jobs ACTUALLY do them.

That’s where you come in. I need you to help me get my story out there. Because I know I’m not alone in this. I want to connect with families who are in similar situations and also show people who have no idea what it’s like to care for someone with a disability (or even a loved one who is sick) that it can be rewarding. Super fucking hard. Exhausting. Painful. Isolating. But, rewarding. 

I’m going to get help for my sister - and others. My hope is that by sharing our story, I can bring awareness to the lack of services and help for the disabled. 

Thank you, 

Jeanie 

Facebook:  facebook.com/eisforedna

Twitter: @EisforEdna 

This made me cry

SIGNAL BOOST

STOP SCROLLING. THIS PERSON ISN’T ASKING FOR MONEY AND THIS POST WON’T MAKE YOU SAD.

This is a really uplifting and inspirational story of a family sticking by each other and making things work despite a whole lot of shit

They just want to find other people in the same position they are, for a sense of community and to feel like they aren’t alone.

I know out of all of you, some of you have followers who are living with and taking care of intellectually or emotionally disabled family members, and this lovely and unbreakable pair of sisters need to find them.

SIGNAL BOOOOOOOOOST

Repost! This story needs told!

Disabled lives matter. Sooo much. 

Will always reblog this.

Which team are you on?

REBLOG for Team Stan Twins 

LIKE for Team Pines twins 

or….

REBLOG and LIKE if you’re on both! :D 

current mood

MY CELL PHONE!!!