
I want my kids to grow up thinking that I am their safe place.
I pray that their world never comes crashing down on them but if it does, I hope that their first thought will be “It’s okay because at least I have my mom to help me get through this”.
me while drawing: damn i wish i could draw
i remember when i was little and i had to microwave something i’d always ask my mom how much time i needed to microwave it. like i thought at some point adults just learned the right amount of time to microwave anything. she was always right too so i believed her. now i’m an adult and i realized she didn’t know the right times for stuff. she just made it up. she’d be like, “i don’t know, a minute thirty?” and i’d walk away like, “wow how did she know that?” i used to think microwave times were like cooking laws you never broke. now i just throw shit in the microwave and set it on a whim. one minute? two minutes? four minutes? who cares? nothing is what you think it is.
you spilled ink and made it into the night sky. you turned electric sparks into shooting stars. you can transform disaster into something beautiful.

“I just feel so dead inside…”
“Dead inside, you say? I know something that might just work”
reanimate my will to live
Wake me up inside





