Spring Cleaning
Spring Cleaning

"Every path is the right path. Everything could have been anything else and it would have just as much meaning."


Nemo Nobody, “Mr. Nobody”

This was already a spell-binding film, but this line is one that hasn’t left my mind since hearing it. Not only did it give Mr. Nobody a deeper meaning that tied it all together and made it all make sense, but it’s such a good mantra to have in life. Even if you’re in a shit place right now, it’s the place that you’re supposed to be in because as long as you’re alive and breathing, it’s the right life. 

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(via ellamyth)


This is my favourite bookstore and bookseller in the world. Bar none.
I used to get to Seattle every six months or so, and whenever I visited I always made it a priority to stop in BLMF and ask its keeper what he’d been reading lately. He possessed an inexhaustible memory, a comfortable lack of snobbery, and impeccable taste. The first book he recommended to me, upon listening gravely to my litany of at-the-moment authors (Barbara Kingsolver, James Clavell, Maeve Binchy, Neil Gaiman, Charles DeLint, Anthony Bourdain) was Tipping the Velvet. He also later landed me with Geek Love, Anno Dracula, half the Aubreyad, and more modern Literature-with-a-capital-L than I could carry home.
The next-to-last time I dropped in, I asked if he had any P. G. Wodehouse.
"I have zero Wodehouse," he said, "and here’s why…"
Turned out that some fiend had taken to creeping in every month or so expressly to inquire of any Wodehouse and, once led to the volumes, to buy it all. ALL. Didn’t matter the condition, the edition, or whether he had another just like it in his possession; the villain bought every single P. G. Wodehouse in stock, every single time.
Was he a fan more comprehensive, more truly fanatical than any other I’d heard of, let alone known? Was he virulently anti-Wodehouse, only purchasing the books to keep their wry poison from infecting the impressionable masses? The world may never know.
I didn’t get any Wodehouse then, and I didn’t really feel the lack. I found plenty of other treasures that trip. But here’s one reason why BLMF and its proprietor are my favourite of their kind: that was two years ago, you see. Maybe three. In all that interim, I never planted foot in that bookshop. Never called. Never wrote. And I’m one face out of hundreds of thousands, dear reader; one reader he saw twice a year for three years, then not again for another three.
But I walked in the shop last Friday. Nodded hello.
"Can I help you find anything?" he asked, lifting his head from the phone.
"No, I’m good," I said.
"Wait—hold on a second." He set the phone down, walked ‘round the towers of books balanced precariously on the desk, on the floor, and atop other, only slightly less precarious towers. He jerked his head conspiratorially toward the far end of the shop, led me carefully to a shelf way in the back, removed a tattered stack of mass market paperbacks and motioned me closer to see what they’d been hiding.
Fifteen pristine Wodehouses: crisp, heavy, and—
“Hardcover,” he said, and waggled his eyebrows.
Reader, I bought them all.

How is it possible to feel absolutely nothing but also be panicked at the same time? Isn’t that a logical paradox? But here I am.

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lmao this was super hard for me to post!!!! whateverr lmao if you ask it shall be given, right?

(via marcinhaunts)


I wish my liner looked this good.





imageIf you need Plan B, here’s a printable $10 off coupon. 

It doesn’t expire either! It’s a continual offer


Rebloggin this for my niggas that like to leave it in

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me when i drop my pen on the floor at schoolimage 

(via toomanywants)

I’m tired as hell but I need to stay up until at least midnight in order to maintain a sleeping schedule. I have no energy for dancing, and I think I miscalculated something, and fucked up my finances. In addition, my books are almost impossible to find for free/cheap it seems. I’m mentally overwhelmed with the debt I’m in and I know I am very close to being so afraid of it that I’m just going to forget about it because my brain will be like no, that didn’t happen. Also because my mom is snooping about it, it feels like Watergate ‘14 isn’t over.
I hate myself right now. I can’t feel that I hate myself, but I know the hate is happening because I’m doing it actively. I’ve been irresponsible with this miscalculation and inconsistent with my mom. And I’m broke but have dance things to do and school things to do. I’m so fucking terrified I’m on the verge of a total memory wipe out. I’ve been crawling away from it for weeks but it’s catching up. I’m also super duper irritatable and not even able to be there for my friends because I’m afraid that I’ll be condescending like I was last time this happened. I don’t know what to do or what to expect.




by e


laughing forever