My Invisible Friends.

My so called life

Life is pretty good for me. Since I don’t work until 2, I wake up around 8, check the time, maybe use the bathroom, check my notifications on my phone, go back to bed until 10 or so. Wake up, check Facebook, tumblr, instagram, then twitter. Then I go to the gym. Then throughout the day, I keep checking every couple of hours.

Around midnight I post something random on Facebook and go to bed and start everything over again the next day. It’s a good life. It’s an uncomplicated life. It’s my life. I just need MTV to film me so I can say to the camera, “you have no idea.”

Marilyn Monroe, 1960 - captured by Eve Arnold.

Beautiful

Eating before you shop, going alone, making a list and sticking to it, taking advantage of student discounts, using mobile and printed coupons, getting in-season produce, and buying generic store brands can save you thousands of dollars a year on groceries. 

Source

Can’t turn the other cheek for this one.

Extended version...

of life when it's a bad day.

A religious experience of purple

I am loved

and sometimes I don't know how to handle that feeling. His love for me is all encompassing, true, and beautiful.

I try to be understanding with every person, and try to view posts from their point of view if they get upset. I'm glad you're so outspoken and so open with your autism. You are lighting the way for more understanding, and leading the way for an open dialogue. That's awesome, my friend.

As for the kiddo, he had another seizure last week at the YMCA while swimming. I'm heartbroken, the doctors don't know why he's getting seizures. Fingers crossed all is worked out soon.

His eyes...

she thought, are beautiful. There is life in there far beyond her reach.

Behind his eyes was freedom, far from the chains of his mind and the complex bondage he was held fast to. If only he could reach out. But he is left with a blank stare and various stimulation that were expressed with a flap of his arms, and twirling, his constant twirling around.

She held fast though, returning each time to look into his eyes, because she knew, she knew there was freedom behind his eyes.

A freedom that would break free for an instant, and he would focus and be free from the chains for but a moment, and stare back with recognition, with a single word on the tip of his tongue, but would never be uttered; “mom.”

His eyes, she thought, are beautiful. There is life in there, far beyond her reach.

I dig it.

Groovy. 1975