The Aristocats - (1970)
You’re a w i z a r d , Harry!
I’m a what?
all excellent things about you m’dear! and re: sorting we really only do it for recycling? except a lot of recycling centers allow you to just dump it and they stream-sort it for you. laziness is the american way.
lmao apparently (or so my mum/the press tells me) the trash i meticulously sort is being put in one big heap and incinerated so what does that even tells us about germany smh
uuuh ok let’s try
1. i am environmentally conscious. i save water whenever i can, take public transport/walk instead of taking the car more often than my bf likes, and i take sorting the trash v. seriously (is that a thing outside of germany though?)
2. if i commit to something, i will get it done. there will be moaning about it, there might be crying, but the thing will get done. eventually.
3. i am rather frugal when it comes to the small stuff (i like couponing shhh) but i will also spend money on stuff that matters (dslr for wdw/wwohp y’all)
4. i am a good listener. seriously just tell me all your stuff! i will mull it over and might have some things to say (sometimes). but i really like to hear peoples’ stories
5. i am very good at organising things and packing suitcases
The nightmare that plagued her loved ones for years afterwards looked like this: her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever.
But if you were to meet her afterwards, you might be shocked at how she gave no indication of being affected by that nightmare. How alive she was, how bold, and how markedly different. Here was a new person. Here was no meek, crumpled form wasting away in a moldy dungeon, water dripping on the bones, flesh eaten away, a rotting thing with coils of well-preserved bright hair.
Because it didn’t happen, thought her mother. She’s safe now, thought her father. Thank Merlin, thought her brothers.
But privately, she’d always assumed that it did happen. Something had died. Something had been discarded and left behind in the chamber. She had simply resolved to make it the fearful something, the selfish something that worried incessantly about boys who might like her, the something too paralyzed to speak; the something which might have been too self-conscious to befriend loony or round-faced, unpopular people; the something obsessed with staying quiet and meek and nice. That something was rotting at the bottom of the dungeon now.
And when she had the dream, it did not scare her. It only reminded her that she’d died and come out on the other side, and she would do so again, she would be foolish and she would be manipulated and she would rot and she would fail, because all people did. But you could choose what part of you would live on. You could recover. New. Unafraid.
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To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.
Do you believe in magic, and in dreams coming true?