Tiny little blog of a musical theatre nerd who's still a baby bat.
a lot of people on this site are like, deeply existentially freaked out that they haven’t been in love by 19 or whatever, and are desperate for any explanation for this that might make it ok. i just want to say, you are completely ok, no explanation needed. this is MUCH more common than you think, especially if you’re not straight. you’re very very young. you’re 100% fine. if you want it, it will happen in its own time.
Lena Luthor isn’t evil, she’s just fuckin tired. The only sleep she gets is when someone/something knocks her unconscious.
me: hey how long is this thing going to last
someone: haha you just want to know when you’re off the hook
me: hah
me: (actually i just need to allocate the right expectations and backlog of energy and make sure the rest of my day falls in good accordance with it so that i don’t feel time-crunched and propel myself into a hysteria because if i don’t know how long this thing lasts or when it ends i can’t possibly know when literally anything else starts and my entire life becomes an unraveled realm of anarchy with no rhyme or reason and how is that not terrifying to you)
me: hey how long will this take
someone: oh like twenty minutes
me: ok
*an hour later*
me: *clinging to every learned social skill i can think of with the desperate hope my distress and exhaustion doesn’t show*
someone: hey we’re almost done don’t be so crabby
me: *smiling* *internally screaming at this SENSELESS CHAOS*
someone: hey do you want to do [involving time-consuming thing]
me: hey that sounds fun! when were you thinking?
someone: oh we’re doing it right now
me: oh. like. now-now? like right now. like you want me to stop what i’m doing and get up and do this thing with you, suddenly, with thirty seconds of warning. now. like this second. immediately. now?
look the ideal future is me having a strong girlfriend/wife who can effortlessly swing a sword but i know that future means me staring at her anxiously as she does sick sword stuff and going “babe, is that safe? babe are you sure you should do that? babe please be careful. babe. babe maybe we can just stare admiringly at that sword instead”
future wife: hey look at me throw this axe with devastating accuracy
me, with my heart rate skyrocketing: that’s so hot, honey, but is that, like, really sharp?
