Got 95, 93, 92 & 92 for my AP 1 + 2 lectures and labs
Nothing motivates me quite like the crippling fear of failure.
My brain has officially melted out of my ears and Im happy that Im no longer focusing on school and can get back to focusing on porn the way god intended u.u
in middle school I got my music recs from shitty slideshow amvs I found on YouTube. 15 years later I’m getting my music recs from bad y/n edits on tiktok
for anyone too young to know this: watching The Truman Show is a vastly different experience now, compared to how it was before youtube and social media influencers became normal
before it was like, "what a horrifying thing to do to a human being! to take away their autonomy and privacy, all for the sake of profits! to create fake scenarios for them to react to, just to retain viewership! to ruin their happiness just so some corporate entity could harvest money from their very humanity! how could anyone do something so evil?"
and now it's like, "ah, yeah. this is still deeply fucked up, but it's pretty much what every influencer has been doing to their kids for a decade now. probably bad that we've normalized this experience"
my grand project of “restrain an 8ft high vintage cabinet to the wall and fill it with Weird Shit” nears completion… as soon as my peroxide gets here i can marinate the last few horse bones and finish arranging things to my liking :>
do you think the obsession with ‘style consistency’ in online art communities is mostly caused by this idea that your art style needs to be easily marketable & recognizable as a brand (especially when you’re working as a freelancer). i see the /least/ amount of progress in my art whenever i try to aim for style consistency. i don’t know exactly where i’m going with this but i think there’s some sort of connection between trying to monetize/market your art & limiting your growth as an artist. and i think it’s very sad.
it mattered because when my brother asked me what if this is the happiest you'll ever be? the best you'll ever get? the thing i felt was fear, not peace. everybody thought you were so perfect for me. even i thought you were "helping me grow". i had to challenge every internal clock. make myself more thoughtful, more kind, more beautiful.
i told my therapist it was good because i like the changes i made and there's something so strong about saying i did that. the problem is that i can like the difference all i want, but i changed for you. something akin to getting your name tattooed, all my progress is stamped with fuck you.
it was the happiest i'd ever been and also the best i'd ever gotten. i would still get in the car and think what the fuck just happened.