i just ate a bagel for the first time today and my life is changed forever
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28.10.23
I sent in the application for getting my accommodation scholarship renewed and finally had the meeting with my ba thesis supervisor! She said it was good and that I will definitely be able to defend it in December, woot woot.
I haven't been sleeping that well these past few days, but I hope I can rest a bit more this weekend.
🎧 Para no llegar tarde - María Peláe
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and now i eat bland ass rice with overspiced omelette and die immediately after
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made some flatbread from sourdough discard...... first time eating the offerings of this specific yeast creature...
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OH ALMOST FORGOT. I MADE THAT BREAD
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happy friday everyone i just had a cookie shaped like a pumpkin so i am now both spoopy AND sugared up
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Lan Zhan paints.
Flowers in his hair, purple fabric wrapped around his waist, ink on his skin. He had violet eyes and a dazzling laugh.
Lan Zhan's hands tremble when he eats his meals and he drops his chopsticks.
His brother and uncle cry out, asking if he's been painting again. They express their concern, begging him to take care of himself.
It sounds hollow in his ears.
Jiang Cheng's eyes had sparkled, knowing better than anyone else that putting down his brush was impossible. He'd held up a poem he'd copied down from a book and asked Lan Zhan if he wanted to draw illustrations on the page.
The first person who'd ever told him to paint instead of to put his paintbrush down. It was exhilarating, stolen moments with Jiang Cheng. They used to find private corners in the library and write and paint.
Lan Zhan had never felt more alive.
He'd known what it was like to have the brush stolen from his hand. So he kept quiet when Jiang Cheng vomited blood in Caiyi. He kept quiet when Jiang Cheng had a high fever after a painting session. He kept quiet as Jiang Cheng died.
Lan Zhan paints.
"Why didn't you tell me?!"
Accusations thrown his way. Tell everyone that Jiang Cheng was writing, laughing, living, breathing? Lan Zhan doesn't understand why no one will ever understand. They don't understand how he had clutched that precious person to himself and cried as the other wrote and wrote and wrote.
But how could he have ever taken the brush from his hand?
Lan Zhan paints. He cries. He hurts. The paint enters his lungs, making it hard to breathe.
But how can he ever stop painting lotuses and violet eyes?
Part 2 < Part 3 > Part 4
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aw hell yeah babey.......... Dinner Time ....
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Watching Newsies with a Capri-Sun is a different vibe
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What did you last have for dinner?
chicken cheesesteak
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Just gave cunnilingus to a plate, feeling good
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