This was taken in Russia. LOVE it! I am obsessed with locks and keys. I have a rather large collection.
the happy couple and a tree made of old locks
(Source: astronautalis)
8Yesterday was by far the most beautiful day I have ever had. I love the friends I have made here so very much, they are all wonderful people and I would not trade them for the world. Spending an entire day outside, front lawn drinking, front porch dancing, and ending it by a fire with some of the best people I have ever known was exactly what I needed. If perfect days exist, this was truly one of them.
This is the cutest fucking thing I have ever seen in the history of ever.
i can think of no better photo for my 1000th photo than this picture taken of me yesterday with my new roommate. #ttbt (Taken with Instagram at the seashore)
“this is like the fucking mona lisa of stupid fucking alcoholism” (Taken with instagram)
(Source: religiousragings, via thisgingergirl)
I only got on the scale three times today and I only measured once.
It isn’t much, but it is better that it has been.
I’ve lived with it for more than ten years now. Constantly relying on a scale and a measuring tape to feel validated. How often do you measure yourself? Do you even know your measurements? Probably never and no, right? There is a measuring tape hanging from the full length mirror in my bedroom. If you went through my things you would find at least two more tucked away somewhere. It is my crutch. A bit if insanity to keep me sane, that is the way I see it. I step on the scale more than once a day. Every time I walk into the bathroom. Sometimes twice while I’m in there. I am both impressed and horrified by the fact that I have taught myself to vomit on command. It is effortless. I find comfort in the feeling of an empty stomach. Disguting, right? I’m smarter than that, right? Honestly, that is probably the only reason it hasn’t killed me yet. I’m smart. But despite my intelligence I still haven’t gone six months without an “episode” in over ten years. In the past five I doubt I’ve gone more than three months, if that. I like to try and convince myself that “It’s not that bad. Some people do it all the time. I’m still in control.” But I’m wrong. One of these days either I am going to defeat the monster, or it is going to defeat me. We can’t live in the same body forever, that much I know for sure.
