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Abortion seems to be the only medical procedure that people want to deny you based on how you got in that situation.
Drove drunk, got in an accident and need an organ transplant? No problem.
Messing around with a gun, accidentally shoot yourself in the leg and need surgery? Of course.
Smoke tobacco for most of your life and need treatment for lung cancer? Yep.
Climb a tree, fall out and break your leg? We’ll fix that right up.
Have sex and get pregnant when you don’t want to be? YOU GOT YOURSELF INTO THIS SITUATION AND YOU DESERVE NO MEDICAL HELP OR COMPASSION! THIS IS YOUR FAULT AND YOU WILL DEAL WITH THE CONSEQUENCES!
"- Worry About Your Own Uterus: (via punkrockmermaid)
(via bye-bye-raggedy-man)
She will be amazing.
River Song’s timeline (so far), in pictures.
I’m really glad someone figured this out and put it in order. =)
(Source: icanalwaysseeyou, via tingeoftheginge)
So I recently bought this Dalek talking plushie
and if you sleep hugging a stuffed plushie and roll over a lot take my word for it and don’t sleep with it because last night I was hugging this dalek and was perfectly asleep and happy and I rolled over and I rolled too much and the dalek got squished and yelled “EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!” really loudly at like fucking 5 in the morning and yeah I was 200% sure I was about to be murdered.
(via foreveralone-lyguy)
people who are rude to cashiers or waiters or any customer service people are my least favourite people because all day these people run around doing things for everyone else and keep a smile on their faces despite dealing with jackasses and if you’re having a shitty day then don’t take it out on those who assist people for a living and deal with assholes on the daily and are still nice about it
FUCK YES MY APPRECIATION FOR THIS POST IS RIDICULOUS
(Source: galactci, via xstopandsmilex)
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Each time I’m asked to tell about myself, I find myself starting the same way: “My name is Kelsey and I’m nineteen..”
but what I’d really like to say is:
“My name means island of the ships but once
I found a translation that said I’m a burning shipwreck-
not a burning ship but a ship that has caught fire
after the wreckage and well, I’d say that’s more fitting.”
I’ve learned that people don’t have time for about me’s.
They need two things: a name and an indication you’re someone special.
The doctors, they want facts not details.
“I broke my leg when I was three, it’s a funny story actually-“
The right or the left?
Conversation over.
The teachers, they want interests, hobbies.
You’re sad, yes, but what do you like to do?
The adults are a spew of questions.
What school do you go to? What classes are you taking?
What do you plan on becoming? Got a boyfriend?
No, stop.
People my own age are the worst.
“I’m planning on an English degree with a concentration in creative writing.”
Yeah, aren’t we all. So how many times have you, you know,
done it?
I’m pulled apart, my interests travelling highway 2
my goals at a stop light at traffic hour,
my medical history on a billboard for the world to see.
But what about me?
Where’s the chance to say,
“I hang on to fistfuls of poetry like loose change in my pockets,
and I keep waiting for the day that the world turns upside down
so I can swim with the stars.
I’m not afraid of darkness, it’s a loneliness I can empathize with it.
It’s the blackholes like cigarette burns inside of me that get troublesome.
I walk through graveyards and read the dashes between years,
each a story I’ll never know. Sometimes I create my own.”
No wonder none of us know who we are anymore.
"- Kelsey Danielle, “I Was Told to Write an About Me and This is What Happened” (via pale-afternoon)
(via coeurvierge)
