Untitled Life

a work in progress

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At 19, I read a sentence that re-terraformed my head: “The level of matter in the universe has been constant since the Big Bang.”
In all the aeons we have lost nothing, we have gained nothing - not a speck, not a grain, not a breath. The universe is simply a sealed, twisting kaleidoscope that has reordered itself a trillion trillion trillion times over.
Each baby, then, is a unique collision - a cocktail, a remix - of all that has come before: made from molecules of Napoleon and stardust and comets and whale tooth; colloidal mercury and Cleopatra’s breath: and with the same darkness that is between the stars between, and inside, our own atoms.
When you know this, you suddenly see the crowded top deck of the bus, in the rain, as a miracle: this collection of people is by way of a starburst constellation. Families are bright, irregular-shaped nebulae. Finding a person you love is like galaxies colliding. We are all peculiar, unrepeatable, perambulating micro-universes - we have never been before and we will never be again. Oh God, the sheer exuberant, unlikely face of our existences. The honour of being alive. They will never be able to make you again. Don’t you dare waste a second of it thinking something better will happen when it ends. Don’t you dare.
Caitlin Moran (via artvevo)

(via happyhealthyhumanoid)

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I was in a hit and run car accident two weeks ago.

At the time of the accident (10 pm), because there were no cars around me as I crossed the intersection, and it was unlit Nicholls Road so it was fucking dark, I had no idea I was in an accident until my car stopped spinning. I called the police, and they surmised I had been hit in a pit maneuver (a lane merge gone wrong); I wrote that in my statement.

As Sean, the police officers, and I were waiting for a tow truck to arrive for my car, Sean and I noticed debris in the middle of the intersection. Before we left the scene, the officers picked it up; it was the license plate of the car that hit me.

One of the officers was in disbelief, saying if the accident happened as a pit maneuver, it didn’t make sense that the license plate fell off like that; it must be from a different accident. The next morning, I thought back to the accident and realized why I hadn’t seen anything happen, and surmised from the timing of the accident: I had been hit as someone ran the red light at pond path, as I was crossing the intersection as the light turned green a moment before.

I tried calling Crime Control once each day for the next four days. I was told I couldn’t amend or add to my statement or speak to anyone about it until they called me.

So I waited until today to call again. I was just told that my case has not been assigned because there’s not enough evidence to go off of. There’s no evidence because the license plate was not in the police report. I offered to give the license plate number (I took a picture at the scene), but I was told that there was nothing could do and, because I was going of what I “thought” happened. She wouldn’t take any information from me and told me to leave a message for the police officer who was at the scene.

This is why I can’t fucking trust anyone do do anything for me, ever. I’m always fucking disappointed, I’m always fucked over, I’m always wrong. I can’t fucking deal with this right now.

tl;dr: Fuck the police; I’m either starting my own task force or burning myself in a self-sustaining underground cavern; everyone can fuck off.

Filed under hit and run police fucked over fuck everything I can't

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swoleinvelvet:

Okay, this guy last night was being a bit dickish and then later asked my guy friend if he and I were dating (seeing if he can swoop in). Then I called him by the wrong name and his ego started crying. Thank you, Ron Swanson.

(via dopamine-and-dumbbells)