bibliophilicwitch:

fragmentedvisions:

It was extremely rude of mori-girl-life to tell everyone about SockDreams current discount code it’s my birthday next week so this is my justification for buying myself some socks.

(From now until 11:59 PM, PST on 25 August, Sock Dreams will be taking 20% off orders of $40 or more when you enter the discount code SchoolOfSock.)

Oh gods

22nd August, FridayReblog

spermbanker:

i met this pretty lady today who likes to sleep in plants

22nd August, FridayReblog

(Source: imaconhou)

(Source: aliceofwonder)

andrewbelami:

Most of tumblr in a pic

andrewbelami:

Most of tumblr in a pic

Sleep tight Grandpa John. 6/1/1940 - 14/7/14

(Me and Grandpa 2003)

I’m not really one for words. I don’t really say deep things and I don’t talk about things. That’s one thing that me and Grandpa had in common. It was a blessing and a curse really; when I was younger, me and him didn’t get along very well at all. We were too similar-both very stubborn and argumentative. He would blame me for things that I didn’t do, and I would argue back. Despite us not always getting along, of course I loved him. He was my Grandpa. He’d put Johnny Cash on in the lounge whenever I was poorly, he’d make me egg on toast. I used to have afternoon naps with him too. As I grew a bit older, I became quieter and a lot more introverted than I already was. This was when we began getting along much better. Grandpa would get sick a lot. He had COPD, chronic pancreatitis through alcohol and terrible asthma. Every year we’d be terrified that he wouldn’t see Christmas or his birthday, and every year we were proved wrong. From when I was about 14 onwards, I stopped visiting him in hospital. My anxiety was getting worse and I am (even moreso now) scared of hospitals. We moved out when I was 16, and after that I didn’t see him very much. Whenever I did, I discovered we had more in common each time- mainly our self depreciating/morbid/satirical sense of humour. Last Easter he was telling me about all of the weird colours of substances that would come out of his pancreas drain, and he’d try and guess what it was. His pancreatitis had been a lot worse in the last 2 years, and this year he had a drain attached to it because it’d always fill with fluid. Because of his pancreas, he was always at a high risk of pancreatic cancer. We had a few scares over the years, but he never got it.

In June he wasn’t as lucky. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given 3-8 weeks to live. Despite expecting it, it was a horrible shock all the same. He got all of his funeral plans and money in order so he didn’t have any loose ends.
I saw him 8 days before he died. He was very very skinny- 9 stone to be exact. Grandpa was always a very big man. He played a lot of sports and was really tall and stocky, so for him, 9 stone really was pretty bad. 
5 days before he died, he was rushed into hospital with sepsis. That’s the final stage of blood poisoning before the organs shut down in his case. I went to see him, and he looked awful. Where he was skinny before, he looked like a zombie now. In 2 days he had deteriorated so much. His skin was sallow and yellow, his bones jutting out. His eyes were yellow too- his cancer had spread to his liver and his liver was failing. He was very happy to see me and was nearly completely himself besides for his voice being very weak and his eyes un focusing because of the agony he was in. 

I next saw him 2 days before he died. I went straight to the hospital after a friend’s birthday bbq. He looked about 6 stone, and was literally bright yellow. He cried a bit, he was sick, and I rubbed his back and talked to him about the football. He settled down, and I kept blabbering about random things to him, as I would have when he was at home. As he was being ill, I rubbed his back and told him that it’s okay, I’m here. He squeezed my hand and said “I know, god bless you” which were the last words he said to me.  
Apparently that was the last time he smiled and laughed, when I blamed him for my unnaturally snall thumbs.

The day before he died we were warned that the change was drastic. He had been sedated because of his pain and how unsettled he was. We walked in, and immediately had to walk back out again. He looked awful. Even thinner, more yellow, eyes half open and blank. His mouth was open like the scream painting, and his false teeth hanging at an angle.
The day he died we spent all day with him in the hospital. He was very yellow and looked somewhere between 4-5 stone. His stomach had filled with litres of fluid from an infection and he looked like he was heavily pregnant. Minus the stomach, he dis look around half the weight he was 8 days before. He was unconscious/unresponsive for most of the day, though he reacted to Germany winning the world cup by raising his hands to his head, and nodded when we told him how we’re all very loud. My auntie swabbed his mouth and kept him hydrated. There was loads of brown stuff on the swab which was apparently fluid from the lungs that was causing the “death rattle”. After a few hours we decided to do shifts at the hospital, and I came back with Granny as my sister and Auntie Elaine left. His breathing was very slow and spaced apart, so me and Granny sat and held his hands until he died a few minutes later. 
I am honestly so heartbroken by his death, mainly because of the years I wasted being difficult. He wrote his own eulogy, which was really a list of his regrets and apologies. I broke down when the part about him being proud of each and every one of his grandchildren for what they’ve achieved and who they’ve become. The family had high hopes for me, and I had to drop out of college due to severe mental illness, so I always worried that I was the disappointment. I never knew he was proud of me, and that was enough to really make me cry. I wished he had said all of his regrets and apologies before he died, but I think in his own way he tried. And I know I forgive him for anything he’s done to me. No matter what he did, he’s still my Grandpa and I love him. 

I know it’s been a month, and it’s taken a lot of effort to try and get my feelings out here. I’m no longer scared of dying. There is no awful pain at the end, there’s no awful noises or anything. Grandpa slipped away without us even knowing until I checked for his pulses. He just didn’t breathe back in. It was eerily peaceful, and I think that sums death up very well.
I saw him in the chapel of rest, and he looked lovely. It’s a private family-friend company, so they knew how he looked in life and how to restore him. I said my goodbyes, even though I know I’ll see him again- I see him nearly every day in my dreams, or in the weather, and I know I’ll see him when I die too.

Sleep tight Grandidad.

Sleep tight Grandpa John. 6/1/1940 - 14/7/14

(Me and Grandpa 2003)

I’m not really one for words. I don’t really say deep things and I don’t talk about things. That’s one thing that me and Grandpa had in common. It was a blessing and a curse really; when I was younger, me and him didn’t get along very well at all. We were too similar-both very stubborn and argumentative. He would blame me for things that I didn’t do, and I would argue back. Despite us not always getting along, of course I loved him. He was my Grandpa. He’d put Johnny Cash on in the lounge whenever I was poorly, he’d make me egg on toast. I used to have afternoon naps with him too. As I grew a bit older, I became quieter and a lot more introverted than I already was. This was when we began getting along much better. Grandpa would get sick a lot. He had COPD, chronic pancreatitis through alcohol and terrible asthma. Every year we’d be terrified that he wouldn’t see Christmas or his birthday, and every year we were proved wrong. From when I was about 14 onwards, I stopped visiting him in hospital. My anxiety was getting worse and I am (even moreso now) scared of hospitals. We moved out when I was 16, and after that I didn’t see him very much. Whenever I did, I discovered we had more in common each time- mainly our self depreciating/morbid/satirical sense of humour. Last Easter he was telling me about all of the weird colours of substances that would come out of his pancreas drain, and he’d try and guess what it was. His pancreatitis had been a lot worse in the last 2 years, and this year he had a drain attached to it because it’d always fill with fluid. Because of his pancreas, he was always at a high risk of pancreatic cancer. We had a few scares over the years, but he never got it.

In June he wasn’t as lucky. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given 3-8 weeks to live. Despite expecting it, it was a horrible shock all the same. He got all of his funeral plans and money in order so he didn’t have any loose ends.
I saw him 8 days before he died. He was very very skinny- 9 stone to be exact. Grandpa was always a very big man. He played a lot of sports and was really tall and stocky, so for him, 9 stone really was pretty bad.
5 days before he died, he was rushed into hospital with sepsis. That’s the final stage of blood poisoning before the organs shut down in his case. I went to see him, and he looked awful. Where he was skinny before, he looked like a zombie now. In 2 days he had deteriorated so much. His skin was sallow and yellow, his bones jutting out. His eyes were yellow too- his cancer had spread to his liver and his liver was failing. He was very happy to see me and was nearly completely himself besides for his voice being very weak and his eyes un focusing because of the agony he was in.

I next saw him 2 days before he died. I went straight to the hospital after a friend’s birthday bbq. He looked about 6 stone, and was literally bright yellow. He cried a bit, he was sick, and I rubbed his back and talked to him about the football. He settled down, and I kept blabbering about random things to him, as I would have when he was at home. As he was being ill, I rubbed his back and told him that it’s okay, I’m here. He squeezed my hand and said “I know, god bless you” which were the last words he said to me.
Apparently that was the last time he smiled and laughed, when I blamed him for my unnaturally snall thumbs.

The day before he died we were warned that the change was drastic. He had been sedated because of his pain and how unsettled he was. We walked in, and immediately had to walk back out again. He looked awful. Even thinner, more yellow, eyes half open and blank. His mouth was open like the scream painting, and his false teeth hanging at an angle.
The day he died we spent all day with him in the hospital. He was very yellow and looked somewhere between 4-5 stone. His stomach had filled with litres of fluid from an infection and he looked like he was heavily pregnant. Minus the stomach, he dis look around half the weight he was 8 days before. He was unconscious/unresponsive for most of the day, though he reacted to Germany winning the world cup by raising his hands to his head, and nodded when we told him how we’re all very loud. My auntie swabbed his mouth and kept him hydrated. There was loads of brown stuff on the swab which was apparently fluid from the lungs that was causing the “death rattle”. After a few hours we decided to do shifts at the hospital, and I came back with Granny as my sister and Auntie Elaine left. His breathing was very slow and spaced apart, so me and Granny sat and held his hands until he died a few minutes later.
I am honestly so heartbroken by his death, mainly because of the years I wasted being difficult. He wrote his own eulogy, which was really a list of his regrets and apologies. I broke down when the part about him being proud of each and every one of his grandchildren for what they’ve achieved and who they’ve become. The family had high hopes for me, and I had to drop out of college due to severe mental illness, so I always worried that I was the disappointment. I never knew he was proud of me, and that was enough to really make me cry. I wished he had said all of his regrets and apologies before he died, but I think in his own way he tried. And I know I forgive him for anything he’s done to me. No matter what he did, he’s still my Grandpa and I love him.

I know it’s been a month, and it’s taken a lot of effort to try and get my feelings out here. I’m no longer scared of dying. There is no awful pain at the end, there’s no awful noises or anything. Grandpa slipped away without us even knowing until I checked for his pulses. He just didn’t breathe back in. It was eerily peaceful, and I think that sums death up very well.
I saw him in the chapel of rest, and he looked lovely. It’s a private family-friend company, so they knew how he looked in life and how to restore him. I said my goodbyes, even though I know I’ll see him again- I see him nearly every day in my dreams, or in the weather, and I know I’ll see him when I die too.

Sleep tight Grandidad.

(Source: awwww-cute)

lackyannie:

theangiec:

This makes me laugh. everytime. I will never not reblog this 

THIS IS MY NUMBER 1 FAVORITE THING OON THIS GOD FORSAKEN SITE

lackyannie:

theangiec:

This makes me laugh. everytime. I will never not reblog this 

THIS IS MY NUMBER 1 FAVORITE THING OON THIS GOD FORSAKEN SITE

(Source: theangiec83)

(Source: prancing-rats)

19th August, TuesdayReblog

ainoa-maija:

So majestic

19th August, TuesdayReblog
I hate being looked at. 19th August, TuesdayReblog