Autobiography - Tumblr Posts
same Jennette, same
I'm Glad My Mom Died, Jennette McCurdy
[ Text ID: I yearn to know the people I love deeply and intimately—without context, without boxes—and I yearn for them to know me that way, too.]
8 Turning Points.
Accordion book detailing eight life-changing events.
Someone told me recently to write an autobiography after hearing about 65% of my lives (yes I know that isn’t correct) chaos.
So what are your opinions?
Like I know only four people will probably see this but still.
Through The Course of Time - Love
Title: Love
Series: Through The Course of Time
Description: Through the course of time, I will be documenting various parts and feelings of my life.
This is me.
This is my story.
Foreword: Sometimes, I get weighed down with feelings and writing them out relaxes me, in a way. So, I will be documenting parts of my life as it happens; when i feel overwhelmed or stressed, I can look through this and see how I felt at other various aspects and rest easy.
I know a story like this does not belong here but there is nothing else I can do but post it here, as I can view it as a story.
This will be cross-posted on my aff and lj.
{Truth be told, I have never experienced love, romantically.
Maybe, I could have but I never knew.}
Truth be told, I have never experienced love, romantically.
Maybe, I could have but I never knew.
It had always been just a mere infatuation, now that I think about it. Back then, I would think I was ‘head-over-heels in love’ with them; it just seemed too good to be true. It never lasted long, either. The longest I felt I ‘loved’ someone would be around 3 years, perhaps? Even then, I am not too sure. It was on-and-off. I would move on to someone else who was attractive, in my eyes, and then believe I ‘loved’ them.
I have never felt any sort of attraction towards a person, according to the textbook definition. I would have to have had clammy palms, when I’m near them; butterflies fluttering in my stomach; wanted to impress them; wanted to see them happy; have my heart pound against my chest and more. The cliché definition of love. That was something I never experienced.
All in all, I have had about five major crushes. When I reminisce, I wasted all my time fawning over them rather than trying my best to secure a good future by studying and excelling academically. Sure, I did have many achievements academically but I still misused time. My most recent one was a Japanese buddy that had come over to our school to stay for a couple of days. I was intrigued as he was an exact replica of one of my biases: Jinhwan, from iKON. I was starstruck; deluded myself into believing he was the closest I could get to Jinhwan. But that was not the case. We e-mailed once, twice and I sent the third one. I still haven’t got any reply. I have, most definitely, moved on.
I do not know the psychology behind all of this but it could have been peer pressure. Everyone else my age, my friends, younger students, older students; everyone, at that time, seemed to have a crush on someone or they were ‘going out’ with someone. I ended up thinking I have to have a crush, otherwise I would be frowned upon and I guess that’s where it all began. Acquaintances would ask me, ‘Who’s your crush? Do you like anyone?’ and I would blurt the name of the first person I thought was pretty cute. Soon, word spread. One of our mutual friends ridiculed me at lunch. It was too much, for a 10-year-old child.
It continued when I was eleven. It was a different guy, this time round. He was new to the school, to be honest, the country itself. We clicked. We soon became close friends; if you were looking for one of us, most just said, ‘Look for the other one’. I don’t know when it happened but I found myself having a crush on him because he was the most adorable, dorky and funny kid you would ever meet. Somewhere down the track, the year after, one of our mutual friends told him that I liked someone. (At this point, due to this person, who I thought would keep it a secret, the entire cohort knew about my tiny crush on him.) He was flabbergasted; I had a crush and I did not tell him. This mutual told me she knew who he liked, so I considered it to be a lost cause; there was no way on Earth I’d have a chance. He kept bugging me, all of our mutuals knew who we liked until one came up to me and told me that it was, in fact, me who he liked. Me, of all the attractive students. (I always had and still do have an insecurity considering my appearance, my personality and just me, in general.) Being the naïve child that I was, I thought it was amazing. My crush liked me back! What a great thing! We never dated formally, just knew we liked each other and that was it. During the Year 7 pool party, I had been dared to kiss his cheek. I did so and he told me it was his first. I did so too.
Months later, we drifted apart and things became awkward between us. We had just entered high school and there were a whole lot more faces. He became a social butterfly; I continued to be an awkward person, staying with the people I had befriended.
I ended up liking the boy I liked back when I was ten. I found out, at the end of the year, he liked another girl. She was pretty. Very pretty, indeed. I went through a period where I could not focus on ‘love’ as I believed it. I moved on, once again, to another boy. He was tall, athletic and intelligent whereas the other two were the same height as me, intelligent and not super athletic. He never interacted with me, only talking in Maths when he wanted to cross-check solutions. Nonetheless, my heart did not stay faithful. Exactly a year passed, when I meet this new boy. He was nothing like the other boys I had set out to have a crush on. He was Indian, just like me (although he would beg to differ, ‘I’m Kiwi-Indian’ to which I would, just as quickly, reply, ‘Well, I’m Australinsian’), tall, absolutely dorky. We talked a bit, we weren’t all that close, but soon ended up having two same classes. He told me he thought I was cool because I was unlike the others; not being disgusted by the dirty comments he made at times and shutting him up easily, a feat that was impossible to do, he said. He found out I liked him and we drifted apart. Two months later, I share four, out of a possible six, classes with him. It’s awkward, our friends are close and he’s very social.
Then came along my most recent one, which was aforementioned. I’m not going into much detail about that one.
I’m a very cheesy person. I’m an absolute sucker for romance. It’s a proven fact. However, I have never experienced it myself. After these experiences, I find myself utterly confused. I define myself as polyromantic but I am unsure if I am demisexual or asexual. This is where things come to play.
How do you define romance, anyway? How do you know if this person is the one you want to settle down with? What makes you not say that you have walked down the street, passed your potential spouse and continued embarking on your journey? If everyone focuses on the looks, what about the rest of us?
I am inching towards being demisexual recently due to one thing. Lately, I have been thinking of my closest male friend, whom I have known for a little less than six years. We talk a lot, as most friends do. He has a lot of friends, but at the end of the day, he comes back to us. (I guess, I’m the only one in our friend group who doesn’t have friends outside the group, as in at school.) When we walk together to go to someplace at the school, I just have a strong tendency to slide my hands into his. When he is upset or insecure, I feel like peppering his face with kisses, to let him know I care. Sometimes, I feel like hugging him, something through all these years we have never done. We’ve laughed together, cried together and even were angry together. He has always liked a beautiful, perfect girl and I don’t know what I feel. I know it’s not love though. My heart does not speed up or hammer in my chest, I don’t feel butterflies in my tummy but I sometimes do get jealous. However, that’s a natural phenomenon when you are like me.
In reality, writing what makes me confused is strangling me. Right now, I am choking up. I am not crying as such but I am struggling to breath, a lump in my throat. It hurts.
I have a weird tendency to want to feel loved at all times. It’s bad enough to have a mild case of social anxiety. It’s bad enough I have a handful of friends, I can count them on two hands, ones that I trust and ones that are just there due to other mutuals. I crave physical contact but at the same time, I can’t participate in it; I just stand there, not knowing what to do.
You know that feeling when there are people around you but you feel so lonely? They’re there but they are not really there. Do you understand what I mean? It feels like that every day I see my friends, to be frank. They branch out into their own little groups and my closest friends, the ones I thought would be with me, would not even spare a second glance but I still care about them. I end up, trying to hold back my tears as I plug in my headphones and zone out, knowing they do not care about me. It is one of the worst feelings, ever. It happened again, yesterday but who am I kidding? I guess, the only people who care about me are my parents. At least, my Mother provides me with enough love and affection for a lifetime of goodness.
I am a weird human, I know. Writing this down sort of helps me in a way but also wrecks me, inside out. I am feeling a bit better, releasing my frustration onto a document in Word but at the same time, I feel sick. There is a literal lump in my throat that I cannot swallow down and I am on the edge of tears. I feel unworthy of anything. Another day of school, another day to hold back my feelings and zone out.
I am only turning fifteen in a few months, I have the rest of my life to do what I want. But I find it very ironic that I have not experienced true love yet continue to write cringe-worthy stories involving this very idea.
However, how do I know I’m in love? I could have been in love with my closest male friend and never have known. Am I experiencing it now? How do I know?
I know, one day, the sun will shine and everything will be clear. One day, I will feel loved by a significant other and they will make me forget all of these negative emotions I have felt through the course of my life. I know they will. If I don’t have a significant other to fall back on, I have my God in heaven to take care of me and love me, and my parents as well.
Me, about to read My Wandering Warrior Eating Disorder: God, Nagata Kabi always has the most heartbreaking stories. Her struggles with mental illness always profoundly affect me and remind me of when I was going through similar issues, and I always hope she's okay
Me, after reading the chapter on how she likes her ramen: This woman. Is entirely alien to me. I have never related to anyone less
Me, about to read My Wandering Warrior Eating Disorder: God, Nagata Kabi always has the most heartbreaking stories. Her struggles with mental illness always profoundly affect me and remind me of when I was going through similar issues, and I always hope she's okay
Me, after reading the chapter on how she likes her ramen: This woman. Is entirely alien to me. I have never related to anyone less
Photographer
Christopher J. Noyes
New York, NY
I am a New York photographer, I have lived here since 1978. I was born in NH in 1958, my father was a small town newspaper editor. Photography is in my family. My grandfather pioneered working with photography and fingerprinting in the Philiadelphia police department. My uncle worked for my father on one of his newspapers. I took pictures for the high school newspaper and track team. My images were published. I learned to develop and print pictures from my uncle and worked for my father’s newspaper.
I would have wanted to study photography, but due do some family problems, I was only able to study graphic arts. Finally I moved to NYC. Initially I worked with film cameras and printed my pictures. I was working with typography and graphic arts initially in typography. I worked in that industry for a number of years until desktop publishing eliminated the industry. I had learned how to do programming and developed an astrology program which I published. I was able to start my business. A competitor gave me an offer I didn’t want to refuse. I went back to school and later moved professionally into software engineering, in which I have worked until recently, primarily in advertising and promotion technology and am well versed in advertising.
I have been doing photography as essentially an avid amateur for many years. My partner is a writer and I was doing photography to help support his work. He did plays and I photographed the actors. He did movies and a television series and I did the cinematography.
We have had a number of cats and I photographed them, and I adore them
I offer my photography on the following instagram sites:
https://instagram.com/christopher.j.noyes
https://instagram.com/cjnoyes_photo
https://instagram.com/cjnoyesnature
https://instagram.com/nycarchitecture4u
https://instagram.com/william.c.j.noyes (video promotion)
https://instagram.com/isabela.hidalgo.polanco.noyes (pets)
My Youtube channel
My partner’s films are promoted through the company marchbrotherfims, https://marchbrothersfilms.com, https://marchbrotherscinema.com
Our work can be found in our films
And Now, is Tomorrow
There is no other one
Series Streets and Avenues
Photography is my passion and I love taking pictures. I am trying to establish myself as a photographer. I would love to be able to meet you and photograph you. Reach out to me and let’s discuss, I am trying to build my business and will work very reasonably. If you have a business you want to promote, let’s work together. If you are an artist, let me help promote you.
Blog
(via My Story As The Angelic Oracle Imagineer)
My Girlhood, Taslima Nasrin (Auto-biography, 422 pages, Hardcover, Penguin Random House India)
Straight Girls and Gay Guys: The Attempted Love Life of a Disaster Bisexual (An Autobiography)
guys this is a true fully autobiographical account of my life. It was then I realized my mortality. I knew that tiny peter would not live forever. He would turn into medium peter, then big peter and then 1 day, no peter at all. In fact, the tiny peter inside has never truly come to terms with this fact. (sniff sniff) - Pedro
p.s. Was a bit late late with this 1. me sorry. I re-post colored version later. - Chris
Currently reading this comedians national best selling book, It Never Ends. It’s a very surreal feeling since I listened to him on the radio 20 years ago. He’s come along way. 🍻
https://www.instagram.com/p/CTCXXxcrbjD/?utm_medium=tumblr
Tom Scharpling after 20 hours in the studio @bestshow4life to promote his book. Only a few hours left! ✊ https://www.instagram.com/p/CgiCdclOgKY/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
Found this at my local bookstore today! :)
A day in the life of...
“Where are you heading to?” one of the corridor deputies asked as I passed by him.
“Dog,” I responded. The metal tray full of medicine cups shifted slightly as I moved to the other side of the long hallway to let some inmates pass by. They had smiles on their faces and the pink slips in their hands that indicated they were on their way to release. I liked when people got released, especially on the second floor. Three fewer guys to yell and curse as me because I didn’t have a medication record for them or couldn’t give them something to help with their headaches or withdrawals.
“Are you sure? They’ve flooded three times today,” he commented to me then to the radio mic and speaker on his shoulder, “two CP to two Dog, you’ve got the nurse. Outer two Dog, please.”
“Thanks for the head’s up. Maybe they’ll chill out after they’ve gotten their medications,” I commented then turned left to face the green, heavy metal and hurricane glass door. It slid open, releasing a whoosh of fetid, humid air. Shit, piss, and a faint odor of burnt paper assaulted my senses, causing me to cough and my eyes to start watering.
“Amber! Great timing, we just finished cleaning up the last flood. The entire 200 side has their water turned off,” Turner, a young, tall, dark haired deputy hollered over the noise of people banging their cups on the windows and doors of their cells. I passed two shop vacs, three squeegee mops, and a broken broom on my way to the desk in the middle of a Y-junction.
“They broke a broom?” I asked loudly, as I noted that there was at least two feet of wood missing from the handle.
“Yeah, Smith, Thomas, and Gallegos used them to keep their door flaps open. Peters is stomping out the fires. Luckily they soaked the carpets enough that they’re only smoldering.”
“Wait, actual fire?” I looked to the right where Peters, a towering, heavy man was kicking at some blackened paper on the carpet just in front of the cells. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding, there’s actually fucking fire!” I watched another flaming ball of paper fall from the second tier and roll in front of Peters. It puttered out just in front of him.
“Let’s start over on the 100 side. They’ve actually been good today. I’ll probably have Peters go to the 200 side. I’ve been antagonizing them all day,” he said with a sardonic smile.
“Okay, sounds good.” He clicked the mouse on his computer a few times and opened the slider between the desk and the left side of the pod then put on some gloves. We’d worked together multiple times and had the routine down. I told him who I had next on the tray and he opened the 18 inch by 6 inch flaps of each patient’s cell, or told me if they had moved within or out of the pod. By the time we had passed medications to nearly every one of the twenty four patient’s on that side Peters was back behind the desk.
“I’ll meet you up there,” he told me when I was in the small loft between the two sides of the pod. Turner went back the way we came to take over control of the doors and monitoring everyone on the cameras. The door to the 200 side popped open, the banging and yelling was overwhelming. Peters, easily six foot six, held the door open for me then allowed it to slam shut behind me and I got me first look at the mess that was the second tier walk way. There was at least a quarter inch of dirty water on most of it with things, I refused to actually acknowledge what they were, up against the railing. Three flaps were stuck open and the inmates in those cells were throwing out burning paper and fabric. I took a deep breath then turned to Peters, “Okay, let’s do this.” He opened the first flap.
“Mr. Taylor, what’s your birthday?”
“Why do you need my fucking birthday, just give me my pills you fucking whore bitch.”
“Come on man, is that the way you talk to a woman? She’s just verifying that she’s got the right person.”
“Fucking bitch, you don’t need to know that, just give me my damn Seroquel.”
“I’m sorry sir, but I cannot give you medication without verifying your birthday. Using a second patient identifier is standard nursing practice.”
“Fuck you bitch,” he yelled before spitting at me. Angry guy next to me, fire in front, and I decided at that moment that I wasn’t going to deal with this shit.
“Nope, I’m out,” I turned and banged on the door to the loft. It felt like an eternity before it popped open, though was probably less than a few seconds. Enough time for raving man in the cell to make another go at spitting on me, but not enough for him to do much else.
“What happened?” Turner asked, genuine concern in his voice.
“Fucker spit at her, that’s what.” Peters commented.
“So... no meds tonight, got it.” The door back to the 100 side popped and Peters escorted me across the walkway, down the stairs, and back to the officer’s desk. It gave me enough time to shake off my surprise and for my anger and frustration to take over. “You want to press charges?”
“Huh, what?” I thought for a moment before shaking my head, “I don’t think so? He just got the corner of my top.” I looked across the way to the guys standing on the bottom tier at their cell windows, cups in hands. “I'll come back for everyone else here after I’ve finished the rest of the floor. Can you let them know?” I asked, pointing to the ones at their windows.
“You sure?” Turner and Peters asked in stereo.
“Yeah, it’s not their fault the dumbasses up there decided to be worse than usual tonight,” I shrugged, “and, it’s, y’know, my job or something.”
“If you’re sure,” I nodded, “we’ll see you later then.”
“Try not to have too much fun!” I waved bye as the slider opened back to the hallway.
gang what if i gave you the craziest autobiography involving all of my wack ass lore (it’s gonna be fucked up, but we’re ok 🦦)
The birth of Jenna Kat's Cave
artful craft has woven itself into the very fabric of my being. From the earliest of scribbles, to sketches of our beloved pets, to whimsical doodles in the margins of books, art has been my constant companion. My expressions have no bounds, no singular style; instead, I revel in the play of various mediums to bring forth my visions. Every piece I create is imbued with emotion, from the depths of despair to the heights of joy. As I paint, I seek not only to lose myself in the act but to imbue each creation with something that stirs the soul.
In the darkness of late 2022 and early 2023, my canvas became my refuge, my solace in the storm. The canvases piled up around me, and I gifted them to loved ones, never thinking of the potential to turn my hobby into a livelihood. But, as fate would have it, when my time of need came, I was led to the door of opportunity. With uncertainty looming, I set up an online shop, unsure of what the future held. But within two hours, my first customer arrived, and with each sale, my faith in the magic of creation grew.
The future is unknown, and the road ahead may be fraught with challenges, but I am filled with a sense of purpose and joy. With each stroke of the brush, I am taking steps towards a life of fulfillment, one that allows me to care for my family, revel in the antics of our feline friends, and share pieces of my soul with the world. Who knows what the future holds, but I am ready to embrace it, to continue sharing my creations with the world, and perhaps even pave the way for other artists to do the same.