In yoga they tell you a lot about being peace, contentment, understanding and listening to the body, emptying the mind and knowing that with breath and contentment all can be conquered. They also end the class with the word “Namaste” which means “the light within me recognizes the light within you…
Me: Can I use the bathroom? Teacher: I don't know, can you? Me: When I was using "can" I was using its secondary model form as a verbal modifier asking for permission, as opposed to expressing an ability. I thought since you were a teacher you'd know that. My bad. MAY I use the restroom?
I’m going to take a moment to educate, since my mother continually fails to at her job.
Everyday, my mom comes home from work quite depressed. Sometimes she tells me stories, other times she just goes into her room. She is an assistant vet at the local animal hospital. As I am writing this, I am tearing up, and itching every fucking where. Tonight, my mother came into my room with tears in her eyes.
“You wouldn’t believe the nightmare that I saw today. A woman with a nice red car, gucci bag, she had her nails painted, walked into the hospital and with an attitude said, ‘I need a stretcher.’ When I went to the car with Billy (the other asst. vet), we opened the car door, and ticks fell out— I MEAN FELL OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR ONTO MY SHOES. SWOLLEN TICKS from the fucking blood, Samantha. And I’m not allowed to say anything, because I’m not allowed to “upset the pet owner”, but I looked at the dog, and it wasn’t moving. It was COVERED in ticks. Samantha, it was covered in fucking ticks. The tail was eaten off, he has ticks on his EYES, in his ass, and he wasn’t moving. Ya know— cause the ticks suck out all the blood, and they become anemic. It wasn’t moving, Samantha. He had THAT MANY ON HIS BODY, THAT HE HAD LOST A LOT OF BLOOD. And I can’t pick it up, because the ticks will attack me, and they were fucking HUGE. So we put the dog on the stretcher, and the ticks start jumping off, and crawling onto Billy’s arm. As soon as we got into the hospital, I had to run Billy’s arm under water, and get ‘em off. I was sick to my stomach. I don’t know what my face looked like, but I was standing there, and I turned to the lady, and I fucking said, “…where did you find it?” and you know what she says to me? “Well, it’s MY dog. We keep it in the yard.” I fucking left the room. I wanted to say, “DID YOU FUCKING FEED IT, YOU CUNT?” That fucking cunt. She had enough time to get her fucking nails done, though. We had to spray that dog down. THAT DOG IS GOING TO DIE FROM TICKS. IT DIDN’T GET RUN OVER BY A CAR, OR GET CANCER, OR GET OLD. IT’S GOING TO DIE FROM TICKS. I hope that piece of shit gets lice.”
So, to my great tumblr fans, I love you, but if any of you know an animal that looks like this, fucking do something about it. Don’t let your pet get that bad. It can’t jump up, and say, “Hey, I need tick medicine.” Taking care of animal that you won’t take care of is selfish, and disgusting. And you are no friend of mine if you treat an animal this way. I wish there was a way to show you really how upset I am about the way people treat animals badly, but there is nothing I can do. There will always be evil people, who think it’s hip as shit to be evil. Really, you are just childish, and probably have problems because you don’t have a dad, or you were raped, or some shit, so you think you can set fire to an animal ‘cause you’re a self-proclaimed “pyro”. Fuck off, you’re always going to listen to Korn, and never be anything, ever.