Having Chronic Pain Is Basically Not Doing Your Stretches And Not Doing Your Stretches Every Day Until

having chronic pain is basically not doing your stretches and not doing your stretches every day until you die

terrestrial hermit crabs do not have lungs, only having modified gills, and can't breathe without water. their shells, along with offering them shelter and protection from predators, are very important for providing them with the water that their body needs to stay moist! taking a dip ever so often allows them to refill their shell with this moisture.

...also, did you know that many hermit crabs have evolved extraordinarily large penises in order to avoid leaving their shells to reproduce? depending on the species, this could give them a penis-to-body ratio of up to 60%! :)

me on tumblr: hey guys do you want to hear about hermit crabs

me in real life, no concept of social norms: hey guys do you want to hear about hermit crabs

I was sitting on my computer trying to look at Tumblr when I began to hear this clicking sound. Click click click. Click click click. Click click click click. Again and again. I tried to ignore it at first. I thought it must be from something I was doing. But I looked at my computer chair, my headphones, everything. I stood up. It wasn't going away.

I started to panic, over-stimulated. I was already stressed, and that certainly didn't help. What could it be? I called in family members. Like a flock of birds, we descended upon the room. Searching for the source of that god-forsaken sound. I tore apart my room. I listened hard and I listened long. I could pinpoint the general location, but couldn't identify the source. I even tried listening to the walls.

I finally laid on the floor, in despair and defeat. Then I heard it; it was coming from the ground. I pressed my ear against it. I wracked my brain for what this sound could be coming from the floor. Was it the air conditioner? The vents? A heart beating beneath the floorboards? Finally, I realized.

It was the fan. I had turned it on downstairs.

I wonder what Edgar Allan Poe would say if he could read this now.

When I was a kid, I loved to help my mom cook. One day, when I was maybe 6 or 7, we were making homemade french fries. I was a bit apprehensive to use the potato peeler, but I was able to get the hang of it. I must've got a little too comfortable, because the next thing I knew, I had peeled.. my finger.

I didn't know so much blood could come out of a finger, really. I almost passed out just from the sight - I've always had that problem. That's why I have to lay down when having my blood drawn.

The scar is still here today: a pale crescent moon on the tip of my index finger. And I still can't use a potato peeler.

scars in fiction: I got this trying to save my lover from an assassin- but tragically, I was too late. now I carry the mark of my failure with me always, and I can never forget~

scars in real life: so I was trying to open macaroni sauce with a paring knife

that "feel free" really meant "please" btw. i lied

I love misinformation. I love believing everything on the internet with no proof. I love repeating things to other people without checking if they're true first. I love accepting everything as fact. I love being the smartest most gullible person on the internet. I love