English - Tumblr Posts

𝓑𝓪𝓫𝔂 𝓗𝓸𝓽𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮

- by 𝘗𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘺

- - -

9 to 5 - 5 to 9

Repeat.

Work, eat, sleep

Repeat,

Work from 9 to 5

Stare at the ceiling from 5 to 9

Repeat.

Work more, push food down your throat and feel guilty as you sleep.

Well as you wait for your brain to finally shut down,

- would it fucking finally shut down ?

Fake it till you make it they say

So you make it as you fake it.

But is it really fake if it comes so naturally ?

Does it make your smile true if you do it without thinking ?

Are you happy ?

You surely don’t feel like it but people say you seem fine.

Are you though ?

You don’t know anymore.

What do you feel ?

What is happiness anyway ? Isn’t it feeling idly calm, not being bothered by anything…

You feel like that, unbothered, plain… Empty.

All the things plaguing your mind are just too much so it’s better to lock them away, they would ruin your happiness, this idleness.

You widely prefer feeling nothing than be overwhelmed.

Surely you aren’t overwhelmed if everything seem worthless.

If it’s worthless than it is not important and not worth any attention.

- like you

Change, you needed change.

That’s why you hair is different.

Longer, shorter, greener, blonder, bluer…

You needed to feel different,

To see another thing stand out in the mirror,

To see another person in the mirror.

Because you are sick of this plain face staring right back at you, trying to expose all of this ugly truth.

Change, you wanted change.

Because when things change, then time passes

and if time passes the past passes away

You want that.

Yes, you need that.

For the past to leave, for those events to be no more in your mind.

You forget.

But that look in the mirror — those bored eyes in the glass staring right back — they reveal your soul.

It reminds you.

Yes you remember where you are, who you are, what you feel.

The reflection in the mirror, is it your true self ?

Because you definitely don’t like what it shows.

How old even are you ?

You feel like your life has the rhythm of a broken record,

Your body the energy of a corpse,

Your mind the torment of a martyr,

But you just started living.

Why are you doing this ?

Why would you do that to yourself ?

Fucking breath, stop crying and smile a bit,

Come on it’s not that hard,

Stop fucking dwelling on things.

But that’s all you can think about at night when your ceiling seems to be your only friend.

When your bed has been calling your name from the moment you woke up but now seems to want you anywhere else.

When you find yourself once again in this position, an unrequited love for sleep.

You need him but it would not hear your calls.

So its arch nemesis takes its place .

Running.

Again and again.

Without stopping.

Fusing with thoughts, ideas, images, sounds, memories, emotions…

Everything distorted, keeping your attention and your eyes wide open.

Silence.

You need silence.

- will your brain fucking shut up !?

Stop.

It has to stop.

Your erratic breathing being a useless source of concentration.

Something.

You need something to make it stop.

*sigh*

You listen.

You concentrate on it.

A strangers’ voice, laugh, humming, singing, breathing, heart beating…

It’s as if the warmth missing beside you is filled by the noise coming in your ears.

Shushing the havoc in your mind.

A sweet and warm melody lulling you into a slumber.

But your eyes are forced open by the ringing of the alarm.

How could you ? Flee reality ?

Stop fucking hoping.

- You hate hoping

Why should you get up ?

You really don’t want to.

Why does the simple thought of stepping foot out of the cover makes your eyes water ?

People wouldn’t mind anyway.

You wouldn’t mind either way.

You are still tired, you should go back to sleep then, right ?

Nothing is holding you back.

Except for the impossibly high expectations you set for yourself, the idea that every lasting moment might be decisive for your future, that you might miss something, the idea that every eye is on you and people constantly eavesdrop on your life criticizing every single one of your movement and choice…

You have to get up then.

You force yourself to.

It feels like it often, like you have to force yourself to live.

So you are tired.

You are tired as you get dressed,

You are tired as you brush your teeth,

You are tired as you wash your face

- that fucking ugly face looking at you in the mirror

You are tired as you skip breakfast,

You are tired as you tie your shoes, as you put on your coat,

You are tired as you step out of the door.

Just an empty bag on your shoulder as you drown your mind in the sound coming out of your headphones.

You weave through a faceless crowd, walking without watching because everything is a routine by now.

You are tired as you walk.

Your eyes staring into nothingness, a blank stare plastered on your face.

You must fix this before arriving, before seeing people you know, before disappointing people by letting them in on the ugly truth.

It’s only when you see that your shoelace has come undone that you realise where you are.

Your gaze is now fixated on the landscape.

Cars passing by, joggers running on the side, teenagers walking to school.

People seem so little from up here.

You feel so little here, in this world.

The air is cold, biting at your skin and making your eyes water as you can’t seem to will them closed.

Your mind is blank, your heart feels calm.

It is as if the numbness at the tips of your fingers took hold of your entire body and soul.

You stare at the sky, your mind reeling with dreams of flying — yes — of feeling free.

Maybe you should call.

It would be a good idea to call.

But if you do, wouldn’t it mean you’ve passed a point of no return ?

You don’t want to realise that, no you prefer denial, you prefer nothingness, emptiness, numbness.

But your fingers have typed the numbers and it is dialing.

The ringing filling your ears.

You have always wondered how it felt to fly.

How the wind flowing through your clothes, against your skin would make you feel free.

Yet you’ve always been the type to bury yourself in a hole hoping to see one day the blue of the sky.

And as the line seems to get cold.

- you feel numb, you’ve been burning with haste

- And you realise it now what a terrible waste

You dream that you would be an angel, with beautiful wings, able to touch the clouds.

But in the end, you know you were never meant to soar high in the sky.

As Icarus you brunt your wings down and everything came crashing down…

Finally, your mind stops reeling as another phone is ringing.

- - -

Inspired by @jackstauber ’s song “Baby Hotline”

+ ringing sounds from the song as well

Credit to @adhimuff_ and @avogado6_jp for the piece of arts I used to illustrate my words.

+ montage on CapCut.

Be aware that this piece tackles dark subjects surrounding mental health.

If you find yourself in a position as such, you should seek help (even though it is easier said than done I know) but talk to a parent or close person. Aside from that you can always reach out to a su*c*de hotline. It is very important to get help, hope is not lost. ❤️

Moreover I am conscious my prononciation isn’t perfect in this audio so I apologize for that, I’ll do better in the future 🫶🏻

- Beaucoup d’amour, Poppy ❤️

🔺Original work, please do not steal or copy. Thanks. 🔺

❀ Pansy n°7 = I'm "over"-everything.

To begin, yes, it is tiring. It’s impossibly tiring to be this prone to overwhelming. 

It never was a secret that I am an overthinker. Like my brain literally never f*cking stops, always fuming and reeling. It caused me too many insomnias - the images, sounds, memories and information in my head running and distorting without break. It’s insufferable.

Yet, that's not all. Sadly it is also difficult to survive overthinking on a daily basis. Especially in a social environment. My brain is just… dying. The world feels and seems constantly against me. I always think that everyone around me is watching and judging my every move. Looking out for the small moments when I’ll mess up and be cringe.

So it’s difficult to allow myself to act as I want because I feel like I will be judged and hated either way, never belonging to the unity. Like I am bound to stand out, to be left out by the social group. To try and avoid that, my brain analyzes everything and everyone but often is irrational. Because I over analyze how people see me, what they might think or feel; but in the end I am just projecting my fears onto them way too much. Yet, I end up stuck, struggling to fit in, alone up in my head thinking I’m not interesting, weird, not worth anyone’s time and hated by everyone.

Nice right ? :) 

My mind just tricks me to believe that I am the worst and cringiest person in the world. I have been told before that I question myself too much. In fact, I prefer to - and cannot help but - analyze every situation in which I could be the source of a problem before blaming the other party. I also try to find many excuses for others. Maybe I am too gullible and try too much to see the good in people, or that I’ve been used to caring for others before myself. The problem with this is that unconsciously I expect the same train of thought from others when most times it is not the case. Sadly, it ended up hurting me as it is easy for people to take advantage of my overthinking.

→ Toxic people (narcissistic perverts…) like to make you feel guilty - often through gaslighting - and overthinkers are the pros for that… :/

However, my cousin has been teaching me to find the positive side of those habits that I don’t like. And I came to the conclusion that this habit made me more observant and that when my worries are communicated it makes for good and deep conversations. Apparently it also makes people question themselves more - or so I’ve been told :/.

Therefore I try to be more kind to myself and calm my overthinking by communicating. It’s not easy everyday… But it is so important. As important as speaking about your feelings.

I’m still learning how good it is for oversensitive people like me. I’ve always struggled to speak up about my emotions because I always thought they didn’t have value or importance or even that I was being overdramatic, faking it. it was like I never had a good enough reason to express myself and make people lose time on me, like I’m not worth it.

So I always second guess myself and think about the true worth of communicating what’s bothering me. Because if it’s little and I’m just blowing it or that in the end it turns out I was tricking myself and faking it unconsciously, I’ll just feel ultra guilty of wasting someone’s time and energy. Especially as I strive to make people around me feel good, safe, heard and comfortable (with me). And I know I tend to blow things out of proportion. Like I feel horrible when someone makes a tiny and precise criticism about my work even though I did all the rest well. Because it’s like I disappoint them by not doing good enough. 

The problem with me is that “good enough” has to be as close to “perfect” as possible. Simply because if I put energy in it I should go 100% and nail it. If it’s not the case then why waste time and embarrass myself ? Though I’ve been trying to understand - more to assimilate - that everyone’s 100% is different and even that every day’s 100% is different. And that’s completely okay and normal.

I’ve just been taught at school that you have to keep a high constant of activity even though it’s obviously not possible. 

Disappointing people is one of my greatest fears. I think that might be why I take things too personally all the time. So many times I tear up when someone makes a remark to a group I belong to, and even if I shouldn’t feel concerned I question myself and feel horrible. “I should’ve thought of it.”“I should’ve done it.”“I didn’t do good.” I hardly let myself fail as I haven’t failed much. So I pressure myself to keep my high average by being the most excellent. Yet I can hardly hold on anymore… It’s logical that I end up burned out. I overdid it and now I'm over it.

I am over with life.

At least that is what I think a lot but I’m working on it. I am trying to be done with being over-pessimistic. It’s not over for me, and if it’s not for you either, dear reader… Then,...

Let’s get over it together <3. 

✿❀✿

🔺Original work please do not steal or copy, Thanks.🔺

Just sat down, opened my laptop, put on some lovely fantasy music in the background, got ready to write down something - anything - for my fantasy novel project as I've been feeling motivated and inspired to pick it back up lately... YET I CAN'T WRITE A THING.

UGH I hate writer's block... I hate my overthinking mind which tells me I haven't prepared enough to be able to write or wanting to ONLY start by the begining and not just make some sort of advancement...

I'll just close my laptop again and go back to daydreaming about my story - cause that's the only thing I'm able to do with it apparently lmao

Once when I was in year 8 I had to write a summery of a book from this list and describe my favourite chapter but all the books looks so shit, they were quite literally the epitome of books chosen by school. So I looked up one on goodreads and copied and pasted the summery before looking up chapter summerys and writing some bullshit about character development. I got a grade effort 4 (the highest there is) and a reward point while my friend who wrote it all out herself and actually read the book got told not to base it off of book reviews online.

english lang writing practice

‘Write an account of a time when you enjoyed or hated taking part in an outdoor activity’

“Thump, thump, thump”. Is that my feet as I drag them from out of the slogging, mud road? Or is it the rain hammering against my jacket? The mud has long soaked through my green hiking boots, turning them a dark, muddy brown and I debate turning around back to the safety of the campsite. But I can’t. The rain has made it impossible to see three feet in front of me. It is the only thing I see, rain droplets and clouds. I'd like it if I were inside my house or a cabin somewhere in the woods. Preferably, inside a cabin so I can still enjoy all that nature has to offer, but not have to be soaked and tormented by torrential rain. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of going outside where I'm tormented by torrential rain, which strongly indicates an angry Zeus, it’s a shame he hasn’t brought the lightning - yet. My jacket, my hair, my everything is soaked through right to the bone. I don’t think I'll ever be dry again. The trees cloud together to make nothing but a blur of green movement. The road is no longer walkable, it’s now a slugging mess, if you try to walk in the brown liquid you’ll be stuck in it for days. I think that’s my fate. My feet are lodged well within the quicksand like mud and as much as I tug and pull they won’t dislodge. This is my worst nightmare. I feel my heartrate quicken and my hands leak with sweat - great more water! I can’t get out. I’m heaving and I’m pulling but it just won’t give. This is wearing me out, my chest beats up and down, almost in time with the rain, my hand slips down the hiking stick as I fall deeper and deeper into the mud.

"My kid is ok, they don't have trauma"

Bitch your kid learned english alone when he was less than 10 years because you didn't know the language and so the kid felt more secure talking about things in english because it gave them the sense of control and privacy

Bitch your kid learn to dissociate in english because that's more safe and now sometimes they can't remember their own native language because their brain lock itself in english

Bitch your kid likes more english and talks better in english than their native language because they feel more confident and safe like that

Random like vent post that applies to us lol

hui!! were relearning spanish bc its our first language certain alters formed.when we onky spoke it only spesk spansih and i thought you'd find it neat

So you mean some of your alters only speak spanish and now all the sys is re-learning it?? Cool

That's a similar case to us tbh, we have various alters that only speak spanish because it's our first language, but we can speak more english lol

What a good surprise not being the only one like this!!

true story. he made a mistake in letting me analyze film with no maximum word/power point slide count

"𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑠, 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔" ⋆౨ৎ˚ -🦢💌-

English ♡♡♡♡

collection of things I’ve overheard in some of my classes

History:

guy to my teacher-‘you know woody from toy story’s bi?’ ‘really? well there always was a vibe between him and buzz’

‘I thought Carlisle was near Newcastle’ ‘No, it’s on the other side of the country’

‘Emily, would you ever kill someone?’- shouted across the classroom

‘I don’t even know what a citizen is! Am I a citizen?!’

Biology:

‘sir, you are not a perv!’

‘oh my god! what an absolute ledge!’

‘why are punching holes on the cover of your book?’

‘no Ethan, you can’t add me on snapchat’

‘god, how did you not hear what i said? are you deaf or what?’  ‘umm i’m deaf in one ear’ 

English:

‘while watching Romeo + Juliet - ‘wow what a turn out’ 

‘ohh Romeos’ such a lad!’

‘woah bit extreme there’

‘they’re complete drama queens!’

‘well, you see this guy just nicked a boat, went to the middle of a lake and had his sexual awakening because he saw a mountain’

‘here’s me sitting on a toilet with no walls or roof while i was in Australia’

Spanish:

‘i asked a girl why her hair was like that (it was a weird style) and she turned around ‘i have alopecia’ God i wanted to die!’

‘waiit, you have the same birthday? thats mental!’

‘go see if he’s in the bathroom or SSC’  ‘i think we’ve lost him miss’

 ‘so did he really just stab himself in his hand? you didn’t do it?’  ‘well simply, yeah’

i’ll probably to them later if i remember or if more happen

i didn’t realise how much i would love sixth form at a college especially at one where i didn’t think i would ever go.

i also didn’t think english literature would overtake history as my favourite but it has and i am loving it so much! my english teacher is like one from the films! she just wants us to explore everything we can in poems it doesn’t matter what it is she just wants us to really get them! i’m just letting all of weird ideas about them go and she’s like “amazing! i love it!” aaaggh

why didn’t anyone tell me how good english teachers could be ????

(also it’s my 17th birthday today!)

I just realized something about the written English language and how it uses capital letters. So we capitalize the first letter of proper nouns i.e things which are unique and there is only one of (at least ideally). The Louvre, The Mona Lisa, Rosa Parks, and I.

We capitalize the word I, which implies, each one of us is unique and there is only one of us. Which is obvious. But like, isn't this reason enough to unapologetically be yourself? Or, you know, something more poetic along these lines.

Teacher: "Wow this paper is so good! You must have spent so much time revising and working on it!!"

Me: Literally had a week to do it, started yesterday

Me: Revised at 2:00am

Me: "Yes I spent much time doing this."

✨📓Story time📓✨

It’s morning at work which means it’s the prime time for me to have deep psychoanalysis with my coworkers. As one does *twirls hand*

So I lead off into a rant about an English teacher that I’m struggling with which upsets me because English teachers have always been my best friend. This little turd of a teacher won’t let me befriend him and it’s bugging me, so I’m sharing my tales woe when one of my coworkers mentions that his wife is an English teacher, and with a smirk says “So I love English teachers for very different reason.”

And me, ever true to my serendipitously jayus nature, fire off with out even thinking, “ English teacher eh? That means she likes words. You should try this on your wife: My lady if kisses are words, then come here I’m going to give you a speech.”

I’d never see that shade of red on a man before. I literally hit on his wife for him.

Where ever you are in the world today Mrs. Trevor, you’re welcome.😶😅

Anyway, I got all this rizz and no where to go.

Catch y’all next time 😆

So, Audrey and Aubrey... What dumbass parent switched up their d's and b's and created a new name??? More importantly which name came first! This is like the, "Which came first the ostrich or the egg?" but with names!!!

Carpet in the Sand

This is an original poem that I wrote about three years ago, right after I graduated from high school.

Salty air ruffles tents and our clothes Our friends lay in the sand on these late July nights. We chat and smoke and fall in love with the stars All our paths intertwining with one another’s again.

And my mind thinks of you and wishes  that your’s had never separated from mine.

I become drunk on the song of the waves,  imagining your lips muttering “ What a lovely view.”  

A poem I wrote by picking the middle word my phone suggested

Idk why Dumbledore is a man who has been in a relationship for the weekend and I had a lot to talk to you

And you were all the best and the other guy who was the one who had to go out there for 20yrs to get dinner together for the first year

And I wanna be there for you and you can help us with that right here in a minute

Please

Thank yoooo and thank yoooo and hope for a great day to see endgame and the secular nature that is not a great idea

but it doesn't matter how long is there for you and your child and you are a great man threw away a few things you don't want but I have a final question for the next few hours before the game was done

To the play of a connection with a consontr or something that would have made it better to have a final round and the next one was a bit more of the game

I think its ok for me and I had a lot to do something about the team that I was in the game with a team of players who is going through poetry with a concentration camp that has a great reputation

And I had to do something about the world.

For J

I'm not asking you to love

To be honest I don't know if I could return the feeling 

But if I could ask something of you 

I would ask that you pine after me

That you think about me when you look out over the rolling hills as you drive to work

Or that you can still feel my kisses long after I have left you 

The way I giggled when your nose touched my neck for the first time

That you swear my perfume is still on your clothes no matter how many times they go through the wash

I want you to sit alone and overhear a conversation and remember something that I said and then you laugh to yourself but get embarrassed because the people who see are judging you and really try to transport me there with you 

That sometimes you can feel the ghost of my hand against your palm. 

Then it grows and covers the rest of your skin, like an itch that's odd yet comforting 

You rub your fingers together, wondering if you're going crazy 

And as your day goes by, you notice sexual innuendos in everything, like who many times can a person hears the words " climax" and " erupt" and natural grunts and sighs in an English class and not think about them coming out of my mouth and how good it feels that you're the reason why 

That you sit in your car and think about the excitement and fear and warmth and shivers that wouldn't stop expelling from your body as we dove on the highway and you prayed that I wouldn't notice 

That you pass by people and places and think that you see me or that you can magic me coming around the corner into your arms but you are not that lucky 

That you get jealous whenever you just see a Hispanic woman with another man 

That your fist clenched with bitterness and unshed tears because why can't you have that 

That you think about getting in your car and driving 3 and a half hours to come to my town and you will find me and spend every moment after in my dorm on my twin bed

Singing hymns and love songs into each other's skin

But then you realize that's way out of line and just end up wondering what color my comforter is 

Then you start to look at my Instagram a lot 

An unsettling amount and feel gross doing it but…

There's only like three photos and they're old 

You hope that I'll post anything just to be sure I'm not a figment of your imagination

That you can see me and hear me and feel me

You find my Facebook that hasn't been touched in months 

Other posts with me in them from other peoples accounts from long before you knew me

You wish we'd known each other forever

And sometimes 

In those really early hours of the morning when you can't sleep and feel like the only person in the world 

You dream while you're awake, you let your mind go far

More than you would ever tell anyone 

Things that you would never dare tell anyone, not even me 

But ohhhhh 

You wish you could 

The next spring and summer and autumn and winter all lay at your feet like a Tralfamadorian novel

" No beginning, no middle, no end, no suspense, no moral, no causes, no effects. What we love are the depths of the many marvelous moments seen all at once."

It's all as clear as it ever could be 

Laughter, pillow talk, fights, forgiveness, drives, farmers markets, late nights, dive bars, kickbacks, no contact, all day conversations, lust, apocalypses, new days, never-ending light.

Meeting my mother and hoping she’ll like you but I already know it will go bad but you're here to stay and she warms up to you soon 

Ifs, whats, yeses, nos, maybes, thens, nevers, always.

All more and more petrifying yet alluring 

I'm not asking you to love me 

I'm too afraid that it'd scare you off

But I want at least one of these to go through your mind

Because they seem to never leave mine.

Tales from fiction writing class

Something you remember but you’re not sure why

I don’t know why I remember the light brown mushrooms that would sometimes grow by the flagpole. 

Sometimes, in the early hours of the morning, when I would be a safety patrol at my elementary school, it would be my job to raise the flag outside at the front of the building. The pole was surrounded by a circle of concrete that was surrounded by a circle of yellow and purple marigolds. On the side closest to the building, occasionally, there would be a mushroom that would grow there. 

Somedays, I would walk over it and try not to notice it, giving it only a sideways glance. Then, somedays, I would enjoy stepping on it and feeling my shoe softly squish it down into the dirt. I would never touch it with my hands because it could be poisonous and it would get in my mouth and kill me. 

I stomp it down then wait a month for it to regrow then I stomp it back down. Then the school gardener found out about it constantly regrowing and pulled it out by the roots and I was sad.  

Tales from fiction writing class

Create a scene using details and imagery to convey a feeling without stating it directly, use like dialog.

"I'm just trying to help you. You ‘re going to go to Hell."

My throat dried out. It felt like those mornings after I had smoked a couple of Menthols 100s the night before while drunk at some bar. My nose was starting to burn as well, like when you're underwater and you breathe in. Caleb seemed to notice my discomfort after a moment.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Just ... I'm sorry."

The lights in the restaurant seemed too bright all of a sudden. The other customers all seemed to be too happy to be real people. Even the glass of water next to me looks too pretty to drink. It's probably from the tap, filled with iron and rust particles. Drinking anything in this place sounded awful. 

Silence set in then. My eyes wandered over to the tables that surrounded us. There was a man in a suit with a bolo tie that didn’t like his salad but still eating it. A ceiling fixture on the opposite wall had an overlooked cobweb on it. A woman sitting a bit away wore a pretty summer dress with a pair of black and white Adidas sneakers, looking cute and quirky.

I heard Caleb start to talk again, but I continued to stare at her shoes." I think once you start going to worship with my family you'll really like it. The people there are so welcoming and nice. You know it kinda hurts my feelings that you won't even try to come just once." I wish I was cute and quirky.

The woman noticed me staring at her then and gave me a rude look. I slowly turned my body forward in the chair as my stomach contoured into a painful ball. Caleb was looking away now, but he felt my eyes on him. He took a deep breath and put on a forced smile before looking at me again.

“I got you something." He pulled a red jewelry box out of his pants pocket and slide it over to my side of the table. "Happy six months." The piano music was now very melancholy yet it hadn't changed keys. His hands started shaking a bit. He wanted me to explode into a smile and kiss him passionately, then he’d feel better.

"Uh… here." He reaches over and opens the box. It was a small heart pendant encrusted with three white diamonds. The one that’s super popular with many women right now. The one that his sister had flaunted at me two months ago over dinner and I had pretended to love out of politeness.

I should rub my eyes, but then I'll smear my makeup and it'll get in my contacts and it'll look like I'm crying and I'm not crying.

"Please say something."

“I don't feel well,” a hoarse voice says.

He has a look on his face. One I can't name, but I know it well. The one some old classmates I don't talk to anymore had. The one a street preacher had when he yelled at me for wearing a skirt. It seems a lot of people have this look. An old roommate had it. The cashier at Walmart. My mom. 

“You’ll feel better after you eat.”