Spent Easter Sunday meeting Ryan’s grandparents and chillin at his house. Super super fun because I LOVE HIS FAMILY!!!! Also his pikachu shirt.

Spent Easter Sunday meeting Ryan’s grandparents and chillin at his house. Super super fun because I LOVE HIS FAMILY!!!! Also his pikachu shirt.

(Source: tuhndra)

(Source: maudit)

yuffii:

sakura (by amberyu)

(Source: yuffii)

(Source: chloeparkers)

disappears:

I was on Facebook and I realized, I don’t hate Facebook… I hate people.

jodema:

Meryl Streep riding the New York City subway in August 1981.

jodema:

Meryl Streep riding the New York City subway in August 1981.

(Source: jmdemaree)

(Source: witchchild)

Writing so many cover letters is hard 😓

Grand Hotel closed this past Sunday. What an honor to be able to perform on the Bing stage! It’s been really weird having “free time” these past two days. Don’t really know what to do with it but it feels good to be able to read for leisure and relax and hang out with friends and be a normal human again. I love John Rubinstein and he was such an incredibly talented director. What a privilege to work with him and have him as a teacher and mentor. He is seriously one of the best human beings I have ever met. But now I’m so glad I am done with it since I have so much actual school shit to catch up on. College why you gotta do me like this thooooooo…

Closing performance today!

text-pistol:


sondern. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

I think about this all the time, and it never ceases to astound me.

text-pistol:

sonder
n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

I think about this all the time, and it never ceases to astound me.

(Source: chic-cactus)