why are some ducks vertical and some ducks horizontal

plemur:

misterelguapo:

glitterpillz:

Like some ducks are like this:

And other ducks are like this:

W H Y

Waterfowl side of tumblr, please explain.

Because some ducks are sluts.

Okay

So here’s the thing:

I am not a ‘list’ kind of person. It’s like writing or forcing to write poetry and chopping it up in different stanzas and calling it poetry, non? I mean, it’s the form. Just because it’s numbered or put in a specific order doesn’t mean that it’s significant. It’s…a marketing plot. Or tI don’t want to cheat anybody — mostly the reason why I don’t want to dabble in the baking business. I straight up went with Marketing. I am currently working for a BIG DATA company. I am 

currently exchanging messages with the admin of a fan site. I currently busy (or rather, let my brain go stagnant) by indulging in a High School Favorite of mine – a book series. Not the most literary legit, but it’s lengthy and therefore perfect for sort of stay at home mothers like myself.

And yes, that is a screenshot she sent of a Scottish actor…

I have a lot of things to tell and I am running out of time. So this is where a list should come in handy but I don’t want to cheat anyone with my Semblance of Order. 

3 minute boob break

I’ve not much milk left and 

toddlers are very self-centered.

Regular programmes will return in 2-3 years.

Thank you.

Having a sleeping toddler

that came straight from my ovaries, mind, is kind of sober-inducing and not really a good way to lead a High Quality Life.

A toddler never stops.
A toddler spins and spins and spins
and stops
for a bit —
gas break —
and spins again and spreads
the scent of poop
across the room.

A citronella candle
is no match for a spinning toddler
with poop.

Anger Mgmt

To be told off:
your depression is actually
Anger. 
To be sober and so angry:
exactly what I wish for all 
my 
No, not haters. 

Enemies from past-lives!
People who wanted my liver,
sliced and diced along with the cheese
platter.

People who plotted in skirts
and curled their lips when
they heard my name (Charlotte?)
OMFG

Was I a Charlotte in a past-life?

Guilty Pleasures

The boxes are softening
as the contents are no longer as organised.
When we first came in to plop our things:
just 6 months. And thank you for agreeing without a year’s contract.

The 300 peso cabinet is always tempting
but we buy the slice of cheese, dry wine, and milk for the baby.
Everyone has their list of necessities in the wrong order,
or so I justify the receipt at the counter. I don’t like coins
in private. But I count them all
and I erase all history on my browser. Incognito tab
reeks too much of guilt.

I always forget to drop a few in the cans at the cash register.
Skinny babies who are all stomach –
I still look at the time and hurry up.
All parents I’ve met so far
talk about their toddlers
with rose glasses
when they’re left with the other parent at home.

My bank account is still undecided.
I never trust banks: perhaps somewhere along the ancestral line
a run-in with a Spanish banker?
Was it History Channel or Discovery who explained how deja vus happen?

I explain to a friend:
There was a seer in Laguna.
Mall of Asia will be reclaimed by the sea and heads will bob!
My mother believed the seer, despite her screams of ‘puta’ before reciting the rosary.
That was about four years ago and the seer always eyed me like I was an ex-pickpocket.

At night, I dream:
a special tub of yoghurt.
You know the creamier scum at the top of each packaging?
A tub that’s filled with that. 800 ml please.