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margarittaville-beachbum asked: The video of Gentlewhispering (Maria)'s video that you posted is one of my hands down all time favorite ASMR videos. It's the only way i can get my brain to shut off and go to sleep. If you need any other suggestions, let me know, I have a play list for super stressful times.
thank you! that’s super nice. i probably will be in need of your suggestions.
here’s the article.
i’m super interested in relaxing because i can’t do it. i mean, i can, but only sometimes and i have to work really hard at it and consistently do things over and over so i can train my brain that x=calm down. and that only works for a little while because eventually i start doing things enough that i begin to anticipate the end of the guided meditation/relaxation exercise/what-have-you and i get anxiety about not being relaxed enough. relaxed/chilled out/mellow is not a normal state for me, it’s not natural to my brain.
lately, just laying down at night in bed has been instant anxiety inducing. like, the moment i am horizontal everything is wrong in the world oh my god we’re all going to die. so i’ve been doing like an hour of yoga and pranayama (special yoga breathing) at night at like 1am or whatever time when these attacks happen to help it and i’m sure my neighbors love me. that’s ok, because they’re also loud assholes.
so i read this hairpin interview and was like, hm. that sounds weird but ok. i didn’t know if i’d ever had the tingling on the back of my head thing. i know that i will sometimes get a tingling in my lower back when someone speaks into my right ear and does that count? she said a lot of people find asmr during stressful times in their life, which i’m clearly in, so long story short (it’s never short. i’m sorry.), i watched this video and was asleep, like *asleep*, on my couch, unintentionally, in like eight minutes. and then felt like i had taken a xanax for like a hour afterwards. in yoga they’re always talking about turning on your para-sympathetic nervous system (rest and digest) and you’ll know when it’s on because your mouth will be full of saliva and your tongue will rest on the bottom of your mouth. and i was like sleep drooling, dead tongue, the whole deal. it was great!
so am i one of these weirdos? i guess so. it’s fine. i will just add it to the roster of weird fucking things that i think/do/am and just move forward into the space of my life where i pass out listening to people whisper at me in videos and brush their hair into a microphone, which might strike many people as creepy but whatevs!
“Everybody’s youth is a dream, a form of chemical madness.’” — ― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Diamond as Big as the Ritz, and Other Stories
givevalentines replied to your post: how to sell your engagement ring in 13 steps
we definitely have to hang out
yes. we do for sure.
“step 11. go to three other pawn shops, each packed with old engagement rings inside jewelry cases like a shiny graveyard. you’ve never been to pawn shops before. […] you decide pawn shops are the most depressing places on earth. they look and feel like a theatrical venue for dream death. watch a high school kid pawn his trumpet. ponder his reasons.” —
little thousand: how to sell your engagement ring in 13 steps (via soniasaraiya)
sonia, i think it’s normal, really, to feel afraid of an engagement ring. it’s like that saying the only sane reaction to an insane world is to be insane? like, if you have to get married (which at this point i’m not advising to anyone) spend that money on…anything but a bullshit status bobble.
(via soniasaraiya)
step 1. agree with yourself previously that this will be the saddest thing you’ve ever done. even though you never wore your engagement ring because it always made you very uncomfortable and its been sitting in a fireproof box in your closet for four years.
step 2. look at it. remember how weird and archaic it felt to be given a jewel to wear to distinguish you from non married females. remember the time in blockbuster when you were running your hand along the movies, not reading the titles but watching the changing color of the stone in the light.
step 3. take some pictures of yourself with the ring. incase you want to remember you had it one day? i guess? proof of some sort? you look and feel as weirdly detached from it as you always have, as if you are two things from two separate worlds never meant to be put together.
step 4. read a fucking ton of warsan shire poetry. like two hours worth. and listen to her reading her poetry out loud (i’m beginning to think all poetry should be read out loud and posted to soundcloud).
step 5. talk to an irish guy named bobby who owns a pawn shop near your apartment. he tells you to bring the ring in but not to expect much; you tell him not to worry.
step 6. get dressed. going through your clothes, think; where are those pants with the hole in them? wear those pants for some, unfathomable, reason.
step 7. walk to the pawn shop listening to lana del rey paradise. be happy that she released another album for summer of 2013, so the lana del rey summer of 2012 can extend, perhaps, infinitely.
step 8. go through a part of town where the women normally adhere to a strict religious covering their entire bodies. get briefly hassled by a man on the street. zip up your hoodie to your chin.
step 9. bobby thinks you could get a better deal elsewhere. “i got a pile of sapphires in the back you wouldn’t believe,” says bobby, “what am i going to do with these things?”. you nod sympathetically, you only have one sapphire to unload and it feels like a lead weight. another guy at the jewelry counter looks at the ring and says, “i’m getting a divorce too.” you reply, “there must be something in the water.” it’s the most meaningless statement you could possibly make but you and this man both laugh, happy to share this terrible thing with some other human.
step 10. walk home. it rains. your toms get soaked through. have a cigarette.
step 11. go to three other pawn shops, each packed with old engagement rings inside jewelry cases like a shiny graveyard. you’ve never been to pawn shops before. you grew up inside a rotating variety of BMW and lexus. there is still so much you don’t know about the world and you are slowly finding it out by fumbling through life’s halloween funhouse; closing your eyes, sticking your hands into bowls and jars, guessing what’s inside. you decide pawn shops are the most depressing places on earth. they look and feel like a theatrical venue for dream death. watch a high school kid pawn his trumpet. ponder his reasons.
step 12. take the highest offer (which is nothing. when i write a book of marriage/divorce tips, one of them will be to remember that engagement rings are a racket and are essentially pointless shiny rocks sold for 10x their worth, all anyone cares about is melting down your gold). watch someone at pawn america zip your ring up in a plastic bag and throw the box away. you’re trying to be cucumber cool but you’re shaking slightly as you turn to leave, you feel as if you’ve gone pale, like a woman in victorian times. you didn’t know it would feel this way, that your pain would be a drop in the fucking bucket. ordinary. another glistening headstone in the graveyard. you live in an ocean of horrible things among which you are hardly noticeable.
step 13. use some of the money to go see the great gatsby. have a dream later that you’re having a threesome with gatsby and daisy. after you’ve been fucked, gatsby/leo comes after you with an syringe of carrot juice saying he’s going to inject it into your womb so you have mutated babies. he chases you around the hotel room. you try and run away but the room is so small that you’re bumping into the furniture and hurting your legs. you’re frightened. daisy has evaporated. you discover a syringe of your own, with a weird orange liquid inside it, on the bedside table and begin to threaten leo with it. you’re in a stalemate, each with a syringe, each not wanting to be injected. you, the you observing the dream you, wonder how this dream got so twisted.
i will never, ever, ever be tired of the MMM jewel mask. never. my entire tumblr feed could be nothing but the jewel faces and i would be content.
“Le Jour Glam Le Plus” photographed by Wendelin Spiess for Elle France January 2013
(Source: abigaildonaldson, via yqwang)
“
I avoid speaking your name in conversation,
throwing it to the air as if it were nothing
more than an assumption of you; it is my last
mode of defence. The last item of clothing
to discard before I realise I’m naked in public.
Because they can hear it in my voice. I know.
Even in that one short syllable that means
everything and nothing; your name is as common
as you are rare. As easy as you are not.
As simple as love should be, but never is.
But when I’m alone, I tie my tongue softly
round the familiar sound, as if pronouncing
with conviction the phonetics of desire
will cause time to pause just long enough
for the earth to hear me naming my loss.
(via kitty-en-classe)