wittacism:

It’s essay writing season for tons of students!

After being a college writing tutor for over a year, I thought I would share my advice with all you awesome people on tumblr. This is how I write essays, but if you’ve got more tips, feel free to add them below. 

Happy writing. You can do it!

Anonymous asked : What's your major in college?

morosity:

stress

  • suluboo:

    relationship tip #78: ‘babe’ and ‘baby’ are cliche and outdated. try a fun new nickname such as ‘lieutenant’ instead 

    (Source: ofelrond)

  • leepace:

    boobs are ridiculous women should just have wings instead

    (Source: pianti)

  • If a girl is silent or distant….she’s either over thinking, tired of waiting, about to blow up, needs a hug, falling apart, crying inside or all of the above. Your daily best love quotes (via bestlovequotesandsayings)
    Too many young girls don’t know how to act when someone’s being inappropriate with them. They giggle or they try to brush it off. Don’t do that. Tell them to go fuck themselves - be a bitch. If someone’s being disrespectful to you, be disrespectful right back. Show them the same amount of respect that they show you.

    (via vixxcen)

    thats what i do, but people always act like IM the one with the problem 😒

    (via queenfeminist)

    GAAAHHH THIS^^^^ THIS SHIT RIGHT HERE

    (via whatiswant)

    (Source: swindleofficial)

    When I was seventeen and preparing to leave for university, my mother’s only brother saw fit to give me some advice.
    “Just don’t be an idiot, kid,” he told me, “and don’t ever forget that boys and girls can never just be friends.”
    I laughed and answered, “I’m not too worried. And I don’t really think all guys are like that.”

    When I was eighteen and the third annual advent of the common cold was rolling through residence like a pestilent fog, a friend texted me asking if there was anything he could do to help.
    I told him that if he could bring me up some vitamin water that would be great, if it wasn’t too much trouble.
    That semester I learned that human skin cells replace themselves every three to five weeks. I hoped that in a month, maybe I’d stop feeling the echoes of his touch; maybe my new skin would feel cleaner.
    It didn’t. But I stood by what I said. Not all guys are like that.

    When I was nineteen and my roommate decided the only way to celebrate the end of midterms was to get wasted at a club, I humoured her.
    Four drinks, countless leers and five hands up my skirt later, I informed her I was ready to leave.
    “I get why you’re upset,” she told me on the walk home, “but you have to tolerate that sort of thing if you want to have any fun. And really, not all guys are like that.”

    (Age nineteen also saw me propositioned for casual sex by no fewer than three different male friends, and while I still believe that guys and girls can indeed be just friends, I was beginning to see my uncle’s point.)

    When I was twenty and a stranger that started chatting to me in my usual cafe asked if he could walk with me (since we were going the same way and all), I accepted.
    Before we’d even made it three blocks he was pulling me into an alleyway and trying to put his hands up my shirt. “You were staring,” he laughed when I asked what the fuck he was doing (I wasn’t), “I’m just taking pity.”
    But not all guys are like that.

    I am twenty one and a few days ago a friend and I were walking down the street. A car drove by with the windows down, and a young man stuck his head out and whistled as they passed. I ignored it, carrying on with the conversation.
    My friend did not. “Did you know those people?” He asked.
    “Not at all,” I answered.
    Later when we sat down to eat he got this thoughtful look on his face. When I asked what was wrong he said, “You know not all guys do that kind of thing, right? We’re not all like that.”
    As if he were imparting some great profound truth I’d never realized before. My entire life has been turned around, because now I’ve been enlightened: not all guys are like that.

    No. Not all guys are. But enough are. Enough that I am uncomfortable when a man sits next to me on the bus. Enough that I will cross to the other side of the street if I see a pack of guys coming my way. Enough that even fleeting eye contact with a male stranger makes my insides crawl with unease. Enough that I cannot feel safe alone in a room with some of my male friends, even ones I’ve known for years. Enough that when I go out past dark for chips or milk or toilet paper, I carry a knife, I wear a coat that obscures my figure, I mimic a man’s gait. Enough that three years later I keep the story of that day to myself, when the only thing that saved me from being raped was a right hook to the jaw and a threat to scream in a crowded dorm, because I know what the response will be.

    I live my life with the everburning anxiety that someone is going to put their hands on me regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I’m not going to be able to stop them. I live with the knowledge that statistically one in three women have experienced a sexual assault, but even a number like that can’t be trusted when we are harassed into silence. I live with the learned instinct, the ingrained compulsion to keep my mouth shut to jeers and catcalls, to swallow my anger at lewd suggestions and crude gestures, to put up my walls against insults and threats. I live in an environment that necessitates armouring myself against it just to get through a day peacefully, and I now view that as normal. I have adapted to extreme circumstances and am told to treat it as baseline. I carry this fear close to my heart, rooted into my bones, and I do so to keep myself unharmed.

    So you can tell me that not all guys are like that, and you’d even be right, but that isn’t the issue anymore. My problem is not that I’m unaware of the fact that some guys are perfectly civil, decent, kind—my problem is simply this:

    In a world where this cynical overcaution is the only thing that ensures my safety, I’m no longer willing to take the risk.

    r.d. (via elferinge)

    Wow. Yes.

    (via whatiswant)

    whatiswant:

    just4thehealthofit:

    CHVRCHES // Do I Wanna Know? (Cover)

    wowowo

  • jaclcfrost:

    if you ever think my shorts are “too short” i want you to consider the following

    • they are called “shorts”
    • i look great
  • grrrlfever:

    wouldnt it be cool to just like not feel nervous about everything all the time

    (Source: lesbolution)

  • Sometimes, I forget that I am young. I forget that I have only been blessed with a quarter of a century. I forget that mistakes are part of trying. I forget that fear is motivation, not food for anxiety. I forget that friendship takes kindness, and openness. I need to forget those who have made me less kind and less open. I forget the way a first kiss feels. I forget to smile sometimes. I forget what it’s like to be wooed, except by myself. I forget that it’s better to woo yourself than to expect others to do it for you. I forget how to give a genuine hug to someone other than my mother and my father. Because I’m fearful others won’t return it. I forget the sound of my first boyfriend’s voice. I forget to eat well. I forget to make eye contact, retail has killed a friendlier version of myself. I forget not to stand tall and act like I don’t care, because of how I was approached when I cared. I forget that kindness and courage can go hand in hand. I forget who I was when I was 19. I forget what it looks like when someone wants to be your friend. I forget because I remember that no one can change my life, only I can. I remember these wonderful women who have looked me in the eye, and told me good, and kind words. Strong words. I forget that each day is a blessing. That each day is what I make it. That each day belongs to me and me alone. I forget. I’m going to forget forgetting and start remembering. That Kind Of Woman  (via seulray)
    Don’t touch me. Please, don’t touch me. You mustn’t. You must know. I can’t stand it, that’s all. Please understand. Ernest Hemingway, from The Sun Also Rises (via violentwavesofemotion)
    whatiswant:

need
    Isolation is a way to know ourselves. Franz Kafka (via poetrea)

    (Source: thatsenough-fornow)