Hey OP

What the fuck did I just read?

my grandpa was a good man. and it really wasnt his fault - recreationally lying to kids is a proud family tradition - but he told me, once, that cutting a worm in half resulted in two worms.

i think he said it so i'd be more morally okay with fishing? i actually dont remember the context.

point was, he told me this, and he understimated (by a very large margin) how much i liked worms. i was a worm boy. very wormy. and after hearing that, i went home, and i dug through the garden, flipped over every rock, did everything i could to gather as many worms as i could, and then i uh.

i cut them all in half. every worm i could find. all of them. with scissors.

i then took this pile of split worms, and i put them in a box with a bit of lettuce and some water and stuff and went to bed expecting to double my worms overnight. i have math autism, so i had a vague understanding that if i did this just a few times in a row, i would eventually have a completely unreasonable amount of worms.

i was very excited to become this plane's worm emperor.

(i think i was...six?)

anyway, i did not become the inheritor of the worm crown. i instead woke up to a box of dead worms and cried. a lot. i got diagnosed with panic attacks as a teenager, but i think i had them as a kid, i just had no idea what they were. i was kind of processing that a.) i had killed what i had assumed was every single worm in my yard, and thus would have no more worms, and b). i was going to like, worm hell.

(six year babylon spent a lot of time worrying about god.)

so i kind of freaked out, and i climbed a tree, because god can only smite you if you're touching the ground (?) and i sat up there mostly inconsolable until my mom came out and asked, hey, what's up? what happened?

so i explained to her that i had killed all of the worms, forever, and was also Damned, and she took me to the compost pile, and we dug for all of five seconds and found like twenty more worms.

the compost pile was full of worms.

she then told me that a). there were more worms, and we could put them back under rocks and stuff and recolonize our yard and b). that one day, i would die, and go to heaven, and be able to talk to the worms face to face. that i'd be able to tell them all that i was very sorry, and that i killed them on accident, driven only by excessive Love, and that she was positive they would forgive me because worms have six hearts and no malice.

at that point, i think i was sixty percent tear-snot by weight, and i had no choice but to gather enough worms that i could hug them. which my mom helped with. and then after that she helped me put some worms back under each rock.

and for my epilogue: i spent a significant portion of my childhood in trees. and for many years after, even when my mom didnt know i was watching, i would catch her giving the space under the rocks a light spritz with the hose. not because she loved worms.

but because she loved me.

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3 months ago

Reposting to find again

IF YOU ARE UNMARRIED, DON'T HAVE KIDS, AND HATE YOUR PARENTS PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HAVE A FUCKING WILL

this has been a public service announcement from your friendly neighborhood probate lawyer

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10 months ago

Kill me four times, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?!

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3 months ago

The duality of knowing that your parents really did do the best they could by you, and knowing that you needed more than what they could ever give you.

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angst fyp parenting not bad parenting but not good either raw doggin my mommy and daddy issues through shit posting also rampant anger issues coupled with crippling self-awareness also mental illness from both sides of the family too

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2 years ago

Jay, actually having a good day for once: that’s suspicious, that weird

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incorrect quotes

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jays-blurbs

1 month ago

Yeah, this is actually so important actually! There was this set of twins (a boy and a girl) on the street where my paternal grandmother lived, and I was about four years older than them. The girl had what I believe is a speech impediment. Her voice was super high pitched and she couldn’t pronounce a lot of things, so she was hard to understand.

The street also mostly had boys, so they didn’t really want to play with her. So every time I’d come and visit my Grammy, she’d cling to my presence pretty hard. I also really clinged to her as well. She was noticeably more happy and excited whenever I was around because I was one of the few people outside of her family that would actually try to converse with her. Not just halfheartedly including her to not get into trouble.

I’m so glad I got to be apart of her life and be there for her.

consider: teenagers aren’t apathetic about everything they’re just used to you shitting all over whatever they show excitement about

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jays-blurbs

7 months ago

I want my mother; the woman both a room away and ten years out of reach.

Isn’t it funny?

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The urge to cling and beg for mother’s attention that will not be given.

A woman who is not at fault, but will shoulder the blame anyway because to place it elsewhere is to place it on the intangible.

A woman who sleeps only a room away yet stays ten years out of reach.

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idk im sorry maybe poetry angst i still love you is that too much to ask i just want my mommy man it probably is that bone-deep ache of wanting your mama but knowing the mama you knew is not there maybe she wasn’t ever there maybe you just made her up to cover up her sharp edges i still want you to hold me and tell me you love me for no other reason than because you do please stay please still love me mommy

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jays-blurbs

3 months ago

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jays-blurbs

3 months ago

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jays-blurbs

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Reblog to give everyone a treat

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