the attic

"I still believe that peace and plenty and happiness can still be worked out in some way. I am a fool." Kurt Vonnegut

hi im cat. you know where to find me.

Physical mail, the type that requires patience and includes humanity in its form – finger prints and sloppy handwriting and smears of jam – fuses the solitary with the social. We are lonely and strange with our ideas and our art. In conversation we react and respond, we touch and are touched. We read the other person to gauge their understanding. We repeat if we feel misunderstood. In a written letter we are without these tools, we are introverted. We write when we are strangers with the world – from train cars and travel destinations – with news that things have changed – we have given birth, become an atheist, fallen in love, learnt to bake sourdough. We write with our new address when we move. We write when things are quiet and our ideas are new. When we can hear the ocean, when our company has left, when night has fallen or day broken. With no potential for immediate response and time sitting in the way of communion, everything is at stake. We ask important questions. We have confidence in our awkward sentences and in the recipient for we do not control and cannot see how we are received. We stand by our words. They are gifts. They are freedom. They are surprise.
With letters, as with art, we are empowered in our solitariness – to withdraw, to seek personal inspiration, to set private goals – and in our relationships – to collaborate, to communicate, to make wild gestures of love. This material, this paper, this fabric, this dress, belongs to two solitudes, mine and yours. Physically speaking, we’ve made contact.

today was my first day back at work in three weeks. granted the show was on hiatus for two weeks (most of which I alternated from being sick in bed to partying like it’s the final day on earth before the big ______ hits) and last week, THE WORST WEEK EVER, in bed from Friday evening until Friday again.
it felt funny strange being back on set.
people were really happy to see me/concerned and that felt nice/awkward.
but I’m back in the land of the living.
my call time this am was 5:30 and location was an hour plus drive away so I had to get up at 3 am, which is most likely why I feel so worn out right now. 12 hour days are killing me, but I’m just glad in not keeping set hours anymore. 17 hour days are worse.

Saturday night

Saturday night

fightingforanimals:

These are some of them, most were golden retrivers and labradors, but also included german shepherds and other breeds. Sadly most are dead now, while many people forget them and don’t spare them a thought. 

As people lay dying, trapped and hurt, a team of nearly 100 loyal and courageous search dogs put their lives on the line to help humans. Without them, many more would not have survived, yet few people consider them. 

In such a chaotic, terrifying, hot, acrid-smelling, smokey and loud environment, countless human lives depended on their ability to focus, listen, respond to their handlers, and work tirelessly. Stepping over cracked glass, hot tarmac, through flames and thick smoke, being winched over deep ravines, they battled on to seek out survivors and bring them aid. 

They worked around the clock, day and night, searching, sniffing, over and over. Not only did they search, but they comforted - many eyewitnesses speak of how the dogs would stop and sit by newly-recovered victims, giving them a sense of hope and relief, before moving on to look for the next. As the situation became desperate, and the rescue workers and fire teams became utterly distraught at the amount of people who were recovered dead, these dogs brought them comfort, sitting with them on breaks, letting them grieve.

Many of these dogs are old, and have passed away. Let us remember the courage and loyalty they showed at such a horrendous event. They didn’t have a choice, but nonetheless they did what was asked of them and helped save countless lives. Don’t let their bravery be forgotten today either, or their determination to be a ‘good dog’ despite the scary and dangerous environment around them.

(via earthandanimals)

Hieronymus Bosch

Hieronymus Bosch

The broken heart. You think you will die, but you just keep living, day after day after terrible day.

—Charles Dickens - Great Expectations  (via servigon)

but you just keep living. day after terrible day

(Source: youroldarchenemycatwoman, via servigon)

Sometimes what you get isn’t really what you want.

—Detective Stephen Holder
-The Killing

her: “a lot of people get jealous, they’re talkin about me…”
me: “but that’s just ‘cause they haven’t got a thing to say.”

her: “a lot of people get jealous, they’re talkin about me…”
me: “but that’s just ‘cause they haven’t got a thing to say.”

I took this picture the other day. I love it for so many reasons

if you zoom in you’ll notice a shirtless older man with ripped abs and pecs and a glorious white moustache mimicking the mural. i am pretty sure it was a fluke. also where he is standing is pretty great too. 

I took this picture the other day. I love it for so many reasons

if you zoom in you’ll notice a shirtless older man with ripped abs and pecs and a glorious white moustache mimicking the mural. i am pretty sure it was a fluke. also where he is standing is pretty great too. 

kateoplis:

"I now consider it a good day when I don’t step on my boobs."
"My sex life is so bad, my G-spot has been declared a historical landmark."
"My love life is like a piece of Swiss cheese; most of it’s missing, and what’s there stinks."
"I think anyone who’s perfectly happy isn’t particularly funny. "
Joan Rivers, 1933-2014

kateoplis:

"I now consider it a good day when I don’t step on my boobs."

"My sex life is so bad, my G-spot has been declared a historical landmark."

"My love life is like a piece of Swiss cheese; most of it’s missing, and what’s there stinks."

"I think anyone who’s perfectly happy isn’t particularly funny. "

Joan Rivers, 1933-2014