time is relative, i suppose…what that means i don’t know. its just weird talk, by “Geniuses” like Albert Einstein. and since no one could understand what that means, they assumed he was a genius. weirdies. they have noooooooo idea. gah. why am i surrounded by idiots? this is a weird-ish website, i guess. everyone just types about one word, and my relative time is relatively wasted, is what im thinking. so, how was your day? good weather huh? im making small talk, in case you didn’t notice. ho hum. i am bored. i want to play Shadow Fight 3. its a very fun app, and i recommend it except for the fact it keeps crashing. i messaged them about this and they said they would see about fixing it in the next update. well, one can only hope…
My grandma is a relative. She is blood related. She is my mom’s mom. Mamaw is 52 and lives with Papaw. That is my relative.
Shawn Richardson
She examined him with relative coldness, not letting him too close, but not keeping him so distant that he lost all interest. She kept her attention elsewhere for most of the evening, occasionally passing him and brushing against him.
For how far away is this
This blood thread that runs deep
Envy may that I see
Those whose web stretches far
Of family and of relatives
That which this spindle
does not see
Lynn
relative to the feeling of goodness. now theres deep introspection on the personal relationships and the resurfacing of suppressed wounds that need to be sifted and peered through to understand best what the fuck has been cooking my brain in sesame oil.
smurfstoestar
Time is relative. It waits for no one. We all are relative to time.
Relativity. Physics. Stay close and stay far.
Time waits for no one.
Shri
I hadn’t seen this particular relative of mine in quite a while: My Uncle Tobias, who had transitioned seven years ago, and who had sobered up after decades of trying to lay down the booze. Now he was standing in front of my house, a full beard around his jaw, holding a pumpkin pie.
“Thanks for having me,” he said in a voice that was lower than mine – which was rather impressive.
I smiled and escorted him into the kitchen, where my mother was still working on the mashed potatoes.
Belinda Roddie
Oh my god. They’re here, they’re there, they’re coming our way for Christmas. Dread, resentment, laughter, hygiene fears, awkward silences and conversations where only one person speaks. Why are they everything? Sometimes they’re too much!
time is relative, i suppose…what that means i don’t know. its just weird talk, by “Geniuses” like Albert Einstein. and since no one could understand what that means, they assumed he was a genius. weirdies. they have noooooooo idea. gah. why am i surrounded by idiots? this is a weird-ish website, i guess. everyone just types about one word, and my relative time is relatively wasted, is what im thinking. so, how was your day? good weather huh? im making small talk, in case you didn’t notice. ho hum. i am bored. i want to play Shadow Fight 3. its a very fun app, and i recommend it except for the fact it keeps crashing. i messaged them about this and they said they would see about fixing it in the next update. well, one can only hope…
My grandma is a relative. She is blood related. She is my mom’s mom. Mamaw is 52 and lives with Papaw. That is my relative.
She examined him with relative coldness, not letting him too close, but not keeping him so distant that he lost all interest. She kept her attention elsewhere for most of the evening, occasionally passing him and brushing against him.
For how far away is this
This blood thread that runs deep
Envy may that I see
Those whose web stretches far
Of family and of relatives
That which this spindle
does not see
relative to the feeling of goodness. now theres deep introspection on the personal relationships and the resurfacing of suppressed wounds that need to be sifted and peered through to understand best what the fuck has been cooking my brain in sesame oil.
Time is relative. It waits for no one. We all are relative to time.
Relativity. Physics. Stay close and stay far.
Time waits for no one.
I hadn’t seen this particular relative of mine in quite a while: My Uncle Tobias, who had transitioned seven years ago, and who had sobered up after decades of trying to lay down the booze. Now he was standing in front of my house, a full beard around his jaw, holding a pumpkin pie.
“Thanks for having me,” he said in a voice that was lower than mine – which was rather impressive.
I smiled and escorted him into the kitchen, where my mother was still working on the mashed potatoes.
Oh my god. They’re here, they’re there, they’re coming our way for Christmas. Dread, resentment, laughter, hygiene fears, awkward silences and conversations where only one person speaks. Why are they everything? Sometimes they’re too much!