Sylvia Plath (via classicalconditioning)
Every single time this quote crosses my dash, I just want to rip out my hair. I don’t know what it is - she was fully entitled to her feelings and her responses to her life. It’s not Plath, it’s the fact that this circulates at all here - that the reblogging of it constitutes - to this well-educated, brilliantly promising, fading into indifferent middle age woman - a kind of de facto agreement that all those things do, in fact, equal uselessness. I’m doing my damnedest to find other ways of measuring myself besides the promise of my past, because it doesn’t always work out, but I’m not all that keen on the idea that that necessarily makes everything - makes me - useless. It makes life not what I had anticipated - there’s a difference, huge to my mind.
This isn’t aimed at anyone in particular (and certainly not the person I reblogged it from!) - it’s just me kind of not going quietly into the night. She never made it to middle age, and so all of this - like the (as I perceive it) reblogging of it - is just a nameless terror that this is as good as it gets - this, now, 17 or 23 or 31. That anything much older is just a slow slide into uselessness and redundancy and pointlessness. And I struggle with this every day, especially since my father passed away at such a (relatively) young age. And I refuse to accept that I’m useless because the present or the future aren’t necessarily what I thought they might be in the past. That I’m useless because I’m “fading out into an indifferent middle age.” I choose to hope that the best is yet to come, when I’ve mellowed a little more, when my perspective has grown even more expansive, when my experiences become a rich tapestry of their own - both the light and the dark threads, the worn-out holes and the still-glittering gold bits.
She might have gotten there too, had she lived. She didn’t, so I guess I’m here to say in her place, there’s more to life than just the hopes and promises of youth.
alternate ending to the third hobbit movie
thranduil walks around the battlefield and spies the dead bodies of fili and kili
and then he kneels down and touches them gently with one finger and they come back to life
and everyone lives happily ever after
thranduil is secretly ned the piemaker