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foldingfittedsheets · 4 months

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When I was young I was dating this absolute cocknob right as I graduated high school. More on that later.

As a present ostensibly to me (but mostly my folks) I was whisked away after graduation to spend two weeks in Europe with my parents. The plan was to see London, Paris, and Heidelberg.

I was moody and a teenager and was largely disgruntled by this fabulous adventure. I went along with sullen foot dragging and black looks. I commandeered my reprehensible boyfriends enormous black hoodie and wore it on the trip. At the start of our jaunt into London I mentioned offhandedly to my mom that it was burning when I peed.

“You’re just dehydrated, and your period is about to start.”

She was right on both counts. I upped my water content, and had my period (which may have contributed to my overall ill humors.)

So we found ourselves in a tiny hotel in Paris, a week into our jaunt, when I repeated, “Man, it just really burns when I pee.”

“What?!” my mom demanded.

“I told you like a week ago that it was burning.”

“Augh! Now we have to go to the hospital!” she proclaimed.

“What?! Why?”

“Because,” she snapped, “You have a bladder infection.”

More bickering ensued, and my temperament was not improved by knowing I’d told her I was having an issue a week ago and been ignored.

My dad heard about the itinerary shift with resignation and we trooped down the narrow stairs as a family to ask the concierge where the nearest hospital was.

The absolutely lovely man at the desk was immediately so concerned when we asked for directions. “Is everything okay?” he asked with very genuine sympathy and I muttered that everything was fine, we just needed a quick visit.

Lucky for us the hospital was only a few blocks away. We walked there and the building was massive, home to what appeared to be several separate wings but no obvious main entrance.

We wandered inside and it was like a weird dream. There was no one around. Huge echoing corridors met us as we peered in vain for a front desk or possibly signs. We searched with increasing frustration for anyone to talk to and somehow found ourselves in some tiny back offices.

A woman sat at her desk and looked bewildered to see three lost Americans approaching her. She greeted us and as a family we all simultaneously realized the massive flaw in our current course.

You see, dear reader, we did not speak French. My dad and I both spoke German. I inquired politely if she also spoke German and she shook her head looking increasingly cornered. We asked if she spoke English.

“Leetle…?” she replied.

“My daughter has a bladder infection! Blad-der?” My mother declared this at a high volume as if volume alone could bridge the communication gap, while simultaneously miming over my stomach, circling where she presumed my pelvis was under the gigantic black sweatshirt.

The woman’s expression turned extremely skeptical and she slowly repeated “Bladder…” She scrutinized me for a moment then said, “You go…. This?” And pointed to something purple on her desk.

“The purple signs?” my dad asked.

She nodded and we set off. I was stewing with resentment at my mom for having ignored my first complaint when we were in a country that spoke English. And also generalized hostility about being on the trip and the object of miming. Now here we were in a French hospital, lost and unable to communicate. I also was under no illusions that someone who didn’t know the word for purple would have any clue what bladder meant.

And slowly I realized what had actually happened as I peered at the purple signs. My mother circling my stomach with her hands, gesturing to my middle. The woman’s skeptical face.

“Hey mom,” I chirped, syrupy and smug. “I don’t speak French. But I do know that it’s a Latin based language. And wouldn’t you know, but that purple sign looks an awful lot like it says ‘maternity’ to me.”

“Shut up!” she snapped.

A few minutes later we stood surrounded by the moans of pregnant people and the cries of fresh new lungs wailing at their first taste of cold air.

I smiled sweetly at my disgruntled mother.

Luck was with us however. A nearby father noticed us and came over to ask if we needed help. With perfect English he gave us clear directions.

As we finally approached the right area for walk in services it was clear how we’d missed it the first time. A large swathe of the front of the building was covered in tarps. A huge wall sized window was broken, and construction was taking place, but at least it had a bustle of people and a clear line. We sat down in the queue of chairs.

While we sat some police officers came in. They walked up to a man ahead of us in line and with few words exchanged they handcuffed and led him politely away.

I was genuinely so out of reality. Every new thing that happened was like a bizarre dream from the empty hallways to the maternity ward and now this tarp strewn waiting room in which people could just be calmly arrested.

It was a shock to me then when we reached the front and the nurse spoke with perfectly unaccented English to assess me. Not only did she know bladder but a whole slew of other medical words I couldn’t guess at. I peed on a stick and we waited.

When we got the results she told me it was good because they could give me antibiotics today for my now confirmed infection, but bad because I’d need the doctor to sign off. I nodded and my mom and I were escorted to yet another small room to wait.

When the doctor arrived I felt suddenly gangly and awkward. I’m not tall but I towered over this tiny French woman who radiated calm composure. She seemed to be around my grandmothers age. She looked up at my blushing face and said, “Bladder infection?” Her English had a much stronger accent than the nurse but with the same medical competence.

I nodded.

She nodded too and we sat in a still contemplative moment on my UTI.

“Do you have… boyfriend?”

My face was on fire, every cell of me wanting to flee from this tiny perfect old woman. I nodded.

She nodded too. We sat still in the knowledge that I had a boyfriend and a UTI.

“Do you and your boyfriend do… it?” Her delicate accent stretched it into “eet.”

I don’t know if she didn’t know the word for sex or if she thought saying “it” was kinder but I wanted to melt into the floor and cease to exist to escape my increasing mortification and her meaningful pause. I nodded.

“Okay,” she said kindly. “When you and your boyfriend do… it… you must make pee pee.”

I writhed slightly under the psychic damage of this elegant medical professional saying “pee pee” and I nodded more emphatically hoping she’d desist this torture.

She continued. “If you and your boyfriend do… it… five times? You make five pee pees. If you do it ten times, you make ten pee pees.”

My face had never been hotter, all the blood in my body had volcanoed to my head, pounding in my ears and valiantly attempting to give me an aneurism to end my suffering. There is no mortification as acute to a teenager as an adult talking about sex and here was this medical professional telling me about… it.

Meanwhile, my mother. Who should have been regretting her poor parenting and reflecting on her neglect in failing impart this vital part piece of sex ed to her kid. Alas, she was laughing herself sick the corner. She added to my embarrassment by quietly repeating “pee pee” and “it” under her breath as she wheezed and chortled.

The doctor patted my hand kindly and handed me the antibiotics. I got to spend the rest of my trip in Europe avoiding direct sunlight and listening to my mother parrot “Do you do… eet?”

#ramblies #funny #story #writing #teenage angst #there’s a couple stories I tell that my betrothed has to hear on repeat cause they’re party pleasers #this is one such #ffs foibles

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witchrealms · 3 months

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#u #web finds #placebo #teenage angst #png #transparent #placebo band #words #alternative #brian molko #90s #1990s #old web #webcore #internetcore #old internet

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enhalpy · 2 months

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feels just like a dream in my heart.

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sugarspikesart · 6 months

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Jake & Sherry but they're in a Highschool AU and they hate each other but secretly love each other

Sherry is a punk alt girl and Jake's a troublemaker

(they're a 2000s teenage romance and they're both the same age here bc i say so)

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nails4breakfast-tacks4snacks · 6 months

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A fever you can't sweat out

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347-emeraldbitch · 6 months

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Fred: You better sleep with one eye open Perc-

Percy: You think I can sleep? At night my thoughts whisper my insecurities back into my skull, the stars scream my fears as they burn light years away, the rising sun mocks my melancholy. I know no peace.

George: Oh my fucking god……

#percy weasley #the drama queen #teenage angst #hp #middle child rights #they bake him a cake everyone loves cake

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guitarnacle · 1 year

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Brian molko performing teenage angst live in Brixton 98

#watch this video boy its cinema #its me boy the placebo album speaking to you inside your brain #the cigarette the little outfit the hair the filmography #cinematography. i mean.#also watch black eyed the live one with holes in his shirt. presumably he was like yeah the nipple holes will add to the performance.#trust me. he wasnt wrong if im being honest #god i would strangle a man to see placebo live #COME TO NEW ZEALAND #please brian.#not mcr #placebo #brian molko #teenage angst #brian molko moment

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saintyaru · 1 year

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first few days for Aak in the agency must be so funny (sad). Prob got in trouble many times, one time he be like "yeah fuck you, i don't need you guys" . Lee said to Waai and Hung that "yeah don't worry he'll be back"

and boom 7 hours later a familiar wet cat arrives at their building

(look i would write a fanfic but I don't trust my own writing)

#lee arknights #aak arknights #arknights #fanfic writer please help #like haha jk what if #Aak is a funny wet cat #teenage angst

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kaleb-is-definitely-sane · 1 year

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thenotebookscribbler · 11 days

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I need to stop getting attached so quickly by God-

#shitpost #desiblr #desi academia #writblr #desi tag #desi teen #growing up desi #desi tumblr #attachment issues #teenage shit #teenage angst

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idontknowhsh · 7 months

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my roma pencil 😭

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starlonga · 5 months

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nicotine-and-heartaches · 2 months

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today i met a fanboy - at least that's what he calls himself. he said he's been following my socials for a good eight years. he said he fell in love with my writings - that my prose and poetry were drenched in darkness and dripping blood that he'd gladly bathe in. i told him im not worth fanboying over, that i can no longer write like i used to. he stopped me right there and told me not to say that again because it breaks his heart and of those who appreciate my stuff. i jokingly responded that if that's the case, im better off as a concept

my poetry bared fangs and spat acid. it blew my mind how anyone would want to touch it. i would use the word BLOOD far too many times in a paragraph that the paper would resemble a war zone. just a tortured internet poet who could not get over her teenage angst - yet people loved her. you see i still get messages from people online recognizing how my past works impacted them. yet i often find myself downplaying the compliments. idk but she feels foreign to me. i guess i don't identify as her anymore.

she - who would come home intoxicated at 2am and vomit words onto paper. she was all razor blades, collar bones and sharp edges. i did not know how people would find beauty in such dangerous things. but so did i. i still write here and there but mostly on my gratitude journal or write cheesy letters addressed to the universe which i safely stored in a password-locked-folder on my computer. blood has been replaced with words like HEAL. GROW. ACCEPT. it took years for my brain to learn how to generate these words and start using them - even start believing them.

some days i would hear her banging on my chest wall, dying to escape. adults would warn children of the monsters in their closets, but what about the ghosts of all your past versions haunting you even when you are awake. i almost freed her one night just to see what other metaphors she can create out of blood. but i remembered how i've sworn not to dig graveyards just to end up scraping my skin and scrubbing dirt under my fingernails.

so im sorry it's disappointing you that i can no longer write poetry that compares my own blood to venom, or how i glorified my suffering by saying "i tried to look for love at the bottom of countless vodka bottles tonight", or how i would describe the color of bruises on my knuckles as having the same saturation as the skies just a little after the sun sets. i closed that chapter long ago. hopefully one day i am going to figure out how to write with the same voice as her (maybe with a different tone this time) because as messed up as she was, that same voice spoke and resonated to a lot of people.

— alaska grace // im better off as a concept

#poetry #poem #writing #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #prose #personal #poets on tumblr #alaska #writers on tumblr #alaska grace #prose and poetry #teenage angst

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oxydiane · 2 years

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‘So…’ Sirius’ speaks as he fixes his night gown. ‘Is anybody going to tell me why my Godson has been crying in his room since Christmas break started? And, possibly, who I need to maim?’

Hermione sighs as she sinks deeper in the living room couch, her hands running over her face in frustration. ‘His crush doesn’t like him back, apparently.’

Sirius blinks slowly, looking at the girl for a few seconds before taking a turn for the floo. Not a word escapes his mouth but his firm expression betrays his intentions.

‘Must. Not. Hurt. Kids!’ Remus breathes, taking hold of Sirius’ arm before he can reach for the floo powder.

‘I just want to have a,’ he pauses, taking a deep breath to control his tone that was quickly becoming aggravated. ‘I just want to have a friendly talk with Molly.’

‘What happened to ‘let them figure it out for themselves’?’

‘That was before Harry turned into a human hosepipe. If you think I’m going to let a boy make my Godson die of dehydration, Remus—!’

‘Uhm,’ Hermione coughs. ‘Sorry, Mr Black, but as much as I want to knock some sense into him too… He’s found himself a girlfriend, and they are very… handsy. I don’t think either of us can fix it.’

‘Oh, I’m going to kill that kid.’ Sirius mutters before heading to the kitchen to make a pot of tea; he’ll try to have Harry eat some pastries with it later.

@veriableflowers i’ve been thinking about those dms so much

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sugarspikesart · 5 months

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"But mostly I hate the way I dont hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all"

#jake muller #re sherry #re6 sherry #resident evil sherry #sherry birkin #jake x sherry #re6 jake #resident evil jake #re jake #teen au #teenage angst #prom #prom au #hs au #high school au #teen shake au

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lux1isbon · 1 year

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apparently i’m not gonna be a teenaged girl forever?

#lana del rey #nympette #coquette #sofia coppola #lolita #the virgin suicides #lux lisbon #lizzy grant #girl blogger #heroine chic #girlhood #lana #teenage angst

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