life actually gets better when you leave the house consistently btw like im serious
if you don’t know where to go, just wander! go to the store and don’t buy anything, go to the library just to sit and do whatever you were going to do at home, go to a park and just walk around/sit outside for a bit (weather permitting, of course)
just put some headphones in and walk around the block a couple times if you really have nothing else to do, just getting a bit of air and change of scenery is so good for you
me the first few weeks of forcing myself to go on daily walks (it gets better tho)
I did this today and met the friendliest fuzziest little cat
[ID: an annoyed-looking grey cat. one of its front paws is placed gingerly on a patch of grass, while the other is held in the air. top text reads “me going on a stupid daily walk for my stupid mental and physical health”. end ID.]
The fact that Everything Everywhere All at Once has the main character see that if she hadn’t gone to America with the man that would be her husband she would’ve lived a glamorous life of fame and fortune and her husband would’ve gone off and gotten very rich on his own rather than living together in an apartment over a laundromat struggling with finances every day and where so many movies would’ve framed that choice to go off together as a mistake, shown their alternative lives as some sort of “see? It wasn’t worth it” and had them “escape” to that “better” universe in the end, it instead all culminates in the line “Just so you know, in another life, I would’ve been really glad to just do laundry and taxes with you” changed my wholeass life
no because when everything everywhere all at once said “‘alone I’m useless’ ‘everyone’s useless alone. good thing we’re not alone.’” and “in another life, i would have loved to have just done laundry and taxes with you” and “you think i am naive. i’ve been alive just as many years as you. this [love] is how i fight” and “of all the places i could be, I just want to be here with you” and-
that daughterhood feeling of wanting to blame your mother for how you turned out, wanting to be angry at her for how you’ve inherited her pain and her insecurities, but at the same time wanting to keep coming home to her, out of everyone else in the universe, because you know that if there’s anyone who might be anything like you–if there’s anyone who might even have a clue of what it’s like to be you–it could only be her. and no matter how many times you’ve hurt each other, no matter how difficult it might be to get her to truly see you, you still just want her to love you as you are, to tell you that this isn’t your fault, and to show you that she would keep letting you come home to her.
