#68 – A Christmas PSA
A Christmas PSA
Sometimes, Christmas isn't the wonderful, shiny, amazing time that people expect it to be. And that's okay too . . .
Sometimes, Christmas isn't the wonderful, shiny, amazing time that people expect it to be. And that's okay too . . .
Being True To You Yes, yes, yes! So you took that huge step and came out to your parents?! Congratulations, I'm so proud of you and I— What? They said that? For real? Oh honey. I'm so sorry.
The Fumble Tumble Ooops! Wow, that was probably the most spectacular fall I've ever seen . . . bwa hah ha ha ha hahaaa! Oh, wait. Are you hurt? For real? Shit, okay, come on, I've got you, I've got you . . .
Some days are rougher than others. Believe me, I know. But there are all sorts of reasons why you shouldn't let that keep you in bed. Would you mind terribly if I listed just a few?
That Period Yikes. Feeling it worse than usual this month are you? No worries, I'll look after you. I know how it feels and menstration is not fun at the best of times. Fancy some chocolate?
Comfort For A Blood Test Ugh. Hate these things, necessary though they may be. Don't worry though; I'm here to hold your hand every step of the way.
Don't Give Up You're doing so well baby, even if it doesn't look that way. I promise you, you're doing an amazing job! You should be proud of yourself.
Sharing Space With You It's so wonderful spending time with you. Just being in the same place you are. It feels good. And I love it. And you. Thank you, baby.
Look After Me This time, baby, it's you I need to take care of me. I'm a little under the weather and could really do with your own home-brand of TLC. Please?
By Laurance Binyon, With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children, England mourns for her dead across the sea. Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit, Fallen in the cause of the free. Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres. There is music in the midst of desolation And a glory that shines upon our tears. They went with songs to the battle, they were young, Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow. They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted, They fell with their faces to the foe. They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old; Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them. They mingle not with their laughing comrades again; They sit no more at familiar tables at home; They have no lot in our labour of the day-time; They sleep beyond England's foam. But where our desires are and our hopes profound, Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight, To the innermost heart of their own land they are known As the stars are known to the Night; As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain, As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness, To the end, to the end, they remain.