me every night when I sit in the dark stabbing my charger into my phone until I find the socket: don’t think of that post,don’t think of that post—


Evry damn time, but then I also remember the cure: 

“Samuel Vimes dreamed about Clues. He had a jaundiced view of Clues. He instinctively distrusted them. They got in the way. And he distrusted the kind of person who’d take one look at another man and say in a lordly voice to his companion, “Ah, my dear sir, I can tell you nothing except that he is a left-handed stonemason who has spent some years in the merchant navy and has recently fallen on hard times,” and then unroll a lot of supercilious commentary about calluses and stance and the state of a man’s boots, when exactly the same comments could apply to a man who was wearing his old clothes because he’d been doing a spot of home bricklaying for a new barbecue pit, and had been tattooed once when he was drunk and seventeen* and in fact got seasick on a wet pavement. What arrogance! What an insult to the rich and chaotic variety of the human experience!”

― Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

Every once in a while a post comes back to smack me in the face all over again with how goddamn wonderful Sir Pratchett really was


#anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(why *not* think about that post though?) #BBC Sherlock #Discworld #(you know on reflection I don’t think I was even thinking of *that* post per se) #(I was thinking of the ”y’all ever mess up putting your phone charger in your phone completely sober just to flex on sherlock holmes” one)

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