So I don’t presently have insurance and hubby lost his job again last week and I’m almost out of my anti depressants.
The local free clinic doesn’t do mental health so I called the regular clinic. $168 out of pocket just for the visit. Plus the cost of the meds (which is about $80 a month). Plus they’ll bill me anything over the $168.
Not helping my stress levels but I gotta do what I gotta do.
I gotta go into work so I sat here and watched John Barrowman videos (and the 500 miles dr who one) until I was smiling again.
Donald Trump is exactly the kind of person that Jesus would have thrown out of the temple and beaten with a stick, and the fact that so many self-identified Christians want to put him in office tells you pretty everything wrong with white American Christianity.
Because Jesus had authority at temples and beat people.
I 100% can’t tell if you’re joking here but he actually did chase people out of a temple at least once for using religion for their own selfish gains, complete with literal table flipping and improvised whips
So really it’s not that he would have trump thrown out as much as he would storm in and accuse him of turning his father’s house into a den of thieves before upending a table on his head
Dude, Jesus not only chased them out, he broke stuff they were selling, let loose all of their animals, and fucking flipped all the money-changing tables.
Jesus 100% would have been chasing Trump out with a table leg.
Canon Jesus 10000% better than fanon Jesus
How to tell that Christians don’t really read the Bible. Example A: SillSadSkeleton’s post above.
“I want to speak to a manager,” the middle-aged woman said in her stern I-used-to-be-a-soccer-mom-ten-years-ago voice, looking down at me over the top of her Gucci reading glasses.
A wicked grin split across my face and the gates of Hell opened up behind me, releasing a gust of hot wind that whipped my apron around my body and forced the woman to shield her face. Demons came forth, dancing around in flames with songs of, “She wants to speak to a manager. Did you hear that? She wants to speak to a manager!” before erupting into earsplitting shrieks of laughter, none louder than my own cackling.
I took in the woman’s look of utter horror before my eyes rolled back into my head and I growled,
Here’s your angsty harkstiel headcanon for the afternoon.
Jack met Castiel by chance before he met the Doctor. Maybe it was war-torn London, maybe it was some far flung planet far in the future, where one lonely traveler comforted another. He has no idea what an impression he left on Castiel, or even what he was.
But even if he’s never seen the angel since, he’s dreamed about him. Not often, maybe a handful of times a century, but boy, are they memorable. Flying biplanes over France like a pair of sunfishing dolphins. Screaming down a lonely Umbrian road on an old motorcycle, spires of trees and gilded fields whipping by, Castiel a hot wall against his back and hips. Spitting gravel from the tires of a jeep at midnight in a hilly wasteland, and this time Castiel is driving, and Jack has his hand between the stranger’s thighs.
All that heat and crazy speed and joy. Jack never sees the unwinding dragon, the storm, the smoke of the wildfire behind them. Never knows that what they’re running from are the worst of his nightmares. Never knows he’s being watched and protected.
One lonely traveler, wounded and trapped in the dark, does what he can to shield the man who once did the same for him.
