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I think the key to life being more bearable, is feeling cool and aesthetic. Or just faking your own importance until you start believing it. Here, I'll elaborate. For example: I hate going to the city center and doing my weekly grocery shopping because there are lots of tourists, and crowds make me uncomfortable. (I moved from a small village to the big city for college.) Anyway, I start acting like a city girl running her errands and making phone calls which are just me calling my mother and acting like I am in a hurry. Similarly, I hate making fruit water because it's annoying and tastes like shit but I adore walking around or just doing something in my home and then taking a sip of that aesthetic bottle of glorified water. The thought of tidying my room makes me feel suffocated because I know I'll spend the entire afternoon trying to finish that damn spring clean but thinking of myself as a main character in a movie that battles her fears no matter how big or small makes me clean it more quickly and efficiently, but more importantly, the stress is gone. I actually find it very hard to brush my teeth every morning and apply the most basic skincare but acting like I am filming a get-ready-with-me video like some influencers do makes it much more bearable.
Fake it till you make it.
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Brooklyn Nine-Nine has really earned the title of my favorite tv-show ever. Like it just has such an amazing cast and characters, the humor is top notch, I literally laugh every 25 seconds while watching an episode. And that's not an exaggeration. Just the plot, the tropes, the action scenes, the relationship dynamics, like come on. It truly has everything.
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Imagine being the last owner of Hanako, that 226 year old Japanese koi that was spawned in 1751 and died in 1977. A fish that outlived 7 emperors. A fish that survived the Second World War. And she dies in your care. I would never recover.
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Streaming Live
gifs by riverwindphotography, 2017
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Wish I could do this, every convo with my dad turns into a lecture
ND culture is sharing special interests with your dad
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A man with a baby pig in his pocket. Photograph by Wallace Kirkland. USA, May 1954.
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I found out I have comorbid autism and adhd two months ago and I still forget that I am not a lazy piece of shit and it's just harder for me to get up and just do stuff. I constantly have to remind myself that I'm neurodivergent until my brain rewires. Also, my whole family thinking my diagnosis ain't shit and I can just try harder and stop being lazy to actually do better isn't really helping.
learning you're neurodivergent later on your life after growing up being treated as a neurotypical is a constant state of "oh so am I not [stupid/slow/lazy/useless/dumb/broken], I'm just neurodivergent and need to do things differently" followed by a wave of anger and frustration for not having been told that. for not having been reassured, as a kid, that you're none of those awful things you think about yourself, you're just different. anger for having been left to believe that there was something wrong with you.
this rant doesn't actually have a point. I'm just angry that I've been told -I'm still being told- that I'm just lazy and dumb when I actually have add and I'm on the spectrum.
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I wonder if Jesus had weird dreams as well when he slept. 'Cause he was a real human too, and we all have such unconnected and random dreams, I wonder if he had those as well and would think about the weirdness of it when he woke up or tell it to his disciples in their afternoon hangout or whatever it was. Or was he like "Hey, dad, what does this mean?" Or, or maybe he knew immediately what they meant or didn't mean. Maybe he just plain talked with God every night in his "dream" and would be like "You heard that joke Matthew told everyone today? I nearly choked laughing, it was so funny." And then God's like "You're right, me and the angels lost it."
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Like, it's a rock. Who cares where it came from?
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Autistic burnout is really bad the last few days. I literally don't know how I'm functioning. I am truly exhausted but God forbid my insomnia lets go. We still gotta have atleast two hours before sleeping a wink. And then I still wake up all the time throughout the night. Like I don't get it.
I'm so tired.
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An Australian Army Recruit sends home a letter...
Dear Ma & Pa,
I am well. Hope youse are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil that the Army is better than workin’ on the farm - tell them to get in quick smart before the jobs are all gone! I wuz a bit slow in settling down at first, because ya don’t hafta get outta bed until 6 am. But I like sleeping in now, cuz all ya gotta do before brekky is make ya bed and shine ya boots and clean ya uniform. No cows to milk, no calves to feed, no feed to stack - nothin’!! Ya haz gotta shower though, but its not so bad, coz there’s lotsa hot water and even a light to see what ya doing!
At brekky ya get cereal, fruit and eggs but there’s no kangaroo steaks or possum stew like wot Mum makes. You don’t get fed again until noon and by that time all the city boys are dead because we’ve been on a ’route march’ - geez its only just like walking to the windmill in the back paddock!!
This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil with laughter. I keep getting medals for shootin’ - dunno why. The bullseye is as big as a possum’s bum and it don’t move and it’s not firing back at ya like the Johnsons did when our big scrubber bull got into their prize cows before the Ekka last year! All ya gotta do is make yourself comfortable and hit the target! You don’t even load your own cartridges, they comes in lil’ boxes, and ya don’t have to steady yourself against the rollbar of the roo shooting truck when you reload!
Sometimes ya gotta wrestle with the city boys and I gotta be real careful coz they break easy - it’s not like fighting with Doug and Phil and Jack and Boori and Steve and Muzza all at once like we do at home after the muster.
Turns out I’m not a bad boxer either and it looks like I’m the best the platoon’s got, and I’ve only been beaten by this one bloke from the Engineers - he’s 6 foot 5 and 15 stone and three pick handles across the shoulders and as ya know I’m only 5 foot 7 and eight stone wringin’ wet, but I fought him till the other blokes carried me off to the boozer.
I can’t complain about the Army - tell the boys to get in quick before word gets around how good it is.
Your loving daughter,
Patricia
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little autistic things
sniffing your freshly washed clothes because That Scent™ that your laundry detergent leaves behind calms you
stuffed animals have feelings, darnit!
Good and Bad Textures™
did I do something wrong?
“you’re really obsessed with _____, huh?”
FLAP FLAP FLAP
knowing some obscure detail about your special interest that the general population wouldn’t know
remembering “useless” random facts
chew stims, om nom nom
that food might actually be okay if it wasn’t That Texture™
KITTYYYYY!!!
Routine™
was that sarcasm?
*person makes annoying noise* *echos annoying noise*
pure rage and frustration because I can’t explain the thing the way I want to explain it or the way others would understand it
No. Eye. Contact. Just no.
spacey af
is that person mad at me?
Imminent Meltdown™
“you’re acting like a child / your childish / the things you like are childish”
burnout, because society expects me to act like them
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I feel like I missed some good stuff in this episode because I didn’t have subtitles… damn ADHD
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