#HELLO IT'S ME SIGMUND FRAUD!

[solarisposting]

guess who's back in their compassion fatigue for library patrons era!!!

#HELLO IT'S ME SIGMUND FRAUD! #i've had one other Episode like this since being in libraries and it's so exhausting #and it makes me hate myself! i suddenly can't DEAL when interacting w/people who have mental illnesses that manifest in this that or the #or the other way. i stop caring about patrons' sob stories or hard days or legitimate crises or whatever else #i'm just angry all the goddamn time about being a brick wall for others' rage and sadness and issues when i'm a fucking book person who also #who also helps with technology. i cant handle my own fucking mental illnesses on any given day sometimes and absorbing others' hardships #when i'm not trained not equipped not PAID ENOUGH and having my own spirals and episodes...it is SO MUVH #i feel evil and heartless when i suddenly stop caring and am actively angry at patrons #this isn't even a carer type of work that i do! #and yet compassion fatigue in librarians is apparently super common. we're like retail workers minus patrons spending money at our #at our establishments. people are extra mean because of the tax dollars shit and the whole 'fulfilling gaps in social services' shit #losing my compassion for others a second time os fucking terrible. i don't want to he so angry and hateful. i don't wamt to be so checked #so checked out of others' suffering if the others are in front of me. it feels gross #and as ashamed as i am to say it? it weighs on me and makes me feel WORSE and so SELFISH #ann with an ie #and i am still tuned into global issues and care and am horrified #but things and people in front of me just...cease to register

[novablisters]

the name-dropping of random famous people from the past by the doctor is always kind of annoying but it feels like it’s a lot more heavy handed in what I’ve seen of season 11 so far like we get it you time travel but theres hundreds of cooler people out there than elvis presley. amy pond might not be famous but she pulled you back into existence after you flew yourself into an exploding tardis I dare say that’s way cooler than an over-hyped groomer? elvis has some decent songs but he’s not really that spectacular(don’t tell my uncle I said this)

there’s so much beauty in your average person and for the doctor to be constantly name dropping the famous feels shallow? I mean it’s in character for her to be fond of like? albert einstein because like yeah the doctor would want to hang out with geniuses because he’s a lonely creature, the last of his kind, she’d want to be around people he feels like she has something in common with but like?? idk I know he had an electric guitar rocknroll phase but like? elvis? I know the doctor is a borderline egomaniac a lot of the time and he probably gets a kick out of getting to hang out with any famous person in the universe and getting to brag about it to normal people on earth but if I was a companion I’d get so annoyed of it so fast like hi hello I’m cool and important too who fucking cares about elvis fucking presley? to be fair the elvis name drop hurts me less than the sigmund freud name drop from classic who that one actually took years off my life but we don’t talk about sigmund fraud here

#love you doctor but for the love of god shut the fuck up #doctor who #sorry for being a hater guys 😔💔 it will happen again #it’s one of those weeks I’ll be normal again soon probably #the salmon are kissing and it sounds like the words of god #thirteenth doctor

[poetryshrine]

Paisley Rekdal: Dear Lacuna, Dear Lard

I’m here, one fat cherry               blossom blooming like a clod, one sad groat glazing, a needle puling thread,               so what, so sue me. These days what else to do but leer at any boy with just the right hairline. Hey! I say,               That’s one tasty piece of nature. Tart Darkling, if I could I’d gin, I’d bargain, I’d take a little troll               this moolit night, let you radish me awhile,

let you gag and confound me. How much I’ve struggled               with despicing you, always; your false poppets, relentless distances. Yet plea-bargaining and lack of conversation               continue to make me your faithful indefile. I’m lonely. I’ve turned               all rage to rag, all pratfalls fast to fatfalls for you, My Farmer in the Dwell. So struggle, strife,               so strew me, to bell with these clucking mediocrities, these anxieties over such beings thirty, still smitten               with this heaven never meant for, never heard from. You’ve said we’re each pockmarked like a golf course               with what can’t be said of us, bred in us, isn’t our tasty piece of nature. But I tell you               I’ve stars, I’ve true blue depths, have learned to use the loo, the crew, the whole slough of pill-popping               devices without you, your intelligent and pitiless graze. Everyone knows love is just a euphemism               for you’ve failed me anyway. So screw me. Bartering Yam, regardless of want I’m nothing               without scope, hope, nothing without your possibility. So let’s laugh               like the thieves we are together, the sieves: you, my janus gate, my Sigmund Fraud,               my crawling, crack-crazed street sprawled out, revisible, spell-bound.               Hello, joy. I’m thirsty. I’m Pasty Rectum. In your absence I’ve learned to fill myself               with starts. Here’s my paters. Here’s my blue. I just wanted to write again and say               how much I’ve failed you.

#paisley rekdal #dear lacuna dear lard #poetry