is anyone else sick of trying to discern whether or not they experience romantic or sexual attraction/have in the past
like dude how am I supposed to know when everyone around me doesn’t even seem to know what the difference is
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guys i need help lol tumblr never lets me save images anymore. i always, always get an error. ive uninstalled, reinstalled, cleared cache, cleared data, checked permissions, etc etc. any ideas?
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idk what the fuck is wrong with me lately. I keep losing things (moreso than usual). two days ago i couldnt find my phone for ages. yesterday it took me way longer to find my glasses than usual. and now i cant find my phone AGAIN
why cant i fucking remember where I put things! I usually have spots for items where I can check and its gonna be at one of them but ive scoured my room and I cant fucking find it I'm gonna eat drywall
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Oougghdgddddddd two packages sent to my parents place, theyve been there a month. i ask if they can send them down here "okay sure, can i open them and put them in a flat rate box?" id rather you just send them down and ill pay you "okay but- *really starts to push the flat rate box thing*" okay sure, you can do that...
I wait a week and ask. hey were you able to send them? "oh i forgot! ill do it tomorrow (friday)" ..ah okay...
Saturday rolls around. "just sent it! should be there by monday!" ah. okay. tyvm
Tuesday (today) rolls around and i finally get it. its only one of the items. i ask. hey was there a second package? i had two there. "oh! yeah! i couldnt find a flat rate box big enough to send it" ..can you find a way to send it and ill pay you please. if we did what i originally planned then id have both but you didnt even tell me that you were only sending one. "okay. fine. ill send it tomorrow." thank you, let me know how much it costs "yup. i will." (they wont)
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i love how completely useless child labor laws are when you're actually trying to advocate for a minor in an abusive job, like as soon as someone turns 16 in my state theres not even limits on how long they can work in a day. is being made to step on glass and getting it stuck in your foot really *just* a "bad job"? is not being allowed to wear any sort of coat or gloves outside in sub 40 degree weather really *just* a "bad job"? is getting burnt because a customer spilled hot soup on you and your manager wouldnt let you go home and change pants really *just* a "bad job"? at what point is it too far? why are children in this country allowed to be taken advantage of and abused in their work? why are they told its okay? and why do i just have to sit here and watch it happen to my friend because she thinks the pittance of money she gets makes it "worth it" somehow?
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Idk if this is mainly just an issue within straight/cis circles but genuinely tired of the way men talk about women like we're nothing but joy-sucking nagging leeches only good for sex and housework when they are the ones that have been making us miserable since the dawn of time. Treating us like property, blaming us for our own r/ape, just generally hating us (clearly they haven't stopped but you know), and then wondering why we're so miserable. Maybe because everytime a man like you opens his mouth we feel the need to defend ourselves but GOD forbid we do because then in your absolute fucking peanut mind we're just proving your point. Ugghhh I hate it here. Fuck.
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mir ist jetzt schon zweimal ein abgepacktes stück fleisch AM ERSTEN TAG NACH DEM KAUF im kühlschrank verdorben und ich hab grade gesehen dass auf der verpackung "bei unter +2°C zu verbrauchen bis..." steht 😌 BRUDI WER HAT BITTE ZWEI GRAD IM KÜHLSCHRANK??
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how tf does my art do better here, a place thats notorious for being unfriendly to artists and 'dead', than it does on twitter almost every single time
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being a christian in a country where its a minority religion and you can be oppressed for it is such a fucking sad and frustrating experience because people keep lumping you in with white american evangelicals and think you're privileged because of yohr religion when that couldn't be further from the truth.
and the saddest thing? no one fucking cares about us. leftists either don't think we exist or straight up don't care for us. conservatives just use us as a convenient excuse to be islampphobic. but in the end no one fucking cares for us and its sad.
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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
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in therapy we were talking about the *future* and it just set in how much fucking time i have to wait to transition because of my shitty ass parents i cant fucking do this hhhhhhhhh I AM A FUYCKING ADYULT
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A woman I met at bible study last night asked me how old I was, and I when I told her, her response was "oh, 24, what a beautiful age!" And tbh I wish ppl would respond like that instead of saying "OMG ur still a babyyy 😆" like I stg if one more person refers to me as a baby or a "little girl" I might possibly kill them.
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[ID: season 2 Jaskier reaches out to grasp the memory of season 1 Geralt and Jaskier as they are laughing together. Below the image are the words “I miss the days when you loved me”. End ID]
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