theegoistinme

[theegoistinme]

Very smart to wish 97% of the population of the U.S.A. Happy Holidays. A good cartoon.

#agc #a good cartoon

[theegoistinme]

every tiktok expert: make short fun videos 9-15 seconds long

me: how about a 2-minute spoken word monolog about unlearning trauma responses?

in case no one told you, or in case you know but you need encouragement taking the next step: it’s never too late to unlearn a law that is now holding you back, it’s never too late to write a new law

[theegoistinme]

hey gamers, let's prove benford's law

[theegoistinme]

Is it just me, or has tumblr wken up from hibernation?

[theegoistinme]

One of the gang sent this uquiz to the chat, and fkskfkskfjsg I highly recommend it, it’s funny as fuck

[theegoistinme]

it’s ok 

[theegoistinme]

Reblog if you are antifascist.

[theegoistinme]

Something to chew on

How do I become courageous? How do I stop letting the anxiety over the uncertainty of future, or the fear of other people's judgement, dictate my life's narrative?

Ten years ago, my Zoloft prescription ran out the day I had a tumor sliced out of my neck. The surgery was on a Monday. I woke up with chest pain and nerve damage in my face. They kept me until Wednesday morning. I left the hospital with a drainage bag attached to my neck, pinned to the collar of my shirt. I couldn’t move the right side of my face. I emailed my boss.“The surgery was a little more intense than I anticipated. I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it in this week.”“Please be here on Friday.”I went to work on Friday. I couldn’t brush my hair because the pressure on my neck was too painful. The blood bag seeped occasionally on my shirt. I had the kind of sleep anyone has after their ear is partially sliced off to remove a tumor burrowing beneath it. Don’t worry — they sewed it back on. (The ear, not the tumor.)On Friday, because I didn’t understand how boundaries or rights worked, I walked across the National Institutes of Health campus toward my building looking more like a patient than an employee. My boss stared at me and then didn’t speak to me again. I wrote for four hours before I went into her office.“I need to go home.”“Have a nice weekend!” She beamed, actively looking everywhere that was not my blood bag.I smiled, sort of. The right side of my face was still temporarily paralyzed, so the left side of my mouth hoisted my cursory courtesy smile by itself.“Gonna work on my face,” I said pointing to my partially slack expression.“Sorry?”“Nerve damage. Gonna try to exercise it. Do some heavy lifting while I watch TV,” I said, my face contorting from the kind of stifled laughter usually reserved for broken ribs and strict teachers.“Ok!” She almost yelled, her own face contorting with discomfort.Over the next two weeks—tumor and medication free—I lost my mind. Stop me if you’ve heard this before. I gave away my percocet. I dyed my hair. I adopted a cat. I started a blog. And nine months later, I started a challenge called Bold Moves October. I started it because so much of my day-to-day life felt defined by inaction and complacency. Plus, the October prior is when the doctors had said, “we’re really not sure if it’s cancer or not.” Followed immediately by, “we can schedule you for surgery in three months.”It was a long three months. Death all of a sudden seemed like something that could happen. In my 23-year-old wisdom, this meant I should be more proactive. For better or worse, I primarily applied this proactivity to flirting.

We can’t all learn life’s great lessons on the first go.Anyway, that blog and that mini movement of boldness changed the trajectory of my life. One thing toppled into another. Over the next few years that blog and challenge would (directly and tangentially) get me a book deal, writing contracts, sport sponsorships, job offers, the friendship of my favorite author, the adoration of my husband, and a full-time job as an editor that would be the two best professional years of my life.The period I spent working on that blog was obviously good. It was also the most derided and insulted I would ever be. I lost friendships. I received hate mail and death threats (in 2011 no less, before every Twitter account with too many numbers in the screen name became an amateur fear monger.) I allowed people to send me anonymous messages because it was a way for people to share how they were struggling without revealing their identities. But that meant I couldn’t protect myself from anonymous and un-trackable threats. God only knows what my parents thought. (In this scenario, I am God. I know what they thought.)Courage often doesn’t feel good. The only courage that exists without anxiety is arrogance. There is not a life where you, a person who wrote anonymously to an all-but-dead Tumblr, live without the anxiety of others’ judgment. But there is also not a life where you, who—again—wrote asking for advice anonymously to an all-but-dead Tumblr, aren’t a person defined by desperate chances and hope. I apologize that you sent me that note months ago, but I assure you, it is because I too was flexing courage, letting it coarse through my veins and vanquish months of chronic nausea.Like you, I was fussing about in the woods of my life, looking for something that resembled a path. Not necessarily a path without sinkholes or poison leaves, but rather one worth them.Your path, the one it sounds like you’re trying to find, will be overgrown with the thorns of judgment and anxiety. But they’re just thorns. They’re on every path. They’re hurting you just as much on the wrong path as they will on the right one.Normally I give very ethereal advice that’s difficult to act on. It’s more like a song than an action item, but in this scenario, you don’t need to listen to someone else. You also don’t need to have a tumor spliced from your insides to remind you that at some point, our chances run out. All you need is to develop the skill of listening to yourself. For a couple of months, relax with the courage. Courage is just an instagram word for having a strong inner constitution. And that is something you can develop without framing it in the same terms we use to go to battle. 

To do the work, I recommend a few things. 

If you don’t already, move your body. I know how much people hate this advice. But if you can hike or run or cycle or even just briskly walk (without podcasts) for a minimum of 20 minutes a day, you should. Our gut, our intuition, our inner sense of self or whatever you want to call her, she’s not going to feel safe coming out when you’re in the mental thicket of other people’s narratives. Exercise is the closest humans have to Drano for the mind. 

Find a journaling exercise that feels like maybe it’s a little too much work. If it feels conquerable, it’s too easy. I go back to Susannah Conway’s Unravel Your Year. Doesn’t matter if it’s a new year. Time is a construct. 

Get the book Designing Your Life. You may not design an entirely new one, but it may help in making change feel conquerable, or just possible. If that book feels too “action item” oriented, try The Artist’s Way. It’s much more about knowing yourself than it is about art.

Make a list of the narratives that you feel other people are suffocating you with. Maybe dad wants you to be a doctor. Maybe girlfriend wants you to settle down a little. Maybe boss wants you to focus on the clerical side of your job. Maybe society wants you to buy an apartment you can’t afford. Whatever or whoever it is you feel is pressuring you, write it down. You need to know your demons to exercise them. You might even find, in time, that you even like some of these visions. They’re not the enemy. Pressure is. And pressure is only defeated by self. Isn’t that annoying?

Write to me again. Impress me. Give yourself a few challenges each week. Whether it’s applying for a class, trying something you’re bound to be bad at, getting up half an hour early to dance your heart out before work, I don’t care. Do some things that are for you. Not for others, not for profit, not for your future — just for you right now. And then use me for more than an anonymous submission on the internet. Use me as a deadline. Sometimes all it takes to get over the hurdle of pressure is a little validation. I’m here for that whenever you need me.  

I’m recommending these things because I just did them.

I gave myself a deadline to change my life. Not that it was bad, it just felt… well it felt exactly how it did ten years ago: full of inaction and complacency. I was on cruise control, taking few chances, taking really nothing at all. So the next thing I took was an exit. I wanted to see what life looked like when things weren’t all concrete and white lines. I quit my job. I camped around the west. I picked up a few new hobbies. I journaled more than I did all of 7th grade. My year-long bout of nausea went away. I started to dance again. I wrote songs again. I wrote in general again. And I dug around in my psyche for the truth about what I always liked doing, what the through-lines in all my good jobs have been. Very simply, the strongest through-line was the encouragement and empowerment of others.

Most of the writing I’m doing right now will be private until it isn’t. I’m writing a horror film and still working on my first novel. But I need a weekly way to interact with people via writing lest I lose my lonely mind, so I’m bringing back the one thing got me into writing in the first place: answering people’s questions.

After writing Anonymous Asked, I was too embarrassed to promote the book. I’ve never re-read it. I fell into the spiral of what other people thought: of me, of the work, of my ideas. But I’d rather be fulfilled and insulted than bored out of my mind and forgotten.

So to encourage your courage, I am flexing a little bit of my own. My newsletter (of which this essay is a part) is now called “A Little Bit Better” and the whole point is that it helps you feel a little bit better. You can subscribe to it here. It will include essays like this and other bits of things that made that week a little bit better. I hope you enjoy it. I know I will. See you there.I wrote this while listening to:It’s a Storm - Young & SickSwing - Mahmut Orhan Remix by Soki Tukker and Mahmut OrhanKissing Other People - Lennon StellaScared to Death - Jax AndersonSound of Your Voice - Griff

[theegoistinme]

The Moon is fetishisized in sci-fi novels usually as some form of Libertarian utopia. See "The Moon is a Harsh Mistress" by Heinlein and also the novella I see as it's godchild "Heads" by Bear

[theegoistinme]

Before vs After Adoption

[source]

[theegoistinme]

We are safe if we

Write everything in haikus

Before the bot sees

[theegoistinme]

We're all going to hell

He ran through grey hospital doors, enshrined himself forevermore, in strict format, seven lines to get to ya His wife’s in bed in grieving throes, receptionist, a doctor’s note, loss jpg to the tune of hallelujah

[theegoistinme]

Is it just me, or has tumblr wken up from hibernation?

[theegoistinme]

Just, wow, love it

a few small haunted houses.

[theegoistinme]

Chris Hedges on America entering the “Trump Phase” of late capitalism

[theegoistinme]

Jesus Christ was a brown Jew in the Middle East, conceived out of wedlock in an arguably interracial if not interspecies (deity and human) relationship, raised by his mother and stepfather in place of his absent father.  He may not have had a Y chromosome.  He spent his early youth as a refugee in Egypt, where his family no doubt survived initially on handouts from the wealthy (You think they kept that gold, frankincense, and myrrh from the wise men?  Hell no, they sold that stuff for food and lodging).  He later returned with his parents to their occupied homeland and lived in poverty.

The religion of Jesus’s people has no concept of a permanent hell and instructed its priests on how to induce miscarriages.  Jesus explicitly rejected the concept of disability as a divine punishment.  He spoke out against religious hypocrites.  He had enough respect for women to let his mother choose the time of his first miracle.  He blessed a same sex couple.  He told a rich man that he must give up his wealth to get to heaven, and also told a parable about a rich man suffering in agony in presumably Gehinnom (basically Purgatory) just to hammer the point home.  He told people to pay their taxes.  He declared “love your neighbor” to be one of the two commandments on which all laws hang.  He commanded his followers to help the poor.  He commanded them to help the sick and the needy.  He spent time with social outcasts.  He healed the servant of a high priest during his arrest rather than fighting back.  He was put to death by the occupying government because he was a political radical.

Trump and his administration are xenophobic, misogynistic, racist, fear-mongering, warmongering, tax-dodging, anti-Semitic, anti-choice, anti-welfare, anti-equal pay, anti-LGBTQIA+, anti-immigration, support tax cuts for the rich, support Citizen’s United, want to keep refugees out of this country, want to limit our ability to speak against the government, plan to abolish the Affordable Care Act, and they wrap all of that up behind a banner of “Christian family values.”  If you support them, you have no right to call yourself a follower of Christ.

[theegoistinme]

"Dance Hall Days" by Wang Chung is based on the above premise.

while looking up 1950s slang, i found the phrase “come on snake, let’s rattle,” which has 2 meanings: asking someone to dance, and challenging someone to a fight

and. hhhooooooooo boy does that fact have some Potential