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this tutoring student just came to me with a full ass research essay about cis women's homosexual slash fanfiction which defined terms such as "fujoshi" and "ao3" .................. how did they find me

marginally related to my last post (at least to the tags), i am finishing up a really excellent nonfiction memoir rn called "the man who could move clouds" by ingrid rojas contreras, which is largely about the author's mother and paternal grandfather who are/were really powerful colombian curanderos (folk healers). it's also very much about the ravages of colonization in both a macro and micro sense, and manages to spectacularly equate western medicine's concept of "trauma" with curanderismo's "ghosts" in such a way that doesn't negate the existence of ghosts and hauntings as a real thing. i was ugly sobbing reading this book yesterday, and maybe i wouldn't have been if i wasn't so ill and therefore emotionally raw but damn. i recommend it to everyone, but if you have any sort of trauma, personal or intergenerational or cultural, i think it will hit especially hard

i've had a horrible stomach flu for the past three days and am finally feeling better (though still very weak) today, and tbh it was genuinely miserable and awful but. sometimes i feel like a really bad illness is akin to a spiritual experience or taking psychedelics or something? you go down into the pits of yourself, weep, suffer abjectly, think about the suffering of others, give up, start laughing at yourself because you're a disgusting mess and can't even move, become grateful for your usual good health (if you're lucky enough to have that), fantasize about small things like being able to wash your hair or eat mashed potatoes, sleep forever, have intense fever dreams and genuinely just stop taking everything so utterly for granted. waking up this morning and being able to shower and drink a cup of coffee feels like the greatest gift imaginable. having the energy to even write this post is a gift. i cannot wait to eat food. just recognizing that i live in a time and place and in a class where i have access to food at all times and can eat whatever i want is staggering. to aspire to more than that is pointless. this world is so fucked up and broken. i hate america and i love my body. that's all

why am i crying writing the fucking keynote speech for my former community college's conference on writing and literature

look. listen. i need blind to be sitting in sphinx's lap, giving him drags from his cigarette. i need sphinx to be lying back in bed with blind curled up on top of him, holding a book open and turning the pages, while sphinx reads aloud to him. i need sphinx to be standing over blind's shoulder, scrutinizing and giving directions, while someone else carefully picks the ticks off of blind's scalp and the back of his neck. i need sphinx to scold blind about being dirty or bloodied or just for not taking care of himself and for blind to bear these tirades mutely and with an air of smugness. i need them to take showers together and for blind to wash sphinx's body thoroughly and reverentially, but not to bother with his own unless sphinx bullies him into it. i need blind with twigs and leafy debris and the occasional spider caught in his hair. i need him to always be giving sphinx small gifts and trinkets, wordlessly and with no fanfare. i need him to wear sphinx's t-shirts, which are too big for him, and to sometimes steal things of his just to keep them under his pillow and smell them. i need sphinx to constantly be staring at blind's hands. i need blind to constantly be putting his hands on sphinx in small ways. i need -

just had to "hey i need to talk to you about work right now" the front desk girl at my college tutoring job bc some irate man would not leave her alone. rest assured that i will never in my life ever try to talk to you about Company Business unless i am using it as a fake excuse to get rid of a man who will not take no for an answer