Math Dragon

reblog to make prev stop having headaches

ok actually the most surreal part of this is the "THOOMP" sound the baby makes as it is forcibly propelled from her body like a foam dart from a nerf gun

"You know what's harder than Getting Better? Living Like That" is just the thesis for my whole shit going on right now honestly. You know what's harder than doing my physical therapy? Hurting All The Time. You know what's harder than addressing my gender dysphoria? Hurting All The Time

I'm Doing The Hard Thing and it's *easier* than how I was living before. If you make yourself feel better you will have more energy to spend on Getting Better. Nice inch nails - the upward spiral. Crawl out of your grave Thursday

Happy . . . no, let’s say Effective Crawl out of your grave Thursday to all who participate.

gripping the shoulders of every youtuber ever. look up that unfamiliar word before you pronounce it. especially if it's not a word from your native language but honestly double check the ones that are native to you if you've only seen them in writing. you will thank yourself later.

This implies a liquid form of bread

Beer

FUCK

Official Bread Post

someone said it's also a cautionary tale about mistreating your wife and I think that's spot on especially for other related types of stories e.g. the crane wife. like I think these stories are very much Husband Anxiety Stories. the Woman-Creatures are black boxes whose interior experience it is impossible to know and who have strange and often seemingly arbitrary rules that you must follow or else they will disappear. idk. like. that's why I think that any empowering-to-women-ness qualities of these stories is incidental. I think they're externalized anxiety about coercive societal heterosexuality and the inability to truly Know one's wife in such circumstances.

oooo yes absolutely!

was just talking to Story about this and he told me about one folktale where a guy meets a beautiful woman at a lake and she brings a bountiful dowry of like one million fat cows and such and she is of course a fairy so she's like "my one requirement in our bargain is that if you strike me three times I will leave" and in many versions of the story the husband doesn't ""actually"" strike her -- each time it's something like, one 'strike' involves her forgetting her gloves inside and he walks out and taps her on the shoulder with her gloves, but she tells him that counts as striking her. this sort of thing. which is TRANSPARENTLY like "whoa wouldn't it be fucked up if your wife could enforce consequences for behavior she said was harmful, even if according to your cultural norms it was fine, and you didn't see it as a big deal?" like... lol. what if women could actually be the ones who decided whether or not any given action their husbands took against them was harmful? IMAGINE... PREDEY SCARY....

the problem with tumblr spells is all of you lil sluts are casting and not giving it time to charge so you're all casting cantrips and not 9th level death spells. everyone wants to be the one to take them down no one wants to be the one who assists

Wait stop. everyone +like now and spread it a little but cast on the same day in August. lets try August 6th or something.

I miss her like a shitty ex who despite all her flaws was still always there when i needed her but now she's dead (joann fabrics)

wait, you're gonna hunt me for sport? aw, damn, I'm not really into sports. can you hunt me for arts and crafts instead.

I went and found one of my favorite soviet prison books to see if I could find the passage about cultivating dandelions in the prison yard and stumbled across the birthday party the zeks threw for the narrator that tickled her pink even as they were in the middle of a hunger strike

“Next I am presented with a shirt made out of somebody’s sheet, with ruffled and red embroidery. Then a tube of skin cream: “Thirty years is not over the hill yet.” And finally they bring in the birthday cake. Raya and Olya had not been deprived of kiosk rights that month, so they had bought some cheap biscuits and margarine (that was a stroke of luck, because margarine is very rarely available). They creamed this margarine with a full two-week ration of sugar (”Cerberus” is very accommodating on such occasions), and whipped it up into a truly gourmet cream, which they colored with the juice of a chance-acquired beetroot. They then made a layer cake with the biscuits and this cream. Not a bad birthday cake, was it? Tea is brewed with double the usual quantity of leaves, and then I, as the “divider”, am ceremoniously instructed to carry out a very special duty: to cut up not just any old thing, but a real lemon. Lemons are a luxury only to be dreamed about in the camps. This one was secretly given to us to round off our banquet by a member of the camp personnel: they’re not all monsters like Podust. On days when we have a celebration, the warders and the officers usually come round to the Zone out of curiosity to see what the politicals have thought up this time. They stare at our home-made candles, little colored flags made out of old magazines, drawings and cakes, with unfeigned admiration: how’s that for making something out of nothing. They are forbidden to accept anything from us, but, on the other hand, feel awkward about refusing. That’s why we usually wrap up a bit of cake for the braver ones, and they take it away with them. Today we’re rich, today we enjoyed ourselves! In eight days time, preparing to go into hospital, I had to use a razor blade to divide one soya-based candy into eleven equal slivers— but when we celebrate we don’t stint! In the evening I have to recite poetry: everyone knows all my poems by now, but they put in requests for their favorites: “Ira, the one about the cherry-red dress.” “The one about the letter to the other world.” “The one about horses.” Before going to bed I sit down to write to Igor: the most tender words I can think of, my hopes of seeing him, everything I can say to cheer him up. The letter was confiscated, as were most of our letters, but as I wrote it I nursed the hope that it might get through.”