it would suck being a new immortal. like it’d be 2109 and people would go, “what was it like seeing ancient civilizations rise and fall like that? seeing the pyramids being built? watching the expansion and growth of the new world?” and i’d just be like, “no…no i was born in 1991. so like, wow i’m gonna see some cool stuff, but, i mean i’m not that much older than just a really, really old person, you know? phones were big back then. so big. but only for like ten years, then they got like, as good as they are now. uh. rhinos existed. don’t think i ever saw one in person. cool, good talk.”

even worse, imagine being an immortal who keeps missing stuff. “What was it like seeing the pyramids being built?” “Fuck if I know, I was in Madagascar.” “Oh, okay. Well, how was the Renaissance?” “I fell down a hole in Scotland and people thought I was an enchanted well for four hundred years, it was over by the time I convinced someone to get me out.”

It’s been a decade since we left that comment and you have the best reply anyone’s left to it.

Get your ducks in a row. Now get them in a circle. Get them in a Socratic seminar with that duck in the middle. Get them in a mosh pit. Get them moshing. Get them moshing.

Remember to let something you have no control over ruin your day today

But I can control anything I just need to work harder and be better.

[ID: a photoset of a white cat playing, jumping, walking, and sitting in blue and red, and green and red lighting. /End ID]

A Funky Boy

I'm in a little local cafe and the women behind the counter started griping to each other, "Oh Christ, Stephen's back again," "It's him, is it? I thought he'd stopped coming," "It's definitely him, look, it's bloody Stephen on a Thursday morning," "Do you want me to get rid of him or are you going to do it?" and so I was peering outside, trying to spot this nightmare customer, this pestilence of a person, this pox upon the cafe trade, and then one of the women from behind the counter ran outside, clapping two trays together loudly and yelling "GET OUT OF IT, STEPHEN!" and it turns out that Stephen is an absolutely gigantic fuck-off seagull who hangs around outside, menacing people for crumbs

oh that's what the dwarves were doing

From one writer to another I'm telling you that every effort towards writing your story is a step forward. Daydreaming, making playlists, sketching your characters, worldbuilding right down to the for centuries before your story starts, binge watching content related to or in the same genre as your story, everything counts and you should never feel guilty about taking the time to play around with the world that you created.

The BEST trope is when a character tells another “let’s run away together, we can leave all of this behind and start a new life somewhere” and gets rejected. And then the rest of the tragedy unfolds

Putting the term "Catholic guilt" on a high shelf where fandom can't reach it until everyone learns how to identify characters who are very very clearly coded as Protestant.

Especially the last one!

puttering around the house is an underrated form a self-care. make some tea or coffee. put on a podcast. sort the mail. tidy some pillows and fold some blankets. start the laundry. thaw some soup. just casually wander around aimlessly doing little things to make your space and life a little nicer. who cares if you get distracted or only do a little. you aren't being productive. you're puttering.

My life has gotten measurably better since I reframed the period from 3-4 pm as “puttering hour”. No it’s not me avoiding work or failing to force myself to concentrate during my mid afternoon slump. It’s puttering hour.