I take a critical eye to the things I love. I recognize that many of my favorite things (books/TV shows/movies/etc) contain elements that are problematic, and I seek to change them. There's a fair amount of social justice and tumblr humor here, too. (cis, she/her/hers)
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odysseus absolutely does present a threat to penelope if he perceives her as at all unfaithful, and i feel the unfairness of this, and i think people tend to undersell how much tension at least potentially exists between odysseus and penelope. but i'm also like. his reaction, all speculation aside, his actual reaction in the odyssey to her flirting with the suitors is delight, because he immediately ascertains that she is running a con. sorry that they're so in-sync in spite of the forces that try to drive a wedge between them, including their own misgiving hearts. sorry that they invented homophrosyne ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
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women are like diamonds: synthetically-produced women are not meaningfully different from naturally-formed women, and anyone trying to tell you otherwise is probably trying to justify keeping their women mines open
yes this includes people who “mooch off” their parents by still living with them into adulthood. you are not an ally to disabled or poor people if you hold disdain for those who cannot live on their own.
as a teen, i was constantly harassed by adults enforcing ''dress codes'' on me. I very much experienced this as sexual harassment. I think this is one of many cases where people would more easily understand this as sexual harassment if I described it as if it happened to an adult.
imagine being on your lunch break, and your supervisor comes over to your table, tells you to stand up in front of everyone. they draw everyone's attention to your thighs. they tell you that you have broken the dress code because of the length of your shorts. they tell you to go change (so you do not get the rest of your lunch break). they do this every single day at lunch. every day. so you read the whole dress code front and back, and you choose your clothing carefully to not break it. you bring a cloth tape measure with you to work because they will not believe you. this time when your supervisor tells you that you're breaking dress code, you pull out your tape measure and show that you are within the limit. your supervisor says "I bet you wouldn't want me to bring you to the boss and let him measure it, would you?" it's clearly a threat: if you don't obey then you will be put alone in a room with your boss and he will touch your thighs. you don't know how to respond. you're taken out of lunch again.
this was my experience at school. replace supervisor with "teacher" and boss with "principal." this was sexual harassment. fuck dress codes.
i had a dream last night that the entire world used a currency (?) called angrypennies which as the name implies are obtained by experiencing anger. the stronger and more intense your anger was, the more angrypennies you'd gain. an all-consuming rage would earn you more than a slight irritation, etc. so people were always searching for ways to fuel their anger and purposefully keeping themselves angry all the time because they wanted to earn angrypennies. unclear if angrypennies could be exchanged for goods and services, or if they were just a collectible.
anyway, as if this wasn't heavy-handed enough, at one point british comedian greg davies appeared and explained that angrypennies couldn't be worth feeling angry all the time. this was a real revelation to dream-me and i was finally able to break free of the angrypenny grind and allow myself to experience emotions other than anger.
it goes without saying that i will be using the word angrypenny as if it was part of the common vernacular instead of a term that my dreaming brain conjured up i.e. "he's all about the angrypennies" (derogatory way to refer to a guy who searches for reasons to be angry and possibly lacks introspection)
I love when people are like “I can’t believe you reblogged that despite their user name, icon, bio, and last twenty posts” bc to me my dash is the only part of this website and I’m not slowing down to look at urls you could all be the same person
#spiritual successor is people being like why didnt you read my pinned before you reblogged!!!#dude i am not. i am not vetting every blog#i am here to backread for 45mins and rb 30 posts in a row and disappear#tumblr life
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Listen, we have to keep this thing circulating on the internet for at least another two decades, because I have to believe that one day that little girl will be grown enough to stumble upon it and She Will Explain
Cinderella goes to the ball but she can't stop seeing all of the servants, and the massive palace that *somebody* has to clean, and all the food that *somebody* has to cook (not too mention all the carriages and horses and what have you that also need maintenance)
I push through the doors into blessedly cool night.
"You lost, sweetheart?" comes a voice behind me.
I whirl to see a figure in the shadows. An ember lights up, but the puff of smoke smells nothing like the cigarettes my stepsisters sneak sometimes. It's... somehow foul and cloying all at once.
"I think I might be," I admit.
The figure steps out of the shadows, a footman wasting time while his master enjoys the party.
"Are all balls like this?" I ask, grateful for the prospect of a conversation with someone who isn't a simpering backstabbing noble.
"Somethin' like that," the voice replies.
In the moonlight I realize it's not a man, but a woman, dressed in men's clothing. Her eyes sweep over my dress and those awful shoes, my perfect makeup and hair. Her eyes catch on my hands, chipped nails and calluses that no magic could hide.
She offers me the cigarette.
"What's your story?" she asks. "Steal your mistress's gown and sneak off to the party?"
My response is somewhat delayed as I cough and hack the awful smoke that I've inhaled too much of. My suffering is met with a snicker, a rough sound so unlike the tittering girls inside vying for the attention of the prince.
It's a sound that fills me with a curious warmth to accompany the light airy feeling rising in my head.
"Would you believe me if I told you a demon wrapped an illusion around me?" I ask. "And that I have until midnight to find my one true love before the spell is broken?"
"I'd probably say you're full of shit," she replies.
One more puff and the little glowing ember is flicked to the flagstones. I watch on fascination as she grinds it into oblivion under her heel.
Then she offers me her arm... as if she wants to take a turn around the estate gardens.
But we're not in the garden, this is a horse yard.
She's watching me with a bemused expression, one eyebrow hiked up towards slicked back hair that barely hangs past her ears.
Sure... why the hell not?
I take her arm graciously, wondering why the world has gone so fuzzy.
"It's true, you know?" I say, whatever was in that smoke has loosened my tongue.
"Hm?"
"I befriended a demon. A little one. Got caught in a rat trap in the basement and I nursed it back to health. In exchange it wrapped me up in an enchantment to make me look like..."
I gesture at myself with my free hand. My companion is still looking skeptical.
"Let me guess," she muses. "You're also secretly a princess."
"Heiress," I reply. "Or I was until my father died and my stepmother took everything and made me a servant. Not that there was much to begin with..."
"And your demon sends you to the ball to... what? Dance with the prince? Fall in love and have your story book ending?"
"I don't think the real world works that way," I reply sullenly.
We step out of the horse yard into a garden. Not one of the perfectly manicured ones meant for romantic strolls, but a crowded herb garden, utilitarian and hidden away.
"What was I thinking coming here?" I ask as I brush my hands through the rosemary. "I thought... I don't know. I thought things would be different outside of the house, but it's more of the same... just bigger than I thought it was."
My thoughts drift to all of the servants drifting around the ballroom. And all of the maids and cooks that wouldn't be seen, but toiled away nonetheless.
"Yeah, shit's fucked," my companion says.
"I wish things could be different."
"Yeah, well, in my experience, wishing is less than worthless if you aren't willing to do anything about it."
I turn that over in my head.
"Indigo," my companion says.
"Huh?"
"My name," she says. "But my friends call me Indy."
"Are we friends?" I ask.
She makes that rough laugh again my heart starts racing at the sound of it.
"I don't know, you tell me," she replies with her sideways grin.
"I wouldn't know," I tell her. "I've only ever had one friend before."
"Your demon?"
I nod.
***
"Rabbit!" I hiss into the gloom.
I can barely keep my voice down from excitement.
My conversation with Indigo lasted well past midnight and my head is so full of thoughts I feel as though I am about to burst.
The little demon pokes its head up from it's pillow. Its hare's face regards the two of us with narrowed eyes.
I once asked it its name and it politely informed me that it's true name was unpronounceable my human tongues. So I had settled for just calling it Rabbit.
"When I sent you off to find true love, I expected something somewhat different," it says, eying Indigo. "Can't say I'm particularly surprised though."
My train of thought falters. What...? I cast a glance at Indigo, who's biting her lip in amusement.
"She's not... I mean... we didn't..." I stammer. "We had one conversation. That's hardly the basis for any kind of relationship."
"Mhmm."
"You know," Indigo says before I can respond, "I expected it to be bigger."
Rabbit huffs and sits up on its hind legs, raising itself up to full height, but even with its antlers, it barely tops two feet.
"Rabbit!" I say, regaining my footing. "We need your help."
It fixes me in its eye again.
"And what help can this minor demon offer you? Remember that magic comes at a cost."
"You told me once that demons are creatures of entropy," I say cautiously, saying the words I've been turning over in my head during the entire ride back her. "You feed on transformation and change?"
I have Rabbit's full attention now.
"What manner of change?" it asks cautiously, almost hungrily.
I suck in a breath and let the air carry the word through my throat and past my lips before cowardice can hold me back.
Their reactions to him trying to give them reasons not to go fascinate me. Makes me think about Carl's last words to him "You know who you are." The problem is, Grace DOESN'T know who he is, but everyone else does. That's why they all look so confused. They all believe in him, they know how smart he is, they all know he can do this, but Grace doesn't.
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Went to the grocery store with my kindergartener. We weighed some bananas: 2 pounds even. We weighed a watermelon: 4 pounds even. We weighed some mangos: a little over 1 pound. We weighed the watermelon AND the bananas: 6 pounds even.
“That’s funny” said the child “because 2+4=6 and two pounds and four pounds is six pounds. It’s like the same as math!”
“What happens if you add 6+1?”
“SEVEN”
“What if we put one pound of mangos on the scale?” <mangos added>
“IT’S THE SAME!!”
“OK, what’s 7-4?”
“Three?”
“What if we take the four pound watermelon off the scale?” <watermelon removed>
“Mama! Are you telling me math works In Real Life? Think of all the things you could measure!!”
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