Me lying down: I feel pretty much fine. What am I doing lying around? I should get up and do something. Or at least sit upright, damn.
Me when I’m upright: oh, Jesus. Oh, damn. Oh, RIGHT—this is why I was lying down.
Me: I don't get it. I thought I was doing a lot better than I was a few years ago. I'm like 10 times more on top of things than I used to be. How does everything feel terrible now?
The Tiny Me in OSHA-approved Hi-Vis Gear Who lives in my brain and pulls all the levers: Boss, it's the fascism. You're completely gunked up with cortisol due to the fact that your entire daily life is now underscored with a haunting awareness of the rapid erosion of your rights, dignity, and any and all social safety nets, and you're also bearing witness to the most vulnerable people immediately being persecuted. This creates a natural stress response that basically means you're going to continue having memory and organizational problems, as well as emotional imbalances.
Me: BUT I HAVE A BULLET JOURNAL AND I MEDITATE NOW.
Tiny OSHA Me: BOSS, THE FASCISM.
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@tboys.club on instagram
disabled people when their disability disables them
Scoff. You guys only fuck with man boobs when they're on a muscular man. Tch. You aren't a real man boob enjoyer unless you fuck with fat man boobs too. You're just a poser. You'll never be able to defeat the demon lord.
So I wait.
for april fools we’re deleting this entire site sayonara you weeaboo shits
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blogging from the depths of autistic burnout • he/him • adult
300 posts