#and why my shoulder fucking KILLS

[seasonallydefective]

Search engines really need a toggle for “just the facts please” vs “some maniacs discussing this on Reddit”

Because sometimes I’m experiencing things science has yet to explore and I need the maniacs to validate me

[coquelicoq]

i just don't understand what milady has done that was so bad. sure she killed and she kidnapped, but who hasn't? sure she's a terrifying demon of vengeance, but she deserves it? good for her??? all these men treat her so reprehensibly and she's smart and talented and she should kill them all if she wants to. i support her.

[triglycercule]

eusgahhhhh goddddd the lazy urge to just beg the internet to mansplain killer's lore to me in baby talk so i can finally GET IT and then the other less appealing urge to actually do an analysis on him so i can form my own opinion and observations. fucj

[fatal-blow]

actually im making a second, slightly related post about how healthcare professionals expect you to have the knowledge and language to convey to them what's wrong, and rarely go out of their way to ask relevant questions about the problem you're having

the fact that I've had any success in navigating the healthcare system is only a small part because my doctor is cool. most of it is because i got sick of people shrugging at me and sending me along, while barely spending time to ask me anything more than basic questions, so i went and fucking did it myself. and then when i came back armed with the knowledge of what's going wrong, i was fortunate to have people who saw my competence (coughcoughbecauseimmasculinecoughcough) in taking charge of my own treatment, and let me do what i want

not everyone has that privilege, and certainly not everyone has the time or ability to spend hours researching their body issues and then essentially come up with their own treatment plan. and god forbid if i didn't have access to the internet where I'm able to get this information in the first place? like yeah, i refused to fall through the cracks, but at least some people were willing to toss me some climbing gear, and actually believed in my ability to crawl out

like this stuff isn't rocket science. it took me a year and a half of self-teaching to reach a point where i can probably do what most physiotherapists do, better than them, and with treatment methods more comprehensive than "just stretch the ouchy"

part of me wants to go to school for physiotherapy just to find out if the teaching methods are failing or if the people who become physiotherapists just kinda suck or if healthcare simply does not know what to do with chronically ill people

[acebytaemin]

was just watching a video on what to do if you feel unsafe in public bc of a man and i remembered how i made a guy backtrack and lift his hands in surrender bc of the way i looked at him after he touched my shoulder LMFAO

[transmechanicus]

A-!

[sevenseasaurus]

so do the rest of you guys just simplify your dreams when explaining them to people or do I just remember a significantly weirder degree of depth than the average bear

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

they just didn't have to write him as "a great philanthropist"; "a generous benefactor of the empire bay planetarium"; "frequent officer of the empire bay press guild"; "a frequent target of political slander and false arrest because of generosity towards the press"

and at the same time write him as the first of the others to organize drug trafficking; a man who tried to kill all his competitors; "a shady bastard, even for guys in this business"; "ruthless modernizer"; a man who secretly views his close friend as a liability; "the man who killed his own boss" to take his place

"few will moan moretti's passing" from the lost heaven's newspapers and there's nothing like that in the cut-out news reports about carlo's death

[asterdeer]

been planning to do my mini road trip today to get my peaches for the end of my rotting in bed vacation so OF COURSE guess who woke up with a fucked up neck/shoulder/elbow/wrist so bad that they had to cancel on themself and sit still in a chair all day waiting for the ibuprofen and the ice pack to work (and they never did work). you get three guesses

[horrid-mothlegs]

My joints boy,,, boy my joints

[cloutchaserkineme]

fail, girl!

5:49 p.m. Friday, on a straw mat, with peel-off lipstick on

When we were in a journalism competition, a newspaper columnist came and held a small workshop for us small budding high school students. She was one of those old-Martial Law era types, the ones who got the grit and experience necessary to survive being a journalist here in the Philippines, a dragon with callused wings swanning into a place full of ickle baby lizards with fresh bits of slick membrane still clinging to our scaly lids.

She asked who among those of us competing for the copyreading category in the room wanted to become a journalist. I was the only one who tentatively raised a hand.

She was confused, and a bit disappointed that none of these little reptiles who managed to clear the first two rounds of the competitions wanted to pursue fact-checking and editing and newswriting in totality. I thought she was just reacting as an animal bred for her field- her life was words, and she couldn't fathom anyone else trying so hard to succeed in a field they weren't going to nurture and continue in any way.

At least, that's what I thought she thought then. Now I know she was probably just confused. No other deeper meaning to it.

Like I am right now. I have not been a law student in two to three weeks, just simply going to events and covering them and interviewing clients and transcribing quotes and attempting and failing to write the articles I need to write from them.

I feel impotent and stupid and just plain useless. Those kids who didn't raise their hands... they were smart. They were onto something. They knew that this wasn't a field to pursue if you wanted to be successful in the long term. These smart kids, achievers and top ten placers in their school with their latinate appellations a soft launch for their three-to-four letter profession markers in their certificates.

They were just there because the journalism competition held a lot of points in class and school rankings, not because asking people and getting answers and writing those down and spreading them out was fun and nice to do. They were smart, playing the game like that. I just played with whatever they gave me and never thought to do anything that required higher thinking skills with it.

They gave me a pencil, then a pen, pointed me to people and events and ideas- and I wrote. I didn't think anything beyond that.

Now I type, heavily and with such excess. I don't like what I type, and I think I hate typing...even writing this update is very tiring for me. I don't like it anymore. I don't like the updates getting from my bosses and coworkers, I don't like being jealous and envious of my coworkers having their ducks in their row and effortlessly slaying this industry I thought I was a good fit for. I don't like working for people who use money to do fucking shit in my place, I don't like platforming [type of company redacted for anonymity purposes] on our articles, and I fucking hate talking to people in a large crowd.

A few days ago I met a journalist who never asked questions (fully online desk reporter, though she worked in local print media like I did) and was more anxious than me and I felt a kinship with her and she was nice. Until I saw a friend of mine during the same event, and she congratulated me for getting into law school, and that my cousin from my father's side who failed the bar exam thrice but was married to an attorney he met in law school was surprised that I was still there and why I haven't quit the silly little news writing thing I was doing. And this journalist congratulated me for doing such a good job. I felt like a fraud, like I have inadvertently put her under the same illusion I somehow cast over everyone else- the spell of "oooh look at her she is a competent person who has her ducks in a row".

She has expectations of me that I don't know how to meet!

And I was stressed but I wasn't as stressed as my friends who were also working in offices with solid hours and good career prospects and great work-life-school balance and they had three midterm exams back-to-back.

You know what I did with those same hours? Nothing. Just daydreaming and sleeping thinking about fictional characters being loved and nothing else and I have put off so much. The gig I took, the articles I am three to four days late in passing, the fucking law school!

Killing myself isn't even going to cut it anymore, the phrase has been slicing over so many thoughts in my head for nine months now that the edge of it has dulled and it can't pierce through the brain fog right now.

I want to have my cake and eat it too, like the greedy Jupiter-Venus person that I am (but the Mercury-ruled detriment of both these planets is literally knowing that this isn't practical or realistic or rooted in explainable and measurable actions). So yeah... we go fucking on? I don't know. I don't have much faith in myself any more.

Do I learn how to say no? Or how to stop saying yes?

(30) 6:34 p.m.

[mildmayfoxe]

when are they gonna invent something that makes periods stop altogether this birth control aint doing shit

[caracello]

'close your eyes and only open them when the voice tells you to.' < see it's fine he'll wake up. Okay we're good i don't have to blow everybody up.

[chenziee]

Whenever i go out for more than 3 hours and am surrounded by more than 3 people that whole time, I am on recovery for 3 weeks

[pansygrowl]

idk. maybe I need a hobby so I stop feeling so fucking useless outside of WP1 homework.

[onrainynights]

I'm not even asking for much literally I just need a job like that's it just a job that won't literally kill me would solve like 70% of my problems and well the other 30% I can't do anything about anyway so let me fix what I can fix and give me a job PLEASE