My cats tooth broke and the root is still in his mouth. He needs an extraction but because hes an older cat they need to do blood work to see if he can be under anesthesia and he has ti stay with them overnight. Its gonna cost $1,152 and theres no way i can pay that. Thats literally my whole check for 2 weeks but i can't leave him like this.
1. Even if hes not showing it i know he's in pain.
2. It can lead to an infection that can literally kill him if it gets too serious.
Like idk what to do. Ive applied for credit that helps for things like this and got denied. Even if i get a second job that would take too long to get the money i need. Im so fucking worried because i dont want anything to happen to blaze but i don't have the money to get him better.
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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
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my two cents are that people outside of finland (and even the more left-leaning circles in finland) are not really taking into account that an average person here doesn’t know jack shit about israel or palestine. the first and only time either of them got mentioned in my 12 years of schooling (i’m a few years younger than jere) was an optional history course focusing on post-ww2 history in my final year of high shcool. jere went to vocational school and they don’t teach history at all there so he’s relying on his junior high education which isn’t saying much considering he’s said multiple times he didn’t pay attention at school.
it doesn’t help that the mainstream reporting (which he’s forced to rely on since he doesn’t speak fluent enough english) about the palestinian genocide has been frustratingly neutral and both-sides-y here in finland. obviously some of that is due to journalistic ethics and responsibilities because our news medias can’t get their reporters within gaza’s borders and they can’t report on things unless the information comes from a reputable source or they can fact check them.
all this is to say that i'm willing to bet actual money he doesn’t even know the definition of genocide in finnish, not to mention IDF or zionism or even judaism. those things are simply not taught here and the idea of him being a zionist is laughable. i studied anthropology at university and the amount of times i’ve had to explain fairly simple concepts like colonialism or genocide to people, even highly-educated ones, is staggering. and i didn’t really understand those things either before i went to university. finland used to love to rave about our PISA scores but the truth is that the level of basic education here has been really poor for decades.
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Okay so I've held onto this one for quite a while bc I was self-conscious ab my art style and how it doesn't look nearly as good as a ton of other prohibited wish artists on here but I think it's time to share it-
I had this idea in my head and I just needed to get it out sooo um.
Sorry for the pain
Also I was testing out how I draw maskless Scarab (which is partially inspired by the INCREDIBLE @time-woods's design for their Carma sorry for the @ I just wanted to credit you for the inspo- btw) so it's changed a bit since I drew this bc Ive gotten more used to drawing him-
I have a ton more art in my backlog I'm just,,, self-conscious lol. trying to get better-
PLEASE [tumblr] fix the quality when I post this bc it looks like ass in the editor as Im looking at it rn
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I fucking did it again
And by "it" I mean opening a document in my "Yo Han's POV" folder of Who Holds the Devil and stumbling over a section I'd forgotten I'd written (or blocked out, more likely). So, for your enjoyment in these trying post-chapter 39 times:
"Sometimes, Yo Han wondered what that must feel like — to be loved so fiercely and wholeheartedly by someone else. Especially someone like Ga On, whose emotions were as wild and unstoppable as they were genuine. He couldn't seem to curb them even if he tried.
It must be breathtaking to be loved by someone like him.
And, blinded by his own idiocy, Yo Han had allowed himself to hope. For a little while, he'd honestly thought he had a chance — that he might get to find out what that would be like. That, just maybe, the emotions he saw flashing past in Ga On's eyes meant something.
He should have known better."
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should probably stop being nosy and going into tags of posts but like. people are misunderstanding me im afraid 😭 i said if youre desexualizing a female character and think the boobs look too big for her body in canon you shouldn't be afraid to make her fatter to make the proportions realistic. like you shouldn't just. chop the boobs off yknow. and now everyone is talking about how it's bad to make a character fat in a desexualized design if it's for the purpose of desexualization WHICH YEAH I AGREE but like. i think it's safe to say my words were decidedly Not for people who already believe desexualizing characters by making them fat is Good. maybe? i don't know man i'm just a guy on the internet </3
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Was just adjusting my budget closer to the holiday season (Oct/Nov), and I realized no I am still upset about being told to not come around for holidays anymore two weeks after my grandfather's passing. I think the timing of "no I actually only want to see my not-yet-fiancé-boyfriend's relatives from now on" wouldn't have been great whenever she chose to drop that particular nugget, but that particular timing? No, I'm definitely still not happy when that comes to mind
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Can we talk about how sad Guinevere's character is. Like she already knows almost everything that will happen to her, including the bad and terrible. She knows how people around her will die (assuming she out lives them and learns how in the future).
There is nothing she could do about it.
One of these terrible events will happen when Lancelot is 23+, which is so bad she passes out thinking about it, and another one is getting kidnapped at 12-13 and not seeing her family and friends for who knows how long.
There is nothing she can do about it.
It seems like she's so obsessed with Lancelot cause he seems to be one of the few good things to look forward to in her future. Which is currently being stuck in Camelot with Arthur unstable murderous ass. But one day even her one eventual joy in life will leave, possibly tarnishing the good moments with him before they even happen, and say it with me...
There is nothing she can do about it.
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