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Art of my baby Chihuahuas made yesterday for Thanksgiving while I was fasting for Gaza. 💖

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It's been a minute since I posted any pictures of my dogs these are The seven me and my sister own.

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Are you watching a new yasha with my sister

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More sketches

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Some sketches in my sketchbook mostly dogs.

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A sketch of dragon Zelda as I'm at work.

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Time for snow ❄️

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Wolfram,spek,Ruby and Gaia.

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call me soft or whatever but i find it so incredible that people manage to keep themselves alive. like you’re paying rent?? maintaining relationships?? going to work?? every day single day?? in this economy?? on the mental diet we’ve all been raised on?? the effort you must be putting into your life simply by living it is olympian. and it is impressive

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My boy's

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Photo dump

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Painting of my dog wolfram

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The thing about these people are that their parents treat them the same way they treat others. My mom has a story of how her father went up in church and held up a picture of her baby or was supposedly her baby and told the church,look at how gullible my daughter is after she had birth and had a baby I showed her this picture and told her I took the picture and that that was her baby in fact I actually ripped it out of a magazine and framed it that's how gullible my daughter is.. she actually found out right then in church. At that level of parental trust my grandpa would have had to have experience a similar trust broken because it is a learned behavior. and I know my mom did the same to me.it's autism to borderline personality disorder to narcissism in my family's case. How you treat your kids really dictates how they will treat others. And hope God they learn love and kindness and respect from someone. Be it a figure they looked up to or another person in their life. One time my parents had their first baby die a few days after his birth because of a heart defect my grandma came into the room and handed him a baby when they came and visited and called him his child's name.... it was a fake doll.. she was enjoying getting a reaction...pure narcissist. I'm lucky that my autistic interests led me down a path to fanfiction where I learned coping skills and how to truly treat the people you love. Along with having great mentors like Steve Irwin and Jenna marbles. It truly taught me a sort of self love that made it so I could start teaching my siblings how to love themselves and that has been my goal with my nieces as well. A little too much p*** though for a 14 year old on Tumblr. But then again maybe that was good because it taught me a sex education and the ability to understand sexual right from wrong. Which I definitely needed for my household that I grew up with.I definitely was exposed to a lot of toxic behaviors online and offline but I always went about trying to nurture myself so that I could nurture my sister's my boi's and my non-binary pals. 💋 My little sis mostly. I even got to name her it's really one of her middle names but she loves it and uses it as her main name.💞 I love my 2 sisters I love that I learned to love myself. I don't want kids but I want the people around me to feel safe in their own body's. Look in the mirror and tell yourself you're pretty and handsome like you were talking to your best pal your dog. Because it's true just as we can love every dog face we can love our own faces life is wonderful after all it has its ups and downs forever but those UPS are what keeps the story going. I would have missed a lot of good things in my life like my soulmate dog spok who taught me boundaries and how to enjoy myself without the expectations of other people. Or a work Buddy that taught me self love and to expect good from the people around me and don't tolerate the bad. he taught me that there are actual cool people out there. He helped teach me to hope for a future outside of fiction and to not just follow along with people in life.To question and heal is hard but worth it.

on trust and manipulation

Back in early high school, I knew a girl - we were kinda friends by virtue of having multiple friends in common, but in hindsight, she never much liked me - who had this purebred dog. I’d met him at her place, and he wasn’t desexed, which was pretty unusual in my experience, so it stuck in the memory. And one day, as we were walking across the playground, this girl - I’ll call her Felice - said to me, “Hey, so we’re going to start using my dog as a stud.” And I’m like, Oh? And she’s like, “Yeah, we’ve been talking to breeders, we’re going to get to see his puppies and everything,” and I made interested noises because that actually sounded pretty interesting, and she went on a little bit more about how it would all work -

And then, out of nowhere, she swapped this sly look with another girl, burst out laughing and exclaimed, “God, you’re so gullible. I literally just made that up. You’ll believe anything!”

And I was just. Dumbfounded. Because I was standing there, staring at them, and they were laughing like I was an idiot, like they’d pulled this massive trick on me, and all I could think, apart from why the fuck they felt moved to do this in the first place, was that neither of them knew what gullible means. Like, literally nothing in that story was implausible! I knew she had an undesexed, male, purebred dog! It made total sense that he be used for a stud! And it wasn’t like I was getting this information from a second party - the person who actually owned the dog was telling me herself! And I felt so immensely frustrated, because they both walked off before I could figure out how to articulate that gullible means taking something unlikely or impossible at face value, whereas Felice had told me a very plausible lie, and while the end result in both cases is that the believer is tricked, the difference was that I wasn’t actually being stupid. Rather, Felice had manipulated the fact that she occupied a position of relative social trust - meaning, I didn’t have any reason to expect her to lie to me - to try and make me feel stupid.

Which, thinking back, was kind of par for the course with Felice. On another occasion, as our group was walking from Point A to Point B, I felt a tugging jostle on my school bag. I didn’t turn around, because I knew my friends were behind me, and my bag was often half-zipped - I figured someone was just shoving something back in that had fallen out, or had grabbed it in passing as they horsed around. Instead, Felice steps up beside me, grinning, and hands me my wallet, which she’d just pulled out, and tells me how oblivious I was for not noticing that she’d been rifling my bag, and how I ought to pay more attention. This was not done playfully: the clear intent, again, was to make me feel stupid for trusting that my friends - which, in that context, included her - weren’t going to fuck with me. As before, I couldn’t explain this to her, and she walked on, pleased with herself, before I could try.

The worst time, though, was when I came back from the canteen at lunch one day, and Felice, again backed up by another girl, told me that my dad had showed up on campus looking for me. By this time, you’d think I’d have cottoned on to her particular way of fucking with me, but I hadn’t, and my dad worked close enough to the school that he really could’ve stopped in. So I believed her, a strange little lurch in my stomach that I couldn’t quite place, and asked where he was. She said he’d gone looking for me elsewhere, at another building where we sometimes sat, and so I hurried off to look for him, feeling more and more anxious as I wondered why he might be there.

I was halfway across campus before I let myself remember that my mother was in hospital.

I felt physically sick. My pulse went through the roof; I couldn’t think of a reason why my dad would be at school looking for me that didn’t mean something terrible had happened to my mother, that her surgery had gone wrong, that she was sick or hurt or dying. And when my dad wasn’t where she’d said he would be, I hurried back to Felice - who was now sitting with half our mutual group of friends - only to be met with laughter. She called me gullible again, and that time, I snapped. I chased her down and punched her, and the friends who’d only just arrived, who didn’t know what had happened or why I was reacting like that, instantly took her side. Noises were made about telling the rest of our friends what I’d done, and I didn’t want them to hear Felice’s version first, so I ran off to the library, where I knew they were, to tell them first.

I walked into the library. I found our other friends. I was shaky and red-faced, and they asked me what had happened. I told them what Felice had done, that I’d hit her for it, that my mother was in hospital for an operation - something I’d mentioned in passing over the previous week; multiple people nodded in recognition - and how I’d thought Felice’s lie meant that something bad had happened. And then I burst into tears, something I almost never did, because it wasn’t until I said it out loud that I realised how genuinely frightened I’d been. I sat down at the table and cried, and a girl - I’ll call her Laurel - who I’d never really been close to - who was, in fact, much better friends with Felice than with me - put her arm around my shoulders and hugged me, volubly furious on my behalf.

And then the other girls showed up, and Laurel said, with that particular vicious sincerity that only twelve-year-olds can really muster, “Prepare to die, Felice,” and I almost wanted to laugh, but didn’t. A girl who was a close friend, who’d come in with Felice, took her side, outraged that I’d punched someone, until Laurel spoke up about my mother being in hospital, and everyone went really quiet. Which was when I remembered, also belatedly, that Laurel’s own mother was dead; had died of cancer several years previously, which explained why she of all people was so angry. I have a vivid memory of the look on Felice’s face, how she tried to play it off - she said she hadn’t known about my mother, I pointed out that I’d mentioned it multiple times at lunch that week, and she lost all high ground with everyone.    

Felice never played a trick on me again.

Eighteen years later, I still think about these incidents, not because I’m bearing some outdated grudge, but because they’re a good example of three important principles: one, that even with seemingly benign pranks, there’s a difference between acting with friendly or malicious intent; two, that ignorance of context can have a profound effect on the outcome regardless of what you meant; and three, that getting hurt by people who abuse your trust doesn’t make you gullible - it means you’re being betrayed. 

And I feel like this is information worth sharing.  

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Made a memorial piece of my dog Spok. finished it the other day and I forgot to post it here.. the back is covered with runes and their meaning and some of his ashes sealed in the paint. As well as some angel numbers for a new beginning and listened to the frequency 963 Hz well I painted=( the frequency of the universe ) I'm not religious but I do believe in cosmic energy... After all we're just some funky space dust listening to the energy around us experiencing life and all its wonders. Spok was a wonder, My soul dog and my first true friend.

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added more detail tonight

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3 minute husky doodle