Many people in the comments are saying “trauma”, but this is actually a very normal occurrence. It’s called Childhood Amnesia, and it’s a process which, as the brain reorganizes itself for cognitive thought that is developed in late childhood, it changes the Accessibility of those memories during recall. Many childhood memories are available to the person, but they will not be remembered during regular recall activity, you have to “trick” your brain into remembering with different tactics.
This is because there are two parts to memories - their encoding and their recall. The encoding determines their availability, their recall determines their accessibility. The reason why trauma memory and childhood amnesia are different is in this distinction. Trauma memory is often encoded differently, bypassing to the limbic system where it is stored as intrinsic memory. It can’t be recalled because it was never encoded. Childhood amnesia, however, seems to indicate that the memories are encoded, but we lose access to them as we age. This is most likely due to the development of brain structures that fundamentally change our encoding and recall of memory as we get older.
This is an important distinction, because trauma memory is “stored in the body”, i.e. you get triggers that send your body into a cascade of uncontrollable feelings, sensations and reactions. Whereas childhood memories won’t generally do that, they are just recalled at odd times with odd associations.
reblogging this because I’ve legit seen people freaking out when they realised they can’t remember some of their childhood, thinking they might have some repressed trauma.
Toto Wolff Found Dead at Austrian Cabin, Investigation Underway
June 23, 2025 | Voralberg, Austria
AUSTRIAN millionaire and executive Toto Wolff has been found dead at his remote cabin in Vorarlberg. He was discovered by someone living at the residence on Monday morning, believed to be his partner. He could not be revived.
Authorities have confirmed that an initial autopsy was inconclusive and could not rule out third-party involvement. The cause of death remains undetermined, and a formal investigation is now underway.
Police found no signs of forced entry, but the area has been secured for further forensic analysis. Austrian officials are urging patience as toxicology and further testing continue.
—
Alex knows it’s a dream as soon as he’s there. It’s not a place he’s ever been, but rather, seen glimpses of, like a video of a cafe on Instagram. The image in his mind merges with reality in a blur. He recognises the A-frame of the roof, the color of the timber.
George steps over a corpse to reach Alex.
His hands are still. That much is memorable. There’s a cold, sinking feeling in his chest that cracks like ice on the surface of a lake, as soon as George’s fingers find him. Alex cannot recall if he’d looked down onto the ground to see who it was that had died, only that he knew they were dead and they were there and all it took was one long stride from George to have cleared the shape of the person to moor himself to Alex.
George had said nothing, the blue of his eyes so striking, wide with something Alex could not identify. Spooked, like prey, or blown with adrenaline like a predator. It was impossible to tell, all Alex had in front of him were the facts. That George’s hands were not shaking; That he had not looked down at the body, unable to take his eyes away from George.
It’s rare, for Alex to dream of George anymore. Often he exists as a side character, a familiar steadying weight, cannon fodder for whatever storyline has contained itself in his mind over the years. He remembers saying to Lily, a year ago maybe, I had the craziest dream last night, while she’d cut into the yolk of her poached egg at breakfast. Oh yeah, she’d said, watching as the bright orange drizzled down onto the avocado and sourdough, about what? and Alex had gone cold all over when he’d remembered that in the dream, he and George were away together on a retreat. Something Lily had mentioned to him a week earlier, yawning. This looks nice.
He must have thought so, since, in the dream, he’d been there with George and they had been together in all sense of the word. The crazy part of the dream had not been that he’d gone with George, it was that every time either of them turned a tap on in the hotel bathroom there had been custard coming out instead of water. Alex it’s even coming from the bloody shower he remembers dream-George exclaiming.
Can’t remember, he’d lied to Lily, guilty. A full body shiver. All I know was that it was really weird. Lily had laughed, either at the tone of his voice or the way he’d said something, but she hadn’t looked up at him to catch the expression on his face. For that, he was thankful. It’s not my fault, he’d imagined having the discussion with her, as if she would ever know that he dreamed it or would interrogate him about it at some point, I can’t control what I dream about.
In reality, if Alex had told Lily what had really happened in the dream, she would have found it funny, eyes dipping into crescents, her small hand on his arm as she laughed.
This is not a dream he will tell anyone about.
When George’s still hands find Alex in the dream, they clutch onto his arms with a significant tightness, not quite uncomfortable, but sharp and firm. Like the taut angles of George’s body, the high strung way he conducts himself; never really relaxed. Tense, still, when grasping onto Alex, his bare skin.
When they were younger Alex had always been too cold and George the opposite. Sweaty even after a brisk walk across campus, never needing a coat. George would often bring a jacket out when they’d go drinking and drape it across Alex’s shoulders after they’d leave the pub. He would never make eye contact with Alex when he would do so, and Alex would tease him with a dry mouth, laugh when George’s lips would twitch into a smile.
Perhaps, that is the second indicator that Alex is dreaming. George’s fingers are not burning with warmth as they used to be. When his hands find Alex, he’s ice cold, grip like metal handcuffs on Alex’s wrists.
He tries to say George’s name, then, but nothing comes out. In the dream, George is as Alex remembers him, not as he is now. Young, smooth skin and hard jaw. Eyelashes that bend inwards, hair more blonde than brown. He’s so pretty, Alex has always thought so. There’s a prettiness to his shock that doesn’t go unnoticed by Alex either, the concept of a George in motion, drawn toward Alex.
Suddenly, though, the George in the dream is gone, stepping back, away from Alex with disgust. Alex looks down at his wrists, expecting to see them frostbitten or covered in ice. There’s blood, brown smudges on his skin. I’m sorry, George is saying, frowning, brows knitted together, Oh I’m so sorry, I made a mess on you. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.
Alex wakes somewhere over Germany, heart beating in his ears. It doesn’t take him very long to calm down. He enjoys flying; travels all the time with Lily's schedule. He asks a flight attendant for a coffee. Drinks it slowly, since it’s hot, and not very good. He thinks about messaging George on the airplane WiFi, I had the craziest dream last night, but doesn’t. Stays awake, all the way to Austria.
“And they tell you that you're lucky, but you're so confused
'Cause you don't feel pretty, you just feel used
And all the young things line up to take your place” - the lucky one
My uncle was one of the top surgeons in the country. He was upper middle class definitely. When he got cancer, his insurance didn’t cover all the treatments he would need and after 5 years he drained his savings on cancer treatments (while still working most of that time) and eventually died because he couldn’t afford the expensive treatments that might have saved him.
If you are upper middle class and you get sick, it will likely bankrupt your family. It’s fucked.
Honest to god - even if you make 6 figures a year? you're closer to poverty than true wealth. Check your shit and remember who your real allies and enemies are guys.
A 6 figure income is a lot right?
That’s say: 223,000 dollars a year
Which is 112 dollars an hour.
Most people would consider that upper middle class. That’s enough money to have a nice house, go on fun vacations. That’s slight more than the average doctor makes.
223,000 dollars is what Jeff Bezo makes in a minute
There was a wonderful study done about 15 years ago I think, that shows that people cannot accurately identify their income bracket. Most people who own a home think they are upper middle class when in fact they are closer to the poverty line. Even people living well below poverty often identify as middle class. The wealth gap is even worse now. I wonder if anyone actually knows their financial standing.
well thank you max and charles for not making this already tough weekend harder for george. when this season wraps up, and turns out the four more points george gained by finishing P4 here instead of P6 becomes a crucial point in the grand scheme of his WDC fight, i might reward both of you with threesome fic with george.
"But then you think of it like. when we first joined Formula 1, he [George] was at Williams and I was at Red Bull. So it's his turn to kind of—role, role switch."
"I think it's been a long time coming for him, and now finally, he's got that opportunity, which is amazing."
"I'm kind of watching it from afar [laughing]. A couple laps down."
Alex Albon about George Russell and the Mercedes car this year, in Up to Speed, 27 April 2026
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