Told my therapist I felt like I was in a downward spiral but when she asked for the arc length and curvature I knew I was actually at the Mathematician again
when the blackberry bushes have thorns to discourage mammals from monopolizing the consumption of their fruits and encourage birds to spread their seeds but they don’t know that the mammal in question is ME #notdiscouraged
oh, no, you misunderstand me. those were my monkeys. yeah the circus and i have since parted ways. yeah it was the elephant thing, i dont really want to address that right now though
(Mouse requested a bedtime story about “nothing.”)
Once upon a time there was nothing, and it lived in the corner of Mouse’s room. There was space between the bed and the cupboard that was big enough for nothing else.
There wasn’t much room for nothing in Mouse’s house. Everything everywhere had something in it, and sometimes more. Everywhere that looked like it might have nothing really had something, like dust or a cornflake or a LEGO head or a shadow, and if it looked like there was nothing for even a moment, someone would come and put something there.
It was very hard to be nothing in Mouse’s house. Every corner had something in it, and if it didn’t, there was a spider living there. Everything was always some colour or another, and usually some noise. Everyone was always putting a book down on you. Or spilling Ribena on you and pretending they hadn’t. Or complaining that there was no room for anything, and shifting about all the other things, but never making room for nothing - only moving it uncomfortably about the house. “Nothing’s ever where I put it in this house,” they’d say, but complaining.
And even when they weren’t doing all that, they were always talking about nothing. Someone would always be tripping over it, and then would yell that they had tripped on nothing - there was no privacy for nothing around here - or they were saying that nothing was wrong. Even when it was quiet someone would say, “did you hear that?” And, “what was that?” And, “it must’ve been nothing.” They would poke it; and then say out loud that they had poked nothing, but never got into trouble for it!
As a result of this, nothing began to feel cross, and put-upon, and uncomfortable. It was also a bit lonely, and wondered if it wanted to be something. So it thought very hard, and was SOMETHING.
This was certainly more interesting, and everyone came and looked at it, and said Look At That Thing, and That Really is Something. They poked it, and said they had poked something, and that something was there. They said, “I can smell something,” but with more interest this time. Then they spilled Ribena on it, and something came out of the corner and ran about the house, and everyone wanted to know all about it, and why the Ribena was in Mouse’s room in the first place.
Something was interested in the attention, because it was true - it really was something. It was chased all around the house now. Everyone said, “it’s up to something.” But instead of sitting quietly, something wanted something to do.
So something followed Mouse, but at a distance, because Mouse was always tripping on something. And Mouse and Mama went out in the pushchair, and something followed them.
Mouse said, “I see something!” And Mama said, “what do you see?”
And Mouse said, “I see GEORGE.”
With that, George had to be George, and was a boy thing. He was puzzled by this, and sat in Mouse’s lap, and was pushed around in the pushchair. “What is a George?” George asked.
Mouse explained that a George was a bit like a monkey, with a tail, red, with a face, a lot of red fur, and small, and smelly. Smelly of sharks.
“I’m smelly of sharks?” George said, quite unexpectedly upset by this. “What do sharks smell like?”
(George had only just stopped being nothing, and didn’t know.)
Mouse explained how sharks (which astute grownups will remember are small BLÅHAJ stuffed toys that mice incidentally shoplifted from IKEA, across which we shall draw the veil of amnesty) smell of bedtime, and possibly Ribena.
“I don’t like that,” said George, and tried being George anyway. George went to the shop, and ran about on the floor for a bit, and everyone said, “what is THAT?” And it was George.
George said, “I want to go home,” so they went home, and went to bed with the shark.
But then George knew the end was coming, and so he said to Mouse, “this is too much. I want to go home.”
and George didn’t fit in his corner any more - because it was big enough for nothing.
So George went POP and turned back into nothing.
Mouse said, “yes,” and nodded. And Mouse talked to George anyway.
And then Mama came and said, “who are you talking to, Mouse?”
I need to do this. (Doesn't do it) (Doesn't do it) (Doesn't do it) (Doesn't do it) (Doesn't do it) (Doesn't do it) (Doesn't do it) (Doesn't do it) (Doesn't do it) (Doesn't do it) (Doesn't do it) (Doesn't do it) (Doesn't do it) (Doesn't d
“spicy pillow” jokes aside, I think @flowerkrone’s tags deserve a serious reply:
#my old phone looks like this on my shelf lmao #im too scared to touch it to throw it away #idk what trash this even goes into when its at this point
The pillow-shaped object here used to be the phone’s battery. It’s not a battery anymore. Now it’s a balloon full of corrosive, pyrophoric chemicals and hydrogen gas and it’s one puncture away from burning your house down. I am 100% serious. You should be scared to touch it.
But you gotta touch it, because you gotta get it out of your house before the pressure builds up to the point where the balloon pops. This isn’t going to happen soon – there is no need to panic – but it will happen eventually.
And, indeed, it doesn’t go in the ordinary trash. You put this in the ordinary trash and you’re gonna set the garbage truck on fire. Don’t do that to the garbage collectors, their job is hard enough already.
The first thing you need to do is get a fireproof container. The most common household item that qualifies as a fireproof container is a cast-iron cookpot with a cast-iron lid – often sold as a “Dutch oven.” Any other cooking container that’s unreactive, has a very high melting point, and has a lid made of the same materials will also work: enameled or stainless steel, Pyrex with glass lid, etc.
However: Do not use a pot with a PTFE-based non-stick coating. If the battery does explode, the fire will probably be hot enough to degrade a PTFE coating, producing toxic smoke. (Not that you should breathe the smoke from the battery fire either, but PTFE breakdown products are worse.) Do not use a pot made of aluminium or copper. The fire might even get hot enough to melt those.
Whatever container you use, you might have to throw away along with the phone, so don’t use your good Dutch oven for this. Go to a thrift store and buy a cheap one.
Once you have the fireproof container:
Gently pick up the phone and put it in the fireproof container. If possible, gently tape the phone to the bottom of the container to prevent it from bouncing around. Don’t put any padding in there, that’ll just make a fire worse if it does happen. Put the lid on and tape it shut.
Put a label on the container, something like “DEFECTIVE LI-ION BATTERY – FIRE HAZARD”.
It is now reasonably safe to move the container around. However, if the battery does explode, the container is very likely to leak smoke and get hot, so keep it in a well-ventilated area and away from things that will be damaged by heat. Don’t leave it exposed to the weather, either.
You need to find either a hazardous waste disposal site, or an e-waste recycler that will accept defective Li-ion batteries. I can’t help with that because I have no idea where you live.
However, your local fire department, if you have one, will probably be happy to help. Call their non-emergency number. Nothing is on fire yet, so this isn’t an emergency, but things that can easily start a fire are still within the fire department’s responsibilities. Tell them you have a phone with a bulging lithium-ion battery, you put it in a fireproof container, and you want to know how to dispose of it safely.
If the fire department tries to tell you this isn’t dangerous or it’s okay to throw it out in the regular trash (with or without fireproof container), hang up on them and write a cranky letter to your local government representatives, then keep looking for a proper disposal site.
When you do find a a hazardous waste disposal site or an e-waste recycler, call them and make sure they will take defective Li-ion batteries, before showing up. That’s also a good time to ask if they will let you have the fireproof container back.
I read etiquette and homemaking guides from the 1800s mostly because they're a FASCINATING insight into cultural norms that we often don't think about. I honestly really recommend people crack one of these open at least once--it goes way beyond, like, "what to wear to a ball!!!"
The best ones have advice on decor, how to select high-quality furniture, childrearing, fashion, etc--from a contemporary perspective, and the things the authors feel the need to clarify vs the wild shit that will just casually mention like it's something everyone knows and agrees on is REALLY revealing of the culture and how it's shifted.
And while a lot of the advice is WILDLY bigoted or just outright funny, you'd be surprised how much of it is...just genuinely timeless, and shockingly compassionate.
They ALSO, as a writer, have INVALUABLE resources--because, again, they're talking about things that are so MUNDANE that a lot of the time nobody really sat down to formally document what normal, everyday people thought or cared about--because that's boring! But a book written to provide advice and information to, say, a young woman who's never run her own home before? You can fully expect an entire chapter dedicated to The Types Of Oven, and which features are useful and worth spending money on, and which features are a huge hassle to clean and a waste of space, and what to spend that money on instead.
And like. As a writer who frequently works in the 1800s? Fuck inflation calculators, this is the kind of thing I need. This is absolutely priceless.
Now that being said.
My current favorite 'etiquette guide' in the world is actually like....70% purely practical advice, written by a gentleman the groupchat has affectionately dubbed History's Most Autistic Man In The World, and thank god they didn't have Aderall back then
Because the AuDHD is strong in this one and as a result, in addition to the deeply practical and useful everyday reference points, we also have:
Everything about this damn post is so funny to me. The lighting of the arm from the flash. The posing of the arm like a dramatic death from a novella. The fact the photo somehow got taken still and looks this good. The subreddit name. The fact this guy really is built like crash bandicoot
amandla
snowghoul
jacobvanloon
turnnoffyourmind
baratheonpilled
