My name is Pixie. But I answer to Fae, too. I'm a fan of fandoms, a writer of fanfic, and mostly on here when I'm avoiding real work (or even fake work). Also, I always reblog bunnies, because my kiddo insists on easily accessible bunny pictures.
the true meaning of Christmas is telling museum guests about Snapdragon
what is Snapdragon? glad you asked
it's a Victorian Christmas game whereby you try to grab currants out of a bowl of flaming alcohol, with your bare hands
I'm told there's some Science wizardry whereby you don't actually burn yourself- most of the time -and videos I've seen of people playing it nowadays would seem to bear that out. but like...STILL
(It goes back to the 16th century, though this image is 1890s)
The myth of Achilles, but instead of holding him by the heel, Thetis sumberges him fully so that Achilles is completely invulnerable and Thetis has one invulnerable hand.
But there would still be two small parts of him that are vulnerable because they were covered by her fingertips at the time, stopping the water from touching them. Which means those fingertips are also vulnerable on her hand
Achilles *putting those little round band-aids on two parts of his ankle before battle*
Thetis *knitting fingertip oven mitts for her thumb and forefinger*
What if she put him in a sack and dunked him in? The water would saturate the sack and soak him and so long as she pulled him out quick, he wouldn't drown. Then they'd have a sack that's invulnerable too and can be used as the most unexpected shield ever.
Imagine Achilles storming Troy with one (1) invulnerable sack for a shield
There's an open pit in the middle of our office plan that drops down into a bunch of very sharp spikes that kill you instantly. This is bad. People keep falling in there and dying. Someone put a sign up, the other day, all bright yellow so you can't miss it, that says "Beware!!! Spikes!!!"
The office immediately split into two factions over it. One says that if anyone falls in the spike pit it's their own fault for being so stupid and not watching where they're walking, so we should remove the sign. The other says that the sign is an insult, there shouldn't be a spike pit in our office at all, and having the sign up like that is just normalising the existence of the spike pit, so we should remove the sign.
We ended up removing the sign. Probably for the better. Still... for a while there it looked like it might have worked...
Nobody has ever been capable of writing a scathingly harsh and well formulated satire about the perils of modern capitalism, that doesn't just get immediately one-upped by some random food service worker talking about their actual week.
First I quit participating in my favorite hobbies. It's not like depression, when I lose interest; I want to write and create and play an immersive videogame. I often longingly pet the yarn of my knitting projects, buy a new mini kit, turn my easel to catch optimal light. I ache for my online communities and desperately miss my friends. I see the things I love slipping away. But I'm too tired after getting through a day of doing a job I love, caring for my children who are the center of my world. I drop the things I want to do for the things I need to do, all the bits that no one else can handle, that pay the bills, that keeps my family living like humans and keeps my pets safe and happy.
The second set to go is all the things that are for me alone: coloring my hair and caring for my nails, washing clothes besides my work uniforms and a couple pairs of pajama pants, luxurious baths, updating my journal. Even making my bed is too hard. I'm not talking about making the covers neat; I mean putting sheets on the bed. I'll sleep on my mattress pad with a sheet over me, and hate myself for it. We go through drive-thrus for supper, or get something delivered. It's not good for my cholesterol or my kids' growing bodies, but it's better than hungry. The dishes have piled up so far we switch to plastic utensils, paper plates. Somewhere in progressing to step three, my work clothes get washed every other week, and I'm using fabric refresher like a lifeline.
Step three is where even work begins to collapse. I'm sick all the time, going to urgent care or my doctor to get a note, exaggerating symptoms and mentally begging "please see me! Please help me! I'm not waving; I'm drowning!" But I know no one is going to see, because I can't get the damn mask off my face enough to look like I need help.
I've been lucky so far in my life. I haven't gotten past this point. I've lost jobs and friends and family through the burnout, but I've always had somewhere to land.
Now there's no landing pad, though. There's no one to catch me, no one to take any of the weight off my shoulders. I drove myself to the emergency room last week, because there was no one available to help.
So I stopped trying to fight through. I went to my doctor and begged for her help.
Just two weeks off, a note to excuse me, a break while we try to figure out what's breaking down in my body. Time to come to terms with whatever is physically wrong while I rest and rescue my home. Please help me, please save me, please help me out of this cycle.
She agreed.
I'm not back on my feet yet. And this time off is taking all the savings I hoped could move me into a better life. But I'm breathing again. I have a precious gift of TIME. I have a chance to survive a little longer, to maybe find a little piece of happiness within me. To get– if not to my feet– at least on my knees so I can fight a little bit longer.
According to Know Your Meme, on August 18th, 2005, Erwin Beekveld brought forth this work into the world. HAPPY TEN YEAR ANNIVERSARY, THEY’RE TAKING THE HOBBITS TO ISENGARD.
every august 18th my notifications break and i go, fuck, tumblr has failed me once again, but it hasn’t. it hasn’t failed me. it’s just the taking the hobbits to isengard-iversary. happy 12 years
do y'all even know how much i hate being an "elder queer" at 40? a whole goddamn generation before me was wiped out by a plague that politicians deemed not their problem bc it was killing the "right" people. like. this was OPENLY STATED. i spent a large chunk of my childhood going to funerals. nevermind the fact that killing queer people for being queer wasn't codified into law as a hate crime until i was a junior in high school.
i should NOT be an elder queer, i should be middle at most. i am a middle aged queer. most of the elder queers died.
when i was growing up i didn't go to pride parades, i went to pride marches. because that's 100% what they were in the 80s and 90s.
from the absolute bottom of my heart, LEARN OUR FUCKING HISTORY. a generation was nearly wiped out so you young queers could be here. don't let that have been in vain, please.
