The One With the Left Foot @iusedtohavesixtoes - Tumblr Blog

I started a Ko-fi because why not? I do not know what I am doing so if anyone has any tips I’ll take them. 😅

Here’s a link, but I’m not expecting anything!

Become a supporter of iusedtohavesixtoes today! ❤️ Ko-fi lets you support the creators you love with no fees on donations.

#nahomie’s art #kofi #just throwing some art on there

reiding-and-writing

Reblog if you're a fanfic writer and you wanna know what your followers' favorite story of yours is ❤

#why not?#I should finish my one story 😭

calocera

whats the worst pain you've ever experienced?

broken/bruised/etc bone

surgery

menstrual

cut/wound

burn

digestive

joint/arthritis

muscle cramp/pull/tear

headache/migrane

sti/std

other chronic pain

something else

Voting ended onOct 2, 2025

#broke my femur at age 29 #the worst pain

bipeoplearentyourpawns

What's your opinion of the Prince of Egypt movie?

i sent a pestilence a plague into your house into your bed into your streams into your streets into your drink into your bread! upon your cattle, on your sheep upon your oxen, in your field into your dreams into your sleep until you break until you yield! I - sent - the - swarm - I - sent - the - hoard - thu'saieth the looooord

once i called you brother, once i thought the chance to make you laugh, was all i ever wanted (ISENTHEFIREFROMTHESKYISENTTHEFIRERAININGDOWN.) and even now, i wish that god had chose another, serving as your foe on his behalf, is the last thing that i wanteeeeeeeeeed (I SENT A HAIL OF BURNING ICE ON EVERY FIELD ON EVERY TOWN!) THIS was my home, all this pain and devastation, how it tortures me inside, all the innocent who suffer, from your STUBBORNNESS AND PRIIIIIIIIIIDE (I SENT THE LOCUSTS ON THE WIND SUCH AS THE WORLD HAS NEVER SEEN FROM EVERY LEAF ON EVERY STALK UNTIL THERE’S NOTHING LEFT BUT GREEN!) I - sent - my - scourge - I - sent - my - sword - thu'saieth the looooord you who i call brother, why must you call down another blow, is this what you wanteeeeeeeed I - sent - my - scourge - I - sent - my - swoooooooord LET MY PEOPLE GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO (THUS SAITH THE LORD) THUS SAITH THE LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORD

you who i called brother, how could you have come to hate me so, is this what you wanted I - sent - the - swarm - I - sent - the - hoard - then let my heart be hardened, and never mind how high the cost may grow, this will still be so. i will never let. yoooour peeeeeeeopleeeeeee go. (THUS SAITH THE LORD) thus saith the looooooooooord i will not let. (let) your- (my people) gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

#i mean #yeah #this song gets stuck in my head all the time

oldbookist

I was working on a history paper today and found a book from 1826 that seemed promising (though dull) for my topic, on an English Catholic family’s experience moving to France.

And it ended up not really being suitable for my purposes, as it goes. But part of the book is actually devoted to Kenelm, the author’s oldest son…and man, his dad loved him.

Kenelm seems to have had a fairly typical upbringing for a young English gentleman, although he is a bit slow to read. At twelve he’s sent to board at Stoneyhurst College—often the big step towards independence in a boy’s life, as he’ll most likely only see his parents sporadically from now on, and then leave for university.

When he’s sixteen, however, his father moves the whole family to France, so Kenelm gets pulled out of school to be with them again. Shortly after the move, his dad notices that he seems depressed. Kenelm confides in him that he’s been suffering from “scruples” for the last eighteen months—most likely what we’d now call an anxiety disorder.

And his dad is pissed—at the school, because apparently Kenelm had been seeking help there and received none, despite obviously struggling with mental health issues. So his dad takes it seriously. He sets him up to be counseled by a priest—there were no therapists back then—and doesn’t send him away to be boarded again, instead teaching him at home himself.

And his mental health does improve. His dad describes him as well-liked, gentle, pious, kind and eager to please others; at twenty he’s thinking about a career in diplomacy or going into the military—which his dad thinks he is not particularly suited for, considering his favorite pastimes are drawing and reading. He’s excited about his family’s upcoming move to Italy, and he’s been busy learning Italian and teaching it to his siblings.

Henry Kenelm Beste dies of typhus at twenty years, four months, and twenty-five days. That’s how his dad records it. That’s why his dad is telling this story. It’s not an extraordinary story—Kenelm’s story struck me because he sounds so…ordinary, like so many kids today. And he was so, so loved. His dad tried hard to help him compassionately with his mental health at a time where our current knowledge and support systems didn’t exist. You can feel how badly he wanted his son to be remembered and loved, to impress how dearly beloved he was to the people who knew him in life.

I hope he’d be glad to know someone is still thinking of Kenelm over 200 years later.

Anyway, that’s why I’m crying today.

oldbookist

@istradion

paddysnuffles

#not me crying!!#history

hellenhighwater

My stage career began when I was a little under two months old, when I took the spotlight as Baby Jesus in a Christmas pageant. I’m told that I did a wonderful job and slept calmly through the whole thing, which can only speak to my talents as an actress, because I was 1. the wrong gender 2. a colicky screaming demon of a baby and 3. about as far from divine as it’s possible for an allegedly-human child to be.

I continued to be actively involved in theater as a kid (and frequently played roles of various small animals, because I was tiny for my age). Around the age of ten, I was cast as the lead character in a musical about cowboys that I no longer remember the name of. It was my first real lead role, and I took it very, very seriously. And because I am myself, that means I maaaaybe went…a little overboard.

My character’s introduction was early in the play, accompanied by the crack of a bullwhip. This was more-or-less pre internet (or, at least, our director was not tech-savvy enough to find sound effects online) and we didn’t have a sound effect track for that noise. There were plans to acquire the appropriate sound effect before opening night, but I rapidly tired of making my entrance during rehearsals to the sound of someone yelling “BULLWHIP NOISE!”

This, I thought to myself, is a problem I can solve.

I learned early in life that it’s good to be friends with people who have skills; they always come in handy eventually. After rehearsals one day, I put on my cowboy boots and biked a couple miles over to my friend Grace’s house. I went down to their basement and knocked on her older brother’s door.

“Hello,” I said. “I need to learn how to use a bullwhip.”

“….Okay,” he said. It did not seem to occur to him that he might ask further questions about why I, a tiny horrible munchkin composed exclusively of rage and pointy elbows, needed to be weaponized any further. Clearly, I had come to the right person.

My friend’s older brother would have been an SCA nerd, if SCA was a thing where we were. Instead, he was one of those unsupervised 4H kids with weird hobbies, largely oriented around ancient forms of combat. He was somewhere in his late teens at this time, and he liked to make stuff. It was an urge I, even at age ten, could sympathize with. His name was Aron.

Aron got out his bullwhip (which I had noticed hanging on his wall on a prior visit, and had filed away mentally under a for future use tab) and we went to the backyard.

“Step one of using a bullwhip,” Aron began, “Swinging the bullwhip.”

We rapidly discovered that since I was god’s tiniest, angriest creation, a full-size bullwhip was way too long for me to use. Aron’s shins suffered for my attempt.

“…Step one of using a bullwhip,” Aron said, “Making a bullwhip.”

So we went back inside, found a tanned cowhide (that he just…had? I don’t remember if there was a reason for this.) and some razor blades, and I learned how to cut and braid a bullwhip. It took a few tries, and I wound up coming back for a while, because I kept getting frustrated with the bullwhip-braiding process and Aron kept distracting me with bait like: “Hey kid, wanna learn to make some chainmail?” and “Hey kid, wanna fletch some arrows?” and “Hey kid, wanna try doing horseback archery?”

Obviously the answer to these questions was “BOY, WOULD I EVER!” Some delays are necessary to the artistic process.

(At one point my mom asked me “Hellen, what are you doing over at Grace’s house all the time?” And I, perfectly innocent, said, “Making weapons!” and my mother, who never understood why I was like this, but accepted that a girl has needs and those needs occasionally involve stocking a personal armory, said “Okay! Have fun!”)

Soon, the bullwhip, size extra small, was finished. The lessons on actual bullwhip use commenced.

It should be noted that Aron was self-taught, and really had no idea what to do, so this was mostly an exercise in the two of us standing twenty feet apart and flailing wildly with our respective whips until snapping noises happened. And then we figured out what we’d done to make the snapping noises. And then we kept doing that. Extremely vigorously. So vigorously that at one point one of the bullwhips launched into the air and caught on a tree branch and we hand to drag the trampoline over so Aron could bounce me high enough to grab it. But we persisted!

Eventually we reached a point where we could line up pop cans on a fence rail and hit them off three times out of five.

Feeling extremely accomplished and like I finally understood method acting, I packed my bullwhip into my backpack for the next play rehearsal. Soon enough, it was time for me to make my entrance.

I leaped on stage in my cowboy boots and cracked the bullwhip as hard as I could, immediately launching into the song despite the fact that the sound of five feet of braided leather breaking sound barrier had startled the accompanist so badly she’d keysmashed on the piano.

The director shouted something she probably shouldn’t have shouted in a room full of small children, and then demanded, “WHERE DID YOU GET THAT!”

“I made it!” I declared proudly. “I’m a cowgirl! I can make my own bullwhip noise!”

“You…made it?”

“Yes! Because we needed a bullwhip sound effect. And bullwhips are where bullwhip sound effects come from!”

This was, of course, impeccable logic.

It is apparently difficult to argue with a gleeful ten year old who happens to be armed with a bullwhip longer than she is tall. After some negotiation, the director agreed that I could use my bullwhip for my opening song, provided that I didn’t pop it while anyone was anywhere near me on stage and I didn’t let anyone else play with it. These terms were acceptable to me.

Somehow, no one was injured and the play went off without a hitch. We can only chalk up these things to the magic of the theatre.

Nearly a decade later, an unsuspecting college classmate asked me, “Hellen, wanna take a class on bullwhip combat with me?”

And obviously I answered, “BOY, WOULD I EVER!”

fire-plug

Personality hire

Working Cats

jeanjauthor

Sometimes you really need a good personality on your staff.

narwhalsarefalling

#that last one #😭#working cats

heartgrooooove

[request box] kaim telling cooke and mack a story

#he’d have the best stories 😭#kaim argonar #lost odyssey #cooke (lost odyssey)#mack (lost odyssey)

It's my 14 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

#14 year tumblrversary #tumblr milestone #well well well #crazy it’s been this long!

mirandaharmon

This happened at Trader Joes.

#i love this #dbz #trader joes

delicious-dream-before-the-storm

Vivaldi played by the South African elementary school Goede Hoop Marimba Band

Turn ON the sound

jd-kickdrum-deactivated20220908

AMAZING

katsdom

Slow down, turn on the sound and take a couple of minutes to enjoy this!

hieronymus-bush

I think Vivaldi would have been tickled by this as he actually wrote so much of his music for an all girl orphanage/school. So to see a group of girls still playing his music hundreds of years later?!?!?! On an instrument he'd never seen?!?!?!