Jules of Nature
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Today's Document
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@ivytinwe
[image description: drawing of a whale saying “Just because some people have it worse doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to be unhappy with your situation.” in a light blue speech bubble.] requested by alxxander-hamilton
Please keep that in mind - it’s your own unique situation, so you’re allowed to feel and experience stuff differently than others!
The stars are the same
When Nuvethis passed the portal, she felt a strange tingling in her heart. So, this was the new land. The uncorrupted Draenor, not torn apart by magical energies. She had seen and experienced what the nethermagic and Ner’Zhul’s attempt to flee had done to his homeworld. With every step taken on this spoiled soil, she had felt the twisted, evil energy deep within. She looked to her side, over the people she had accompanied. Khadgar had led a few adventurers through the Dark Portal, who were fighting tooth and nail to stop the oncoming invasion. After the endless war, there weren’t as many soldiers left, and most were dispatched to rebuild - and heal - the damages Hellscream has caused. “We have to establish a foothold.” Khadgar’s voice yanked her back to reality. Nuvethis blinked. “More troops will arrive shortly. Let’s prepare them a good home, shall we?”
Nuvethis had seen Shadowmoon Valley, as it had been poisoned by years of using fel magic. She had seen its grey hills, the seas and rivers of thick, green ooze seeping through the narrow cracks. The constant rain of green fire, the black skies, ripped apart by cackling green lightning. Illidan’s Black Temple, formerly known as the temple city of Karabor, with its burned black walls. But this was beyond her wildest dreams. Lush, green lands stretching over soft hills, dotted by small trees and rough cliffs. The sky, stuck in the soft hour between dusk and night, was completely covered with stars. For a moment, she felt terribly homesick for the millennia spent in Ashenvale with the same skies hidden behind the treetops. “I will be scouting the area”, she just said to a man clad in Stormwind armor, who saluted. Then she jumped on her nightsaber’s back, and bolted out of the gates.
She almost screamed with delight, as the wind ruffled her black hair and threw her arms in the air. The nightsaber growled softly and nuzzled his big head on her shoulder. They have been together for a long time, exploring the various lands of Azeroth and Outland. And now they were here. Nuvethis tickled his chin. They were resting on a hill, in the shadow of a huge tree, overlooking the grassy lands. Then she saw it: a small flickering nestled between hills, where according to the map provided by the locals, no camp should be located. “Let’s check it out, Moonfang”, she whispered and got on his back.
Custom Kigurumi made by Savvy Shabby Shibas! http://savvyshabbyshibas.com/ https://www.facebook.com/SavvyShabbyShibas?fref=ts
..and the obligatory cat. <3
She sheathed her weapon and kneeled down. The kill has been easy, the dead Orc wasn't really a fighter. Besides his blunt weapon, he didn't wear any specific armor. But he attacked her, so she had to defend herself. She ruffled through his pockets, looking for something valuable. He won't need it anymore, so why not taking it? Finally her fingers touched a small leather purse inside his shirt. For a moment, she weighed it in her hand. Not much, but better than nothing. After opening the crude knot, she saw some coins - just a few silver - and a clumsy written note on paper. "For home", it read in the almost barbaric letters orcs used. Nuvethis' eyes narrowed. He was a peon. A badly paid peon who was just working to send some money home to his family. His parents, siblings, maybe a wife with kids. And she had just taken the few coins he could spare from his small salary. But in the end, he was just an Orc. Just a small pawn in this large game that called itself "life". She snorted and took a few coins before closing it again and putting it back where she found it. Maybe the money would find its way home.
What if the first people to hear a cat's purr were like "Wow, I like that sound. Gonna keep that little fucker."
Or a playstation or a flat screen TV or a newer car, etc and etc. I know people that work under the table for half their pay and get paid on the books for the rest and collect welfare. I know of drug dealers that collect for tax purposes even though they pull in thousands of untaxed money each month dealing. Tell me how I am not supposed to be upset with these people like I am with greedy corporate cronies? I’m not heartless. These people are selfish and unethical.
Except not everyone who has nice things is automatically cheating the system. People are given things as gifts. People buy things and THEN qualify for assistance. People save up for nice things. You can’t assume what someone’s situation is just by what they own.
We were eating only donated Panera bread, rice, and turnips. My father was sneaking to the various blood banks in town to sell his plasma at twice the rate they allow. My mother was dying due to not having her medicine, which cost well over $1,200 a month after insurance. My autistic baby brother wanted to do something nice for me. He worked for months making custom art pieces to sell. He worked up courage despite crippling social anxiety and speech problems to ask the neighbors if he could do chores for them to earn more money - raking the yard, helping clean their house, walking their dogs. For nine months he carefully hoarded his money in a jar in his bedroom. He counted it every single night and compared it to the cost of what he wanted to get for me for Christmas. Finally he had enough. He bought me a DS Lite and a pokemon game. He was so happy. Until one of our neighbors, a highly conservative jackass, saw me with it outside a couple weeks later. My brother was with me. The neighbor stormed up and became screaming at us, a pair of teenagers, over how we could be so selfish to spend money on “electronic shit” when we were a family on food stamps. Spittle flying from his lips, cuss words every other second, rage radiating off of him so violently that our father came running out of the house - at a limp, since his spine is broken, which causes him horrific daily pain beyond what I can imagine - to protect us. My brother was never the same again. There is no happy ending here. That episode in his life changed him permanently and for the past seven years he has almost never left his room and never gone to a friend’s house. He is terrified of the neighbors and believes he is a bad person. Because of fucking people like you OP. Because of fuckers who believe that they know what life is like for everyone and have a right to judge. So fuck you OP. If you know drug dealers, report them, go on and put your ass on the line then. But for fuck’s sake don’t you dare thing you understand what goes on in the life of the people who live in never-ending, grinding poverty. Because you have *no fucking clue* what goes on in the detailed lives of others. You want to talk selfish? Look in the fucking mirror.
This is an important post.
that time Bill O Reily was shocked and appalled that poor people could afford *gasp* A TV AND A FRIDGE IN THEIR APT? and went on a rant saying these ppl shouldn’t be on welfare because they have a plasma tv and fridge because obviously poor people need to not have tvs and fridge because poor ppl should be storing their food underground in holes and draw on walls with stones and sticks for entertainment.
When I was a child on welfare, eating rotten lunch meat, walking in shoes with cardboard in the bottoms to cover the holes, I had an extensive collection of My Little Ponies. Not “one or two horses”; over three hundred, all told, and almost all the major playsets. Maybe, oh, 10% of the total came from my mother, over the course of the eight years I spent collecting and living with her. The rest were gifts from family members who didn’t know about our situation, but knew from Gramma’s chatty “everything is fine” letters that I loved My Little Pony. They were from the charity groups that let you sign up and specify what your children wanted for Christmas. They were from me saving every penny I found on the street. They were from favorite teachers who knew how poor we were, who wanted me to have birthday happiness. We’re talking thousands of dollars of plastic horses, almost none of which took a dime from Mom’s budget. And the ones that did? She was a mother trying not to break her daughter’s heart.
Every time someone yelled at us because poor people shouldn’t have nice things, we all died a little inside, and I clutched my horses even harder. I needed something bright and beautiful in the world, to make up for the roaches in the walls and the mold growing on the butter.
Unless you’re someone’s accountant, you don’t know where they’re putting their money, and it’s not your place to judge.
I am right at my fucking limit for judgemental shitstainery today. I just. I fucking CANNOT with these assholes.
Firstly, POVERTY IS NOT A FUCKING BINARY STATE. You aren’t either “poor” or “not-poor”, with absolutely zero middle ground between. Ceasing to be poor isn’t like a fucking Pokemon evolution - you don’t just shed that shit like a snakeskin and turn into a whole new being in seconds. Ceasing to be poor, especially in the face of severe social and economic pressure, is hard fucking yakka, and it happens slowly, in increments, over time, without sudden lottery-style explosions of new money but frequently featuring disappointing setbacks, and that means small things can improve before the big things do - like, for instance, being able to afford a shiny new phone to replace the dying one you’ve been stuck with for the past two years before you can afford to go off welfare. This sort of logic also ignores the idea that you can BECOME poor and still have around you the trappings of previous better-offness, like quality appliances. As convenient as it would be for the kind of troglodyte who likes to judge by appearances, becoming poor doesn’t mean you have to go hand in all your cool shit at the pawnshop, not least because a lot of that stuff - like functioning fridges and dryers, for instance - will SAVE YOU MONEY when you really need it later.
Secondly, anyone who thinks that poor people are fundamentally undeserving of luxury or treats or pleasure-buying or anything else that might alleviate the enormous fucking strain of being poor - because any departure from subsistence-level living means you’re an Eebil Welfare Slobqueen! - can go FALL IN A WELL AND DIE. I am fucking serious: if you, financially secure douchebag, have EVER gone and bought yourself a treat in order to make yourself feel better after a shitty day - if you’ve picked up some feelgood chocolate, or a new game, or a pricey bag, or a toy, or even something as simple as a taxi ride rather than a bus ticket because it was raining and you couldn’t face the queue - then you can SHUT THE FUCK UP FOREVER about the immortality if feelgood purchasing by people with less money than you. Because what you’re saying, when you sit down and police what people can and cannot buy, and the circumstances under which they buy it - what you’re saying is that poor people ARE NOT ENTITLED TO EMOTIONAL SECURITY; ARE NOT ENTITLED TO COMFORT; ARE NOT ENTITLED TO JOY, because they should be too busy scraping by with every fucking penny they have to notice that scraping by is utterly fucking soul-destroying.
Thirdly, a lot of the things you’re deeming “luxury” items? ARE FUCKING NECESSARY FOR GETTING ONESELF OUT OF POVERTY. Let’s see you try to jobhunt without a working phone or internet access. Let’s see you try to grocery shop on a budget for a family of four with no car and a freezer that’s just big enough for a couple of ice cube trays. Let’s see you keep yourself looking professionally presentable and your children schoolready when you’re handwashing all your clothes in the bath and hanging them out to dry on the radiator you can’t afford to turn on half the time, because your tiny income means choosing between warmth and medication.
What you’re doing, OP - you and other privileged assholes like you - is assuming that poverty is somehow EASY; that there’s no emotional, psychological toll to it that might ever need to be alleviated - not for adults, and especially not for children, because the children of poor people don’t deserve happy childhoods; presumably, they should just get jobs and work for their toys, as though this were Dickensian fucking England. You see objects, but not the sacrifice behind obtaining them; to you, objects have no context, no significance beyond their cost and status value, because THAT’S ALL THEY MEAN TO YOU. I used to work for a government department in Australia that provided free fridges and washing machines to people on welfare whose own had broken, and which they couldn’t afford to replace. I rang one woman to tell her that her fridge request had been approved, and she was literally fighting back tears of relief - not only had she been spending extra money she couldn’t afford buying groceries day to day, because all the food was spoiling without anywhere to keep it cool, but she’d been having to keep her young kids from realising just how bad things were, too - she’d told them they were having Ramadan early, fasting early, to explain why there was no food all of a sudden, and she didn’t know how much longer she could keep it up. I approved a washing machine for a single father who was struggling to keep his children out of foster homes after their mother, who had been their primary caregiver, was arrested; he needed one for the social workers to let him keep his kids, but was between jobs and didn’t have enough cash to replace the one that broke.
tl;dr: THERE IS NO ‘RIGHT’ WAY TO BE POOR, BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING RIGHT ABOUT POVERTY. STOP POLICING POVERTY WITH YOUR MADE-UP FUCKING CHECKLIST OF RULES, AS THOUGH IT’S SOME COVETED, ADVANTAGE-CONFERRING CLUB THAT LAZY PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO SNEAK INTO INSTEAD OF A DIFFICULT, HEARTBREAKING, LIFE-THREATENING SITUATION. YOU DUMBASS.
Shit like this always boils down to the following: “How dare you try to live.”
Yeah, seriously. Don’t people have their own fucking lives to worry about instead of policing what “poor” people are owning? GTFO.
I know somehow what it's like being poor and can't afford anything, I've had a few rough weeks with barely enough money for rice or even noodles. I had to ask my mother for money so I could buy food for my cats, and that's the only help I'd accept from my family - support for my pets as I try to put myself through life as good as I can. And I'd do the same if I had children.It's rough to see working people putting money aside for months to treat themselves with something nice, if others, who get more money for not working, always have the newest phone. It's heartbreaking to see people living on welfare to disappoint their children once again, because they can't afford them a doll and they know they will get teased in school for that.The world isn't fair at all, to no one. You can just try to make it a better place for those who deserve it and are thankful for what they get, instead of feeding the void hearts of greedy people. And, I think some people forget that you don't even get old TVs in the stores anymore, and flatscreens are pretty cheap nowadays.
Somehow, I feel bad for the last cigarette in a pack because I think it's lonley and I killed all of its friends.
If you're not trying to love yourself you cannot love someone else this love is like a mask shielding false thoughts
Slaying at Nutella village. Sorry for the bad quality, I do not own a scanner :(
