Mislaid Diaries Of A Storyteller

Welcome to the storytelling page of of a lost wanderer in this eternal labyrinth.

[queer-as-in-fuck-12]

drug addicts deserve housing, food, water, and healthcare btw

[mysmistree]

Everyone does. Work ethic does not determine worth. This goes doubly true for someone whose focus and abilities are impaired by an addiction. We should have healthcare they can access without being an irreplaceable software developer that can help get them out of it and ween them off of it rather than demonize them and make them homeless.

[mysmistree]

Emotions are, by and large, very bad at taking turns. And so inevitably one must put them in line and give them order and try very hard not to acknowledge the one shouting profanities.

[mysmistree]

Love, romance, etc, for those who append themselves to that experience, (I am covered in tack marks and post-it note glue), feels very much like having a drawer in your house, a single drawer full of the things you adore. When it fails, the bottom cracks or something gross spills within, and eventually it becomes useless or troublesome. And it is never any less the drawer where those pretty things go, but it is less one you can open. My thumb is also covered in bandages.

[manuciruja]

awww the like button turns into a rainbow when you press it! that's so cute...hey staff what's with all the trans women you keep nuking?

[manuciruja]

i think we should be ridiculing them more for this. you don't get to try and go all "queer website" when your staff likes to go on nuking sprees targeting the trans fem users

[smadsel]

would be remiss not to mention that the rainbow notably straight up just removed the trans flag colors from it. like they’re gone. it’s the progress flag minus the trans flag colors.

[smadsel]

that’s not the whole flag, now is it

[manuciruja]

hey staff what the fuck

[villainessbian]

hey staff don't you think you're being too on-the-nose

[shrodingers-catgirl]

HEY STAFF DONT YOU THINK YOU'RE BEING TOO ON-THE-NOSE

[mysmistree]

Emotions are, by and large, very bad at taking turns. And so inevitably one must put them in line and give them order and try very hard not to acknowledge the one shouting profanities.

[imstillalexcomic]

After reading this comic yesterday, my wife responded with, “…bad girls are hot.”

Eyyyyyyyyyy

I'm Still Alex - Webtoon | Tapas | Linktree | Patreon

There are many things going on politically that are frustrating, but something that I find even more frustrating is how telegraphed the trajectory we’re currently on was and continues to be.

Roughly two years ago, there was a family member that I outlined how exactly this was going to happen.  How certain minorities were going to be labeled as being intrinsically criminal, and how this would lay the groundwork for future atrocities.

I pointed to specific language in Project 2025; Republicans literally spelled out what they were planning to do in advance.

I was ignored.

I’m not sure what it takes to get our fence-sitting “allies” to care, they might never…

…but given enough time and how bad things eventually get, they’ll say they did.

[lizardho]

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about some of the people I interact with. I have a coworker who I am pretty sure is a MAGA type, and she is also a lovely woman who is dreadfully overworked and so good at connecting to patients when they call. I can see the conflict on her face when she talks to me, a gigantic tranny dork who speaks Spanish and affirms the LGBT community, but can also talk to her about her cows and knows about guns and stuff. I can see the fear in the eyes of my former Young Men’s leader when he misgenders me and realizes that I’m not an ideology but a person he has known for a long time. I can see the way my extended family stop and stutter over political discussions when they realize they are talking about me. And I don’t know why but lately it’s just made me think about my neighbor as a kid.

When we moved to Arizona, we moved next door to a lovely retired couple - John and Lucy. John was a veteran of WWII, he had an M.D. and a Ph.D. in radiology, and he LOVED us to pieces. His wife, Lucy, was a sharp and gifted woman - well spoken, very observant, and VERY clever. I just know that she used that cleverness as a mom to great effect, because with my and my siblings she always managed to find a way to send us home with candy and treats for a week despite my dad’s protests. We loved them, growing up, and even though they have long-since passed away I love them still, and I love what I learned from them.

John was, as stated, a WWII veteran. He was enlisted as a rifleman, and later as a front line medic, starting at Point Du Hoc and moving inwards to France and towards the Rhine. He let me do a report on him in 6th grade where he shared war stories with me he had kept to himself his whole life - he said it was out of respect for his friends who didn’t get to come home and tell their stories.

He said he told me because he knew I could respect the memories of his friends.

He showed me his collection of medals, and which he’d kept hidden away in a sock in his attic because he’d feel an immense grief any time he saw them. He had wanted to be a doctor his whole life, prior to being drafted he was studying medicine and had taken the Hippocratic oath to Do No Harm. He saw his medals as a reminder that he had Done Harm.

After telling me his stories he was able to convince himself that while he had Done Harm, it was only because his only other alternative was, to him, cowardice. He chose to be brave even if it meant acting against his Oath because he felt that if he didn’t do it someone else would have to go in his place and he would be responsible for the harm that befell them. I don’t think that’s true, but for him it was and that was something no being on earth could have ever dissuaded him from believing.

He shared wild stories - melee combat on the beach, clearing artillery bunkers, receiving a Purple Heart for being injured in hand-to-hand combat with a Wehrmacht rifleman he said he felt pity for because they were the same age and he had to imagine the man he was fighting had been drafted just like him.

He shared how he was awarded a Silver Star for charging a machine gun nest, but shared that he was most proud of not killing anyone in the process. He threw a grenade with the pin still in it and when the machine gunners jumped to avoid being blown up they were killed by someone else so he didn’t have to do it. He took the machine gun and shot the other machine gun in that French field to pieces so he didn’t have to kill the people operating it. He said they were giving out Silver Stars like candy but I knew he was being modest.

He told me about being redesignated as a medic, about how he crawled for about 500 yards on his belly to rescue an injured tank driver, then threw him over his back and crawled the same 500 yards back (1000 yards total) to treat his injuries. He said he met the man in an Army hospital in England after his spine was broken by a high explosive panzer shell was fired through a hollowed out French farmhouse and landed about 20 feet away from him.

He told me about all the people he helped and saved as a medic, he told me about his work in radiology and research after the war. He showed me a hallway that was quite literally wallpapered with academic honors he’d earned as a researcher. He told me about how his first Fourth of July back was a horror show for him because fireworks and German artillery make very similar sounds. He told me about how he woke up in a cold sweat well over half a century later hearing the screams of German artillery men being burned alive with flamethrowers, or hearing his own voice apologizing to the young German soldier he stabbed in the heart at Point Du Hoc.

He told me that when he was asked to present at a medical conference in Germany 25 years after the war ended that he was so scared he couldn’t step off the plane, and that his wife had to hold his hand and lead/pull him with her. He said he was not scared because he was worried about being triggered, but because he knew that someone somewhere outside of that plane had the course of their life irreparably altered by his military service. That to someone out there he was the cause of immense suffering and harm. That some unwitting waiter could be the son of the Nazi Officer he stabbed in the heart with a 12-inch hunting knife. That some woman asking questions in the audience would be the daughter or widow of a man he sent to judgement with a .30-06. He was scared that they would hate him.

He knew what the Nazi’s had done, he knew better than anyone I’d ever met. He’d watched the documentaries, he’s seen the PoWs returning from camps, he’d seen the civilians massacred and tortured by their regime, but he also knew that among the monsters were people like him - idealistic 20-somethings who only wanted to make the world better and were ripped away from that life by the Nazi war machine. And he spent his whole life mourning the loss of innocence and peace that was forced on so many people by such a corrupt power.

To be honest I don’t know if I could do that, but he could. He told me he could still feel the dead and lost with him, both when he slept and when he woke. He told me he thought he’d go to his grave never having told a word of this to anyone. That the stories of him and his friends and allies would disappear silently with him and those like him. That he had wanted that until he realized that he didn’t have to sell out to share the stories - that he could give the stories away for free to someone who would love the people in them, and not just the content of them. He didn’t want his stories to be used as Patriotic Pornography by some TV network or magazine. He wanted the people he knew to be respected, he wanted their memories to be honored and loved, and he entrusted me, a 12-year-old “boy” to do that.

He told me for years afterwards that after telling me these stories that he slept better than he ever had. That by sharing the stories with someone who could hear Him over the din of victory and glory and honor and revisionistic history. Someone who could see the man in the story and not just see the plot of a battle being won. He wanted to be human, and he wanted the people he saw die to be human too - everyone, not just the people on his side. He wanted someone to see and to know the anguish of having to look someone in the eye as heartblood muddies the ground beneath them and hope that they understand that this was not an act of love or hatred but an act of desperation. To hope that you had just taken out One Of The Bad Ones instead of a medical student or a poet who had been drafted. He wanted me to see how hard he had worked since then to build a world without scarcity, to build a world of peace. He wanted me to know SO badly that the cost of violence, any violence, even necessary violence, is always ALWAYS paid by both parties involved.

I think about the rise of the new right wing - the new Nazi movement’s traction in politics, and I feel sad and scared - the world that Johnathan J Yobaggy, my neighbor, my friend, and my hero, worked SO hard to build is being done away with by people who do not understand the cost of the path they are entering. I can see brief moments of recognition in the eyes of some of the people I mentioned - The former young men’s president who immediately regrets misgendering me and hen he makes eye contact with me and sees Me staring back at him and not a faceless “ideology.” I can hear it in the voice of my uncle who quietly comes up to me to apologize for some homophobic comment he made absentmindedly. I can see it in the eyes of racists and sexists being interviewed on TV when they realize that they didn’t vote for a concept, they voted for a real thing. And honestly, I have mixed emotions about it. Because while I understand frustration with the status quo, the importance of basic human needs like affordable good and rent, and I know the fear that comes with feeling powerless, I also can’t help but grieve the endless wheel of history bringing us back to this God Damned Fucking Place again. I hope we can avoid this fate, not just for our sake but for the sake of everyone who has ever tried to make the world safer. For everyone who has ever tried to make up for human nature, for everyone who has ever placed themselves on the offering plate to protect others from the cruelty they know lies just under the surface of mankind’s tenuous grip on progress. I want SO badly for there to be a solution to this, for the people who idolize the Nazi party and the impact of fascism to see that the price of this path is paid in more than just blood but in soul. That they’re allowing themselves to be devoured too. I want for the centrists and the fence sitters and the idealists who want to “change it from the inside” to see how dangerous our politics have become. I want them to see that they’re losing the things that make them great in exchange for a security blanket that’s now become far far far too small to ever work for them again.

Safety found in the past is already gone, and safety found in the future is only as real as a daydream. That any ideology that promises that by “joining us now we’ll make things rough so we can make things safe in a decade” is a promise made by those who will not have to fight the battles they send you to.

I don’t know if America was ever really great, but as long as John was alive it felt great to me. There is no ideology that can replace a neighbor. No tax plan that can replace a friend. No grocery bill that can replace community and connection. No amount of budget cuts that can replace kindness. No amount of suffering from people I hate that will ever make more love. I don’t know how to make America great, but I know how to make my America great and it is not by selling out integrity and compassion and community and fucking humanity to make eggs and gas cheaper. It is by seeing and hearing the people around me. I’m not Mormon anymore, but I still know the value of mourning with those that mourn and comforting those that stand in need of comfort. I’m not Christian anymore but I still have Eyes That Can See and Ears That Can Hear. I want to make this all stop but I can’t stop the collective power of tens of millions of people so instead I listen to my MAGA coworker tell me about how sick her kid was last week. I make jokes with my Young Men’s leader. I hug my uncle. I let them see me fully, as a human and not an ideology. As a woman and not the concept of gender. As a whole person and not someone who can be easily summarized or boiled down into something short and quippy. And I let them know I can see them fully too, and I can see all their humanity as easily as they can see mine. I just have to hope that this works - that enough people can See and Hear the people in their lives who matter to them to bring them out of their personal world of forms and into the real world.

I am probably, honestly, just spiraling a little bit. I took my ADHD meds today and in addition to helping me focus they make me a little anxious so I doubt things are as bad right now as they seem. But just in case there’s any truth to the way things seem to be going, remember, and I mean this seriously: Be kinder to each other, be gayer, and read more Terry Pratchett.

And for the love of god day hello to your neighbor.

[mush7221]

Table Top Transition

[the-bitch-mob]

fuck it. be creative even if you never really *make* anything. write out plot synopses of stories and then move on. design OCs you'll never use. make mood boards and concept art and don't do anything with them. life's too short to forget everything that inspired you and creation doesn't have to be "complete" to be worth the time you put into it.

[saywhat-politics]

It’s Tough Getting Older

[cat-mermaid]

holy shit this dude is killing it

[in-a-mellow-tone]

Found the comedian, his name is Andy Huggins and here's his NPR interview

[rudjedet]

Controversial Truths About Ancient Egypt Masterpost

The pyramids were built by contemporary workers who received wages and were fed and taken care of during construction

The Dendera “lightbulb” is a representation of the creation myth and has nothing to do with electricity

We didn’t find “““copper wiring””” in the great pyramid either

Hatshepsut wasn’t transgender

The gods didn’t actually have animal heads

Hieroglyphs aren’t mysteriously magical; they’re just a language (seriously we have shopping lists and work rosters and even ancient erotica)

The ancient Egyptian ethnicity wasn’t homogeneous

Noses (and ears, and arms) broke off statues and reliefs for a variety of reasons, none of which are “there is a widespread archaeological conspiracy to hide the Egyptian ethnicity”

[thatlittleegyptologist]

The carvings at Abydos aren’t modern machines but recarvings over old carvings. Sure they look like them but if you can read hieroglyphs and know that Ramesses II will even usurp the carvings of his own father just to be a little shit

[rudjedet]

‘No soot on the ceilings and walls of the Dendera temple!’ is actually because of extensive restoration works and not because Egyptians were in on shit like Baghdad “batteries”

While the Egyptians were fine-ass astronomers they didn’t align any of their enormous and/or important buildings to modern star constellations, because constellations look very different now than they did ~5000 years ago 

The pyramid is the simplest, sturdiest shape with which to build and many different cultures discovered this in their own time. There were never any weird fish humans/aliens involved

[rudjedet]

The sphinx of Gizah is only an approximate 5000 years old; the 10,000 year/rain erosion nonsense is proven hokum

Speaking of that particular sphinx, the Napoleonic expedition is not responsible for its missing nose

Akhenaten was not a “heretic” by contemporary standards

Ramses II appropriated a lot of his predecessors’ buildings/reliefs and isn’t really deserving of the epithet “the Great”

The Battle of Kadesh ended in a stalemate (twice)

[rudjedet]

While they had feline deities throughout their history, Egyptians didn’t actually worship cats themselves. This was a later Greek/Ptolemaeic addition

It was not, in fact, practice to shave off eyebrows after cats died; Herodotus lied about that

Herodotus lied about a lot of things and many misconceptions about ancient Egypt can be traced back to his Greek ass

[rudjedet]

I can’t believe I forgot my favourite Hill to Die On

Seth was not the god of “evil”, and despite his chaos providing a foil to order, he wasn’t completely villified until very late in Egyptian history, when he became associated with despised foreign enemies

[rudjedet]

Hats off to the few of you who’re reblogging this with tags saying you’re going to check my claims later. You make me not entirely despair of this hellhole.

Here are some vetted Egyptological books/sources (that are by and large appropriate for a lay-audience) you can find most, if not all of the above:

Lehner, M., The Complete Pyramids

Wilkinson, R. H., The Complete Temples of Ancient Egypt

Hornung, E., The One and the Many: Conceptions of God in Ancient Egypt

Dunand, F. & Zivie-Coche, C., Gods and Men in Egypt

Kemp, B., Ancient Egypt: Anatomy of a Civilization

Bard, K., An Introduction to the Archaeology of Ancient Egypt

Stevenson Smith, W., The Art and Architecture of Ancient Egypt

Kitchen, K. A., The Life and Times of Ramesses II, King of Egypt

Sweeney, D., Sex and Gender (in Ancient Egypt)

McDowell, A. G., Village Life in Ancient Egypt:  Laundry Lists and Love Songs

Te Velde, H., Seth, God of Confusion 

[rudjedet]

Guys do me a solid and reblog this version instead of continuously asking for sources on the other versions thanks

[chronic-backpain]

Excuse me please post ancient erotica link

[rudjedet]

hey it’s not my fault people keep reblogging the version without it!

[mysmistree]

Hello, world. I wrote a book!

It's a gathering of all my favorite short stories I've written in the last eight years. I'm quite proud of it, and it already hit the top of one of the genre lists during the first days of release.

But, I figured it'd be nice to post here, especially for anyone interesting in my writing not interested in navigating the blog.

You can find it down below.

I hope you'll enjoy!

[multiplikitties]

(i've split you into images to spare everyone's dashes. readmores on asks when...)

i totes agree on a large bulk of this. human psyche and identity have been modelled as multiple or as systems of parts for well over a century, and doesn't necessarily have anything to do with what we consider full-blown DID. what natural human multiplicity specifically entails depends on who you ask, but i'm personally a fan of a lot of concepts brought up in action systems, role theory, multiple identity enactment, ToSD, ego state therapies, postmodern identities, and research on how the personal, social and cultural self may develop and be experienced in a dissociative way when one is essentially raised on the internet.

it's absolutely true imo that there isn't a universal magical point where someone 'becomes' a 'dissociated system'; dissociative experience and identity is fluid and subjective. it's being diagnosed that's a boolean affair – you're either assessed to 'hit the mark' or you're not – so the idea of a dissociative threshold is just an artificial consequence of that. there's no inner or intrinsic threshold for personal sense-making or experiencing, just a threshold with regards to what is considered to fall under a diagnostic definition. and even that is up to a subjective assessment that relies on how a clinician interprets your testimony, your presentation, and each diagnostic criteria itself.

I firmly believe that the infighting I’ve seen in the community relies a little too much on psychiatry to ever actually be good-faith. If you allow solely people with power over you to define who you are and how you experience things to limit your judgment and your worldview, you’ll inevitably come to a point where you believe things that benefit that form of power and hold up the ideals that form of power want you to uphold.

yeup... the reification of diagnostic categories by most people but especially by survivors is so frustrating. manuals create the illusion of discrete diagnostic entities for clinical convenience, not because there are literally only xyz amount of 'ways to be'. and when each disorder construct is worshipped and becomes the basis for connection and sense-making you limit your ability to understand yourself subjectively, in ways that benefit you, and in ways that may challenge the status quo (which is OK!!).

by using psychiatric constructs as explanatory frames you ostracise yourself from others with sister experiences. my experiences fit under the DID construct, but i have very similar identity issues to people with pure-BPD, and i have very similar identity issues to people with no particular diagnosis. that's because i'm a person with countless factors that have made me who i am, and the label that roughly conveys a portion of my experiences isn't the limit nor basis of who i am.

at the end of the day, the fact i 'have DID' is not, and is never, why i experience myself the way i do. because i don't 'have DID'. my experiences align with the DID clinical construct, that may be used as a rough indicator of what kind of treatment i may benefit from. but because that's a mouthful, we're stuck with 'have'. it really makes it sound like it's something intrinsic to us.

it's an interesting point that dissociative experiences lend themselves to doubt which may lend itself to clinging to psychiatric categories. i do believe you're onto something. especially when conforming to these labels and advocating for them is arguably one of the only ways for survivors to be accepted by clinicians and other institutions of power. it's scary to challenge rhetoric around pwDID and trauma survivors, in spite of how regressive a lot of it is, because without it, a lot of folks feel they have no other way to have space in society nor be recognised as someone that truly struggles.

it's understandable why people are so protective of their legitimate survivor status and try to align themselves with psychiatric categories and ruthlessly reject anything that may radically challenge them – because, yes! if institutions of power catch wind that the only way they can accept your kind is by radically accepting the amount of abuse and diversity experienced by the populus and, god forbid, rethinking the psychiatric system, there is a good argument that they will just choose to reject you. it's – emotionally, socially, institutionally – easier on the average survivor, i imagine, to accept what is given to them as fact, and to mold themselves and their worldview to it. for many there's no reason, really, to question any of it. if you don't fit, you're the problem, of course, and that applies to self-policing and finding normative justifications for your own accounts as well. it's comfortable, because it's socially and institutionally rewarding, in a world that should be kinder.

i think it's very interesting that 'dissociative system' is considered a uniquely medical concept (in the sense that it just is, it just exists) in a lot of spaces, because a lot of our current understanding of what a dissociative system entails is – kindly – far more spiritually and socioculturally originated than many would like to admit.

i think people kid themselves if they believe that their dissociative systems of varied identities were spontaneously formed as a disorder package, purely as a result of traumatic experiences, and are not, instead, the result of a socioculturally-embedded individual, making sense of themselves subjectively and fluidly like any other, whose very real chronic posttraumatic and dissociative influences on their identity and functioning made seeing themselves as various more-or-less distinct entities or distinct parts of a self useful and fitting.

it was an awful fallacy in the 20th century that dissociative systems must provably exist as separate functioning people to be 'real'. it still is now. and the fact that multiple identity is socioculturally-embedded and subjective does not mean that complex dissociative experiences under the DID label are socially-induced. disabling unconscious symptoms are disabling unconscious symptoms, and diverse manners of sense-making are not that, but are also valid, even if not 'real'.

not that any manner of sense-making is 'real' in the first place, lol. DID discourse is just full of double standards. the perception of being one continuous person, and in being one disrupted person, and in being various sub-people, and in being multiple people, are all equally subjective, unprovable, and fine.

i'm generally a lot less into the 'gotcha' than most, that a lot of plural dissociative systems may not realise they actually do fit conventional DID or OSDD models because they are dissociated from their dissociative indicators. i don't even necessarily see perceptions of oneself as multiple identity as inherently dissociative; that would be disrespectful, in my opinion, to spiritual and religious populations, and generally still promote the pathologisation of atypical sense-making processes.

i'm always a lot more fascinated by how defensive many are about the idea that DID and dissociative systemhood is a package experience that simply 'exists', instead of being a multifaceted experience that often features the subjective perception of having distinct multiple identities – a subjective perception that anyone else may also come to have, for literally any other reason.

[mysmistree]

So, this lead to something I wished to raise to people's attention, most especially, because of the idea that singlets could, in-fact, be made of parts that aren't dissociated or in pieces, and the emphasis on the gradual difference that may exist from one of a singular identity to a system.

This implies that there is a spectrum of middle grounds. And in fact, I can share one of them from the writing world, pointed out and notated in Margaret Atwood's book On Writers and Writing.

Numerous authors over the course of history have expressed some sense of Otherness that comes about or can be considered when writing. The example she gives, of which I will provide a link to a free pdf, is Jorge Luis Borges, who at one point wrote a paper called Borges and I, where he describes 'Borges' as "the one things happen to."

In a particularly enlightening paragraph he writes, "I like hourglasses, maps, eighteenth-century typography, the taste of coffee and the prose of Stevenson; he shares these preferences, but in a vain way that turns them into the attributes of an actor."

Ranging wildly from the attributes of masking to an alter having to impersonate their interests to achieve another's goals, this is a sentiment that sits very comfortably in this middle ground. In all ways 'Borges' is the creative, 'Borges' is the writer, and so 'Borges' is the Professor and Lecturer, the Adored, the Renowned. And yet there is of course, the 'I', whom I will call Jorge because I am neither Jorge nor Borges.

I believe all persons bear within us what might be called the 'modes'. The inspired writer is an avid penman, but upon the cessation of the idea, would sooner convince you that inspiration wrote the piece and that they bear no control over it.

But there is control, there is a person who does the writing, who crosses bad sentences and howls at their own jokes. The Other.

The Writer.

And well, as someone who writes, I know this feeling well. I know that the woman who is an adoring fan of the quill is not writing mini-essays on tumblr at one in the morning. We are obsessed differently and thus we are different. And yet without a doubt she borrows my eyes and I borrow her tongue and we both masquerade as the other half the time so everyone else will know a one of us all of the time, half the time, none of the time.

So to that, I cite the very last line of Borges and I,

'I do not know which of us has written this page.'

[thulium]

[alwaysscreechingbasement]

[teashoesandhair]

This doesn’t include the best bit of the whole thing - she found the Twitter thread!

[black-feather-fiction]

This is like one of those romance novels where people bond over accidentally writing each other emails but better.

Like Pride and Prejudice but instead of the love interest getting dissed for his toxicity and then reforming, it’s just two people bonding over dissing a dead toxic asshole.

10/10 would recommend

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

🥹❤ (from discworld.com insta <3)

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

[storybookprincess]

being sick & miserable objectively sucks, but it has become significantly easier to cope with since learning that “sickness behavior” is a well documented part of the body’s immune response

feeling not only physically but also emotionally like fucking garbage is unfortunately an extremely effective way to force your body to prioritize fighting infection & keeping you alive. i don’t have to like it, but knowing why i get weepy & pathetic when sick does help at least a little

[autumn2may]

i just found out that this is not common knowledge and am reblogging so more people know

YOUR BODY DOES THIS ON PURPOSE

YOU ARE NOT A BAD PERSON BECAUSE OR "WEAK" WHEN YOU ARE SICK IF YOU CAN"T CARRY ON AS NORMAL

[tartrazeen]

Rereading this on my sick days 🙏🏽

[gothiccharmschool]

Why do I feel like I should print this out, frame it, and hang it in my office?