This is the best description I’ve heard for this method, I always thought it was bullshit because I never heard a description that actually explained how to do this other than “tap your head 20 times”.
I have anxiety-induced hissing, which sounds/feels different from sound-induced tinnitus (which I have also experience). Sound-based tinnitus actually sounds like you’re “hearing” something in your ears, whilst the hissing I have feels like it’s “inside my head”, if that makes sense. But this technique still helps!!
In case anyone finds it helpful because mobility aids are horrifically expensive and inaccessible…
And for those people who have access to mobility devices but might benefit from a second chair they can abuse without risking expensive damage…
Erik Kondo has made a website, Open Source Innovations, that details plans for DIY wheelchairs. These wheelchairs can be made from common materials like wood, plastic, and pvc. They are lightweight and can be custom fit to the user allowing from the same degree of movement you would get from a custom chair. And they are durable and easily repairable. (he has been stress testing his latest design by dropping it down stairs, dropping it out of a car, launching it across a driveway, and throwing it off a deck). Its 12lbs and I think he said its was in the $200 ish range for parts.
He also is working on cheap, open source, accessible designs for beach chairs, off road chairs, motorized attachments (think smart drive), and so on. Plus he skateboards in his wheelchair. Cool dude, helpful info, pass it on.
It's incredibly sad people have to resort to this, but it's a damn good resource. Use it. Spread awareness. Maybe one day people with physical disabilities won't need DIYs like this. But until then, reblog and share.
Chat, is it considered “abusive roommate behavior” to release a raccoon into the living space after you have asked your roommate for months to please clean up their messes (they do not pay any of the mortgage)
For context, when I used to live alone I would do something called “Princess Time” where I would do an initial sweep (to remove any significant hazards) and then I would release a raccoon into the living area and clean. This helped because I would 1) feel like a princess and 2) the raccoon would bring attention to things my ADHD brain had decided to ignore and I’d quickly clean that stuff up.
So like, if I’m expected to clean the house now, I will be doing it in the way that is most effective for me. And anything that has not been cleaned up after months of having sit-down talks and sending reminders and being promised things will change, might be deemed “trash” by the trash panda and thrown away.
We haven’t done since we moved into the house, because I didn’t want to cause my roommate or their cats destress or have their things destroyed by a raccoon
I am a raccoon biologist and one of the few people in the state allowed to take in captive bred raccoons that had been possessed illegally. The raccoon in the photos is Moonshine, but she is currently at the animal sanctuary where I work as I had been quarantining multiple new intakes from an abuse case. I still have two males (Rum Tum Tugger and Electra) left in my home enclosure as we are getting them neutered and then hopefully sending them to an AZA accredited zoo.
I wanna make things very clear that underneath all the whimsy, I am a trained professional.
Overlooked humour mine in the popular genre of 'Grace confuses the Eridians about his age' fics is the fact that Rocky's whole "you're a leaky inefficient alien with a stupid brain go to bed so you're less of an idiot" shtick is gonna read way fucking differently if Grace's Eridian age is like six.
Like it's already kind of sus to the Eridians that Rocky is calling the saviour of their entire planet “stupid” about eight times per conversation, but hey, maybe aliens are informal like that. Maybe they're all super modest about their intelligence.
Then exhausted, weakened and malnourished Grace lets slip that he isn't even forty yet, and it takes him a few moments to figure out why everybody is suddenly (metaphorically, given the lack of faces) glaring at Rocky.
Someone rushes off with a comment about needing to contact Pebble Protective Services. Somebody else is suddenly between him and Rocky asking him kindly if Rocky often says mean things to him and has he ever hurt you, question?
Obviously Grace is going to correct them and let them know that he and Rocky are friends, this is all part of their dynamic, he's actually an adult, it's fine.
Eventually.
In the mean time… “oh yeah he says that stuff all the time. Especially when he's making me do chores like carry things for him, or fly the ship on my own, or do space walks. He says I keep almost killing us because I'm stupid and clumsy.”
Everyone pauses to echolocate at Rocky like he's a fucking monster. The official Eridian-Alien liason hums soothingly at Grace. “Grace doesn't deserve bad bad bad things to be said to him. Grace is very brave.”
“Thanks,” Grace says, deliberately trying to sound as pathetic as possible. He sniffs and pretends to wipe away a tear. “It's hard to remember that when Rocky keeps making fun of me whenever I cry.”
Everyone echolocates the Eridian equivalent of daggers at Rocky again. A few of them growl and shake their fists.
Rocky realises reluctantly that threatening to throttle Grace unless he stops talking, satisfying as it would be, probably isn't gonna help him beat the Pebble Abuse allegations any time soon.
An adaptation of Sherlock Holmes set in a world in which the fictional character/literary juggernaut Sherlock Holmes, and all the subsequent adaptations thereof, still exist.
Sherlock Holmes (pronounced Holl-mess, as he is constantly reminding people) just had the misfortune of having parents who really liked the books, and his attitude towards his fictional counterpart is pretty much the same as that of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Sherlock runs a Youtube Theory channel called Mysteries Unwrapped with Sherlock Holmes. He has received no less than seven cease and desist letters from the Conan Doyle estate, all of which he has so faded managed to rebuff by pointing out that that's literally his name.
(No he won't change his name. He's Sherlock Holmes the real live human person. Let Sherlock Holmes the non existent fictional character change his name.)
John is Sherlock's flatmate. Sherlock almost refused to live with him once he realised that it would mean staying with a medical student named John, and only gave in once John pointed out that: a) he's a biomedical student, which is completely different from an md, and b) his surname isn't Watson.
It's now been three years, which is long enough for them to have developed a genuine friendship, and for John to have a) started working towards his PhD in biotechnology, and b) for him to start dating somebody with the surname Watson.
Sherlock can feel the narrative closing in.
His Youtube channel is meant to be focused on lost media, fan theories and stuff like that, but he keeps accidentally stumbling upon and then solving genuine crimes.
His brother Mycroft may or may not have chosen that name after he transitions specifically to annoy him.
He doesn't even live in London, but somehow the only flat they could afford was on a street named fucking Baker Street.
Sherlock Holmes and the Unescapable Power of the Narrative.
He goes to the local theatre where they're performing an old play that Sherlock helped uncover, but someone switches a gun around so that one of the actors actually gets murdered. Everyone is looking at Sherlock to solve the case, which he refuses to do. But as he storms off and tries to stay away from everything in the cafeteria, he accidentally finds a vital clue in a trash bin. He has to return, and overhears a suspicious conversation. He can't escape and gets his name in the papers. AGAIN.
A friend invites him to their uncle's manor in the woods to get away from the media, only to stumble on a big party. There's a locked door mystery, and all the phones are dead so they can't call the cops. Sherlock knows all the tropes, but can't seem to avoid them.
Roommate John has started a video blog where he secretly records Sherlock every time he's ranting about being drawn into yet another mystery, where after Sherlock realises he's being filmed, John turns the camera on himself and finishes the video in a posh british accent using as many quotes from the books as he can before Sherlock tackles him.
An adaptation of Sherlock Holmes set in a world in which the fictional character/literary juggernaut Sherlock Holmes, and all the subsequent adaptations thereof, still exist.
Sherlock Holmes (pronounced Holl-mess, as he is constantly reminding people) just had the misfortune of having parents who really liked the books, and his attitude towards his fictional counterpart is pretty much the same as that of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Sherlock runs a Youtube Theory channel called Mysteries Unwrapped with Sherlock Holmes. He has received no less than seven cease and desist letters from the Conan Doyle estate, all of which he has so faded managed to rebuff by pointing out that that's literally his name.
(No he won't change his name. He's Sherlock Holmes the real live human person. Let Sherlock Holmes the non existent fictional character change his name.)
John is Sherlock's flatmate. Sherlock almost refused to live with him once he realised that it would mean staying with a medical student named John, and only gave in once John pointed out that: a) he's a biomedical student, which is completely different from an md, and b) his surname isn't Watson.
It's now been three years, which is long enough for them to have developed a genuine friendship, and for John to have a) started working towards his PhD in biotechnology, and b) for him to start dating somebody with the surname Watson.
Sherlock can feel the narrative closing in.
His Youtube channel is meant to be focused on lost media, fan theories and stuff like that, but he keeps accidentally stumbling upon and then solving genuine crimes.
His brother Mycroft may or may not have chosen that name after he transitions specifically to annoy him.
He doesn't even live in London, but somehow the only flat they could afford was on a street named fucking Baker Street.
Sherlock Holmes and the Unescapable Power of the Narrative.
This idea genuinely would not leave my brain until I wrote something with it. So I did. I sort if took my own route with it without reconsulting the original post, so some details are different, but ehh whatever.
I wrote this at like 11:00 at night and I haven’t edited it and the dialogue needs work and I made some really random choices but I brought it into the world and that’s what matters.
Sherlock Holmes–yes, that was his name–was cursed. He was cursed by his mystery-loving parents, Deborah and Jacob Holmes, who had looked at their innocent second born little baby boy and decided that it would be a brilliant idea to name him Sherlock. So, Sherlock Holmes was subject to years of ridicule and repetitive questions (is that really your name?, are you going to be a detective when you grow up?, have you ever solved a murder?) Maybe he would’ve been a detective. He would’ve thought about it if he’d had any other name. He always had a knack for solving puzzles. Like his parents, he also had a love for mysteries. He loved Agatha Christie especially. However, it was somewhat of an struggle finding good mystery content when you had a hatred for anything Sherlock Holmes. Personally, Sherlock believed that he hated the fictional detective almost more than Sir Arthur Conan Doyle himself did.
If it was just the name, maybe Sherlock would’ve been willing to let it go. He could’ve grown up, forgiven his parents, and moved on. It would be a fun conversation starter. But that would’ve been too easy. When Sherlock was around 14, his older sibling (by about seven years) came out as trans. There were thousands of great names that he could’ve chosen. Sherlock even sat down with him and offered suggestions. But, alas, his brother hated poor Sherlock just as much as his parents did. He chose to name himself Mycroft. When he told Sherlock of this decision, he was very nearly punched. It was a dumb name, anyway.
So, Sherlock Holmes had an older brother named Mycroft. That was fine. That was completely fine. Despite this, Sherlock tried to distance himself as much as he could from his fictional counterpart. If he noticed something, he didn’t often point it out. He learned to play the viola, and the piano, and the saxophone, but he did not dare touch a violin. He was told many times that he was musically gifted. He chose to ignore these statements in favor of maintaining any sort of identity and sanity. He read as many books as he could get his hands on. He took multiple college level philosophy classes, and tried his best to stay up to date with politics. That, and he threw himself full force into astronomy. He discovered, to his great relief, that he loved it. He finally decided that he was going to major in astrophysics. He enjoyed science, and he loved the stars. Sherlock Holmes (the fake one) didn’t know shit about astronomy.
He was a few years into college and doing well. He planned on moving out of the dorms, and realized that he should probably find another roommate. The days of comparing himself to a fictional character were far behind him, and he mostly thought the whole situation was a bit funny.
He found a roommate. He was funny, and intelligent, and majoring in history (with a focus on military and diplomatic history). He loved mysteries also, and was maybe a little to excited to meet Sherlock, learn about the history of his name, and his whole life story. Still, he was pretty much perfect. His name was also John. Jonathan Walker. It was fine. He wasn’t a doctor. His last name wasn’t Watson. This was fine.
Sherlock Holmes moved in with a roommate named John.
They both graduated. They continued to live together. A woman was murdered on their block. There was a message written by her body in blood. Sherlock did not go near the crime scene. Still, he heard the sirens the night that it happened. So desperately did he want to know what had happened. He knew he could’ve. He and John could’ve walked over to the crime scene and talked their way in and examined the body and maybe solve a murder.
But they didn’t.
The police made an arrest.
Sherlock knew it was the wrong guy.
He didn’t tell anyone. He shut his mouth and turned away. It’s not like anyone would’ve believed him.
It’s fine.
John plans on getting a PhD. John meets a lovely woman named Maryanne Watson. (She is actually a doctor. A real one.) John and Maryanne get married. Marryanne moves in. Sherlock assured them that he would be fine living alone, but they knew that wasn’t the case.
So, they moved in.
Which is fine.
It’s fine.
Fine.
Fine.
Sherlock Holmes has a roommate named Dr. John Watson.
It’s his parent's fault, really.
He thinks about all of this rather solemnly as he contemplates which box of cereal to get at the store. Finally, he settles on plain old Cheerios. He grabs the box and turns around, not quite paying attention to where he’s going. He crashes right into another man.
“Sorry!” he exclaims, stumbling back. “I’m so sorry.”
“Oh! Really. It’s no problem,” the man says, smiling. He has an Irish accent, Sherlock notes. He ignores any significance that this information might hold, instead studying his cereal box in shame.
His eyes dart up for a second. That’s when he notices the man’s shirt. It has a drawing of a right triangle on it, with text underneath reading “always right.” Sherlock laughs despite himself.
“I like your shirt,” he says.
The man looks down. He laughs as well. “I forgot I was wearing this today.”
“Well, it’s quite nice.” He tucks the box under his arm. “I’m a big fan of nerdy jokes.”
“Hm,” responds the man. “A fellow nerd?”
“I’m an astrophysicist."
The man’s eyes widen. “Nice. I was in AP Physics in high school.”
Sherlock laughed. “What about you? What do you do?”
“I’m a mathematics professor.”
“Ah.” Sherlock nodded. He was immediately distracted by a text on his phone. It was from John.
Is it really taking you that long to pick out a cereal? Maryanne suggested leaving without you.
Dang.
“Sorry. I’ve got to be going.” He turned to leave. He spun back around. “I never got your name,” he said.
The man smiled, again. “James.”
Which was a normal name for a normal man as Sherlock calmly told himself as he was more occupied by not leaving his roommate and his roommate’s wife hanging.
“James Moriarty.” When Sherlock’s eyes flashed with recognition the man cringed. He very quickly followed up his introduction. “Yes, like the Sherlock Holmes character. My parents were mystery fans. Now that there are a few new popular Sherlock Holmes shows, I hear it even more often. It really dosen’t help that I chose to become a mathematics professor.”
Sherlock nodded. This was fine.
Fine.
Fine.
He would be having a word with his parents later today.
“I’m… uhh… Jacob,” responded Sherlock. What else was he supposed to do? Tell the man his real name?
“Sherly!” called the chipper voice of John from across the aisle. “There you are!”
“Jacob Sherly,” continued Sherlock, “Yes. That’s my name. Nice to meet you. I best be going.”
He turned and…John was right behind him.
“Who’s this?”
“I… uh… just some guy I met. John let’s just go please.”
“James,” Moriarty introduced himself.
John glanced at Sherlock, reading his expression. Sherlock mouthed Moriarty and John nodded, understanding.
They left.
“Goodbye,” called James. “Maybe we’ll meet again, fellow nerd.”
Sherlock really really hoped not. But they would meet again. He knew it. He knew it from the very bottom of his heart. He just hoped that just once, fate would be merciful.
An adaptation of Sherlock Holmes set in a world in which the fictional character/literary juggernaut Sherlock Holmes, and all the subsequent adaptations thereof, still exist.
Sherlock Holmes (pronounced Holl-mess, as he is constantly reminding people) just had the misfortune of having parents who really liked the books, and his attitude towards his fictional counterpart is pretty much the same as that of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Sherlock runs a Youtube Theory channel called Mysteries Unwrapped with Sherlock Holmes. He has received no less than seven cease and desist letters from the Conan Doyle estate, all of which he has so faded managed to rebuff by pointing out that that's literally his name.
(No he won't change his name. He's Sherlock Holmes the real live human person. Let Sherlock Holmes the non existent fictional character change his name.)
John is Sherlock's flatmate. Sherlock almost refused to live with him once he realised that it would mean staying with a medical student named John, and only gave in once John pointed out that: a) he's a biomedical student, which is completely different from an md, and b) his surname isn't Watson.
It's now been three years, which is long enough for them to have developed a genuine friendship, and for John to have a) started working towards his PhD in biotechnology, and b) for him to start dating somebody with the surname Watson.
Sherlock can feel the narrative closing in.
His Youtube channel is meant to be focused on lost media, fan theories and stuff like that, but he keeps accidentally stumbling upon and then solving genuine crimes.
His brother Mycroft may or may not have chosen that name after he transitions specifically to annoy him.
He doesn't even live in London, but somehow the only flat they could afford was on a street named fucking Baker Street.
Sherlock Holmes and the Unescapable Power of the Narrative.
