Christine Sydelko said this on twitter but I had to share it here. Fatphobic people don’t care about fat people’s health.
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Christine Sydelko said this on twitter but I had to share it here. Fatphobic people don’t care about fat people’s health.
good night. sleep tight. don’t let the bed bugs bite. tonight. imma fight. till we see the sunlight. tik tok. on the clock. but the party don’t stop.
11 months out of the year: life is a trainwreck
in december: life is a polar expresswreck
titanic (1997)
Someone was selling some things from their personal collection on Craigslist last month. I purchased a press kit with two film cells and Gloria Stewart’s autograph, and she threw in the photo signed by Kate and Leo when she found out I’m a Titanic collector. I bought them frames today (they were in plastic sleeves!) to better display them in my cabinet.
i saw this post earlier about therapists and it reminded me of my old therapist paul, who in my opinion is one of the greatest men alive and who did not put up with my bullshit for even one second
anyway i go in to see paul one week in the summer of 2016, and i’m doing my usual bullshit which consists of me talking shit about myself, and paul is staring at me, and then he cuts me off and says that he’s got a new tool for helping people recognize when they’re using negative language, and gets up and goes over to his desk
and i’m like alright hit me with that sweet sweet self-help article my man, because i’m a linguistic learner and whenever paul’s like here i have a tool for you to use it’s pretty much always an article or a book or something
paul opens a drawer, takes something out, and turns back around. i stare.
i say, paul.
is that a nerf gun.
yeah, says paul.
i say, are you gonna shoot me with a nerf gun in this professional setting.
he happily informs me that that’s really up to me, isn’t it. and sits back down. and gestures, like, go ahead, what were you saying?
and i squint suspiciously and start back up about how i’m having too much anxiety to leave the house to run errands, like it was a miracle to even get here, like i’ve forgone getting groceries for the past week and that’s so stupid, what a stupid issue, i’m an idiot, how could i–
a foam dart hits me in the leg.
i go, hey! because my therapist just shot me in the leg. paul blinks at me placidly and raises an eyebrow. i squint again.
i say, slowly, it’s– not a stupid issue, i’m not stupid, but it’s frustrating me and i don’t want it to be a problem i’m having.
no dart this time. okay. sweet.
so the rest of the hour passes with me intermittently getting nailed with tiny foam darts and then swearing and then fixing my language and, wouldn’t you know it, i start liking myself a little more by the end of the session, which is mildly infuriating because paul can tell and he’s very smug about it
anyway i leave his office and the lady having the next appointment walks in and i hear what’s all over the floor? and paul very seriously says cognitive behavioral therapy tools.
Raven’s dad was a hardcore sass-master.
THERMAL WINTER