“its been a long week” me on a Tuesday
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@thefaxqueen
“its been a long week” me on a Tuesday
It is so ridiculously easy to gain a reputation for being competent by just reading signs.
This is not metaphorical. I mean actual, literal pieces of paper/plastic/metal/whatever explicitly erected to inform the public.
“How did you know this was the right trail?” I read the sign.
“Wow, how did you know what that flower is?” There’s a SIGN.
“How did you know we needed to use the side door?” THERE IS A SIGN POSTED ON THE FRONT DOOR.
Just…why are we having such different experiences of the world? People can read. I KNOW they can read. There’s nothing wrong with their vision.
Just. READ. THE. GOD. DAMN. SIGN.
This also applies to:
Syllabi
Instructions
it’s crazy how much you can read if you read
a small thing i learned from my sister dying is that i really would rather the people i love be a burden than be whatever the hell else they'd be if they weren't. yes even if it's messy and not always fair and hard completely inconvenient for everyone involved. even if it's weird. even if i'm rolling my eyes a bit inside sometimes. i just want you to bother me. please always bother me
like "it's rotten work" "not to me not if it's you" actually sometimes it's still rotten work. even if it's you. and i'd still do it a million times over
Not a ball!
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Nick Barlow, Clusterfuck/Keep It Together, 2022
Oil on mountboard, 81 X 81 cm
Babe, are you okay? You reblogged Nick Barlow’s Clusterfuck/Keep It Together again
has anyone also noticed that they feel awful
In the Mood for Love (Wong Kar-Wai, 2000)
This June, I need Gen Z queers to understand that some people are closeted.
I am saying this as a Gen Z queer, before y’all get your guns out to fucking shoot me.
But I need y’all to understand that if someone doesn’t give you their government name in a queer space, it’s not because they’re “mysterious,” and you do not have permission to take it upon yourself to figure out their “real identity” and go digging for them online like a private investigator. First, that’s creepy and a violation of privacy and reasonable boundaries. Second, some of us keep our private and professional lives very separate because we need to keep food on the fucking table and a roof over our heads, and our private life could jeopardize that.
“Why won’t you tell me about your parents?” “Why can’t I know your real name?” “Where do you work?”
1.) Not all our parents would bake us a fucking cake when we come out. Some of us are closeted. Surely you understand this? You also do not need to know my parent’s names or occupations; we are both adults. I do not need nor want to mix you and my private life with my parents and my public life.
2.) Trans people do not owe you their dead name or government name
3.) I’m not telling you for the sake of job security. I am a government fucking caseworker working amidst a fucking lavender panic!
“There’s no way you’re a different person outside this; you’re still you at your core. What harm is there—”
No, I am a completely different person. A different person with a different personality and different interests and a different name and presentation. I am a completely different person because I keep this life and my public life private to avoid fracturing 90% of my interpersonal relationships and 100% of my professional ones.
“You’re not out? But you’re so confident.”
See— that’s part of the issue. Y’all assume someone is in the closet because they hate themselves or lack self-identity. Some of us know exactly who we are, but need to prioritize financial stability or else our entire life gets exponentially harder immediately.
You meet queer people over the age of 40 and one of the first/earliest questions is “who knows?”
I need y’all to start bringing that energy. Because it’s not always safe for someone to be out and not everyone is safe to be out around.
There is a misnomer that “the closet” inherently means “doesn’t know they’re queer” and not “isn’t out widely and publicly.” “Outness” is often a patchwork.
I'm an adult
You're a dumbass who the fuck says something like that
a few months ago my friend called me and told me she was moving back up near me from 7 hours south in the middle of nowhere and asked if i would help her because she couldn’t move the furniture by herself and the town was so small there was no moving company (there were actually only 5 or six businesses in the whole town including both restaurants) and she had no one else down there to ask.
And even though money is pretty tight for her, she told me I could name my price if I would help her, because it was so far away.
I told her she was a dummy for thinking i would take her money but that i would accept the traditional helping-a-friend-move price: a meal (i know she would feel wrong about herself if she didn’t do something for me in return, that’s just how she is) Tradition suggests pizza and beer, we opted for enchiladas and a margarita.
we crashed on the floor of the empty place and left back north in the morning - when we got back to the city three more friends met us at her storage place (the place she was moving into wouldn’t be vacant for a couple months) and we started to move all her stuff up to a storage room on the THIRD FLOOR (because large city storage places be like that)
we had just taken the first box out of the truck when the (only) lady working there walked by and told us they closed in an hour and twenty minutes, and she couldn’t stay even a little late because she had to get to her other job.
One hour twenty minutes. To completely un-jenga a large uhaul and re-tetris it back into a similar sized room on the third floor.
We all just, shared a look, took off hoodies, and got the fuck down to business.
It was actually.. I still cherish look we passed around. The tiny eyebrow quirks and chin nods. The eye glints. The bigger breath we each took as we prepared to kick it up several gears. That moment of wordless connection, when we all just silently agreed that we were damn well going to do the impossible and didn’t even waste the time it would take to say anything, just got to it.
And we did it too. Finished with exactly two full minutes to spare. And then we all went for dinner and drinks to celebrate. And my friend’s friends that came to help? Two of them were acquaintances/friends of mine already. Like I lived with one for a year a decade ago sort of thing. But this experience? Brought us all closer. Made myself a new friend too.
And the friend i helped move? She and I are closer than ever because of it.
When i left our storage success diner to go home, she asked me again if I was sure i wouldn’t take any money.
I said “I ever tell you when I was 22 I went down to Hollywood to try that scene out? Anyway ten months later, when I just couldn’t do it anymore, and needed to come back, I called one of my best friends and said i can’t do this anymore i need to come back. You know what he said? He said: I’ll be there tomorrow. Not how much will you pay me, not what do i get out of it, not will you be able to cover my gas, just: I’ll be there tomorrow. Okay? You’re my friend. If you need help, I’m going to be there”
If helping someone move ruins your friendship, you’re doing at least one of those two things very wrong.
Reblogging for the last line
ONE PIECE Season 2, Episode 2 — Good Whale Hunting
Mihri Hatun, from a poem titled "At One Glance," featured in Nightingales and Pleasure Gardens: Turkish Love Poems
i don’t want a job i want to read good books and drink good coffee and get kissed on the neck