The Weather Strange

AuDHD. Hockey. Singer-songwriter. Seventeen weasels in a trench coat.

[weatherstrange]

I can hear your deep breaths from the other room.

Even asleep, you’re all rhythm.

And I think,

“How beautiful it is to know a sound so well.”

If you were awake, you’d hear.

My breaths

In sync

With yours.

[weatherstrange]

The constant overhyping of anything and everything Connor Bedard does is ridiculous and it’s going to come back and bite the NHL in the ass.

If you tell a literal child that he’s the best thing since ice was invented and then ask him to lead you to victory, you’re either going to get:

A Harry-Potter-esque asshat with a raging savior complex that will be the thorn in the side of every team he’s on from now until retirement

OR

A person so emotionally crippled by Former Gifted Kid Syndrome that he ends up either fading out sadly or blowing his career to smithereens because it’s too much pressure.

Possibly both.

Also to be very real, other players have had better debuts. Auston Matthews, for example.

[weatherstrange]

NOTES FROM AUTISTIC MELTDOWN COMEDOWN

- freeze is real

- didn’t know that one of my stims is rocking

- holy shit I carry a lot of shame for being the way I am

- if it wasn’t my fault why does it feel like it was my fault

- it’s passed… but has it??

- how do I do autism right lol

- could only tolerate a cold shower for like 30 seconds and I wish I could get myself to go out for a run but I got stuck also my chest is tight and breathing is hard?

- but hey at least no one was around to see it I guess

- some superpower this is

- proud I survived it

- now my head hurts

[weatherstrange]

“COMFTERBILITY” IS NOT A WORD.

fuckin’ a

[weatherstrange]

I haven’t had a Tumblr since college and I think I forgot how to do this. What counts as worthy of yelling into the void?

Feels like those moments from earlier in my life when people would wrinkle their noses at me and say, “you don’t have to voice every thought that comes to your head.”

Which kind of destroyed me, honestly.

Because if I talk that much around you, share every thought that comes to mind with you - that means I trust you.

Maybe I trust too easily. (At least, I used to.)

If I share even a fraction of the constant maelstrom of my everyday thoughts with you, it means I think maybe you’ll be okay with me. Maybe you won’t mind, will tolerate, might enjoy, could possibly appreciate my weird-ass mind.

Neurodivergent.

Neuroqueer.

Neurofucked.

Neurospicy.

Neurokinky.

Neuroglimmering.

Neurosymphonic.

Neurometal.

Neuroequiphyllic.

Neuroenforcer, neurosniper, neurocenter, neurogoalie.

Neurosinger. Neurosongwriter.

Neuromusical.

Neurohyperactive.

Neuromethingsomethingsomething.

Whatever, but please take your wrinkled nose and sneer elsewhere.

Sigh tiredly all you want. You’re entitled to whatever it is you’re feeling.

But sometimes I think maybe you’re wishing you felt as free to say exactly what you think as I seem to you to be.

Then again, what does it matter? Ah, the usual möbius strip. I’m probably already trusting you/the void/Tumblr too much.

So how do I do this? Without indulging myself too heavily in any one extreme? Without sharing more than is

I almost said “appropriate.”

Fuck appropriate.

[girlpocalypse]

The semicolon is the bisexual of punctuation.

[weatherstrange]

I am bisexual and I approve this message.