loudlittleecho

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So this is just a PSA, y'all should never sign a contract until you read it. I’m talking in rl right now. I just got through reading my employee handbook/service contract and my bosses slipped in a lot of bullshit like telling me I can’t complain about my job on social media, demanding I work off the clock in the name of good service, expects me to show up on time during inclimate weather, and considered disability or religious accommodation a direct threat to the company.

These are all things I took issue with and brought to my employer for further discussion before signing the contract. Most of my coworkers signed without reading, treating it like an internet terms of service contract.

Tl;dr real life is serious shit, lawyers write contracts to protect your employer FROM YOU, read contracts before you sign them - fucking ARGUE about contracts before you sign them

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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.

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Ok breaking containment for this one because I need everyone who will listen to hear this.

Women who suffer bad cramps are told cramps shouldn't affect school/work/etc, but no one ever investigates further because no one can possibly know if what someone experiences is just typical pain or something much worse.

Well after 15 years of stage 4 treatment-resistant endometriosis that came with pain as bad as, if not worse than, actual labor contractions every month, all the while being told I was 'typical' and 'just had bad cramps', I've finally been healed (another post for another time). I have had what everyone describes as the elusive 'normal period pain' for several months now, and I am begging you to look me in the eyes and listen because I need everyone who can hear this to hear this.

I have been on both sides of this. I have the hard-earned knowledge of what a period 'should' feel like.

If you have to put in any effort to hide your cramps, you need to get help.

Even during of the PEAK OF CRAMPING (i.e., as bad as your cramps possibly get), you should still be able to stand, speak, walk, eat, work, and sleep with no problems. These tasks should require very-little-to-no extra effort beyond what you would normally do when you aren't on your period. When you do these things, you should feel grumpy and a little bit icky and maybe a twinge of nerves and NOTHING MORE.

If you have to sit in the corner and hope no one approaches you because you can't speak or stand without showing pain, even slightly, you need to get help. If your pain is showing on your face, you need to get help. And most importantly, IF YOUR PAIN DOES NOT RESPOND TO 1-2 TYLENOL OR IBUPROFEN, YOU NEED TO GET HELP.

Your period cramps should make you grumpy. Your period cramps should make you feel a little icky and tired. Your period cramps should make you feel your insides existing/moving a bit and a twinge of nerves that makes you groan slightly then the "pain" should stop there, NOTHING MORE.

If your cramps put you on the floor but you make believe you're the captain of a ship who has just been stabbed and has to hide it to fight on, and you force yourself to power through the day, please understand: you are not okay, that does not make you okay. Just because you can power through the pain doesn't mean you aren't sick. If you have to force yourself through any basic task beyond the effort it takes you to do when you aren't on your period, and I am holding your face and looking you in the eye as I say this because I need you to hear me: You aren't normal. You don't 'just have bad cramps'. You are sick and you need to get help.

Now most people will tell you if your cramps are beyond a 3 out of 10 on the pain scale, you should see a doctor. While this is usually true, you have to consider chronic pain CAN AND WILL BREAK YOUR PAIN SCALE. Most people will only compare pain they currently feel to pain they may experience one day but probably never will. "Sure these cramps feel bad now, but if I had a leg amputated with no anesthesia, that would hurt WAY worse, so this pain can't be that bad-" No. Your pain is what it is, objectively, full stop. My cramps were at a 10 out of 10 every. Single. Time. And nobody told me claiming they were a 6-8 because I thought to myself 'what if I lose a limb one day?' was completely wrong. 10 pain is 10 pain. And if there's something that hurts worse than that, guess what. The thing you are experiencing right now is still a 10 out of 10 on the pain scale. Just because you experience it every month doesn't mean it's magically not as bad is it is. And if your pain is worse than a 3 out of 10, you need to get help.

Now when I say get help, I mean find the root cause of your pain. You can't just throw drugs and hormones at it without knowing what it causing your pain. Endometriosis, fibroids, pcos, cancer, adenomyosis, polyps, thyroid issues, there is always a cause. And if you leave it untreated, it will grow and get worse to the point where it resists treatment and the drugs and hormones you've been throwing at it for years don't work anymore. You have to find a doctor that will investigate. If your doctor tells you you 'just have bad cramps' get a new doctor. I know you've been told that but please hear me: no one ever just has bad cramps. A healthy human body doesn't spontaneously cause itself pain so bad you can't stand up; there is ALWAYS a cause.

I was sick for more than 15 years. My entire life was put on hold and now I'm in my late 20s trying desperately to play catch up for everything I missed. I want to pick up 12yo me, spin her around, and tell her she doesn't have to die before she finally stops hurting. I don't want anyone to suffer the same fate I did simply because everyone told them they were normal. A little twinge of pain here and there is normal, suffering is not. I promise you your pain is real, it is not normal, and dear heavenly day I am begging you you need to get help now.

TL;DR: There is no such thing as 'just bad cramps.' If you feel anything more than grumpy, icky, and pain greater than a 3 out of 10, you need to find out what's wrong with you before it gets worse.

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let's play: are you on the ace spectrum! An introduction to microlabels

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QUIZILLA

I also wrote some Fantastic Four on there myself 😅

Please participate in my research (also, if you say other, please put it in the tags/comments !)

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OP: Back when I was young, I couldn’t afford nice clothes. Now, I buy pretty dresses for the 18-year-old me. (cr 农村的陈奶奶)

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take my mermaid quiz boy

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🕳️🪒🎉👏❕

I don’t know how to interpret this

first 5 faceless emojis are how your summers gonna go

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🖤🖤🖤

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Antigone, The Oedipus Cycle by Sophocles. Translated by Francis Storr. Pulled from Project Gutenberg.

this obliterated me

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i need everyone to see the cat i met today

his name is hercule purrot

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Yeah that’s adorable, he can have the closet

You're about to close on your very own, suspiciously affordable and comfortable house. Just before you sign the contract, the realtor shows you the required legal disclosure: your new house is haunted by the type of presence you'll get from this spinner wheel.

Of course it is.

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From Girl Scout’s social media. The original Twitter thread is here.

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🖤🖤🖤

I love her so much