e-the-village-cryptid - Tumblr blog

[e-the-village-cryptid]

girl I hope ur okay. I hope ur frolicking under the spring sun despite it all

[e-the-village-cryptid]

[e-the-village-cryptid]

tiktok is such an awful app, it's almost designed to feed you misinformation and expose you to insane discourse. unlike beloved tumblr, the app that feeds me misinformation and exposes me to insane discourse

[e-the-village-cryptid]

some of my favorite replies to this tweet. happy lesbian visibility week!

[e-the-village-cryptid]

happy lesbian visibility week

[e-the-village-cryptid]

in my head the star wars equivalent of tswift is some human woman named tay’lor spiff or something and her stans are losing their minds over theories that she’s secretly a jedi singing about the horrors of war, even though she’s from a neutral system that hasn’t seen so much as a moral panic in 50 years

[e-the-village-cryptid]

[e-the-village-cryptid]

ive gotten so much mileage out of this tweet. every time i see something on the internet that makes me mad i just think to myself "people in real life: hey man how's it going" and i keep it pushing

[e-the-village-cryptid]

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER 5.03 “The Replacement”

[e-the-village-cryptid]

before the poll, a quick definition of terms:

"mutual" - you found this post from a mutual (on their blog or your dash) "following" - you found this post from someone you're following, but who isn't following you "random" - you found this by scrolling through someone's blog, who you don't follow. this includes people following you "For You" - you found this on the For You page "recommended" - you found this in a "Check out these blogs" popup, or a "recommended" post when looking at a different post "other" - you found this post some other way. comment how? "reblog ✅" - you're going to reblog, queue, or schedule this post "reblog ❌" - you're NOT going to reblog, queue, or schedule this post

with that out of the way:

[e-the-village-cryptid]

my favorite bit of "rich people are Like That" ephemera that I picked up from my Russian literature binge was from a noble character who was complaining about his serfs neglecting their duties, specifically the duty of staying up all night long slapping the pond water in order to prevent the frogs from croaking so that the nobleman could enjoy his sleep at his country estate with its adorable pond. whenever I hear wealthy people's complaints in this day and age the majority of it automatically filters to "the fucking serfs won't slap the pond anymore and it's honestly so destructive and cruel of them to deny me my beauty sleep like this" type statements

[e-the-village-cryptid]

Had a 'fun' new experience today in the form of my first ever mammogram because I found a lump on my chest a few weeks ago, and when you find a lump, you get that shit checked out.

Ironically, the lump I went to get investigated turned out to be nothing, likely just a cyst that made its way to the surface, but they did find something else on the scan that requires me to do a follow-up ultrasound in six months. The doctor stressed that it is most likely a fibroid, but given my family history of breast cancer and general weird health fuckery, they're being vigilant and keeping an eye on it.

The mammogram itself was fine. The technician doing it kept complimenting me on the "pliable" nature of my breast tissue and how easy it was to smoosh me into the machine. I was like thanks, I have Ehlers Danlos Syndrome; my body is basically made of only slightly more reinforced laffy taffy.

She said, "That explains that," and then proceeded to smush my tits into a pancake. Apparently, they were the most compliant tits she's worked with. I said thank you because what else can you do in that situation. And then she asked me if I wanted to know how much they weighed, and I said boy, do I?!

So she started reading off the results and was like, "17.7 lbs," and I was like, gosh, no wonder they feel so heavy, and then she kept talking and said, "And the other one weighs..."

And that's when I realized she didn't mean total.

She meant one boob was 17.7lbs.

So in case you've ever wanted to know, my right boob weighs 17.7 lbs, and my left one weighs 17.3 lbs, bringing the grand weight hanging off my chest to an even 35 lbs.

The tech was like "gosh! That's a lot for someone of your size!" and I was like "ya fucking think?!"

For a frame of reference, I weigh 136 lbs total. One-quarter of my weight is tits.

I am one-quarter titty.

And I'm telling that to the next doctor who suggests I lose weight.

Anyway. Remember to do regular breast exams, and don't be afraid of mammograms. Yes, they're checking for cancer, but they also tell you fun things like how much your chest weighs and whether or not your boobs are compliant.

[e-the-village-cryptid]

I must not mock Gen Alpha. Mocking Gen Alpha is the mind killer. Mocking Gen Alpha is the little-death that brings total generational solidarity obliteration. I will engage with Gen Alpha lovingly. I will permit them to be cringe. And when they grow up I will turn my eye to their accomplishments. Where mocking has gone there will be nothing. Only generational solidarity remains

[e-the-village-cryptid]

Mount Rainier, Washington by Gabriel Miller

[e-the-village-cryptid]

people say folks with adhd struggle with "delayed rewards" aka long term goals and as such we tend to focus more on short term rewards. what they don't talk about is that at when we Do accomplish long term goals we don't actually feel anything proportionate to the amount of work we did to achieve it. In my head I suffered for a while and then money spontaneously appeared in my bank account.

[e-the-village-cryptid]

no offence but i think a lot of us me included don’t actually want romantic love as badly as we think and really are just lonely and crave a closeness and intimacy that feels out of reach in friendships because of society’s emphasis on marriage and the nuclear family so we project that into the never ending search for a perfect love and a soulmate when really we all just want to mean something to someone

[e-the-village-cryptid]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?