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In one of my film classes last semester we had to tell a story in 3 pictures for a mini assignment so my friend and I did this

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me, eating a pile of nuts, cheese, and apple: mmmm tasty

the medieval peasant in my head watching me eat: thou knowst what would MAKETH this meal? dried fruits.

me, getting out the raisins: god damn, etheldred, you are SO right

the medieval peasant in my head: yet thou art still not heeding mine words regarding the blasphemy

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I am playing Dragon Age: Inquisition for the first time. As someone who is regularly involved in managing a large group of reenactors, it is interesting - and difficult - to manage everything at Skyhold. A little too real, but with much more interesting consequences.

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get in babe we're 30 year old women we're having formative experiences that our teenage years denied us

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Actually, I'm not done.

It was a surreal experience, seeing these people that I've watched online for 8 years now, who have fuelled a lot of excitement, passion, realisation, and joy for me, who managed to convince me to stop the bit and just play ttrpgs. Who have had this huge impact on my life, to be Right There in the same (albeit huge) room that I'm in.

I know it'll only happen once - travelling to Australia from the US is prohibitively expensive, especially with such a large primary cast (thereby increasing the amount of support personnel needed). But I got to be there - right there - listening to their voices in real time.

I'm so glad they came. I'm so glad I got to be there.

I can't wait until we get to discuss the episode with everyone else. It's gonna be something else special I get to be here for.

You guys, the Sydney Critical Role live show was

So good

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I think I may never be sad ever again. There is a statue entitled "Farewell to Orpheus" on my college campus. It's been there since 1968, created by a Prof. Frederic Littman that use to work at the university. It sits in the middle of a fountain, and the fountain is often full of litter. I have taken it upon myself to clean the litter out when I see it (the skimmers only come by once a week at max). But because of my style of dress, this means that bystanders see a twenty-something on their hands and knees at the edge of the fountain, sleeves rolled up, trying not to splash dirty water on their slacks while their briefcase and suit coat sit nearby. This is fine, usually. But today was Saturday Market, which means the twenty or so people in the area suddenly became hundreds. So, obviously, somebody stopped to ask what I was doing. "This," I gestured at the statue, "is Eurydice. She was the wife of Orpheus, the greatest storyteller in Greece. And this litter is disrespectful." Then, on a whim, I squinted up at them. "Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?" "No," they replied, shifting slightly to sit.

"Would you like to?"

"Sure!"

So I told them. I told them the story as I know it- and I've had a bit of practice. Orpheus, child of a wishing star, favorite of the messenger god, who had a hard-working, wonderful wife, Eurydice; his harp that could lull beasts to passivity, coax song from nymphs, and move mountains before him; and the men who, while he dreamed and composed, came to steal Eurydice away. I told of how she ran, and the water splashed up on my clothes. But I didn't care. I told of how the adder in the field bit her heel, and she died. I told of the Underworld- how Orpheus charmed the riverman, pacified Cerberus with a lullaby, and melted the hearts of the wise judges. I laughed as I remarked how lucky he was that it was winter- for Persephone was moved by his song where Hades was not. She convinced Hades to let Orpheus prove he was worthy of taking Eurydice. I tugged my coat back on, and said how Orpheus had to play and sing all the way out of the Underworld, without ever looking back to see if his beloved wife followed. And I told how, when he stopped for breath, he thought he heard her stumble and fall, and turned to help her up- but it was too late. I told the story four times after that, to four different groups, each larger than the last. And I must have cast a glance at the statue, something that said "I'm sorry, I miss you--" because when I finished my second to last retelling, a young boy piped up, perhaps seven or eight, and asked me a question that has made my day, and potentially my life: "Are you Orpheus?" I told the tale of the grieving bard so well, so convincingly, that in the eyes of a child I was telling not a story, but a memory. And while I laughed in the moment, with everyone else, I wept with gratitude and joy when I came home. This is more than I deserve, and I think I may never be sad again.

Here is the aforementioned statue, by the way.

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You guys, the Sydney Critical Role live show was

So good

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“I asked chatGPT” well I asked my friend Tao Yang and he is standing about 10 seconds away and is going to run at you screaming

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Gregor Samsa

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this is so rogue but does anyone have the poetry template that went semi-viral on twitter a while back? it was designed for kids but someone gave it to their mother who has dementia and she wrote a really moving poem about her experience.

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I assure you: somebody, somewhere, is on the exact same wavelength as you are.

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Crazy thing about #healing #recovery Small Victories is when you'll have some shit going on that's like, saying this would involve admitting how you used to be doing. You know? Like hey guys good news I'm gonna change my bedsheets this year

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I hope I'm not just a mutual to you, but someone you want to bring up in irl conversation so you have to awkwardly and cryptically say "my friend..." and refuse to elaborate on my origins or the origins of our friendships

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“omg peoples mental health is so bad they don’t shower??” girl some people have such bad mental health they kill themselves

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“I’m gay” “I’m straight” ok?? i am the very model of a modern major general?? i’ve information vegetable, animal, and mineral?? i know the kings of england, and i quote the fights historical?? from marathon to waterloo in order categorical??

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Fucked up that our emotional states affect other people. Like you’re already dealing with the massive indignity of having emotions in the first place and then on top of that it’s like “oh btw this other sentient being can tell that you’re annoyed and it negatively affects their well being!” disgusting. Absurd. Unconstitutional. Somebody needs to do something.