mysynovialjointfluid

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girl shocked to discover that inaction can have consequences too

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daily affirmations:

i am kind

i am in control of my emotions

it does not bother me when someone is in the kitchen while i was planning to be in there alone

everyone in the house has the right to be in the kitchen

i am kind and in control of my emotions even when someone is in the kitchen while i was planning to be in there alone

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📢📢📢

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haymitch says himself katniss is like him, but luckier.

katniss realized the berries were nightlock before peeta ate them.

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It's important to remember that Luigi Mangione is being framed for murder. The "evidence" they have on him is absolute clown shoes absurd.

They're trying to win this by swaying public opinion. That's why they're doing movie deals about it and staging ridiculous photo ops.

They're gonna try to give this kid the death penalty to cover up for their own gross incompetence and in the hopes that they scare the working class out of trying to fight back.

Please don't help them do this by using his name as a synonym for political assassinations. Please do not perpetuate the idea that he's guilty.

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🚨NEW FAVORITE BIRD ALERT🚨

Collared Falconet (Microhierax caerulescens), family Falconidae, order Falconiformes, India

This tiny raptor is only 18 cm (7.1 in) long.

photograph by Aravind Venkatraman

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So-called "free thinkers" when their friend has to pee

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🚨NEW FAVORITE BIRD ALERT🚨

Eurasian Black Vulture or Cinereous Vulture (Aegypius monachus), family Accipitridae, order Accipitriformes, India

photograph by Hetal Parekh

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Finding out people are actually slash gen not taught to Actually Read in school in favor of just looking at the words for half a second and keeping it moving whether you understand it or not is crazy but does explain a lot of things

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they went off with this

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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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youre weirdly obsessed with finding meaning

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you may notice i use the phrase "my beloved" frequently. this is because i am in love with the world and everything in it. hope this clears things up <3

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