suffering-and-misery

[suffering-and-misery]

Hazel Scott playing two pianos at the same damn time with ease

[suffering-and-misery]

dead leafs? that’s called yard salad now. and it’s the new food trend.

[suffering-and-misery]

snake gore

[suffering-and-misery]

sheltered poster: Bro is going wild like a gorilla on ketamine!

poster that wants to look darkly chic: its obvious they have no idea what ketamine does.

The lovesick swede: When wiell i find my so sweets honeybee

[suffering-and-misery]

“I don’t take the bus because children annoy me” is the most “I’ve never ridden the bus before” take. it’s almost never kids “causing issues” on the public bus. it’s almost always a 60 year old white person who is inexplicably enraged at everyone around them and also hopelessly lost

[suffering-and-misery]

he is feeling bonita

[suffering-and-misery]

[suffering-and-misery]

i’m tired and don’t have the words to explain this very well but look at the comment section on THIS video to get a general idea of what i’m talking about

there’s a big thing on tiktok right now with the song “Averagr” from non-gifted kids talking about how much former gifted kids complain even though we had a lot of resources and support and as a former gifted kid i just want to say:

we did not have the resources you think we did.

we were separated from our peers and given more advanced work. we took more advanced classes and had more options for the courses we took. that’s an advantage and i acknowledge that.

we were, for the most part, given next to no resources for how to cope with anything we were thrown into. we had expectations put on us higher than anything a kid should have to deal with. it was expected that we could take care of ourselves, so no one explained how to do things in much depth.

i’m 18. i’m in college. i don’t know how to write a rough draft. i don’t know how to edit my own essays. i don’t know how to study.

because i was never taught. i was never shown these things. i was expected to, but i was never given the resources in order to actually learn how to do it.

here’s some statistics to help you out a bit.

the estimated number of U.S. students involved in gifted programs: 3.3 million

the estimated number of twice exceptional (2e) students in the U.S.: 360,000

that’s almost 11% of gifted students with a learning difference.

the Gifted Development Center has estimated it at a higher 1/6 (16.67%)

you wonder why you see so much about “gifted kid burnout” and late diagnosis for neurodivergencies in gifted kids, it’s because no one expects us to have learning disabilities. no one expects us to need that help.

i was taught in my education class that any student not in general ed is considered special ed. BUT THAT MOST PEOPLE FORGET THAT GIFTED ED IS SPECIAL ED.

people assume that because we can process things/learn faster and read/write ahead of our grade level that we can’t possibly have learning differences.

TLDR: please don’t act as if you know the effects of being in the gifted program if you were not in it. it has lasting impacts on our mental health and school success. being labeled as smarter does not mean we had more resources and help.

[suffering-and-misery]

[suffering-and-misery]

woke up dehydrated and deliriously thought "i need to call my senator about this." notably im not american i don't have a senator but even if i did what's he gonna do, deliver fresh water straight to my mouth? make the sun be less warm?

[suffering-and-misery]

it IS a phase, mom

[suffering-and-misery]

[suffering-and-misery]

You can teleport one (1) single individual live seagull into any time or place in history. Where would you choose to put it to best fuck with peoples' heads and cause as much confusion as possible?

I'd pick Tutankhamun's tomb, just behind the sealed door, 30 seconds before the seal is broken and the tomb is opened. Imagine throwing that into the curse myth - just as these people are about to crack open the greatest cold one in history, knowing that this is what they'll be known for from hereon, they open the door that must not be opened, and out scatters a frantic, deeply baffled bird, entirely healthy and intact, fluttering away never to be seen again, with no apparent way of how it got in.

[suffering-and-misery]

i like to imagine that clark kent’s search history is mostly normal but then there’s stuff like “improved superman costume concept art” because he wanted ideas

[suffering-and-misery]

guy i saw in traffic today that i felt compelled to draw

[suffering-and-misery]

'People are panicking about AI tools the same way they did when the calculator was invented, stop worrying' cannot stress enough the calculator did not forcibly pervade every aspect of our lives, has such a low error rate it's a statistical anomaly when it does happen, isn't built on mass plagiarism, and does not obliterate the fucking environment when you use it. Be so fucking serious right now

[suffering-and-misery]

Growing up, my brother and I deeply dreaded going shoe shopping. It took hours, especially if it was for winter boots. My dad would examine the stitching, the brand reliability, the temperature recommendations, every piece of information he could get his hands on, and then when he'd finally found the right brand, it was on to making absolutely dead sure they fit properly - he had a particular way of poking the toe of the boot to ensure our foot was where it was supposed to be that always drove me nuts. This was always on a weekend, and it was about the worst punishment we could imagine.

Years later, I found out that he'd spent his entire childhood on the Canadian prairies with cold feet. My grandmother just bought whatever boots looked like the best value, regardless of whether they'd keep anyone warm. They'd kept him from frostbite, probably, but never, ever comfortable.

The reason my grandmother never had a thought about this was because she was buying her kids real boots. There was a sort of magical quality about real, purpose-made boots that meant that of course they'd work, because when she was growing up on the Canadian prairies, they had the kind of no money that meant you just stuffed some newspaper into your shoes and soldiered on.

The last pair of winter boots my dad bought for me was 15 years ago, in preparation for a three-month stint living in northern Quebec in midwinter. They cost $200 then, or something like it. I've worn them every year since, driving out to the remotest locations on the Canadian prairies and never once thinking about my feet.

When I read the Vimes Boots Theory for the first time, it rang a bell that reverberated back three generations.