#sd.txt

[ineloquent-tumbling]

Me: Why do I feel like I want to viciously bite something?

Inner Therapist, descending from on-high: You are overstimulated.

Me: … Yeah, that’d do it.

[r0b0t-after-all]

wanting to draw myself as this type while im in a shift to help me feel better about it vs. i can't fucking draw

[spelldaggered]

.

[ineloquent-tumbling]

I saw this post last night. Today, I started a new book (which I will not name). The book was prefaced by THREE different long and detailed disclaimers about its content, including messages like “this is a work of fiction,” “depiction of morally reprehensible things is not endorsement,” and “please for the love of god do not take the characters’ actions in this book as advice for how to handle situations in your life.”

I stopped reading and whispered aloud:

“The author is afraid of me.”

been stewing on an analytical approach to fiction which I call "is this book afraid of me?" and in order to answer this question you determine how hard the book is trying to make sure you don't come after the writer on twitter

[ineloquent-tumbling]

Behold! My first ever finished crochet project, a baby blanket for our household’s firstborn child.

[r0b0t-after-all]

man i need my robes

[ineloquent-tumbling]

I was a 21-year-old using a mobility aid and in horrible amounts of pain. I’d just been diagnosed with a degenerative genetic disorder, and the number of people who told me things like the above…. Hoo boy. There was a good stretch of time where this was a major contributing factor in the persistent suicidal ideation that plagued my early and mid-twenties. OP is absolutely right that no one should ever fucking say this shit to young disabled people. It fucks you up real bad, and chronic pain and chronic illness already do a great job of that on base.

But ALSO: It’s not necessarily true that your pain will only increase as you age.

I’m 32 now, and I am actually in significantly less pain day to day than I was at age 21. My condition hasn’t really gotten any better, nor have the treatments for it really improved. But as I’ve gotten older, my ability to manage my condition has improved by leaps and bounds.

I’m kinder and gentler with myself. I’ve learned what it feels like when my body is about to pull a Shenanigan™️ and how best to take preemptive action. I know what pain meds I need to take and when. I have learned what the indications are for “I need to rest now” and how to enforce my boundaries when someone tries to push me beyond my body’s limits. I know what mobility aids work best for me under what circumstances and the most effective ways to use them. I now know the ways in which I can safely move my body. I’ve had the chance to stock just about any kind of brace I might need, and I’ve learned how best to recover if I overdo it or have a flare. Over the years, I’ve accumulated a huge repertoire of tools and resources that vastly improve my quality of life.

When I was 21, I dreaded getting older because I thought it could only mean more pain. I was wrong about that, and so was everyone who condescended to “joke” about it. Getting older also means gaining more wisdom, experience, and knowledge to help make the pain and illness more manageable.

That trade-off? It’s worth it.

If you're a disabled young person, you've most likely been hit with the "pfft you think you're in pain now? Just wait til you're my age" bullshit from older people at least once. Everyone talks about how invalidating it is

But I haven't seen anybody mention how it's terrifying, too. Yes, I know health deteriorates with age. I know that old age is a disability unto itself. I know that the healthiest person alive will start getting aches and pains past the age of 40 and may even need mobility aids

I know all this stuff. And it always makes me think "yeah, if I can't walk without joint pain even while using mobility aids AT AGE 21, how painful will life be for me at the age where it gets painful for everyone?"

And it's hard not to feel like I'm doomed, y'know? Where most people get a period of health that they wish they appreciated more when they start to lose it, my starting point was a body that doesn't work properly and it's only gonna get worse from there. It's worse every fucking year.

TLDR stop telling disabled young people that their pain will only get worse to the point of being unimaginable as they age, WE FUCKING KNOW

[spelldaggered]

y’all: please can we have the last two chapters of the merlin fic uwu

me: I’M GONNA RE-WRITE THE ENTIRE THING SO IT’S A 10K+ ONE-SHOT, LET’S GO

y’all: ...

[ineloquent-tumbling]

All of this is so true.

As an example, I first took piano lessons when I was nine. I wasn’t terrible, but I remember it being a long and less than enjoyable slog. My ability to learn the instrument was very hampered by my inability to direct my own attention effectively and my distaste for the obligation to prepare for each lesson. After about a year, I dropped it.

Then, middle through high school, I dedicated a lot of time to being a fairly accomplished clarinetist. I spent lots of time, energy, and effort learning how to practice the instrument, picking up music theory, and enjoying some of the artistry it afforded me. But I was dead convinced that I couldn’t effectively learn any other instrument and was more than faintly envious of those who played guitar and piano well.

At age 22, I tried to learn piano again. It went better that time around, and I found myself surprised at how quickly it seemed to go. But that time, I was hampered by own learned perfectionism and my own inexperience in directing my own lessons in a new instrument. (Also by the burden of trying to learn how to live with a relatively recent diagnosis of a chronic condition while juggling college courses, but that’s another story.) So, after a few months, I dropped it again.

Around age 27, I bought a ukelele on a whim. I was determined not to care if I was ever any good at it or not, to just have fun with it. This turned into actually becoming fairly decent on it. I started writing songs again, something I hadn’t done with any regularity since high school. I added in the baritone ukelele, then the guitar, then the banjo. I learned how to direct myself through the process of learning a new instrument in the absence of formal lessons. I learned to not let it matter how good I was or wasn’t and to just enjoy the process.

At age 30, I’ve started to learn the piano again. And you know what? It’s *incredible* how much easier it is this time around, and how much more satisfying it is.

Try new things throughout your life. Try things you’ve tried before and had little to no success with. You’re always picking up new skills just through the process of living. Who knows what will come easier to you now? Who knows what new joys you’ll discover?

Adulting advice: if you think you can’t do a thing because you tried it as a child or teenager and you sucked really badly: try it again.

You may not notice it, but as an adult you continue gaining motor skills, insight, problem solving skills and above all patience and resilience in the face of failure. Also puberty can be a nightmare. For some of us it’s just harder to do things when we’re full of insecurities, low impulse control and focus, heightened emotions, etc. A thing that was hard for 15 year old you might not be hard for 25 or 35 or 45 years old you.

I thought I was the absolute worst at sowing because I tried to learn it in my teenage years and failed spectacularly at the most basic tasks. Turns out I just didn’t have the patience and focus for it yet. I tried it again recently and it didn’t take long at all to learn how to make my own clothes. (And oh my, being able to make any outfit I want in any fabric is a queer superpower.)

It really sucks that we’re told quite early in life what our talents are and we end up assuming that there are some things we’re just not good at, when the truth is that learning as an adult is just completely different from learning as a child.

[ineloquent-tumbling]

Framed pieces for this Christmas. I’m really proud of some of these choices for patterns.

[ineloquent-tumbling]

You know, I finished my first ever crochet piece that was bigger than a little test swatch yesterday. I have no real way to judge its quality: my friends who crochet say it looks good, and my friends who don’t crochet say it looks great, and either way, it will keep our child warm.

What I do know for certain is that I spent a lot of time on it over the past three weeks. Some parts of the process I really enjoyed, and other parts were a real godsdamned pain in the ass. I listened to audiobooks. I chatted with loved ones. I frogged and restitched hundreds and hundreds of times. I counted stitches and then counted them again. I fretted if it was large enough yet. I marveled at how much progress I’d already made. I broke two nails as I tried to figure out how to work edging stitches into too-tight turning chains. And when it was finished, I immediately started working on a second, slightly harder crochet project.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if that first piece is great quality. What matters is that I made it, and I considered the time well spent. And when we wrap our child in that blanket, I will know that we are also wrapping them in the love that drove me to spend all that time and effort to learn a whole new craft to make it—just to keep them warm.

[ineloquent-tumbling]

Just finished Baby Blanket #2! And with approximately two weeks to spare!

This one’s got such great texture!

[ineloquent-tumbling]

@cosmogyros I had to pull your tags because yes, this, all of this!!

carrie brownstein, hunger makes me a modern girl

[ineloquent-tumbling]

My brain is just an endless loop of “he’s so small 🥺😭💖”

[ineloquent-tumbling]

Me, every single time I open the fridge, examine the food within it, and then close it without grabbing it: Why am I so bad at eating?

Me: *repeats the process with the freezer*

[ineloquent-tumbling]

My choices of songs to cover yet again proves that I am a masochist. 😔