theonewhoisntburnsie

[theonewhoisntburnsie]

When I (M29) was a young boy (M7) my father (M35) took me into the city (X167) to see a marching band (M23, M21, M22, F22, M24, M25, F21, M

[theonewhoisntburnsie]

18 yr old me was like a new born baby. SHE DIDN'T KNOW ANYTHING least of all what the fuck she was doing with her life

college should be free so that the first time you go can just not count. that's just to test the waters. you should be able to be like "well that was weird! okay now this time for real"

[theonewhoisntburnsie]

When I was a small child, my favorite candy was cough drops. It's not that I didn't know the difference between candy and cough drops; I knew that unlike candy, cough drops had magical fumes that filled my whole head and made me feel like my ears could breathe. But more importantly, I knew that my parents were much less inclined to share their cough drops with me than any kind of candy.

Red cough drops were the best. Red has always been my favorite color to eat. (Side note, I have a distinct memory from this same era of eating an entire tube of cherry chapstick that I had gotten in my Christmas stocking. My sister's revulsion mystified me. I did not believe her when she tried to tell me it wasn't supposed to be eaten. Why would it be cherry flavored if it wasn't food?) Red cough drops were usually cherry flavored, but they were a better type of cherry. A more powerful cherry. A cherry that hung out in eucalyptus trees and gave my breath a new kind of tingle.

My parents tried so hard to explain to me that cough drops were medicine, and they were only for people who had sore throats. All this accomplished was that at the very sight of a cough drop emerging from someone's pocket, I would immediately develop a cough. I took any suggestion that I might be faking or imagining this cough as a direct affront to my honor. (Three year olds do not understand the meaning of psychosomatic.) My throat, I would insist, was very scratchy. It felt real to me. I could feel an itchy sort of tickle crawling up the back of my throat like a voracious insect that could only be sated by a dose of mentholated sugar.

My dad did not like to be challenged or disagreed with. One night my extraordinary ability to sense the consumption of menthol-infused lozenges had drawn me from my bed to my parents room. My refusal to accept his assertion that I did not have any need for a cough drop was enough to spark a heated argument that resulted in me being angrily banished back to my bed. 

I felt very badly treated. My ruminations on the terrible misfortune of having been born to such miserly parents that would sooner let their child die from a scratchy throat than share one single delicious cough drop kept me lying awake for some time. (To be fair, I don't remember sleeping much as a child even when I wasn't suffering from my parents' cough drop-related selfishness. I remember night after night of just lying in bed listening to my sister breathing in the bunk above me, trying to make shadow puppets by wiggling my fingers at the night light, and pondering the possibility that my family was actually just a group of cleverly disguised aliens. I was pretty certain they weren't, but every now and then I would try to come into a room suddenly to see if I could catch them with their masks off.) 

After some time, my noticeably calmer father entered my room. I think once his frustration with me had waned he had felt some chagrin at having been involved in a shouting match with a preschooler over cough drops. He knelt by my bed to apologize, saying that if I said I had a sore throat then he believed me. There in his hand was his peace offering. It occurred to me that this might be some sort of test. Maybe I was supposed to also apologize and admit my dad had been right all along. I guess a part of me suspected that I might not really have any medical need for the soothing powers of eucalyptus. But there was no way I was going to turn down a free cough drop. I accepted the proffered pastille and eventually fell asleep with the comforting taste of my favorite candy on my tongue.

[theonewhoisntburnsie]

Finally finished these today! Gifts for my kid's birthday. He LOVES these books. Can't wait to give them to him. Stakes are really high though because I created the patterns myself and it took me SO LONG and I will be crushed if he doesn't like them and he's 4 so he doesn't know how to lie politely yet

[theonewhoisntburnsie]

if you ever find yourself thinking “wow I scraped the bottom of the barrel with my energy with that and came out okay!” that’s the devil talking. you did not come out okay. you borrowed energy from the future. you will repay it if you don’t rest and replenish the borrowed energy first.

[theonewhoisntburnsie]

Having to clean the shower is so fucking annoying. It’s clean in there. That’s where I go to get clean. It’s clean dude trust me. Stop fucking growing bacteria and stuff man this is the clean locale. You’re embarrassing me in front of the sink

[theonewhoisntburnsie]

My kid is 3 years old. Lately he has been fascinated by calendars. Today, apropos of NOTHING, he asked me

"What do you want to do on Columbus Day?"

Not a question I've ever been asked before, especially in April.

[theonewhoisntburnsie]

Desperately trying to finish listening to this audiobook before Libby repos my shit

[theonewhoisntburnsie]

6yo: miss k i thought i got a new power while you were away

me: oh?

6yo, sighing: i thought i could see through walls *huge put upon sigh*… but i realized it was just glass

[theonewhoisntburnsie]

Playing shopping with my 3-year-old. He rang up my groceries and told me the total was thirty seven hundred hundred fifty two six thousand ten hundred nine sixty five thousand million pennies.

I don't carry that kind of pretend cash so I handed him an imaginary credit card. He put it in the register and then gave me two credit cards as change.

[theonewhoisntburnsie]

Listen, if a Bad President can come in and take away our rights and we're dependent on a Good President replacing them in four years to give us back our rights, then we do not have any rights.

If politicians can take or distribute them, then they're not "inalienable" and they're not "rights."

We don't have inalienable rights we have conditional privileges, divvied out according to the whims of whoever currently holds the reins.

And if we want to have actual rights, then we must build a system in which no one has the power to take them away to begin with.

[theonewhoisntburnsie]

Friday

the spirit is unwilling and the flesh it feels not so good also

[theonewhoisntburnsie]

That poor pest control guy did not know what he was getting into, but given the state of my yard i feel like he should have known what he was getting into.

[theonewhoisntburnsie]

For date night we took a class in pysanky which is the Ukranian art of egg dying. My egg is a scribbly lil cutie

But my husband's is

Holy moly

I have no idea how he got such clean lines with his kristka!

Is my husband secretly Ukranian?

[theonewhoisntburnsie]

And so much fucking krill. Chill it on the krill please

you taste like the ocean

just...overpowering notes of plankton

[theonewhoisntburnsie]

Apparently I have a dark sense of humor

[Trigger warning: mentions my past suicidal ideation. Just to be clear, I am old. This happened decades ago. I'm better now.]

I found out about my dark sense of humor when I was 14. In drama class we were workshopping a story about a teen that runs away from home. We'd been exploring different family dynamics and, I dunno, issues that families might face that might make a kid wanna leave. Our homework was to write a monologue for the moment the character makes the decision to run away. 

I poured my soul into this monologue, expressing very real thoughts I'd been having myself⁠—suicidal ideation, but I didn't know that phrase back then. Anyway, I wrote this monologue where the character wants to kill herself, but decides that would be too inconvenient for her family—dad would be mad about how expensive funerals are, her mom would freak out over the blood stains in the carpet, her brother would be pissed he'd have to wear a suit to the funeral. I mean, I don't know if I'd had those thoughts exactly, but not wanting to annoy people with my death was definitely a theme I focused on a lot. 

I wrote this monologue 100% seriously, was even a little nervous about exposing my soul to my drama class. So we're in class and the teacher puts us in groups and has us read our monologues to each other. I read mine and my group just loses it laughing. I mean, I wasn't exactly embarrassed because I could tell they weren't laughing at me, I was just bewildered. This was not the response I expected. They're like, "you HAVE show that to the teacher—Mrs Hill! Mrs. Hill!" And Mrs. Hill reads the monologue and laughs and says, "Judy, you have a dark sense of humor."

So I guess a dark sense of humor is when a mentally ill person is honest about their thoughts?

[theonewhoisntburnsie]

Shit, I knew it

Well if this ain't relatable af