Tea-addict, Queer, News Curator, Makeup Junkie, Indian. She/they pronouns. Forever Crying over characters who deserved more. Also in love with Terry Pratchett's works. I yell about social justice and human rights, and grump over RL.
Computers are very simple you see we take the hearts of dead stars and we flatten them into crystal chips and then we etch tiny pathways using concentrated light into the dead star crystal chips and if we etch the pathways just so we can trick the crystals into doing our thinking for us hope this clears things up.
So like. The desert is freezing at night and boiling at day. The elements are just about as savage as they can be and as a result it looks like a whole lot of nothing but dead, unforgiving, hostile emptiness. But that couldn’t be further from the truth, deserts have a biodiversity matched only by rainforests and much like rainforest most of it is unique to that specific desert. Most deserts formed from ancient lakes or oceans that dried out, leaving the remaining creatures to adapt to a rapidly changing and ever more hostile environment. It’s similar to those endothermic vents miles under the water any niche you can fill or make in a desert is extremely valuable but you can like, realistically go there. A desert is so very alive, despite looking as it does, despite everyone thinking otherwise. If you have never heard all the calls and sounds fill the cooling air as the sun sets as if to say ‘I’m here, despite everything, I’m still here and I’m alive’ it’s an S tier experience.
The burning question about "homesteading tradwive influencer vs. actual medieval farmwife" wouldn't be about who would win, but what would be the final straw that would make Kathrynn - who got married at 21, doesn't know what a chemical is, and who would have sent her children to school if she had had the chance - finally decide to beat the ever-loving shit out of Kathrynn, who got married at 21, doesn't understand what a chemical is and can't spell for shit, but still thinks she can homeschool her kids.
It wouldn't be over feminist issues. Medieval Kathrynn has no concept of "women's right to vote" - it's not like her husband has the right to vote in government matters either. It would probably be about religion. Medieval Kathrynn has no idea what "catholism" is, but she heard Modern Kathrynn talk shit about the saints and decides to toss aside the goat she was castrating and go "that's it, I'm beating your ass."
There’s a pack of feral children that roam the complex I live in. It’s genuinely fucking annoying, they stand unmoving in the face of cars, harass my cats in the sliding glass door, get into our patio bins, and wreak general havoc. Also snoop on my betrothed and I making out, over which I’m the saltiest.
But one aspect of summertime is all the little chalk drawings they leave everywhere. As this is not any of the aforementioned acts of mischief I thoroughly approve of chalk time.
Each day my betrothed and I would sally forth on what they called, “our government mandated walk” and stroll through a gallery of chalk creations.
I think we noticed about the same time as we walked through the complex to the road that amidst the rainbows and nuclear families there was a disturbing repeated phrase.
“Not a lie.”
Over and over, not a lie, not a lie; in various colors and sizes, the same phrase. It looked like a pastel cult. Or like someone trying to escape Aperture Science.
All summer the rains would wash the concrete clean and each new wave of chalk would be accompanied by a new peal of “not a lie”s. We speculated wildly for months over the “not a lie” phrase. What wasn’t a lie? Why weren’t parents concerned about this bizarre obsessive repetition?
Then one day, coming home from our walk, we heard a parent call, “Natalie!”
Simultaneously our eyes widened and we whipped our heads toward each other to say in rapt tones, “Not a lie!”
We still like to creepily whisper “not a lie” in discordant tones like cult followers, but it’s funny knowing it’s just a kids name.