yoihino

[yoihino]

i can’t stand “it’s not that deep” attitudes like even if it really really isn’t that deep just PLAY WITH ME. just fucking PLAY. have a meaningless but deep analytical conversation with me. just like think about shit for fun. does anyone else like to think about stuff for fun. it’s so lonely

[yoihino]

Me on my 163rd attempt at the Kobayashi Maru today: Okay so I just gotta clip through the bridge console at just the right angle and if I have enough momentum I should be able to skip right onto the enemies' bridge, which will give me about 15 frames to grab my phaser and stun every single one of them, capturing the ship before the conflict can escalate. We just gotta lock in, chat.

[yoihino]

so i wore a pride flag pin to work the other day and the kids were all interested (obviously) (find me a classroom of preschoolers who are not obsessed with rainbows) (i'll wait) so they crowded around to see.

"aww!" they said, "it's a flag!!"

but the thing is: they're little. a lot of them don't really have a handle on all their mouth sounds yet.

such as, notably, that tricky tricky "L" sound.

[yoihino]

[yoihino]

And then I reblogged every post I saw. Like a whore.

[yoihino]

Hey everyone, remember that being sick or healing from injuries is a hard time for your body. You have to eat a lot and lay still and be kind to yourself! [large neon sign that says HYPOCRITE descends from the ceiling and points at me] Hey what the heck what's this who put that there

[yoihino]

I'm going to say it. The (word in parentheses) meme is way better for tone indication than tone indicators

[yoihino]

i dont believe in gender for real its just a fetish thing to me

[yoihino]

daily affirmations: at least I'm no longer 14

[yoihino]

[yoihino]

i’m obsessed with how every single person can be stupid in their own special way and infinitely smart in another. simultaneously

[yoihino]

this tweet is new but it is actually a fundamental text for me

[yoihino]

more kris and weird soul bc im having fun

[yoihino]

When you and the unknown entity possessing your soul are on the same wavelength

[yoihino]

found

[yoihino]

*becomes a vtuber and does nothing but play solitaire on stream for 5 hours straight without winning a single game*

[yoihino]

Absolutely wild to me how sometimes you don't even realize the way you'd been taught to perceive things as a kid was kinda fucked up, actually, until decades later.

Example:

As a kid, I constantly lived in fear of damaging shit in my parent's house. The walls. The floors (especially the floors. The wood was beautiful. Shiny. But so easy to scratch). The cabinets.

As a sixteen-year-old, I once took my car to the dealership after work and paid a very dear sum of $250 ($10/hr cashier salary) to fix a slight scratch in the paint because I knew if my father saw it there would be hell to pay. It didn't matter that I parked far out, like I'd been taught, and someone scratched it anyway. It was my fault. I failed in my duties as a steward of my vehicle.

Every time I scratched a rim on a curb while parallel parking or got a door ding or, god forbid, didn't wash and vacuum that car every weekend, it was treated like some sort of moral failing.

Last year, when my husband and I first moved into our house, he scraped the side of our car when parking in our (Very Narrow) garage. When he told me, my first instinct was to be afraid for him. Like something terrible was going to happen to him because of this mistake. I urgently reassured him that it was okay, it was an accident, I wasn't mad. Baffled, he was like, "Yeah? I know? Like, thank you for the reassurance, but I'm only a little annoyed, I'm not upset. It's just a car." And I had to take several minutes to process that. It's...just a car.

We keep the car tidy. We maintain it. But we wash it maybe 4x a year. We only vacuum it after dirty road trips or when the dog hair starts to get annoying. It has scrapes and dings and the leather seats have stains. But that's ok. Because it's just a car.

This morning, I realized that a small rock had gotten embedded in the felt foot on one of our bar stools. Neither of us had noticed. There are now scratches on our beautiful hardwood floor. My immediate response was fear accompanied by a heavy measure of paralyzing guilt. "I'm so sorry," I told my husband, "I should have noticed. I'll figure out how to fix it, I swear. I can probably sand down that section and match the stain and--"

"Whoa, hey," he said. "It was an accident. And it's fine. Floors are going to get damaged. They're floors. We live here. There was damage in places before we even bought the house, remember? It's not a big deal. It's just a floor." Right. It's just a floor. Right.

My husband's mom is visiting and this afternoon, as I was sitting in the kitchen looking at the scratches on the floor, I offhandedly asked her if my husband had ever broken or damaged anything as a kid. "Of course," she said. Household items. A TV. A wrecked car during his teen years. I asked how she punished him.

"Why would I punish him for things like that?" she said. "They were all accidents."

Right. Of course. Right.