I Love Seeing A Post I Have Absolutely No Context For.

Diary Comic #1 - 7.15.22

Any other chronically ill folks have advice on dealing with hot flashes? My autoimmune disease is kicking my ass rn

reminder: you are not a useless person if you can’t get out of bed today. there are days the best thing you can so is to rest. you don’t owe society to be productive all the time, neither it defines you worth. you are a person, not a machine, and you should be respected as an individual. learn to listen to your body and respect its need to rest.

God I fucking hate Olaf the snowman so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every frame he's in, every scene, every gif, every jpeg, he's got this painfully vacant, stupid as shit, fuckass look on his stupid lumpy face. Absolutely no part of his ugly as sin piece of shit character design is endearing. His stupid fucking legs? Who the hell makes a snowman with legs. His dumb flaily fucking twig arms? His shitty, lumpy bastard head? The three thousand percent unnecessary dumbass shitass fucking SNOW BUCK TOOTH that no snowman has EVER FUCKING HAD IN tHE HISTORY OF GOD'S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate him. I hate him so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a stuffed toy Olaf or an Olaf gif or a shitty goddamn commercial, it ignites my primal rage response and I'm overcome by the need to punt this shitty little homunculus into the fucking sun. "Bhurr blur, I'm Olaf the fuckshit snow fucker, I like warm hugs". Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. You look like Tow Mater summoned a patronus. Your dumb fucking twig hair makes your whole shitty head look like a hairy skin tag. I hate your dumb fucking lumpy carrot nose and your stupid, empty googly eyes and your over-the-top goofy ass upbeat asshole personality. Any scene he's sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a w*lmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That's the worst part. I know he's just a shitty fucking side character in a stupid fucking children's movie, I know it doesn't matter, I know I shouldn't care. But that's part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is alltogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of endearing character design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate him. I hate him on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world's array of sinners, and I can't even begin to justify it. Shitstick the snow dick is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity's saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless upper middle class suburban drama distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate him so much. I hate him so, so fucking much. I want to light his ugly little dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat him to death with his own stupid fucking nose. I want to punch him to death. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It's EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it's disgust. The wordless knowledge that his existence as a fictional work is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fictional snowman

WIP baybeeee

Elon musk has done a lot of shitty things but the one thing that pisses me off the most is he’s the first thing a lot of people think of when you mention Tesla now.

Like the real Nikola Tesla was SO cool. Nikola Tesla was a genius, and a weirdo, and he nursed injured pigeons back to life. But now when you say “Tesla” most people just think of stupid Elon and his shitty exploding cars. And it pisses me off.

In high school I had this like 7 hour long study playlist. It was like 99% lofi and instrumental stuff. But the VERY LAST song was “the rumbling” from attack on titan. Because I always listened to it on shuffle, and I liked the idea of future me being like 2 hours into writing an essay, jamming out to the stardew valley soundtrack, and then out of nowhere “RUMBLING, RUMBLING—“

Wanted to paint this dog

New lil guy just dropped

Also I just googled the couch potato to 5k program I trained with when I was a kid and they don’t recommend the program for kids under 11 because it’s considered “too intense.” And I just found a picture from when I finished my first race in 2012 when I was 9 years old which is…. younger than 11.

So yeah maybe also don’t put your children on adult exercise regimens that are not designed for their tiny bodies lmao what the fuck

So fun fact when I was a kid my mom decided I wasn’t active enough. So she bought me absurdly expensive running shoes I did not ask for, dragged me out in the below freezing east coast weather, and started me on this “couch potato to 5k” challenge.

Every day after school, we ran. First it was 5 minutes a day, then 7, then 10… you get the gist. I think after 2 months we were running about an hour every day. By the time I quit running when I was 10, my mom and I had run 3 5ks together over the span of a little over a year.

A little after stopped running, I noticed some pain in my right knee. It got a little bit worse, and a little bit worse, and a little bit worse… and then five years later, when it had gotten to the point where I couldn’t pay attention in geography class because I was in constant pain from having to sit all day, I finally went to the doctor.

They told me the cartilage under my kneecap was worn down from overuse. It’s called chondromalacia patellae—also known as “runners knee.”

The thing is: When we were in races, and I was overwhelmed, I told my mom I wanted to stop. I told her I was in pain and I needed to slow down. I told her I didn’t like running.

And you know what she said to me?

“Suck it up.”

And I’m not saying “don’t tell your kids to exercise.” Your kids SHOULD exercise—not because of any bullshit weight reason or anything, but because they’re kids, and it’s good for them. Good for their bones, or whatever.

And I’m not saying “don’t exercise WITH your kids” either, because again, they should be exercising a little. And if you being there helps them stay motivated, that’s great.

What I am saying is: Listen to your kids. Trust that they know their own limits better than you do. Even if you think that they’re being over dramatic, or whiny, or whatever—don’t take the chance.

I’m 20 years old now. My knee still hurts. I have a whole suite of other, unrelated chronic conditions that would be improved if I exercised more. And I try to, I really do. But it’s kind of hard to do squats when just one makes your knee feel like it’s on fire for the rest of the week.

Listen. To. Your. Kids.