i am a firm believer that ocs are a reflection of the self in the way that every character you create has to hold some piece of you to really feel alive. sometimes this is why all your ocs have certain traits, sometimes this is why you can track your various issues and traumas all the way from middleschool to now based on what your ocs are like. this is a feature not a bug

Tell me a soft memory

we would find out later i had burned off my entire cornea - about 65% of my eye. my doctor told me it is the organ with the highest concentration of nerve endings - i was in an amount of pain that can't be spoken.

and i was blind. for the first time in my life, i was totally blind. i kept thinking about reading, about writing. weirdly, just once, about driving. we had no idea if i would ever see again. just like that - my entire life was different.

it is a strange place to reference for a soft memory, to begin here.

my siblings were taking excellent care of me, but there was a moment in the hospital where, just through bad luck and timing - both of them had to step away for a moment. i was crying at that point; not emotionally. for 3 days after this i would still be crying, my tears, like a mermaid's, a frothy pink with blood.

my brother worried about leaving me. he had another, just-as-bad emergency.

"i got her," someone said. "don't worry."

a soft hand held mine, and then she started talking.

her name was jess. she has a wife named clyde. they live a few blocks up the street. clyde fell down, but the x-rays seem to be coming back better than expected. jess says she's got long dark hair and "more wrinkles than an elephant". jess describes every chair in the room and every person. she talks about her two kids and her cats and her favorite memories from college.

a doctor came. i had to switch to a different waiting room. i tried to stand up to follow the voice - i found jess's hand, following me. she didn't let go. she kept talking the whole way: lamp to your left, just a few more steps, okay to your right is the ugliest painting, good, now a little more walking straight, you got it baby

in the new silence of the next room she sat me down and called my brother for me, telling him where we'd gone to. and she stayed there for a bit, just chatting, her voice echoing in the eerie quiet. gently describing the room to me. and then someone was rude. from the sound of the voice, a kid, i think.

"why is she crying?"

"she just lost her vision," jess said. "she can't see."

"oh." said the kid. "that's scary."

the kid tells me he is here because he has peas stuck up his nose. that makes me laugh, his mom (?) groans. she tells me about the kid (he's 6, he likes paw patrol and eating cheese), about herself, about moving from cali.

jess says she's sorry, but she has to leave now, she's gotta go check on her wife.

"don't worry," says the mom. "i got her." and then i felt her hand press into mine.

for hours like that: i am taken care of by strangers. each person just talking with whatever comes to their head - not for any reward or celebrity or real reason, i guess. just because i am scared and alone and in the hospital and blinded and need to be distracted. not everyone even got told the story - they would just pick up in the silence with - oh by the way the television is playing HGTV - do you like that kind of a thing? yeah, me too, but could never quite get into those open-floor plans, i'll tell you -

by the time my brother is able to come back, the room is buzzing. we talk to each other like old friends, laughing, cracking jokes about if you don't like hospital food wait until you get on an airplane and can't believe i'm up past two in the morning what a party animal i'm becoming. i am holding the hands of someone named drew, who likes my crow tattoo and making crochet snails.

there are many dark moments full of pain in this world. this - in the low of absolute-dark, absolute-pain: people find a way to paint in it anyway. the color splash of their voices: this triumphant, radiating kindness of - let's be here together, let me help you, let's keep going.

i never saw their faces. i can't remember many of their names. but i think about them often, and the way we all took a deep breath - and did something gentle amongst the pain.

Most of us could probably stand to benefit from reading this. I did. It’s really lovely.

Hey, the ACLU is getting people to send letters to your Reps to have Congress pass the No Kings Act.

This act would make constitutional amendments to ensure that even sitting presidents are held liable for their actions. That NOBODY is above the law.

Their goal is 150k messages sent and at the time of writing this they're about 2.1k off from that goal!

ACLU gives you a prefilled message that you can edit to send to make the process easier, and will send it out for you.

This only takes a few minutes!

Not unreality, not a joke: I have never posted such a thing before here but- Please do this one for whatever good it might result in.

Robot that makes high-pitched beeps and chirps when they're happy.

(Think of the noises those scanners make in a store.)

There are the tragedies but there are also infinite combinations of soup and things-to-dip-in-soup.

I re-watched the Raggedy Ann and Andy movie from 1977 yesterday and fell in love all over again. There's something so timeless, moving, and beautiful about the close bond formed between expensive porcelain and humble rags. Their contrast is extremely complimentary!

(Also I'm just a huge gay nerd with a very sappy heart so that's a factor too lmao but shhhh)

YALL THE ONION BOUGHT INFO WARS IN THE BANKRUPTCY AUCTION

THIS IS THE FUNNIEST POSSIBLE OUTCOME ARE YOU KIDDING ME

I will testify that even if I strongly dislike, utterly hate, and cannot stand a character, I will never go on someones post talking about liking that character and say so. Basic decency and all that

This applies to ships and aus and headcanons, and everything too. Message your friends, make your own post, block and mute, do whatever you want in private, but don't be rude on other people's post 🫡

For those who have overactive guilt complexes like me…

[ID:

1: A twitter thread from user @ UrsulaV that reads, “If you’re ever feeling guilty about not cooking a fresh home-cooked meal, a reminder that people in cities historically either had cooks or ate at food stalls, going back to Ancient Greece. Ancient Egypt, too, although since everybody ate bread, beer, and onions, less of a thing.”

“It’s a weird quirk of our obsession with nuclear families that everybody is expected to have time, skill, and equipment to cook daily and that if you’re a woman, particularly, you are a lesser person if you aren’t casually able to cook every day with random fresh ingredients.

Don’t buy into that. People since forever have hired cooks, gone to inns, lived in extended families where it wasn’t always your turn to cook, or ate such simplified diets that it was less of an issue.

You haven’t failed at a normal human task, you have been sold an unrealistic expectation and told it was a normal human task. Go get takeout. Or beer, bread, and onions. Eat cheese and some dates. Relax.” End ID]

Your reminder to Click for Palestine today!

And/or donate directly to the UNRWA if you have the means!