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#time – @natalunasans on Tumblr
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(((nataluna)))

@natalunasans / natalunasans.tumblr.com

[natalunasans on AO3 & insta] inactive doll tumblr @actionfiguresfanart
autistic, agnostic, ✡️,
🇮🇱☮️🇵🇸 (2-state zionist),
she/her, community college instructor, old.
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disabled people's time has value.

months to years long waiting lists for medical appointments are not acceptable, because disabled people's time has value.

airlines requiring disabled people to board first and disembark last is not acceptable. disabled people's time has value.

the months and years many people battle to get a pittance from SSI, if they get anything at all, are not acceptable. disabled people's time has value.

pretty much every company and organization on the planet failing to provide access information is not acceptable. do you understand how much time we waste trying to find out if every. single. place. we want to go to will let us in? disabled people's time has value.

all transit needs to be accessible. paratransit is not an acceptable alternative. you have to book in advance, they often give a window of HOURS, and you often spend hours in the vehicle while they drop off other ppl.

disabled people's time has value.

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shkspr

when rabbi levitas of yavneh said the hope of earthly man is but decay and when shakespeare said what can we bequeath save our deposed bodies to the ground and when hozier said we’d feed well the land and worry the sheep and when flaubert said how nothingness invades us! and when alasdair gray said movement turns dead dogs into maggots and daisies and when dagobert d runes said life is rather a short walk through eternity

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Time blindness is the weirdest aspect of executive dysfunction and so weird as an experience to live with. It’s like you see the clock, the clock says 3pm, you look at the clock again and it’s 3:02, then 3:05, and then you look again and it’s 8pm and WHAT THE FUCK.

You don’t even need hyperfocus. But hyperfocus is like the Warp Speed:tm: version cause when that hits, it’s 3pm and then it’s the next day and why is the sun rising and when did i last eat and oh god i need to use the bathroom. And oh, also, you’re EXHAUSTED. The act of your brain tunnel visioning on something drains you (but that’s another topic).

Time blindness is…. having the general knowledge that today is Wednesday, and you need to do something on Thursday. Thursday is logically tomorrow, but the mysterious void of time is like ‘that’s like next week or something.’  It’s knowing you have to do something in three weeks on the 21st. And as the days creep closer, the 21st is stuck in a constant state of still being 3 weeks away, despite the fact it’s now tomorrow.

It’s wild. ADHD is literally living in a constant state of “There is Now. And there is Later.” and there’s no in between; no dates, no times; no hours, weeks, or months. It’s just Now and Later, and oh god why is is X o’clock already!?

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myceliorum

I always assumed this (and many other weird things about time for me) had something to do with my temporal lobe epilepsy? So many kinds of neurodivergence…

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I was just kinda idly going through my drafts folder, and I don’t know what kinda fuckin’ swamp fumes I was on when I wrote this, nor do I even remember writing it, but honestly, mood

I was thinking earlier, what purpose does time really serve?

My first thoughts were about things that rely on the passage of time like cooking, sports, brushing your teeth, etc, and whether the way we time those things necessitate a larger structure of time. Like, brushing your teeth, you don’t necessarily need to know what time it is to count to 30 seconds while you brush them, and to me that demonstrates a functional way of timing something independent of stuff like hours, days, months, etc.

On the other hand, you need a way of tracking the seasons, the phases of the moon, and such, so we need months, but do we need weeks? Or even days? It feels like second, minutes, and hours serve a particular function, months serve another, but days and weeks just feel like a framework for containing the former in the latter, and what purpose is that serving?

And then of course there’s years, decades, etc, and I’m thoroughly convinced that those are just ways of masking the tenacity of cultural norms. Like, what a profound myth the year is! We approach New Year’s with this sense that once that clock strikes midnight, there’s some sort of reset, like we all go into it hoping that maybe this year will be better than the last, ignoring the fact that 2018 is 2017 is 2016 etc. But, where does the real divide occur? Is there one?

We seem to have some sense of “eras”, vague expanses of time where things were a certain way and then stopped being that way, or if we’re being properly dialectical, they gradually shifted into a new configuration. However, eras don’t require years. Years can be used to measure the length of an era, but what purpose does that information serve?

Because my mind immediately goes to what ways capitalism relies on time to function. Like, I remember my first job and learning about 90-day probation, and I wonder what seems like a more unreasonable amount of time, 90 days or an entire season.  On the other hand, we have “seasonal” jobs,

You can’t domesticate the concept of human struggle and global tragedy into a schedule, that’s absurd.

Ultimately, time as we know it facilitates the sort of labor relations by which a person can be forced into a certain space at a specific time repeatedly without being able to revoke consent without heavy reprisal.

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I am turning 26 very soon, and a week ago I lost my chance at a life and a love better than my dreams, mostly by my own fault. I am applying to the birthday unending in hope that I can hide from my pain and anger until I learn not to hide from myself anymore, and never again to let others carry me through my choices. I bring words that I cannot say out loud, no gender to be seen, many languages to tell stories in, some pig blood and human tears, and a few bundles of rope. May I please come in?

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OH, CHILD.

COME HERE.  WE MUST SPEAK TO YOU.

THERE ARE CHANCES WHICH COME AND CHANCES WHICH GO, CHOICES WHICH ARE RIGHT AND CHOICES WHICH ARE WRONG, BUT WE SAY THIS TO YOU, AND WE HOPE AND PRAY YOU WILL LISTEN, THAT YOU WILL BELIEVE, FOR WE MAY NEVER SAY ANYTHING THIS IMPORTANT AGAIN:

SO LONG AS YOU HERE, SO LONG AS YOU ARE DRAWING BREATH, THERE IS NO LAST CHANCE AT A BETTER LIFE.  EVERY DAY IS ANOTHER CHANCE, ANOTHER SERIES OF BEAUTIFUL OPPORTUNITIES, AND SOME OF THEM MAY PASS BY UNNOTICED, WHILE OTHERS CAN BE CAUGHT, AND HELD, AND NURTURED.  YOU ARE NOT DONE YET.  YOU ARE NOT LOST.  WHAT YOU DID NOT GAIN WILL BE BALANCED IN THE FUTURE YET TO COME, WHICH IS BIG, AND BEAUTIFUL, AND WILL GIVE YOU SO MANY MORE CHANCES.

SO MANY MORE.

HERE IS YOUR PLACE AT THE TABLE.  HERE IS YOUR CONICAL HAT.  HERE IS TIME, CHILD, TIME TO LEARN AND GROW AND UNDERSTAND, TIME TO FIND YOURSELF AND LOSE YOURSELF AND BECOME SOMEONE NEW, SOMEONE YOU HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO BE.  HERE IS TIME.  TREASURE IT.

WELCOME TO THE BIRTHDAY.  WELCOME TO THE BIRTHDAY.  WELCOME TO THE BIRTHDAY UNENDING.

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ink-splotch
it comes, it comes, it comes the dust on the top of the bookshelf, the stains in the sink, the storm they’ve been promising for ages now, the year’s end - it grows, it grows, it grows that pile of odds and odder ends, the braid that lays heavy on your spine, the white in your father’s beard, the space between - it goes, it goes, it goes the twilight blushing blue, the road when you crest the hill  and see it fall away at your feet, the last exhale on the last day that never was - you are here, in the body you know best. dust the shelves, scrub the sink.  nap with your windows open to the rain. the years will come. - you will grow to fit every space open to you– you with your stormcloud skin and your asphalt eyes and the bird who lives in your chest. - pick up the phone and call every person that you miss.  they will not all come home–  they go and go, down and down, they go– but you will.

ejl. (x)

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Doctor Who and Time (Mummy on the Orient Express rant)

In my first post on this topic (which can be neatly summed up by the words “asdjgl;hhgahag argh mOFFAT”), I wasn’t able to explain exactly why I was so disappointed in the latest episode of Doctor Who. So I’ve been thinking about it, and I think the thing that ticked me off was not so much that Clara forgave the Doctor after her awesome ragefest last week (I loved it I loved it I loved it)…..

…..it was that we didn’t get to see her forgive him. I mean, yes, they said words on screen that mean that everything is nice and cozy again and on with the adventures—

—but they outright skipped the weeks it apparently took Clara to calm down from “Kill the Moon.” And the problem with skipping those weeks, those weeks full of Clara ranting at Danny during lunchtime about how much she can’t stand the Doctor and those quiet times at night when she just chugs through a pint of ice cream while looking at the stars, is that we the viewers don’t feel them. For us, it was Clara Angry to Clara Accepting and Sad to Clara Let’s Travel Again. But that’s missing out on huge, important moments for Clara, in between the anger and the sadness. I mean, how did they even reunite again? Isn’t that important? How do you contact the proud alien space insect telling him you want in again? Did she phone him all awkwardly or did he come to her? What was Twelve doing for those weeks—was he alone, was he with River, did it matter to him at all that she left? This is important character stuff, but we skipped it because….because….um, space mummies. Kids like that, right?

And what makes this character-skipping-adventure-jumping all the more frustrating is that it’s not an isolated occurrence in this show that I love. For a man obsessed with timey-wimey mechanics, Moffat consistently shows a deep misunderstanding on what time means. Like, time—not jumping forwards or jumping back, but what ages mean, the movement through eras and thought, the pacing of hours. Time rarely matters to his characters: Eleven spends centuries escaping death and centuries waiting for it on Trenzalore, but the weight of these years hits the viewer just as big numbers, not as the lifetimes they are. Rory waits for 2000 years, but he doesn’t really change—he just waits, and then he’s back to the derpy lovable Hufflepuff. River Song is a child in the 60s in New York and then somehow ends up in Leadworth for the 90s, a fairly normal cutup despite the loss, the decades apparently spent waiting for her parents to be born. All of history collapses in the finale of series 6, despite the fact that this means absolutely nothing because time isn’t just a bunch of historical characters and pterodactyls. Amy tries to get a divorce at the beginning of series 7, even though we skipped all the buildup to that drastic decision in favor of Ood jokes.

Basically, time lacks consequence for Moffat. The big fancy millennia are fun to throw around, and time loops are enjoyable enough, but time—time for characters to change, time’s drag and pull, time that moves forward in a neverending chain of reaction—is always skipped in favor of cute jokes and scary monsters. We miss out on time that is important to the characters, and that is a loss to the world’s best time travel story. We miss out on what time means to humanity because we’re so busy seeing how many zeroes we can add to the end of our century. And that’s sad, because humanity’s time, with its “weddings and Christmas and calendars,” is a beautiful thing to focus on.

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man this has been said before by cleverer folks than me, but sometimes you have to sit down and let the sheer size and age of the storytelling tradition just completely overwhelm you, ja feel?

like— think for a second about how mind-bogglingly incredible it is that we know who...

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