Rid, 22, queer, aerogender (any pronouns), autism, Scorpio, ambivert, musician, pseudopoet, gamer, luthier-in-training. Lazy goth. Exhaustion is my personality defect and I counteract it with coffee and synthpop.
The thing about knitting is it’s much harder to fear the existential futility of all your actions while you’re doing it.
Like ok, sure, sometimes it’s hard to believe you’ve made any positive impact on the world. But it’s pretty easy to believe you’ve made a sock. Look at it. There it is. Put it on, now your foot’s warm.
Checkmate, nihilism.
This is a powerful positive message..
I’m literally reading a book right now (Burnout by Emily and Amelia Nagoski) that says this is scientifically sound.
There have been studies done on rats and dogs where they develop learned helplessness in the animals by giving them impossible tasks. Eventually the animals stop trying, even when the task stops being impossible. (I.e. put a rat in a maze with cheese it can’t get to until it develops learned helplessness, then put the cheese somewhere it can get to it and it won’t even try.) But once they show the animals they CAN do something - i.e. physically moving the rat to the cheese - the learned helplessness goes away.
No one can move you to your cheese for you, but the book says DOING something - which they define as “anything that isn’t nothing” can help. Make a food. Work in the garden. Clean a thing. Do a favor for a friend. Call your elected officials.
Knit a sock.
If you feel overwhelmed by existential despair, do something. It doesn’t have to be big. It just has to be anything that isn’t nothing.
This is really good advice for ADHD people because when executive dysfunction gets bad it’s easy to fall into this pattern of thinking. Do just one thing. It doesn’t have to be your homework, or a chore. It can be something small, it can be something you enjoy. But do just one thing to remind yourself that you can.
This is what “humans want to be productive” really means
We want to make things. We want to do something and at the end of the process see that something has changed. We want physical proof that we did something. We want to be able to point at something and say “I made this”. We want to be creators
Lately I’ve been laying in bed and slapping my own ass. And not even in a sexual way I also just tried to spell sexual with a q so it might be bed time
its really such an indescribable headspace going on long roadtrips in america (but not taking the scenic highways just using the interstates) like the road looks the same for hours. maybe you start driving into the mountains or you’re going out west and you go from plains to mountains to desert, but for the most part it just looks like trees and two stretches of asphalt for as far as you can see. you pull off at an exit to get something to eat or to get gas and it looks the same as every interstate exit you’ve ever been to. the stores might be different, maybe theres a burger king here where there was a mcdonalds at the last one. maybe its a different gas station chain. there’s a few strip malls but no two have the exact same stores. but it’s all the same. it all feels the same. there is no true sensory indication of where you are. you are both nowhere and anywhere.
Me, spouting off armchair theory: You know, it’s far more common throughout history and among many cultures for people to live in large extended families. Where there’s no expectation that children will attain adulthood by moving out and living alone or in nuclear families, the burdens of homemaking and childrearing and eldercare are lessened, and cultural ties are strengthened. Perhaps modern Westerners are foolish for embracing a lifestyle that isn’t centered on this kind of interdependence.
Me, interacting with my actual family: I FUCKING LOVE ATOMIZED INDIVIDUALISM
I wonder if these two are related, though. Western society let go of the good parts of extended family without letting go of many of its worse attributes. We lost intergenerational bonding, networks of support, coming of age rituals and family’s obligation to the individual. We kept rigid gender roles, demanding adulthood, mockery of “not acting your age” and the individual’s obligation to the family.
So, you know, we ended up with a lot of shitty families
The fact that Snape is one of the youngest if not THE youngest professor is fucking hilarious.
Like how does he get away with half the shit he does like almost everyone there has taught him since he was 11 and they just see this 21 year old just walk back in like “Sup fuckers I’m a professor now by force better so you better start treating me like one.”
7th years in the school are like probably “Didn’t this fucker graduate 3 years ago?”
Imagine being a fourth year who has done /said something to your classmate Snape and then in your 7th year he’s your TEACHER
THAT’S LOCKHART THAT’S LITERALLY LOCKHART LIKE
1. He Went to School with Snape
2. Got taught by Snape
3. Became part of the Staff like Snape
And the Fact that he’s acting like he knew shit about potions is hilarious cause you just got Snape in the corner like
“Listen here you little shit . I taught you. I’ve seen your test scores. I graded those shits and you coming in here talking about being able to come up with an antidote?…Sit down.”
The more people reblog this the more shock I am that they didnt know Snape started teaching at like 21 and he’s like 30 first book
People in the tags for the past week having been confused and going bananas so like we gonna forget about the movies. Because the movies got it all wrong
Snape is 31
Hagrid is 63
Professor Mcgonagall is 56
Lupin and Sirius and Peter (3rd movie/book) 33
Dumbledore is 112
Do what you will with this info fam
You forgot Burbage. In the books, she’s in her twenties.
Bringing this back around, when Snape started teaching in Aug/September 1981, he was 21
In Aug/September 1981, Lockhart was 17 :’)
lockhart, 17, never fucking learned how to read: actually professor ;-)
snape, professorially, as if he hasn’t just had his last growth spurt: on god, i’ll smack the shit out you. put—your hand—down.
I would be the worst spy of all time because on one hand I overshare like hell, but on the other hand I also have THE shittiest memory so it’s really a lose/lose scenario for everyone involved.
guy interrogating me: What’s the passcode?
me: Ah fuck. I think it might be 792…..4?
me: Actually no I think it starts with a 2.
me:
me: Yeah I usually just rely on muscle memory for it. Do you think you could get a keypad in here? That might be faster.
guy interrogating me: who do you work for?!
me: Okay, so this is super embarrassing. I know he told me his name when we first met but I forgot and at this point it would be weird if I asked him for his name again, right? So I just kind of go with “sir” whenever I have to talk to him. It might be David though. He looks like a David.
me, after being extracted: bad news guys, I totally blew Dave’s cover.
my boss: Wait, what?
me: Yeah, like they had knives and shit and it was kind of stressful so I just told them that my contact’s name was David Johnson. Really sorry about that.
boss: We don’t have a David Johnson working for us. Are you thinking of James?
me:
me: Good news, guys, I did not blow James’ cover!
Enemy 1: So, how did the interrogation go?
Enemy 2: We got nothing. All they did was ramble on about their childhood trauma for two hours.
Enemy 1: Hmm. maybe lower the dose of the truth serum next time.
