I Have Done Terrible Things. Forgive Me For This

I have done terrible things. Forgive me for this

my body is NOT. a “”temple””….it is a CLOWN CAR, and NONE OF THESE BITCHES KNOW HOW 2 DRIVE

i have a fucking bone to pick. u kno that minecraft song 'don't mine at night'?? this has weighed on my conscience for several years. that song makes absolutely no sense. why the Fuck would you not mine at night?? monsters do not spawn in relation to the day/night cycle. monsters spawn depending on the darkness level of an area. you can get mobs in a cave during the day. why the FUCK would you waste daylight hours when mobs are going to spawn anyway?? night is the BEST time for mining. day is reserved for activities that can only be done then (if we're assuming the singer doesn't want to encounter mobs), like gathering wood or building. you're going to encounter mobs in caves either way. the REAL issue the singer has is the mobs not night, and has built an unfortunate association between being killed by them and night time, a time of day which ultimately has nothing to do with whether or not you're going to be killed in a cave. it has pissed me off since the first time I ever heard it in 2013. it's such a fucking banger as well fucks sake

finding out people dont usually add numbers by first adding something to make a ten (for example 7+6= 7 plus 3 is 10 plus another 3 is 13) & that its actually an adhd thing is the WILDEST shit literally ive lived like 10 years (or however old i was when i learned to add and stuff) thinking thats how everyone does it. what the fuck

My child is autistic. He doesn’t do well with change. Even little things that would be meaningless to most people.

For example, his hairbrush was getting old and worn. He had chewed the end of it. The cats had chewed some bristles. It was dirty and dusty. But I didn’t say anything. Because it’s his hairbrush.

Finally, he said he thinks it’s time for a new brush. Ok, I say, we’ll put it on the shopping list, and get one next time we’re in town.

So we go to town and we go to the store. There are many hairbrushes to choose from. He picks one and they even have it in his favorite color. We buy it, take it home, and remove the packaging.

I go to put it on the shelf where the old hairbrush is. Can we throw out the old one, I ask.

That’s when he stops. That’s when he freezes and gets a momentary look of panic on his face. Throw out the old one? That hadn’t occurred to him.

Because here’s the thing. Hair brushing is a part of his morning routine. And not just hair brushing, but hair brushing with that particular brush. To most people, the act of hair brushing is the routine, but not the brush itself. The objects are interchangeable. But not to my child. Not to someone with autism. The brush itself is just as important as the act of brushing.

So I take a breath. I put the old brush down. Think about it, I say. Let me know tomorrow what you want to do with this brush.

He decides. He realizes keeping an old hairbrush is not necessary. But it’s still important to him. So he asks if I can cut off one bristle. To keep. As a memory of the old hairbrush.

I don’t laugh. I don’t tell him it’s silly. I respect his need. I cut off the bristle. He puts it in his treasure box, along side some smooth rocks, beads, sparkly decals, a Santa Claus charm from a classmate, a few other things meaningful to him.

He throws the old hairbrush away himself. He is able to move on, and accept the change.

*Moominmamma voice* fuck terfs