Sotheresthatthought - My Life Is A Mess But As Es La Vida - Tumblr Blog

"July is gay wrath month" actually its disability pride month and we tell you this every year and yet

A short comic I made about my experiences as a seasonal worker, and the way places change you.

you get used to it, but it's tiring, because they need you to understand your own life as a series of goalposts. what college are you going to, what's your major going to be, whatcha gonna do with that, oh where will you settle down, when can i expect grandkids.

for the longest time my goals have been so blurry that they track into each other, their undefined edges slipping quietly back into the soft night. today i want to be a writer; tomorrow i will want to be a doctor, later i will wish i took that law school free ride. how the fuck do people just know what they want to do with their life?

where do you want to be in five years? i want to be alive; which is a huge step for me. ten years ago i would have said i want to be asleep and meant i hope that i'm dead by then.

but i want a yellow kitchen and a standup mixer. i want a garden and a fruit tree (cherry, if i can make that happen) and a big yard for my dogs to play in. i want to come home and read poetry out loud to someone and have them close their eyes to listen. i want a summer watergun fight. i want to make snowmen. i want to be the house to go to for halloween. i want my life to settle around me in a softness, for it to lay down gently. if i am very, very, very lucky, i want to travel; finally go someplace overseas.

of course i don't know what i want to be doing professionally. what i actually want to be doing is curling up beside my dog, settling in to read. i want to be making myself a cup of good coffee.

i can't answer the other questions. whenever people asked me what do you want to be when you grow up, i used to say i hope i'm happy.

i hope i'm still kind, five years from now. i hope i never get jaded and mean. i hope i have stayed in therapy. what do you picture yourself doing? when will you actually be an adult about this? why are you so afraid of being ambitious?

am i not ambitious? the other day i rearranged my furniture which doesn't quite fit into my apartment. i watered my plants. i'm going to try to propagate a cherry seed. my five year goal is to spend more time laughing. to lie down in a patch of sunwarm moss. to relax for a minute. to close my eyes and think oh thank god. this is why i stayed. this is finally it.

self love is a process where you reduce the amount of separation you have to experience to be able to look at yourself with compassion

the impossible return

I went out with 3 of my friends today. I found a place that claimed to have wheelchair accessible walks, and we went off the path, and my wheelchair got stuck a thousand times.

We laughed so hard, and they pushed me (I can't propel myself very far) and we took photos and we laughed more and we went through mud and fine sand and thistles, and then we ate croissants at a café and when we got back to the car we had ice cream and

I wish I could go back to my child self and show them this day. I wish I could say, One day you'll be part of things and people will be glad to have you around, and they won't complain about pushing you up a steep grade or through a bog, and they will want to hear your shitty jokes and when you gasp and say LOOK A BABY BUNNY they will stop to look and it will be exactly as magical as you're imagining now.

You can find a place where you're appreciated and loved and supported. You can. I believe it.

You know, I thought Ylfa was tragic and sad like all the Neverafter characters are in their own way, but I think I'm wrong.

Hear me out.

Ylfa's story diverges from the canon of Little Red Riding Hood when the Woodsman doesn't come by. But he doesn't just not come by that day, he doesn't come by for weeks. Unheard of. He visits all the time, brings wood and forage for the Grandmother, she'd freeze to death at night if he doesn't come by, it's part of his job or just a dude being kind to an elderly woman, enjoying the sweets or soup she makes him as thanks. But he doesn't come by. For weeks he doesn't stop by. And we don't know why, maybe he was hurt or sick, but we know he wasn't dead because the Second Story Ylfa goes and kills the woodsman. Can't kill what's dead. So he's alive, presumably doing fine and healthy, but he doesn't come by. The one person in the story that's supposed to protect Little Red and presumably the village people from wolves just doesn't do that. The one Ylfa is told will always protect her if she finds trouble doesn't protect her.

She waits for weeks for a man that never comes. A hero that won't save her because he's too busy doing something else. And while she waits, the Wolf waits with her. He doesn't chastise her, doesn't provoke and antagonize her, doesn't jeer or make fun of her for waiting for someone he knows isn't coming. He kindly waits in silence, watching over her in that tiny cottage. He's honest when she asks what happened to her grandmother, tells her gently but firmly it was the old womans time to die, but not Ylfas. Death looks this little girl in the face and gently tells her it's not her time to die, even as she yells at him that the woodsmand will come and cut him open, he's gentle and kind with her. When she demands he kills her already, since no one is going to save her from him, he refuses. Death refuses to take Ylfa, even as she waits for it, even as she demands it take her, Death will not do it. What's more, he tells her how to save herself, offers her his own strength, provides a way for her to be her own hero in this story. Hunger and despair eventually drives her to obey, and later she is horrified of what she's done.

Ylfa then runs home, sobbing, terrified, crying out for her mother, her siblings, her grandmother, anyone at all to help her. She's drenched in Wolfs blood, body trying to transform against her will. And what does she find at her home when she gets there? Besides a rightfully terrified mother and siblings hiding in the dark home? Because we know, in the story, that the wolf can take someones shape and trick people into coming close so he can eat them too, of course they'd be afraid of Ylfa, their presumably dead Little Red Riding Hood, showing up drenched in blood begging to come inside and dragging jagged claws along the windows and door. How are they to know it's really her? No one ever survives the Wolf. No one. Let alone one sweet little girl or her elderly grandmother. So what does her terrified family do? they try to kill the Wolf.

What's worse than all that? What's worse than them being understandably afraid of the Wolf at their door? The fact that they didn't have a funeral for their beloved Little Red. That they didn't acknowledge her death at all. They removed her place from the table, didn't make her a place of rest, didn't go looking for her or her grandmother. Little Red didn't come home, they assumed she died and they moved on immediately.

Something terrible and traumatic happened to Ylfa, something that effected her for the rest of her life, something that completely altered her. She searched for someone to save her, but no one would. She reached out for help and understanding from her family that supposedly loved her and they forgot her, attacked her, ran away from her in fear and disgust. Something changed Ylfa forever, and everyone she ever loved left her behind for it. Everyone, except Death. Death which did this to her, which whispered her name, gently caressed her soul, and refused to claim her. Death that told her she would be all the stronger for it, that being monstrous isn't evil or bad. That she can use his gifts, his curse, to defy him, fight him, maybe even stop him.

"I'm the Big Bad Wolf," Death says calmly, his hot breath warming her as he speaks.

"I'm Big and Bad now too, though," Ylfa whispers back, lips still trembling and face damp with tears.

"Then you just may be able to stop me, Ylfa," Death smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges "I encourage you to try."

Death wanted Ylfa to live. When everyone was fine with her dying, or preferred she be dead to what she became, Death wished for her to live. When even Ylfa has wanted to die or stay dead, Death lead her home to life, comforted her, encouraged her, forgave her for wanting to die before her time. Death was so kind and gentle with this sweet little girl, so honest in his answers, so soothing to her grief. He empathized with her confusion and pain, told her it was normal to feel the way she does, not just for the loss of her grandmother, or the abandonment of her family, but for what she's become. Because Ylfa is grieving herself as well. What she had been, what she could have grown up to be had the Wolf not come. Ylfa mourns for herself as much as she mourns her Grandmother.

He promised to take her one day, but only when it was her time, not a second before or after. In that way, she would never die alone, because Death would be there with her. The Wolf would always be with her now, forever and always. He would never find her monstrous or evil, he would never run from her in fear, never curl a lip at her in disgust. And Death, too, would never be alone as a result. Some of him is always with Ylfa, in some way.

I think some of us need this specific kind of comfort. Some of us need Death to look us in the face and say "No, not yet little one, try again, you can do it... Here, let me help you."

Some of us need someone, even Death, too look at how monstrous we've become because of what's happened to us, or how we were made, and be kind, and gentle, and meet us with such patient love as to refuse to let us go, even when we want to let go, even when everyone else has.

Ylfa met Death, and he wanted her to live. Death was dying, and Ylfa saved him.

Death met Death, and together they decided to Live.

Hey you can cry OK? I am taking my pocket knife and I'm cutting my peach in half and handing you the bigger half. The world is full of things that are worth crying over and it can be exhausting trying to listen to everyone saying don't cry. And it can be worse trying not to cry because you don't want bad things to win. Sometimes you gotta just let yourself cry while eating a peach half someone wanted to give you because it was sweet and those things are also in the world too.

I feel like we always see parents who are 100% super supportive allies, or parents who are horrible and cruel.  At least in media or in the most popular stories.  But I feel like that ignores just how many people have parents where you just have no idea?  And even if you think they’ll accept you on a surface level, you don’t know if they have a breaking point.  Especially if you need to go on hrt, or request they change the way they think about and refer to you.  Sure they’re liberal and all, or centrists, or “tolerant”, but how far does that stretch?

I think most closeted LGBT+ kids live like this, wading around in the grey area.  I’d like it of more of us knew that was normal, I’d like if we talked about it more.

To a homophobe, even the most chaste kiss on the cheek between gay people is exactly as disgusting and degenerate as a hardcore BDSM orgy hosted in the town square, so you may as well ally with the BDSM orgy enthusiasts to throw bricks at the cops who are going to try and arrest all of you together anyway.

pioneering something called "gritted teeth optimism" where everything is gonna turn out okay even if i have to bite and claw and gnash my way through it

I think a surprising amount of writers don’t realize that tragedies are supposed to be cathartic. They’re intended to result in a purging of emotion, a luxurious cry; the sorrow caused by a great tragedy is akin to fear caused by a good horror movie – it’s a “safe” sorrow, one that is actually satisfying to the audience. It can still be beautiful! It’s isn’t supposed to just be salting the earth so nothing can grow.

But that’s how you get grimdark: writers who don’t realize that they’re supposed to be doing something with the audience instead of to the audience.

I am a mosaic of everyone I have ever known and loved and touched and I find fragments of them in my playlists and how I make my tea. we may not know each other any more but we will stay connected like this. I hope a fragment of me is with you too.

“do it for the vine” = allow yourself to live life in the moment instead of maintaining a facade of normalcy for the enjoyment of not only yourself but of those around you

“commit to the bit” = adhere to the guidelines of an event that will in retrospect be nothing but a minuscule footnote, but continue to execute it for the complex web of happiness it brings you and your collective now

“fuck it we ball” = get the most you can out of life by putting the very thrill of being alive first and everyday occurrences and responsibilities last

listen. aging into your thirties rocks. yes your joints get a little creaky. yes you can’t sleep in a pretzel on the floor anymore after a concert or a convention. and you lose some friends. but the thing is that you sort out who your real friends are and you sort out who you really are. and you get to see your friends settling into careers they like, and adopt new dogs and cats, and you find a job you can stand, and get really good at arts and crafts, and maybe that book you loved as a kid gets a movie deal and it doesn’t suck, and you learn to like new food and bake your own bread, and you realize that the great portfolio of self harm scars you all used to curate are going white with age and not updated, and half your friends are a different gender now and so much happier and maybe you are too, and you know who you are, and that it’s a journey and not a revelation. it’s a direction you’re headed, and you’re enjoying the trip.

reaching your 30′s rocks. and i’m hearing good things about what comes next, too.

when you see someone from high school and they don’t recognize you that’s the exact opposite of the mortifying ordeal of being known. the gratifying relief of being forgotten

Smtimes your house is haunted because there's a ghost sometimes your house is haunted because you miss grandma and your mom misses her even more sometimes your house is haunted because the subtext of how the last owners decorated rubs you wrong way sometimes your house is haunted because you've sublimated the fact that you didn't want to move in the first place and Sometimes your house is haunted because there's a carbon monoxide leak. Lots of options.

everyone shut up im thinking about how the entire time jason was robin it was always about him caring about the people he was protecting because that was what mattered to him :( bruce and dick first started being vigilantes because they wanted justice for their parents' murders but it was never about that to jason !! he cared! so much! even when he was being written as "angry and violent" is was always because he CARED about the people that were in danger and wanted to make the victims feel safe and happy :( he became robin and it was about love for a city and its people more than anything else :( then in death in the family he ignored bruce's orders because he thought that sheila was in danger and he cared about saving her! AND THEN even after she betrayed him he still got up after being beaten nearly to death and tried to get her out, and when he couldnt get out of the warehouse he threw himself in front of the bomb so that sheila wouldnt get hurt despite the fact that she had given him straight to joker and hadn't cared when she hurt him :( his time as robin up until the very last second was about love and care and protection no matter what :((((

I desperately crave a friendship like the teen titans have in Gabriel Picolo’s art

another heavy handed symbolism moment: my mom has a potted sunflower in the kitchen. because it is a sunflower, it keeps turning towards the light from the window. my mother keeps rotating it so it faces inward because she wants "to see its beautiful petals and have it really brighten up the space!" . the sunflower is visibly wilting .

unironically love the phrase “but I’m being so brave about it” because truly, like, what other choice do we have in this wretched existence? what a beautiful way to remind yourself to keep going, even if only out of spite

The nonbinary urge to die a saint, but in a whore kind of way

Grandmas were so right about puzzles and knitting and crocheting and solitaire and reading slow and slippers and baking and watching deer in the backyard send post