jumpingjacktrash:

idk, maybe the worst part is when they do, you don’t know how to answer, because you’ve trained yourself to be okay no matter what. it’s like seeing the door to freedom open for one moment, but while you’re remembering how to walk, it closes again, and you’re stuck berating yourself for not making a break for it while you had the chance.

i think the worst part might be that after a while you forget what you’re being strong for and how bad it is, so you think you’re doing okay but really you’ve just forgotten or gotten used to how bad it is, and now you don’t even know your own feelings and experiences

jumpingjacktrash:

scloutier:

brehaaorgana:

deadmomjokes:

I know cats have a stigma of being evil little robots who care for nobody but themselves. I don’t deny that there are some out there like this. But in defense of the large majority of darling cats who have been given a bad name due to the wicked few, I would like to tell you a story…

I am asthmatic. I’m not as bad as some; my asthma is generally well-controlled, and I don’t have much trouble with it on a daily basis. However, as all asthmatics know, getting sick becomes a nightmare. Even a small cold can turn into a days-long asthma attack, one that is very painful, and very annoying for me and those around me. The asthma cough sounds like an ill seal at best, or an angry moose with a nasal condition at worst. Y’all with asthma, and y’all with asthmatic friends, know exactly what I’m talking about. The bark. The hack. The Cough Heard Round The World. It’s painful, it’s loud, and it doesn’t stop. Even the rescue inhaler can only do so much to calm it. It just has to run its course with the cold.

Well, this week I caught the crud, and in the past few days it deteriorated into The Cough. Last night, I took some NyQuil to try and stave it off for as long as I could, just to try and get some sleep. That meant that for a few hours, I was cough-free. After that, I was still doped up enough to sleep through some of it. However, by 2am the sleep aid had worn off and The Cough woke me up. Since lying down makes it worse, and I didn’t want to wake my sister, I sneaked out of my bedroom into the living room, where I sat on the recliner and proceeded to hack up a lung while I waited for my next dose of NyQuil to kick in. That is when I noticed Simon.

Simon is a Russian Blue with a masterful resting-witch-face and an attitude to match. She (yes, she’s a girl, that’s another story) is old, fat, proprietary, and attitudinal. She isn’t shy about telling you when she is displeased, and does so with a loud shriek and some teeth or claws thrown in. She is convinced she owns the place, and owns all of us in turn. She is particular about where you can pet her, like most cats; and, like most cats, she loves her sleep and hates to be woken up.

And of course, my hacking woke her up.

Attempting to whisper an apology in between bouts of coughing, I noticed she was getting off her perch atop the chair nearby. She stretched, made a little squeaking sound, and trotted over to me.

I expected her to demand petting as payment for having woken her precious sleep, but she did not. Instead, this traditionally cranky dragon of a cat did something that amazed me.

She began to purr loudly, and sat herself directly on my aching chest. She kneaded my sternum softly, and nosed my chin as if to say, “I’ve got this, you sleep.” Even though I was still coughing, and bouncing her horridly in the process, she remained settled on my chest right above my diaphragm, purring loudly so that it vibrated through my ribs. I don’t know what magic spell she was chanting between her boat-like purrs, but within minutes my cough had subsided and I was able to sleep.

I didn’t wake up until about 4:30. When I did, it was to discover that my lap and chest were devoid of Simon’s presence, and I was coughing again. As I started coughing once more, I heard her familiar “I’m here” squeak from the area of the water dish. I heard some hurried lapping, and then her heavy gallop across the floor. She flumped onto my lap again, and resumed her purring and kneading. She had evidently been doing that for the past 2 hours, and had only left to get some water. Hydrated, she had returned to take care of me.

So yes, she has her share of evil, jerk-cat moments, but I can no longer pretend that Simon is entirely heartless. For that matter, I now refuse to believe that about any cat. Just because they act like a jerk doesn’t mean that they don’t love you.

CAT PURRS ARE HEALING MAGIC SOMEHOW AND ITS SCIENCE

“Scientists have demonstrated that cats produce the purr through intermittent signaling of the laryngeal and diaphragmatic muscles. Cats purr during both inhalation and exhalation with a consistent pattern and frequency between 25 and 150 Hertz. Various investigators have shown that sound frequencies in this range can improve bone density and promote healing.”

https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/why-do-cats-purr/

I will attest, that there is no heating pad as grand as a purring cat, for menstrual cramps.

And no alarm clock more persistent than a hungry one.

hermes is much more snuggly and gets up to much less mischief when i’m having a flare-up. the more miserable i am, the more snuggly he is.

cats aren’t antisocial. they just have their own cat way of being family.

THINGS NOT TO IMAGINE UR OTP DOING

homohighness:

  • LAUGHING SO HARD OVER THE MOST RIDICULOUS SHIT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, CLUTCHING THEIR STOMACHS, SNORTING AND STRUGGLING TO BREATHE
  • Person A leaving tHIGH HICKEYS ON PERSON B (ી(΄◞ิ౪◟ิ‵)
  • BOTH OF THEM BEING THE BEST FRIENDS THAT EVERYONE JUST ASSUMES IS A COUPLE AND NO ONe is even surprised when they announce their official bc wtf do u mean u werent before
  • GIVINGG EACH OTHER ESKIMO KISSES
  • GIVING EACH OTHER BUTTERFLY KISSES
  • FIGHTING OVER THE LAST COOKIE
  • WRESTLING MATCH ON THE COUCH THAT ENDS WITH ONE OF THEM HITTING THEIR HEADS ON THE FLOOR AND THE OTHER HAS TO KISS THE BOOBOO BETTER
  • GOING ON AN ICE SKATING DATE AND PERSON A BEING A KLUTZ THAT KEEPS FALLING SO PERSON B HAS TO HOLD THEIR HANDS BUT THEY BOTH END UP TRIPPING AND LANDING ON THEIR ASSES AND EVERYONE STARES AT THEM AS THEY KEEP LAUGHING
  • DOING CUDDLY MOVIE NIGHTS AND CRYING OVER CHEESY CHICK FLICKS
  • MAKING FUN OF BAD MOVIES TOGETHER
  • BEING THE ANNOYING PPL IN THE BACK OF A MOVIE THEATER THAT TRY TO THROW POPCORN AT PEOPLE
  • FIGHTING OVER WHO GETS TO BE BIG SPOON
  • NO
  • NOW I’M CRYING
  • ABORT MISSION ABORT ABORT 
  • I DIDN’T NEED THIS

The significance of plot without conflict

stilleatingoranges:

In the West, plot is commonly thought to revolve around conflict: a confrontation between two or more elements, in which one ultimately dominates the other. The standard three- and five-act plot structures–which permeate Western media–have conflict written into their very foundations. A “problem” appears near the end of the first act; and, in the second act, the conflict generated by this problem takes center stage. Conflict is used to create reader involvement even by many post-modern writers, whose work otherwise defies traditional structure.

The necessity of conflict is preached as a kind of dogma by contemporary writers’ workshops and Internet “guides” to writing. A plot without conflict is considered dull; some even go so far as to call it impossible. This has influenced not only fiction, but writing in general–arguably even philosophy. Yet, is there any truth to this belief? Does plot necessarily hinge on conflict? No. Such claims are a product of the West’s insularity. For countless centuries, Chinese and Japanese writers have used a plot structure that does not have conflict “built in”, so to speak. Rather, it relies on exposition and contrast to generate interest. This structure is known as kishōtenketsu.

Keep reading

Something To Live For

jumpingjacktrash:

sinesalvatorem:

Human psychology continues to be basically what I’d predict – while still being startling at the same time. Specifically, getting people to settle down in families is a shockingly good way to make them stop being dangerously antisocial:

It was the most elite unit we [ie: The Palestinian Liberation Organisation] had. The members were suicidal – not in the sense of religious terrorists who surrender their lives to ascend to heaven but in the sense that we could send them anywhere to do anything and they were prepared to lay down their lives to do it. No question. No hesitation. They were absolutely dedicated and absolutely ruthless.

“My host, who was one of Abu Iyad’s most trusted deputies, was charged with devising a solution. For months both men thought of various ways to solve the Black September problem, discussing and debating what they could possibly do, short of killing all these young men, to stop them from committing further acts of terror.

Finally they hit upon an idea. Why not simply marry them off? In other words, why not find a way to give these men – the most dedicated, competent, and implacable fighters in the entire PLO – a reason to live rather than to die? Having failed to come up with any viable alternatives, the two men put their plan in motion.“

“So approximately a hundred of these beautiful young women were brought to Beirut. There, in a sort of PLO version of a college mixer, boy met girl, boy fell in love with girl, boy would, it was hoped, marry girl. There was an additional incentive, designed to facilitate not just amorous connections but long-lasting relationships. The hundred or so Black Septemberists were told that if they married these women, they would be paid $3,000; given an apartment in Beirut with a gas stove, a refrigerator, and a television; and employed by the PLO in some nonviolent capacity. Any of these couples that had a baby within a year would be rewarded with an additional $5,000.

Both Abu Iyad and the future general worried that their scheme would never work. But, as the general recounted, without exception the Black Septemberists fell in love, got married, settled down, and in most cases started a family…the general explained, not one of them would agree to travel abroad, for fear of being arrested and losing all that they had – that is, being deprived of their wives and children. And so, my host told me, that is how we shut down Black September and eliminated terrorism. It is the only successful case that I know of.”

I’m a crazy romantic and even I didn’t expect that tying guys like these down with wives and kids would have such a radical civilising effect. I wonder if this has any implications for gangs or other violent pests?

there’s a reason extremists recruit mostly teenaged boys. they have a lot of hormonal anger and no resposibilities. they’re rejecting their parents, as teenagers tend to, but haven’t started families of their own. they’re nature’s cannon fodder, and you better believe the men who run these organizations know it.