OH my god i just spent. literal HOURS cleaning out the fridge and dutifully emptying out even the extremely gross forgotten containers of things into the compost instead of just trashing them unopened. (i have adhd. i don't want to talk about the chicken. it was a bad time.)
anyway yes any other approach would have eaten at me so do i really deserve praise when ultimately i was just saving myself from the bitter reproaches of my own conscience. probably not. however i still want one gajillion neon star stickers because like. HOW conscientious of me. HOW viscerally gross a task. ugh. augh. etc.
AND then i changed the slipcovers on my armchair and started a load of laundry before flopping so. in conclusion i am positively WREATHED with the odor of sanctity atm and i'm making a post about it bc unfortunately due to the aforementioned faulty brain wiring i have a hard time accessing the appropriate Triumphantly Accomplished reward-feeling, so. public self-praise it is!
art by tracy walker; preorder here :)
get ready to see these guys on every envelope i ever mail until i die
also i've been mainlining patricia moyes' henry tibbett mysteries which are like. generally solid-enough if not brilliant entries in the Classic British Mystery Canon if you like that sort of thing, with of course the usual disclaimers about homophobia, sexism, &c: notably there's also one book with a minor trans character! and a Helpful Explanation about how her husband doesn't feel at all strange about her being trans because she's so obviously ~naturally feminine~ and being trans is Totally Separate from being gay—not, to be clear, in the way we'd actually agree with, that like, one is sexuality and the other gender; but rather in a way where 'it always leads to misery if a transsexual experiments with homosexuality.' [me at this juncture staring into the camera & thinking abt all the gleeful gay trans people on tumblr.] anyway to me this was ultimately less offensive than it was laughable, though of course ymmv! however there was also one with a butch character, and that one made me rather sadder and also got me thinking again about how stupid trans infighting is, because you can't actually separate homophobia from transphobia from misogyny—
[H]e saw a massive and somewhat formidable figure making its way across the lawn from the direction of the greenhouse. It was impossible at this distance to tell if the newcomer was male or female—the cropped grey hair, the weather-beaten features, the corduroy knee-breeches and open-necked shirt were appropriate to either sex. Even the voice was ambiguous. […] At close quarters, Henry was surprised to see that the mannish face was coated with a thick layer of pancake make-up, in a grotesque parody of femininity.
and
Facing her, with their backs to the door, were two masculine back-views, both wearing dinner jackets. As they turned to greet the newcomers, Henry was not at all surprised to see that one of them was Dolly, nattily dressed in evening wear, complete with taped-seam trousers, a frilled white shirt and a black bow tie. […] Dolly stood in the doorway, lumpish and unhappy in her ridiculous dinner jacket…
like. the feminine-coded aspects of her presentation are 'grotesque.' the masculine aspects are 'ridiculous.' she can't win! and like. the character is a butch who was almost certainly assigned female at birth, but the narrative critiques her in these ways that are unavoidably deeply transmisogynistic—i mean, that line about her made-up 'mannish face' being 'a grotesque parody of femininity'?? yikes.
anyway. just wild in light of this to be aware of how many trans bloggers on here are fighting one another abt which of us are Really Oppressed. like. is dolly ~transmisogyny-exempt~? what about the trans woman from the other book, who's treated entirely respectfully by the narrative and by the characters—but also can't access her inheritance, because claiming it would require her to out herself…? i just don't understand any analysis that comes to any conclusion besides 'these are all different heads of the same vicious hydra, and many of us may face the same attack at different times; the answer is mutual solidarity and united resistance.'
ok i put on my dorky lil light-up vest & went for a long walk with my thermos of tea in the gloaming & saw the ocean (<3) & a bat (!) & sang deh placatevi con me & nur wer die sehnsucht kennt quietly to myself, & now i'm home again & nefret cat is lying in my lap like a warm heavy sandbag & purring—
in a bit i'll probably go get in the wet box & then reheat the last of the curry mee we made earlier in the week, & all manner of things shall probably in fact be well, actually!
Tricycle Gang in Brooklyn, New York City (1930s)
[ID: Tweet by kelsey weekman @kelsaywhat that reads:
me when i fall short of a goal: agony me when I meet or exceed a goal: ok
/end ID]
Some pen sketches/bird studies from a couple weeks ago (except that little griffin critter on the first)
These were just meant to be loose and fast, so some might look a little wonky