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Your 30s aren't too late. Don't let nobody tell you that stupid shit.

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How the Geneva Drive (the mechanical step that makes the second hand on a clock work by turning constant rotation into intermittent motion) works.

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How many vampires do you think have been hit by a car backing up in a parking lot because the driver couldn't see their reflection

I’ve never considered it but you’re really shining light on what’s probably a very serious issue

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On Independent bookstore day me and my gf went to the local indie bookstore and when we left we got to the parking lot we parked in and their was the LOUDEST bird ever singing somewhere and it was echoing off the big building the bookstore is in and I was looking up to find the bird cuz of how loud it was and when I said "where is that bird???" My gf said "right there" and pointed to the ground where I saw the TINIEST of birds making the BIGGEST of noises and I was very impressed. There's no point to this story besides find wonder in the little things.

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Accessibility takes too goddamn fucking long.

My brother was paralyzed in October 2023. We got him home from the hospital (in Texas, when we live in Iowa) in a clunky old hospital chair. He hated it. He was scared and angry and in pain and his life had just changed forever and he couldn’t do anything for himself in that wheelchair. His first goal (aside from learning how to transfer) was to get a wheelchair. My family was lucky enough to afford one so we thought it would be easy enough. Nope.

We couldn’t buy him a wheelchair. He needed a prescription. For a wheelchair. A doctor had to examine him and declare him in need of a wheelchair. It wasn’t good enough that he had scans and tests showing tumors cutting off his spinal cord. He needed his primary care doctor to examine him during a physical and write a prescription. He was making 2-4 transfers a day, tops. He had no energy to get to a doctor. Home health was in and out every day. He had no time to get to a doctor. He didn’t get a prescription for almost a month. Then it had to go through insurance.

We asked if we could skip insurance and just buy a wheelchair for him. Nope. They wouldn’t sell us one, not even at full sticker price. It needed to be approved by Medicare. We ordered a wheelchair, a nice one, a good shade of green, sporty, small. It would let him move around the house. He would be able to cook, to reach drawers and get stuff from the fridge and brush his teeth and put his contacts in at a sink. We were told it would take awhile, maybe two months. Silently we all hoped he would be around to see two more months.

He went on hospice care on a Saturday in March. On Monday, I was calling his friends to come see him before he died. I got a call on his phone. It was the wheelchair company. They were about to order his wheelchair, she said, but there was an issue with insurance— had he stopped being covered by Medicare? Well, yes. When he started hospice care, he got kicked off Medicare. The very nice woman I talked to told me to call her if he resumed Medicare coverage so she could order his wheelchair. He died less than 12 hours later.

We ordered that chair for him in early December. Medicare didn’t approve the order until March. He was dead before they got around to it. He wanted that fucking wheelchair so badly. The only reason he had any semblance of independence and any quality of life for the last five months of his life was because the wheelchair company lent him an old beater chair, a very used model of the chair he ordered. If I could go back and change one thing about his end-of-life, I would get him his dream wheelchair. He told me again and again he couldn’t wait to get it, so that he could feel like a person again. He made the best of what he had with that old beater chair, but it still makes me mad to this day. He was paralyzed. He needed a chair that afforded him dignity. We had the money for it. And yet, we were left waiting for five months, for a chair that wouldn’t even get ordered until the day he died.

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nothing brings me more joy than repeatedly doing a bit that my mother dislikes

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There’s a lot going on in that little critter’s head right now.

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sleepy (again) but before the Horrors take me, i just wanna wish everyone who sees this a deep rest, with time to close your eyes and dreams or dreamless sleep

just enough sleep that you wake up with the energy to think okay another day, we can do this and believe it

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despite all my dread i am still just a rat made of thread

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the usamerican concept of generations worked exactly once, kinda, a little, and since then people have been trying really hard to insist that it's a universal principal

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this is what all health advice on tiktok looks like

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Jesse I have to sell you to one direction

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My anthro professor has three forbidden words for his essays: problematic, interesting, and large. Point being they’re all filler words, he wants you to just skip straight to why it’s interesting or why it’s problematic. But anyway, any time I disagree with him in class I say to him “mm, interesting, but largely problematic.”