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Warning: contains cheese.

@the-majestic-cheese-turtle / the-majestic-cheese-turtle.tumblr.com

Catholic | 28 ♀| ADHD
i need a break but there is nothing to break

list of things i’ve done to make my home more ADHD friendly

1. waterproof clock in the shower

2. laundry baskets in the bedroom, bathroom, and laundry room

3. trash can with automatic motion sensing lid (same price as one of same size with footpedal!!!!)

4. organizer hanging on bedroom door for odds and ends that have no “belonging place”

5. wall hook for hoodies/jackets worn frequently so they don’t end up on the ground or bed or thrown over the back of a chair

6. clear bins so that things can be stored but aren’t invisible (the old can’t-see-it-so-it-doesn’t-exist problem)

7. all tupperware is the same!!! no mismatched/lost lids

8. all socks are the same!!!! no wasting time looking for matching socks

9. shoeboxes in drawers to split sections for different types of things

9. something i plan to do soon: label the cupboards by what’s in them (see #6)

11. cheap 3D printed wall hooks for headphones so that they have an always belonging place*

12. little bin or box for remote controls in the living room (mine goes under the coffee table)

bonus tips that help me!

13. limit dishes that are easy to get to so that i have to clean them immediately after eating

14. reduce impulse buying by using grocery pickup online orders (can see total easily before checking out)

15. listen to podcasts or audiobooks while doing boring chores

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*wall hooks are good for all kinds of things! You can also use them for stuff like PS4/XBox controllers, hats, loosely wrapped long cables, that awkward-to-store ring from Ring Fit Adventure, etc. etc.

I had the most ridiculously awkward interaction with the UPS delivery guy the other day. Allow me to paint a picture.

He rings the doorbell and I’m still in bed so I grab my phone and pull up the app for my security cameras, intending to speak to him through the mic. I open my mouth and attempt to say "Just a minute". I have failed to account for the fact that I currently have laryngitis. Out of my mouth comes some sort of inhuman hiss/honk hybrid and the delivery guy snaps his neck around to stare at the camera like one might stare at a snake that just dropped from the ceiling two inches from your face.

After a pause that felt like eons he says, “I can’t hear you, sorry.” I scramble out of my bed, yanking on a pair of pajama pants and tossing a robe over my shoulders in the hope that it might make me look a little less like a feral animal who has just been dragged out of hibernation.

It doesn't work.

I show up to the door with my hair doing its best impression of Albert Einstein and a red robe halfway over my shoulders, constantly on the verge of falling off due to the fact that I had failed to put either of my arms into the sleeves. As I push the door open I scoop up my cat, Steven, in a haphazard football carry so that he won’t bolt outside and with my free hand I hurriedly type a message on my phone.

“Sorry, I lost my voice.”

I hold it up so he can read it.

The delivery man squints at the phone.

"Oh, ok," He responds.

He offers me a pad to sign.

“I’m just going to need your signature.”

Steven squirms.

My brain short-circuits.

For some reason known only to God I casually toss my phone over my shoulder. It lands on the hardwood floor with a thunk that will probably still be echoing when the world ends.

He looks at me.

I do not look at him, but I feel his eyes on my head.

I stare at the pad.

He snorts the briefest laugh.

I sign the pad.

“Have a nice day,” He says.

I open my mouth to reply.

I wheeze.

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i drew it

I'll never get tired of the thing where a book switches POV and different characters describe the exact same things in different ways, in a way that illustrates themselves as much as the thing they are looking at. A person describing the colour of something as "burgundy" is absolutely a different one from the one describing the same thing as being "the colour of dried blood".

Having Thoughts about horror as a genre

No but every genre starts with some baseline assumptions about the world which is, fundamentally, a worldview, except it’s how you *feel* about the world, how the world *seems* rather than what you believe. So different genres speak to us when we are in different places, and sometimes you need a genre that contradicts your assumptions but sometimes you need one that goes along with them first. So dystopia novels assume the world is stupid and bad and awful and that’s just the way it is, like a person in a certain place might think. And the dystopia says yeah ok the world IS stupid and bad and awful. But can you live in it? Can you find ways to survive and live despite that? And that’s a kind of hope. And the western for example assumes the world is big and wide and empty, ie lonely and/or hostile. How do you live in that? And the mystery novel assumes there are some horrible things just waiting to be found. Ok so how to you face that? And horror is like all those, but it assumes the world is fundamentally terrifying. It’s Scary! There are big dangerous things out to get you! And I think straight horror also has to have an element of despair. Not only are there terrifying terrible things but you are helpless against them. *Thats* what makes it scary. But what I think is really interesting is when you throw kids in the mix in a certain way, what you assume would be a horror story becomes a lot more like a scary adventure. Because kids bring an innocence with them, and usually they don’t have the despair. The kids believe someone bigger can save them, the kids believe they can fight the monsters, the kids believe *there’s something to be done.* And of course that all depends on what kind of horror story you’re telling—an utterly cynical one is bad no good and empty and also actually untrue—but most stories turn against their baseline assumptions at some point. Yes it’s horrible but look how it can change! Yes it’s scary but look what you can do! And it’s because a real story has to be about how you live in a place like that, whether through positive or negative example (tragedy tells you how to live by showing how *not* to).

I think the reason I find a lot of paladin type characters unsatisfying today, or just paragon types in general, is because a lot of the people who write these characters or who obsess over them have no real understanding of what being a good person actually requires.

The way a lot of these characters are written it's as if their own innate goodness somehow shields them from human error and vice, as if they were simply born with prettier souls than everyone else. Many writers will even go so far as to remove any mention of a higher power or divinity for these characters to answer to other than their own heart. Or if such concepts are mentioned, the divine will just meekly agree with whatever their supposed servant does instead of holding actual standards that their chosen is meant to follow. It implies that being Good is something you simply are.

This is a narcissist's idea of what holiness is; the fantasy that you can be heroic without effort or accountability. That if you simply do what you think is right that you cannot go wrong. This is a prideful mindset. I'd even go so far as to say a Satanic mindset because the worst people in history were the ones who convinced themselves that they were infallibly good. That they did not have to answer to anyone for their actions.

Good can sometimes be easy or come naturally. But not always. Being a good person requires choosing to do the right thing on a consistant basis, relentlessly, even in situations where it costs you something or where there is no reward for choosing it. It requires admitting that YOUR standards and values and desires are not the universal good, that your heart can and will lead you astray. It means accepting that there IS something bigger than yourself. It requires facing the ugliest parts of yourself again and again, the parts you most wish to ignore, and fighting them with tooth and nail. It means confessing to the existence of your worst sins and repenting of them. Being a truly good person first requires accepting that you are not one. It requires accepting that you are not God and submitting yourself to Him.

Being good is the hardest thing you can ever be and that is why I find so many of these modern "heroes" so bland and emotionally dishonest. There's no struggle. They have no vices to wrestle, no sins to atone for. They never suffer for their choice to pursue goodness or are tempted to abandon the quest. They never struggle. They never undergo the death to self. They are pseudo-saints that crown themselves themselves with glory instead of being crowned by The Supreme Good for their humility and love. They are fake heroes that are empty imitations of holy people at best and demonic caricatures of them at worst.

Virtue is not something you innately possess. It is something you submit to.

I hate that "if you're anxious about doing something you need to do, just do it now" is such good advice.

Like it sounds so reductive but it WORKS. It IS better to rip the bandaid off and do something rather than just sit there and feel anxious about it and ruin more and more of your day! If you know you're just gonna sit there worrying about it, just do it so you dont have to think about it anymore! Cause 99% of the time, if you're like me, it's never as bad as you are worried it will be!

I had the most ridiculously awkward interaction with the UPS delivery guy the other day. Allow me to paint a picture.

He rings the doorbell and I’m still in bed so I grab my phone and pull up the app for my security cameras, intending to speak to him through the mic. I open my mouth and attempt to say "Just a minute". I have failed to account for the fact that I currently have laryngitis. Out of my mouth comes some sort of inhuman hiss/honk hybrid and the delivery guy snaps his neck around to stare at the camera like one might stare at a snake that just dropped from the ceiling two inches from your face.

After a pause that felt like eons he says, “I can’t hear you, sorry.” I scramble out of my bed, yanking on a pair of pajama pants and tossing a robe over my shoulders in the hope that it might make me look a little less like a feral animal who has just been dragged out of hibernation.

It doesn't work.

I show up to the door with my hair doing its best impression of Albert Einstein and a red robe halfway over my shoulders, constantly on the verge of falling off due to the fact that I had failed to put either of my arms into the sleeves. As I push the door open I scoop up my cat, Steven, in a haphazard football carry so that he won’t bolt outside and with my free hand I hurriedly type a message on my phone.

“Sorry, I lost my voice.”

I hold it up so he can read it.

The delivery man squints at the phone.

"Oh, ok," He responds.

He offers me a pad to sign.

“I’m just going to need your signature.”

Steven squirms.

My brain short-circuits.

For some reason known only to God I casually toss my phone over my shoulder. It lands on the hardwood floor with a thunk that will probably still be echoing when the world ends.

He looks at me.

I do not look at him, but I feel his eyes on my head.

I stare at the pad.

He snorts the briefest laugh.

I sign the pad.

“Have a nice day,” He says.

I open my mouth to reply.

I wheeze.