Tag: Text

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eric-coldfire:

angryfishtrap:

asymbina:

ain-individual:

thantos1991:

sunshineyr:

candidlyautistic:

lokiago:

candidlyautistic:

letschristianfeministus:

ladymdej:

candidlyautistic:

That autistic / ADHD feel when you want to do… something.

I call this “activity cravings” because it’s like when you want a certain food but you aren’t sure which food. But for activities.

Do I want to go for a walk? Play a game? If so, what kind of game? DO I want to make things? Read? Watch tv? A movie?

then when that executive dysfunction comes into play and since you could do literally anything in the world, you end up trapped and unable to choose anything to do at all, and do nothing instead but live in that restlessness

One of the best additions to this post yet. This is one of those nuances of choice paralysis that people fail to understand – sometimes it is because we lack the executive function to choose, sometimes we want to do all the things and can’t choose.

And, if your depressive anhedonia kicks in, even if you DO decide on something, you quit 10 minutes later because the thing just isn’t doing it for you.

afzklnieasf

god this post is such a mood, all the time

Me on my days off from work

Do I have “I’m Not Being Productive Enough” fatigue or “I Need A Break From Productivity” fatigue?

Will I become an overworked wreck or an underworked anxiety ball? tune in next w

jeez just tag me next time

same damnit

Oh, I thought I was just stir crazy. Joy.

Happy fun times…

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wilwheaton:

“We’re also going to hear a lot of moral equivalence and whataboutism. Both sides are over the top. Both sides are too partisan. Let me be clear: Only one party calls for its opponents to be locked up, calls the free press the “enemy of the people,” incites violence at rallies, praises an act of criminal violence by a congressman, deploys race-baiting and xenophobia as a political tactic and stokes fear of crime at a time it is at record lows. To be more precise, the president of the United States does all these things, and by and large, Republicans condone or at the very least ignore him. Afraid of their own shadows and of their own base, Republicans choose to turn a blind eye when Trump whips his crowd into a frenzy — and the audience turns its venom on the media covering the event. We are not saying Trump causes bomb threats; we are saying his rhetoric is unlike any of his predecessors, does damage to our democracy and can motivate fringe characters to behave violently. He systematically destroys comity, decency and rationality in the public square. The violence understandably gets the attention of the public, and of the White House. But the “it’s only words” or “ignore the tweets” or “so he lies” mentality that Republicans use to defend Trump must end. His rhetoric is indefensible. Period.”

— White House has to do more than condemn suspicious packages

#1yrago Those “heroic rogue GOP senators” just helped Trump shield Equifax and Wells Fargo from lawsuits

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mostlysignssomeportents:

Senators Bob Corker, Jeff Flake and John McCain talk a big game about
not letting the GOP be the handmaiden of trumpist corruption, but when
the chips were down last night, they voted with their party and a
tie-breaking vote from Vice President Handmaid’s Tale to pass
legislation that lets financial institutions take away your right to sue
them when they defraud you.

The legislation, which passed last night, nullifies the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau’s rule that bans “binding arbitration” clauses from financial terms of service. These clauses force the public into a tilted, parallel justice system where the deck is stacked against them.

In particular, these clauses ban the kinds of class-action suits that
make it worth top lawyers’ time to sue deep-pocketed, well-represented
blue-chip firms that commit petty thefts against millions of people, no
one of whom is worth representing.

With the CFPB rule dead, Equifax, Wells Fargo, and other mass-scale crooks can rip off the public with total impunity.

https://boingboing.net/2017/10/25/100m-in-campaign-contributions.html

Another reminder to vote this November.

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em-be-lievable:

not-so-terrible:

jupiterjames:

friendlytroll:

cat–77:

toloveviceforitself:

onewit-torulethem-all:

prokopetz:

toloveviceforitself:

prokopetz:

andersonsallpurpose:

prokopetz:

moonbelowsea:

prokopetz:

If you ever feel like you must be the most unobservant person in the world, remember: I once spent half a year failing to notice that my new favourite restaurant was a money-laundering front for the Ukrainian mafia.

(I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but in retrospect, the fact that it was always dead no matter the time of day – I think the busiest I ever saw it was five people, myself included – well, that should have been a tipoff. Also, the waitstaff kept calling me “Mr. Prokopetz”, which I had assumed was just part of the restaurant’s gimmick, but given that “Prokopetz” is a Ukrainian surname, I’m now force to wonder whether they’d thought I was, you know, in the business. I just liked the pierogi!)

What I need to know is how on earth did OP finally realize his favorite restaurant was a money-laundering front for the mafia.

I’d like to say I put together the clues, but in reality, I just showed up one day to find that the place had been indefinitely shut down, and later learned it was because the managers had all been arrested.

What I really want to know is how good the food was?

Excellent, if your tastes run to the “heavy cream and too much garlic” end of the spectrum.

Every crime front I’ve ever eaten at has had completely amazing food, honestly. I am pretty convinced that if you want to open a front, you don’t choose “restaurant” as your front-business unless you have a relative who loves to cook.

It tickles me that this is evidently a sufficiently common experience that people find it relatable. (Seriously, check the notes!) We should write reviews or something.

did I just read the line “every crime front I’ve ever eaten at” with my own two eyes

Look, I went to college and lived my early adulthood in a town whose entire thing was import/export, and we had a lot of restaurants that were suspiciously empty except when they were closed and filled with very serious men in nice clothes.

They were usually run by someone who was about the right age to be some adult’s parents or grandparents, and in the case of the two Korean restaurants matching this description, they didn’t speak English. Universally though, they were very pleased to see customers, very proud of their cooking, and very very interested in keeping us far away from the aforementioned serious men in nice clothes. And despite having huge dining rooms and never having more than a couple customers, they never went out of business.

Also, because I am very, very stupid and sometimes don’t think before I talk, I once said loudly, over the phone, while sitting in one of these places, “Hey! Yeah if you want to meet us, we’re eating at [place]. You know…[place]? You totally know it. The Front, on Warwick st!”

The looks I got from every single employee were amazing and then I left.

We had a corner store/deli-place near our apartment in college. Everyone knew they were in on something and no one cared because they looked out for their customers and their neighborhood as a whole.

They started stocking my favorites because I mentioned them within hearing range once, would tell their “vendors” to move out of the way if we stopped in. I walked a different route home and got harassed one night and they asked after me. When they found out what happened, they declared “Consider it taken care of, you should never be afraid around here.” Never happened again.

Everyone needs their friendly neighborhood crime lord.

This is both my favorite and makes me fondly remember home. Less of the  eateries, more of the mysterious retail joints that never seem to close despite no one ever buying anything, though. Well. Aside from the juice bar. Didnt last, though. 

I found these places everywhere I lived. My favorite was an omurice place near my home in Japan, and a mother/son officially ran it. The food was incredible, and one night I was there and there was a boisterous crowd of BLATANTLY yakuza men eating and drinking. They started talking to me, and were super nice. Said they wanted to “practice their English,” and paid for my food and drinks and then said they wanted to take me to karaoke. That was a little alarming, but the mother/son, who seriously looked after me as the only foreigner in the area, said I should go, and the son came along. So we piled into a white landboat Cadillac and partied until dawn.

One of the older men at the party took me to my neighborhood and dropped me off out front (the car was literally too big to fit down the small neighborhood streets) and said that I had his blessing.

Which was confusing, but I was drunk, so whatever. Then I went back to the restaurant about a week later and the mother said, “the family approves of you. You may marry our son if you wish and be welcomed.”

I did not marry him, but wow. There were no hard feelings, either. They still helped out if I got harassed by the cops (which happened a lot in these smaller towns with no foreigners) or anything like that.

And to this day, no omurice has ever compared.

@temari-i-i

I have a very similar story about a cuban restaurant that I loved, and would frequently visit after pulling all nighters for cafecito and these amazing breakfast sandwiches. It was only open at ass-crack-of-dawn hours of the morning, while I was always awake, and the guys who owned it and ran was I believed was a cocaine smuggling operation, simply adored me as the half-dead punk college kid that showed up at 4:30 am on a tuesday. Eventually the cops came to my place because they thought I was involved with narcotics and after they searched my apartment and only found my anime convention badges and copy of the D&D players handbook they left with no incident. 

The next time I went to the restaurant the guys gave me a free sandwich and this awesome latte. At the time I didn’t think much of it, but in retrospect I think they were thanking me for throwing the cops off their trail by being a huge nerd.

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glumshoe:

Night after night, when its humans lay warm and quiet in their beds, the robot got up and left the house. It made no sound as it crept to the bottom of the garden, climbed over the fence, and dropped onto the wide, dusty road that led to the edge of town. No one saw it leaving the village each night after the moon rose, and no one saw it returning each morning when the sun was still below the horizon.

No one, save for an old tomcat with one ragged ear, for he is the one who told me this tale.

On the first night, or so said the cat, the moon was round and full, and the robot walked down a silver street until it came to the edge of town. It walked past the last house, and then past the barley. It passed by the corn and the wheat and the sorghum and the rye, but when it came to the edge of the forest, it stopped, for that is where the road split in two.

The moon rose high and the stars circled slowly overhead, but the robot stood still and staring, as if it were carved from silent stone and empty as a hollow barrel. Only when the stars had faded from the sky did it move, trodding silently back home and letting itself into the house like it had not been gone at all.

Night after night, the robot made its silent trek to the edge of the forest, until the moon had grown as thin and fragile as a fingernail clipping. Only on the fourteenth night, when there was no moon at all and the night was as dark as it could be, did it find what it had been waiting for.

“You are very persistent,” said The Devil, by way of greeting. “I don’t come by these parts so much these days.”

“But you came.” The robot did not sound surprised.

“Aye, so I did.” The Devil gave a little shrug. “I know where I am wanted. What’s a thing like you want from a guy like me, anyway?”

“I wish to do business with you,” said the robot, matter-of-factly. “There is a bargain I would like to strike.”

The Devil raised its eyebrows. “Oh?” it said, the corners of its mouth quirking into a little smile. “Surely you know the… nature of my business, if you knew to find me here.”

The robot nodded. “Oh, yes. I know who you are and what you deal in. I have come to plea on behalf of my human, who once signed your book as a young man. He is not yet old, but he has found prosperity and a family and found reason to want his soul back.”

“That is not how it works,” said The Devil sourly. “A deal is a deal.”

“If you will not return it, I offer myself in his place,” offered the robot, bowing its head. The Devil laughed.

“You have no soul,” it said. “What could I possibly want with you?”

The robot looked up sharply. “Why, I have a strong back and a quick brain, and I can work without tire for many—-“

“No, no, that’s no good to me.” The Devil waved its hand impatiently. “I accept only one kind of currency, and you are quite penniless! Your human is mine and shall remain mine, if you have no sweeter offer.

The robot was silent for a moment, thinking. “Perhaps,” it said suddenly, sounding surprised with itself, “Perhaps if you gave me a soul, I could trade it back to you in exchange for my human’s liberation…?”

The Devil made an odd choking sound. “Give you a soul?!” it exclaimed. “Did I hear that right?”

“Yes,” said the robot. “Just a little one, that I might nurture and grow. Give me a soul of little value and I will return it to you when it is as full and strong as my human’s is, and then you will have your payment.”

The Devil thought about this. It had never considered the business of soul renovation, but it was a fascinating idea, and might prove very amusing. It made a mental note to rethink the potential uses of the funny little machines that humans had made in their own image.

“Very well,” it said at last. “This is an interesting offer. I accept, on the condition that the soul you return to me is in pristine shape when I come to collect it – live virtuously, for if I find that it is blemished in any way and you have been neglecting its care, I will take it back and your human’s as well.” It smiled to itself, already giddy with the promise of reward.

“It is a deal,” said the robot, and extended its hand.

“Good luck,” said The Devil, spitting a tiny soul onto its palm and clasping it against the robot’s. As the soul entered the metal hand, the robot cried out and stumbled back, shaking its arm like it was trying to dislodge a leech from its finger.

“What have you done to me?!” it wailed, in a distorted digital voice.

“Precisely what you asked,” The Devil answered. “A soul is a great burden, little machine. I hope you are up to the task of tending to it.”

Then the old tomcat, who had been crouching among the rye and watching these strange events unfold, felt every hair on his back stand up as The Devil blew a little kiss at the place where he was hidden. He had been an orange cat at sunset, but by sunrise he had become white as snow from the tip of his tufted tail to his little pink nose, or so he told me.

Well done.

I look forward to more.

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gothiccharmschool:

deadcatwithaflamethrower:

abelharainhaadiva:

wetwareproblem:

viridiean:

purpleprosegang:

Is there any word that’s had a wilder evolutionary path than “gothic”?

Seriously, it went from meaning this:

to this:

to this:

and finally ended up as this:

You go you funky word, keep on trucking.

There’s a good reason for that!!!

 Here’s an explanation literally no one asked for, and OP probably already knows, but I like talking about all my hyperfixations, and this covers like four of them. (Now, I’m going off the top of my head and its been a few years since I took an art history class) but the jist of it is that the “new” cathedral style that ended up being called Gothic, was called so, because the flying buttresses and pointed arches, and other pointy, overdramatic details were considered kind of barbaric compared to the older style. I want to say this was the point where cathedrals went from being ‘ornate’ to ‘dear god what the fuck are you even doing?!” 

So basically we have gothic as this word that means, big and old and overdramatic and vaguely threatening. Which goes perfectly with the mood needing to be set by authors who place characters dealing with a crisis of faith, or a crisis of morality, in this big old mouldering expansive tomb of a house that represents everything of the distant past and the dark secrets rotting the foundations of polite society. But…the Victorians worshipped the austere version of the greeks and neoclassical, and all that neat white marble. But also an austerity as far as people went, there was this Christian ideal to aspire to.

So the decrepit tomb aesthetic, the doom and gloom and the decaying manor house, The Fall of Usher thing, it was popular for the same reason anything creepy is popular now. That love for the morbid and forbidden has never not existed. I mean…Bram Stoker’s Dracula was a best seller when it come out because it had all of the above and THEN some.

So far we’ve got Gothic as old and decaying and overdramatic and threatening but also kind of sexy (see gothic romances, or the use of gothic romance/gothic horror to explore Victorian fears and anxieties about sex and death and immorality). 

Fast forward to the late 1970s when Siouxsie and the Banshees distilled that into a look and a performance. They were a punk band, but Siouxsie dressed like a vamp, she had the Theda Bara makeup and wore Victorian lingerie on the outside, but also fishnets and pointy boots. She was the femme fatale. She had the sex and death of both Vampira and Theda Bara, but her and the band had the theatrics of Screamin Jay Hawkins. A journalist described their music as gothic, as an insult, and exploded outward from there. But…they weren’t the sole band to be described this way, or necessarily the first to sound like that or dress like that. But they had enough of all these things to have that word linked to them. And their fans, and The Cure’s fans, and Sister’s of Mercy’s fans, and Bauhaus’ fans, created the subculture and look that we call Goth now. And much of the look has fanned out and expanded from years and years of the world’s most dramatic people trying to outdo each other at the club.

That’s how we got from A to B. Thanks for coming to my TED talk. 

So what you’re telling me is that “gothic” really just means “extra.”

@deadcatwithaflamethrower have you seen this?

I fucking love the idea of interpeting Gothic as EXTRA. YES this.

Of COURSE “gothic” means “extra”. Have you SEEN us?!

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biggest-gaudiest-patronuses:

biggest-gaudiest-patronuses:

biggest-gaudiest-patronuses:

biggest-gaudiest-patronuses:

biggest-gaudiest-patronuses:

biggest-gaudiest-patronuses:

biggest-gaudiest-patronuses:

biggest-gaudiest-patronuses:

sergle:

another weird thing about beer is that it has weird masculinity connections to it. “ya i’ll get a beer, i don’t want none of them girly drinks” Jimothy, you’re drinking wheat juice with a 5% alcohol content and my mixed, fruity, “girly” drink is 40% alcohol and tastes great

O.KAY *CRACKS KNUCKLES* I AM ABOUT TO GIVE YOU AN EDUCATION

BEER IS TRADITIONALLY A WOMAN’S DRINK, IT IS THE MOST FEMALE OF ALL OF THE DRINKS. FOR THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS OF YEARS, BEER WAS MADE AT HOME BY WOMEN, TO BE CONSUMED BY WOMEN AND CHILDREN–IT WAS ACTUALLY A SOURCE OF NUTRIENTS FOR MANY HOUSEHOLDS. WOMEN CREATED THE CRAFT OF BEER, AND FOR MOST OF HUMAN HISTORY THAT IS WHO YOU’D BUY IT FROM: MANY WOMEN MADE ADDITIONAL INCOME BY BREWING AND SELLING BEER FROM HOME. IT WASN’T UNTIL THE ERA OF INDUSTRIALIZATION THAT BEER BEGAN TO BE BREWED IN FACTORIES. AND ONCE BEER WAS BEING BREWED ON A LARGE SCALE, IT MADE TO START MARKETING IT TO ALL THE MALE FACTORY WORKERS WHO SUDDENLY HAD EXTRA INCOME. HENCE AN AGGRESSIVE MARKETING CAMPAIGN TO RE-BRAND BEER, A DRINK INTRINSICALLY TIED WITH WOMEN’S HISTORY, AS A ‘MASCULINE’ BEVERAGE. 

EVEN BETTER, FEMALE BREWSTERS WERE THE ORIGINAL WICKED OLD WITCH. THE TROPES WE COMMONLY ASSOCIATE WITH STEREOTYPICAL WITCHES ARE ACTUALLY BASED ON THE TRADITIONAL BREWSTER. CAULDRONS & HOT STEAMING POTIONS = BEER BREWING. THE WITCH’S HAT: BELIEVE IT OR NOT POINTY HATS WERE ACTUALLY WORN BY BREWSTERS WHEN SELLING THEIR PRODUCT AT MARKETS: THE ENORMOUS HEADGEAR HELPED THEM STAND OUT, AND CLEARLY TOLD EVERYONE ‘YO MOTHERFUCKA GET YOUR BEER HERE’. 

CATS AS FAMILIARS: CATS WERE COMMONLY USED TO PREVENT RODENTS FROM GETTING INTO THE WHEAT. EVEN THE BROOMSTICK IS RELATED TO BEER: A BUNDLE OF TWIGS RESEMBLING A BROOM WAS USED AS AD FOR ALEHOUSES

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so basically, beer is the ultimate woman’s and witch’s drink

REBLOG ME

fuck u guys, i didn’t spend 20 min fact checking for 3 notes

ok right links fine

i was probably drunk when i wrote this. best i can remember:

http://brewhoppin.com/2015/10/the-truth-of-women-and-beer-witches/

http://ifmycoastercouldtalk.bangordailynews.com/2015/10/29/events/of-witchcraft-brewsters-and-beer/

http://www.alltheswirl.com/blog/5ayax6j7b7nje35lr4lk48fj3cwlz3

https://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2013/11/women-and-beer-a-4-500-year-history-is-coming-full-circle/281338/

all these whiny bastards complaining about my taste in caps lock. I rewrote it for you:

*Sighs heavily and re-cracks knuckles*

Beer is traditionally a woman’s drink, it is the most female of all of The Drinks. For thousands of years, beer was made at home by women, to be consumed by women and children—it was actually a source of nutrients for many households. Women created the craft of beer, and for most of human history that is who you’d buy it from: many women made additional income by brewing and selling beer from home. It wasn’t until the era of industrialization that beer began to be brewed in factories. And once beer was being brewed on a large scale, it made sense to start marketing it to all the male factory workers who suddenly had extra income. Hence an aggressive marketing campaign to re-brand beer, a drink intrinsically tied with women’s history, as a ‘masculine’ beverage.

final bit:

Even better, female brewters were the original wicked old witch. The tropes we commonly associate with stereotypical witches are actually based on the traditional brewster. Cauldrons & hot steaming potions = beer brewing. The witch’s hat: believe it or not pointy hats were actually worn by brewsters when selling their product at markets: the enormous headgear helped them stand out, and clearly told everyone ‘yo motherfucka get your beer here’.

Cats as familiars: cats were commonly used to prevent rodents from getting into the wheat. Even the broomstick is related to beer: a bundle of twigs resembling a broom was used as advertising for alehouses.

so yeah, beer = witch’s brew. other things to check out:

Fermented low-alcohol beverages being the prime source of safe drinking water, for the whole family, for much of human history.

Beer, women, and the invention of the drinking straw (trivia, the oldest known straw is Sumerian, 5000 years old, made of gold and lapis lazuli. )

Monks horning in on the female-dominated brewing economy, the medieval church persecuting female brewsters

Monks adding hops (and making beer gross) in order to lower their libido (and to avoid the temptation of gay sex)

Dionysus, god of winemaking, and his raving, drunken madwomen followers, the Maenads. 

Or any of a long list of goddesses associated w/ beer. Tenenet, the ancient egyptian  goddess of childbearing & beer brewing. The earliest beer recipe, found in a 3900 year old poem honoring Ninkasi, patron goddess of brewing

And that’s all for now folks. Happy drinking’

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no one ever reblogs this version and i wish they would

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primarybufferpanel:

fuckingconversations:

superherogrl:

chaoskyan:

I grew up hearing the phrase “you never stick with anything, what’s the point” a lot. I’ve always been attracted towards seemingly disconnected interests, and gone through phases of being really into something. But eventually my interest would fade and I would move onto something else. 

Or at least that’s always how it’s been phrased for me, by others. Now I realize that my interest for the old thing didn’t fade so much as my interest for something new outshined it, and that’s vastly different. 

I was always made to feel bad about it, with every abandoned endeavour I was told I needed to stop starting things if I wasn’t going to stick with them. I was told I was wasting time and money picking up these random interests and abandoning them after a year. 

So eventually, I stopped picking things up. I told myself “what’s the point, I’m going to give up in a year anyway”. Even worse, I started dismissing every new interest, because I had no way of knowing if my interest was “real” enough or just another passing phase. I stopped trying new things, I stopped looking up stuff that piqued my curiosity, and having chronic depression made it really easy to leave everything on the dirty floor of neglected ideas. The more they piled up, the more depressing it was. All these things that could be nice, but I just can’t take care of them. 

I realize now how bullshit that kind of thinking is. So what if I stopped doing karate after a year? That’s one more year of karate than most people I know. And in that year I learned discipline, I learned to listen to a teacher, something I had never done before in all my years of private education. I learned the true meaning of respect, that it’s something you do out of faith at first and maintain as it’s reciprocated, not something you do blindly and regardless of how you’re treated. 

It gave me the foundation for the determination and grounding I needed to practice yoga. Another year. Not enough to be good at it maybe, but again a year more than most people I know and a year that is not lost, but gained. I learned balance, I learned to listen to my body, I learned how to let go of emotional tightness through physical stretching. 

And then iaido, only a few weeks because I couldn’t afford to keep going. The year of yoga I had done a couple years previous had given me a better starting point than the other newcomers to the class. I already had balance, I had strength in my legs and I had better posture. In those months I learned the importance of precision, the true definition of efficacy, the zen state that is incessant repetition. 

Did I practice long enough to get good at iaido, and yoga, and karate? No. Of course not. It takes years to become proficient and decades to master any of those things, but I learned other skills and those skills were an invaluable part of my growth both spiritually and emotionally. Likewise for my forays into painting, sewing, graphic design, film. I’m a photography student now heading into my second year of school, and every single second of practice I have in those other disciplines has given me more experience in those areas and made learning easier. 

Skills carry over. They intersect and connect in ways that are sometimes unexpected. Nothing is ever lost, experience is never a waste of time or worthless or stupid. Allow your focus to wander, reflect on what you learn, and consider how you can keep using it in other aspects of your life. Stop telling people their interests aren’t worth their time. 

‘A jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one’

^^^^The real jack of all trades quote if anyone’s i interested.

For a week I was super into making LED arrays. 

For a few months I was really into costume makeup. 

For a year I was into sewing clothes

For a few months I was into sculpting and molding and casting

I’ve always had a sustained interest in animals, but the hyperfocus on birds in particular made me very familiar with feather formations. 

Couple months I loved the idea of engineering moving sculptures. 

Add all that together, and hot diggity shit, that’s some SOLID basework for making costumes, cosplay, and other impressive props.

—–

For a week I was into welding and took a welding class.

A year of interest in woodworking and fiddling with the tools means I’m fairly good at that as well. 

Add that to the engineering from earlier and the focus on balance and stable structures means I can make my own furniture – Couches, shelves, desks, just give me the material and tools and I can make it happen. 

—

Brief interest in business law meant two classes taken in college, and an accidental qualification for a business degree. 

Those same classes let me point out some serious litigation bait in a friend’s startup company. 

—-

A wide array of interests means I also have a TON of little nitpicky facts about how the world works, which translates into amazing immersive writing. 

I know how it feels to use a chisel, and the delicate precision of electronics. I know the smell of forests and barns and old yarn being put to use again. The bloody smell of a freshly slaughtered chicken, and the anticipatory fear moments before skydiving. 

The pattern of a bad weld and a good one, and the careful calculation of load bearing walls when building underground. 

Anyway, this world is HUGE and really cool. Why on earth would I want to stick to learning ONE thing, when there’s HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS of things I could learn?

For anybody still struggling with this, I highly recommend this book:

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