I got one of those ‘is it most people or just me’ questions. 

If you’re eating something you don’t really like, is it fairly easy to push through it, or does it make you feel like you’re going to puke if you keep trying to eat? I kind of assumed this was a normal person thing, but people treat eating food you don’t like as a normal thing, especially in the context of ‘getting used to it’ or ‘learning to like it.’ 

So, normal or not? 

mylemonginger:

does anybody else remember that time when tying our sweaters around our waists suddenly became very uncool, and we all had to start carrying them instead for the sake of fashion?

Fuck that noise. I will never stop conveniently tying sweaters around my waist

fal-c0n:

this is the best thing ever. pls do it.

At the moment it’s either Desire by Meg Myers (more for the sound than the words) or Castle by Halsey

thefingerfuckingfemalefury:

jumpingjacktrash:

howtocan:

Baby bird season is incoming and I’d like to remind everyone that birds do not have a significant sense of smell. Bird parents will not reject birdlets because you have handled them.

If you see smol birbs with few or no feathers on the ground, you can safely put them back into their nest, bird parents will still care for them.

If you see smol birbs with some or most feathers on the ground, please leave them there, as bird parents are probably nearby watching and feeding.

nakey bird = accidentally fell out, is cold and scared, put back in nest! if you can’t reach the nest, try to put it on a wide branch or fork so predators can’t get at it as easily.

scruffy feather bird = starting to try the fly thing, not very good at it. only put in nest/branch if predators abound, i.e. you have four outdoor cats and they’re licking their chops.

fluffy feather bird = smol fly guy! do nothing. can probably get away from predators and will flip its shit if you pick it up.

Reblogging this because I’d always heard the ‘Don’t touch a distressed bird its mom will reject it’ thing treated as fact before now, I didn’t realise it wasn’t true…

polecat-flyer:

lancrebitch:

vaspider:

compendium-of-awesome:

melody-sillermoon:

scribbleowl:

vaspider:

My great-grandmother was pregnant for over a decade of her life.

She was pregnant at least fifteen times, had over a dozen children. Raised all of them in a big rambling farmhouse in central Pennsylvania.

And I thought about her this afternoon, lying in bed with my spouse after my lazy weekend nap, snuggling him and burying my nose in his hair, taking deep breaths of the scent of his skin. This man who is the center of my universe, my best friend, one of two reasons why I literally decided I had to live and kept fighting through the pain after surgery when I really wanted to just let go and die: I held him closer and I thought of her.

I thought of how family myth tells us that after a decade of being pregnant pretty much constantly, she kicked my great-grandfather out of their house. How she made him go live in his workshop, and he came to the house for meals and to check in.

But he slept in his workshop.

Not because she didn’t love him, but because she did.

She loved him, and if they slept in the same bed together, these two people who had crossed an ocean together, had built a life together after getting out of Poland together, they’d have sex. And because cheap, reliable, universal birth control wasn’t available then, and she was terribly fecund, apparently, she’d become pregnant again, inevitably.

My great-grandmother was TIRED of being pregnant.

So she kicked her love out of the house, and he went. He lived in his workshop, on their farm, and they stopped sleeping together, in every sense of the word. My father tells me he remembers as a child his grandfather sitting outside his workshop, leaning back on his chair, and looking up at the house in which he couldn’t sleep anymore, just… sad.

They missed each other desperately from across the yard.

I listen to @adhocavenger sleep, to the sound of his breathing, a sound that’s as familiar to me as my own heartbeat, and I can’t imagine having to sleep away from him for long. To have to separate myself from my spouse or to have to completely eschew having the kind of sex they obviously enjoyed having. To not have him close enough at night that I can curl up to him and breathe in the scent of his skin.

And that, I think, is the sort of thing that I think maybe I take for granted. That I know I can be secure in the knowledge that I can have sex with my spouse when I want to, and not have a baby.

The personal is political. I do not want our country to continue to slide backward on reproductive freedom. I do not want us to lose our freedom, threatened and small as it may be.

There are a thousand small tragedies that we talk about from the Olde Days. The unwanted baby of the unmarried lass, of course.

But my heart breaks tonight for the story I was told as a child, of the lovingly married couple who had to sleep apart because she was just damn tired of being pregnant.

Because she’d been pregnant for a DECADE of her life.

Thank you for sharing this. I had never considered that aspect of the birth control revolution.

My great-grandmother also had twelve children and I’ve been thinking about that a lot recently as I debate having a second. Because I have a choice. We have options. She didn’t.

I have an ancestor a couple of generations back who had 21 children. Sarah. I think of her whenever I see a new TRAP law.

Thank you for sharing your family story.

My great grandmother had seven children in seven years. She died giving birth to the seventh.

My great grandmother gave birth to 12 children.  Only four of them survived past the age of 5, and only three survived to adulthood.  I can’t imagine living every day with that kind of loss.