i really dislike it when people don’t understand perfectionism.
like, it isn’t always “person who has tons of motivation and spends a ton of time making this thing *just* right”
wayyyyyy more often than not it’s:
”I know that if I try to make this thing, it won’t be perfect, so I simply won’t try.”
which definitely sounds bad, right? but when you realize that it doesn’t just apply to voluntarily making art, then you realize how perfectionism is not at all a good thing in any context.
“i know that if I try to work on this assignment right now, it won’t be good enough, so i’ll wait until the last possible moment so that I have something forcing me to do it.”
”i know that I should start going to the gym, but I won’t see any improvement right away, so I just won’t.”
”i know that i should brush my teeth tonight, but that won’t be good enough to undo the fact that i haven’t brushed them 4 days in a row, so I just won’t.”
perfectionism isn’t the uncontrollable impulse to make things “just right”. (although it can occasionally manifest as this.)
perfectionism is the absolute, psychological inability to accept the concepts of “good enough” and “better than nothing”. even when you spell it out for yourself in a long text post like this.
wish i had a bit going where whenever i said "the prophecy" like three of my friends would repeat "the prophecy" in different tones while squinting into the distance and rubbing their chins like sages deep in thought. i would also do this for them, im a team player
I've got all the competencies except Unholy Flame Slash, but I have Unholy Plasma Slash. Do you think I am ready?
I've been looking into the job market and it seems like the only viable career path nowadays is becoming a demon swordsman.
tame witch
People, especially games, get eldritch madness wrong a lot and it’s really such a shame.
An ant doesn’t start babbling when they see a circuit board. They find it strange, to them it is a landscape of strange angles and humming monoliths. They may be scared, but that is not madness.
Madness comes when the ant, for a moment, can see as a human does.
It understands those markings are words, symbols with meaning, like a pheromone but infinitely more complex. It can travel unimaginable distances, to lands unlike anything it has seen before. It knows of mirth, embarrassment, love, concepts unimaginable before this moment, and then…
It’s an ant again.
Echoes of things it cannot comprehend swirl around its mind. It cannot make use of this knowledge, but it still remembers. How is it supposed to return to its life? The more the ant saw the harder it is for it to forget. It needs to see it again, understand again. It will do anything to show others, to show itself, nothing else in this tiny world matters.
This is madness.
Who is like God? Justice, seller of pepper.
On a particularly cold and quiet day, an unassuming piece of paper is carried on the wind, and dances itself to a new home inside your mailbox. After a few seconds of deliberation, the mailbox's flag jolts upright in response; its speed spiteful of its joint. This new resident smells of three things in equal parts: lavender, wine, and smoke. There is no discerning the source of the last, it seems equal parts wood and tobacco. It's a refined smell, but juvenile. A keen drinker (certainly not just an alcoholic..?) would be able to pinpoint the reason: Box wine. Cheap wine. On its surface lies a spattering of dirt. It has traveled quite far to get here, but it is happy to have done so. The envelope seems overly eager to be opened. It's nearing break time after all. The payload inside has been dutifully protected. A holographic card serving as a flyer advertising a job opportunity... oddly without any address.., and a dime bag with a brass thumbtack in it Embossed in the tacky sanguine-lilac cardstock are the words "Occult Housekeeping" and in a smaller font below it, "If interested, apply here!". Next to this text, is a section cut out from the holographic film. An iridescent marking is slightly visible on the white backing, hinting at its use
Lovely, thank you
what if meijack (mayjack?), like her father, is weak for blondes
also a little farcille:
I am an affront to God, and am setting up a replacement. She/Her | 22
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