Tips For Working With Children?

I bet it's a cicada. Those suckers are terrifying.

My friend sent this to her Professor today

I didn’t know cheetahs meow I’ve always thought they roar my whole life has been a lie

Okay but why does it feel like Hogwarts would be just around the corner?

Always be yourself. Express yourself, have faith in yourself. Don’t go looking for a successful personality and just duplicate it.

Bruce Lee (via purplebuddhaquotes)

“For all the attention the Berlin conservatory study has received, this part of the top students’ experiences—their sleep patterns, their attention to leisure, their cultivation of deliberate rest as a necessary complement of demanding, deliberate practice—goes unmentioned. In Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell focuses on the number of hours exceptional performers practice and says nothing about the fact that those students also slept an hour more, on average, than their less-accomplished peers, or that they took naps and long breaks. This is not to say that Gladwell misread Ericsson’s study; he just glossed over that part. And he has lots of company. Everybody speed-reads through the discussion of sleep and leisure and argues about the 10,000 hours. This illustrates a blind spot that scientists, scholars, and almost all of us share: a tendency to focus on focused work, to assume that the road to greater creativity is paved by life hacks, propped up by eccentric habits, or smoothed by Adderall or LSD. Those who research world-class performance focus only on what students do in the gym or track or practice room. Everybody focuses on the most obvious, measurable forms of work and tries to make those more effective and more productive. They don’t ask whether there are other ways to improve performance, and improve your life. This is how we’ve come to believe that world-class performance comes after 10,000 hours of practice. But that’s wrong. It comes after 10,000 hours of deliberate practice, 12,500 hours of deliberate rest, and 30,000 hours of sleep.”

— Alex Soojung-Kim Pang, Darwin Was a Slacker and You Should Be Too

Give me body horror in magic.

Give me pyromancy that burns the skin off your hand until your bones are showing. Give me arcane that cooks you inside-out from manaburn. Give me cryomancy that cracks your skin and chips it away. Give me necromancy that causes your teeth to turn necrotic and your eyes to glass over white.

I don’t want cute magic. I want magic to be a raw and dangerous force. I want those who harness it to feel the full effects of what a great and terrible thing it is. I want mages who wear the effects of their magic on their skin and in their bones.

That’s the good stuff.

I think about love sometimes. About how it’s taught and seen and felt.

I think about the ‘date nights’ and flowers and cards my parents spoke of and the rigid smiles when it went wrong. I think about the vacations and gifts and parties and how much they fought. Over the kind of flower. Over the venue. Over how hot the hotel was. Over how the party was stressful. It was hard for me to see how much they loved each other over their sighs and sharp words.

I was taught to love in grand gestures, but between each showing was a cutting bitterness that I was told was love. I watched the movies and my parents and tried to learn how to love my partner with disgust between my teeth fixed into a picture perfect smile.

We tried to love like our parents taught us and it almost broke us. Accusations hissed through clenched teeth and voices raised over clenched fists as we tried, tried so hard, to love like our parents taught us. Wilting flowers tossed in the compost and dinner dates spent in silence as we ignored each other over steak.

Love like that nearly broke us, and we had to pick up the cracked bits and figure out how to love like ourselves.

Now, I think of my partner, who was taught by his parents to kill what he did not like. I think of how he instead carefully uses a cup and paper to move a spider to a different area because he knows I love spiders, and he loves me more than he hates spiders.

I think of making homemade hot pockets for my partner, because he doesn’t like to eat in the lunch room at work and I want him to have something good he can eat by himself. He smiles so softly when he sees them cooling on the counter, and he knows I love him more than I hate to cook.

I think of him buying me radish seeds because he knows I like seeds more than flowers.

I think of me moving the wasps away from his workout area because I know they scare him.

When I think of love, I think of my partner tucking an extra twenty into my wallet when he thinks I’m not looking. I think of me mending his socks because both of us hate shopping and if I fix them, he won’t have to buy more.

We buy pizza on our anniversary if we remember it. We wait till after Valentines day to buy discount chocolate. We don’t hold hands in public, instead we bump shoulders when we pass each other in public. Brief and secret and ours.

We can’t love like our parents taught us, but I think… perhaps we love like ourselves, and that’s enough.

the idea of people having to be ‘useful’ is just so gross, like people do not exist to be used

having to produce something and have a use is a capitalist ideal and not an intrinsic part of humanity

just by being alive you are human and you are worth something and you can never be useless