|| Schara || 23 || she/they || Italy ||
Maybe one day i'll post my art on here , but not today- oh god wait it happened now i have to think of a new description after 8 years ugh
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People are fretting about the “sexuality” of people riding bikes naked at pride and as someone who was once at the Farmer’s Market with family without realizing it was World Naked Bike Ride day I have to say: who the fuck sees that and gets horny instead of thinking about how awful it’d be if they crashed. I know I’m ace but if you look at a dicks out bicycle rider and think sex thoughts instead of FRETTING for that dick, being CONCERNED about the lack of safety precautions for that dick, thinking with horror about the pavement beneath, I don’t know what to say
My boyfriend is trying to explain cricket to me again. “He’s only got two balls to make 48 runs”, he says. The camera focuses on a man. Underneath him it says LEFT ARM FAST MEDIUM. A ball flies into the stands and presumably fractures someone’s skull. “There’s a free six”, my boyfriend says. 348 SIXES says the screen. A child in the audience waves a sign referencing Weet-Bix
The first time he showed me this I assumed he was pranking me
if people haven’t been exposed to cricket before, here is the experience. The person who likes cricket turns on a radio with an air of happy expectation. “We’ll just catch up with the cricket,” they say.
An elderly British man with an accent - you can picture exactly what he looks like and what he is wearing, somehow, and you know that he will explain the important concept of Yorkshire to you at length if you make eye contact - is saying “And w’ four snickets t’ wicket, Umbleby dives under the covers and romps home for a sticky bicket.”
There is a deep and satisfied silence. Weather happens over the radio. This lasts for three minutes.
A gentle young gentleman with an Indian accent, whose perfect and beautiful clear voice makes him sound like a poet sipping from a cup of honeyed drink always, says mildly “Of course we cannot forget that when Pakistan last had the biscuit under the covers, they were thrown out of bed. In 1957, I believe.”
You mouth “what the fucking fuck.”
A morally ambiguous villain from a superhero movie says off-microphone, “Crumbs everywhere.”
Apparently continuing a previous conversation, the villain asks, “Do seagulls eat tacos?”
“I’m sure someone will tell us eventually,” the poet says. His voice is so beautiful that it should be familiar; he should be the only announcer on the radio, the only reader of audiobooks.
The villain says with sudden interest, “Oh, a leg over straight and under the covers, Peterson and Singh are rumping along with a straight fine leg and good pumping action. Thanks to his powerful thighs, Peterson is an excellent legspinner, apart from being rude on Twitter.”
The man from Yorkshire roars potently, like a bull seeing another bull. There might be words in his roar, but otherwise it is primal and sizzling.
“That isn’t straight,” the poet says. “It’s silly.”
“What the fucking fuck,” you say out loud at this point.
“Shh,” says the person who likes cricket. They listen, tensely. Something in the distance makes a very small “thwack,” like a baby dropping an egg.
“Was that a doosra or a googly?” the villain asks.
“IT’S A WRONG ‘UN,” roars the Yorkshireman in his wrath. A powerful insult has been offered. They begin to scuffle.
“With that double doozy, Crumpet is baffled for three turns, Agarwal is deep in the biscuit tin and Padgett has gone to the shops undercover,” the poet says quickly, to cover the action while his companions are busy. The villain is being throttled, in a friendly companionable way.
An intern apparently brings a message scrawled on a scrap of paper like a courier sprinting across a battlefield. “Reddy has rolled a nat 20,” the poet says with barely contained excitement. “Australia is both a continent and an island. But we’re running out of time!”
“Is that true?” You ask suddenly.
“Shh!” Says the person who likes cricket. “It’s a test match.”
“About Australia.”
“We won’t know THAT until the third DAY.”
A distant “pock” noise. The sound of thirty people saying “tsk,” sorrowfully.
“And the baby’s dropped the egg. Four legs over or we’re done for, as long as it doesn’t rain.”
The villain might be dead? You begin to find yourself emotionally invested.
There are mild distant cheers. “Oh, and with twelve sticky wickets t’ over and t’ seagull’s exploded,” the man from the North says as if all of his dreams have come true. “What a beautiful day.” Your person who likes cricket relaxes. It is tea break.
The villain, apparently alive, describes the best hat in the audience as “like a funnel made of dove-colored net, but backwards, with flies trapped in it.”
This is every bit as good as that time in Australia in 1975, they all agree, drinking their tea and eating home-made cakes sent in by the fans. The poet comments favorably on the icing and sugar-preserved violets. The Yorkshire man discourses on the nature of sponge. The villain clatters his cup too hard on his saucer. To cover his embarrassment, the poet begins scrolling through Twitter on his phone, reading aloud the best memes in his enchanting milky voice. Then, with joy, he reads an @ from an ornithologist at the University of Reading: seagulls do eat tacos! A reference is cited; the poet reads it aloud. Everyone cheers.
You are honestly - against your will - kind of into it! but also: weirdly enraged.
“Was that … it?” you ask, deeming it safe to interrupt.
“No,” says the person who likes cricket, “This is second tea break on the first day. We won’t know where we really are until lunch tomorrow.”
And - because you cannot stop them - you have to accept this; if cricket teaches you anything, it is this gentle and radical acceptance.
I don’t have notes enabled in my tumblr activity so sometimes when I open the app it just shows me one of my own old posts (that’s gotten a note within the past 30 seconds) and then vanishes. Today it showed me the gracklesong cricket graphic.
the trans experience of, after running as far away from your forcibly assigned gender as possible, turning around and cautiously approaching it from the other side
(seriously so many days i’m like “i have all afternoon I’ma Do a Thing” and then i just kinda buzz around and do Nothing and think “WHY” and then i’m like “oh yeah i’m really fuckening tired”)
-gotta be Excited About It (ADHD brain only does things if they’re Literally the Most Interesting Thing Happening Right Now) (so like, hype yourself up to work on a project, or think about how happy you’ll be with a cleaner room/all those chores done)
-gotta have small, doable first step (like, “get cloth from fabric drawer” or “open google docs”
-FUCK distractions (computer is in drawer, phone is Off)
-Engage the Senses (if task needs Brain, play vague background Music, if task needs No Brain, listen to audiobook/podcast)
-maybe set time limit so i don’t get lost??? e.g. i have a little egg timer that i use because the ticking isn’t distracting but is enough to remind me that Time is a Thing that is Passing Right Now
-gotta have Self Awareness and Thinky about the Moment (get into the habit of Consciously Noticing what you’re doing at the moment, so you’re more likely to go “wait, this isn’t what i wanted to be doing” and be able to redirect)
-be willing to redirect and try to do something else if whatever you want to do Just Isn’t Happening
-DON’T beat yourself up for only doing part of something, or failing entirely- all that does is make your brain associate “trying to do stuff” with “well that SUCKED”. Which means you don’t want to try again. Tell urself u did good for trying, and if it didn’t work, try again later, or figure out why it didn’t work and try a different way. Reward yourself for trying
this is what i’ve figured out about cajoling the Thinky No Worky Brain into Doing Stuff. it’s not 100% reliable, especially if I forget to do some of these things (like SLEEP), but it’s what i got, ya know??
I think we should bring back that thing everyone did in 2014 where you badly photoshop two characters from entirely different media together to look like they’re in love. This is my proposal for doc ock x glados please consider
It’s a horse girl movie but they both think the other is the horse
