So I’m Friends On Strava With Baby Sister’s Extremely Sweet, Extremely Earnest Nerd-jock Boyfriend,

The Battle of the Frogs and Mice, from Up One Pair of Stairs of My Bookhouse by Willy Pogany (1920)

Eurasian red squirrel/ekorre. Värmland, Sweden (May 9, 2024).

look, was this towel ““worth mending””? debatable. did i however have fun applying my silly little patches to the hole in it? yes. :)

A Brazilian opossum being presented to Queen Isabella of Spain in the year 1500 from The Zoogoer v.15:no.1 (1986).

Full text here.

wait my range of motion in the shoulder that just. decided to be fucked up for no apparent reason, uh, years ago now is like. suddenly radically better than the last time i checked???? like i can actually reach up more or less symmetrically right now???

anyway fully braced for this to promptly become untrue again, i don’t trust like that anymore, but. sheenagh pugh sometimes emoji??

also i've been mainlining patricia moyes' henry tibbett mysteries which are like. generally solid-enough if not brilliant entries in the Classic British Mystery Canon if you like that sort of thing, with of course the usual disclaimers about homophobia, sexism, &c: notably there's also one book with a minor trans character! and a Helpful Explanation about how her husband doesn't feel at all strange about her being trans because she's so obviously ~naturally feminine~ and being trans is Totally Separate from being gay—not, to be clear, in the way we'd actually agree with, that like, one is sexuality and the other gender; but rather in a way where 'it always leads to misery if a transsexual experiments with homosexuality.' [me at this juncture staring into the camera & thinking abt all the gleeful gay trans people on tumblr.] anyway to me this was ultimately less offensive than it was laughable, though of course ymmv! however there was also one with a butch character, and that one made me rather sadder and also got me thinking again about how stupid trans infighting is, because you can't actually separate homophobia from transphobia from misogyny—

[H]e saw a massive and somewhat formidable figure making its way across the lawn from the direction of the greenhouse. It was impossible at this distance to tell if the newcomer was male or female—the cropped grey hair, the weather-beaten features, the corduroy knee-breeches and open-necked shirt were appropriate to either sex. Even the voice was ambiguous. […] At close quarters, Henry was surprised to see that the mannish face was coated with a thick layer of pancake make-up, in a grotesque parody of femininity.

and

Facing her, with their backs to the door, were two masculine back-views, both wearing dinner jackets. As they turned to greet the newcomers, Henry was not at all surprised to see that one of them was Dolly, nattily dressed in evening wear, complete with taped-seam trousers, a frilled white shirt and a black bow tie. […] Dolly stood in the doorway, lumpish and unhappy in her ridiculous dinner jacket…

like. the feminine-coded aspects of her presentation are 'grotesque.' the masculine aspects are 'ridiculous.' she can't win! and like. the character is a butch who was almost certainly assigned female at birth, but the narrative critiques her in these ways that are unavoidably deeply transmisogynistic—i mean, that line about her made-up 'mannish face' being 'a grotesque parody of femininity'?? yikes.

anyway. just wild in light of this to be aware of how many trans bloggers on here are fighting one another abt which of us are Really Oppressed. like. is dolly ~transmisogyny-exempt~? what about the trans woman from the other book, who's treated entirely respectfully by the narrative and by the characters—but also can't access her inheritance, because claiming it would require her to out herself…? i just don't understand any analysis that comes to any conclusion besides 'these are all different heads of the same vicious hydra, and many of us may face the same attack at different times; the answer is mutual solidarity and united resistance.'

[frustrated? that] i can't seem to encounter comments/attitudes that feel weirdbad* to me without feeling a need to seek reassurance that i'm being reasonable in finding them weirdbad

like yet again this is presumably a leftover artifact of the incessant messaging i got growing up that none of my re/actions were ever reasonable

but it's like. well. (a) it feels like weakness of character to me. like. why can't i just have the courage of my own convictions without needing someone else to reinforce them. (see previous para.) (b) even if we accept that this is an understandable ['if undesirable,' i immediately mentally add, but. table that question for now ig.] urge in the abstract, in practice it's like. well. my social situation lately is such that the various people towards whom i tend to direct bids of this kind will reject them at least half the time. so whether or not it's understandable: it's not viable

plus then of course it also feels like. why do i have to be SO quick to shrug off whatever the weirdbad opinion is, instead of just. sitting calmly with it for a little while. experiencing it. practicing some calm curiosity instead of agitated rejection, like that one post suggested.

unfortunately i think a lot of this stuff is like. well it's about how unsafe and insecure i feel all the time. like it's a bit idiotic to be sitting here going 'huh why am i acting so anxious when. my most crucial social bonds are as attenuated as they are and my current situation doesn't remotely lend itself to forming more.' like. obvious answer is obvious and also quite frankly i'm correct to be anxious about that!! if i were more securely socially enmeshed i could probably Practice Chillness better because these interactions would take up only the tiny fraction of my mental social map they ought to be taking up, instead of looming enormously large in a barren landscape and becoming disproportionately high-stakes as a result!

so like. diagnosing myself with shit life syndrome ig, lol

⸻ * using this as a very broad catchall term for a range of things that spans, like, 'actual bigotry' on the one end and 'someone being imo-too-flippant abt something in a way that makes me wonder if they realize i'm personally impacted by it' on the other end

went 4 a run / saw a snail & a red-winged blackbird & a tufted titmouse / cut off some more hair / showered / am now back in my trusty armchair flopping the flop of the virtuous, with a Beverage on one side & a Cat on the other (well ok technically she's up behind my shoulder lounging on the increasingly-squashed back of the chair, like a very lazy angel or parrot).

wild 2 be a sack of meat whose most morose electrical impulses r fully redirectable via extremely basic interventions!

help. guys i need you all to see this babar watch. the arms got me

Weevil (Pachyrhynchus congestus), family Curculionidae, Philippines

photograph by Frank Deschandol