This is a friendly reminder that none disabled people often do benefit from the same accommodations disabled people benefit from.
The YouTube channel anti-chef always adds an extra bay leaf to recipes that call for it and he says “and add another one. I’m not driving” and this has permanently altered my vocabulary.
Every time I add something extra to a recipe I say that now. Add another clove of garlic, I’m not driving. Let’s have two eggs, I’m not driving. Let’s double the chili flakes, I’m not driving.
Sometimes I long to make something or do something in hopes of being remembered, and feel an aching shame for not having learned any of the skills I need for that yet, but then I remind myself that I've talked to people and loved people and left some kind of impact on them just by existing beside them, and that can be enough. I'm still going to learn, and create, and grow, and I can do that without the guilt or shame or fear or pressure. I can just be, and that's enough
shaking women by their shoulders with all my strength, screaming YOU DONT NEED TO GET PERMISSION TO BREAK UP WITH SOMEONE!!!!
I once heard somewhere that the opposite of dysregulation is self expression
Any time that our emotions feel like they're out of control, or we feel empty and hollow, or like we're anxious or scared or shaking and tense for some other reason, or we're so apathetic to everything around us that it's hard to get ourselves to do anything, that's emotional dysregulation. A lot of people think that the opposite of that is just nothingness, but I heard somewhere once that the opposite is actually self expression, like writing about it, talking about it, painting about it, anything that lets those feelings be seen and expressed and felt and released.
I wonder if that's why art can be so healing. I wonder if writing just a little something about it whenever I have the energy for it, could maybe help.
On one hand I understand not teaching cursive in school anymore, because it actually is slower than regular handwriting and almost everything is typed on a keyboard now anyways.
On the other hand, so much of our (even recent!) history was written in cursive, and having a whole generation of kids who can't read letters written by their grandparents, momentos saved by their great-grandparents, or even photo albums from theur immediate family seems like a dangerously quick way to detach us from previous generations.
And on the third, related but slightly malformed hand, I feel bad that yet another form of small, everyday art that brings joy in the middle of mundane tasks, which celebrates personality and individual style and self-expression, is about to fade into obscurity because it wasn't efficient enough for today's world to put up with.
Like... if we continue to whittle away the small arts out of every day life, what's going to be left except stark, ruthless pragmatism?
Maybe writing a grocery list is less mundane when you get to feel elegant for a moment. Maybe you're a little more proud of what you write when you see it flow together like a painting
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