This is @edwardsung.bsky.social wife. My beloved husband passed from this world unexpectedly one week ago. I’m posting because I know he made connections with some folks here and I don’t want him disappeared.
Minx was a lot of fun! I don't think I ever finished it but I should.
I understand the urge to crap on undemanding, light entertainment, but when you’re feeling like shit, a low-key, cozy comedy that isn’t mentally taxing but is made with care and heart by talented people can be an absolute blessing.
Binged most of the season tonight and it got me through a miserable evening of illness and stress. I love an edgy groundbreaking show as much as anyone, but sometimes a cozy, low-key, lighthearted comedy, expertly executed, just hits the spot.
Netflix's Man on the Inside Season 2 is better than Season 1 in every way... MUCH funnier, great additions to the cast (Jason Mantzoukas!!), and if you want to watch Ted Danson and Mary Steenburgen adorably romance each other -- and of course you do -- do not miss it.
Thanks Ärvinski. I am a huge baby when it comes to gut issues so this has really knocked me down, but trying to stay positive!
The Non Pornographers was right there
Guess it’s back to the drawing board for my cozy splatterpunk book
Stone cold classic
thing about autism is if you work really hard for many years, you can learn through trial-and-error how to navigate social situations and interpersonal connections SO effectively that people don't really believe you're autistic anymore and resent you for not being perfect at nonverbal communication
Thanks FB!
I’m not…though the doctor thinks it’s diabetes related (I’ve had type 2 for a while)
Thank you
Adam Scott meets the Chicago Pope
'Four cones wins, but in order to get a cone you have to build a civilization. Which is where the spirit cards come in'
After weeks of debilitating gut issues, it appears I probably have gastroparesis. I don't know much about it, but half the posts on the gastroparesis subreddit are like "praying for release from this endless nightmare" which seems promising
What’s a movie you never tire of?
Frankie Five Angels talking to Tom Hagen in The Godfather Part II
“Sometimes they had a little party before they did it.”
The best "forever roll"? A bidet attachment. We use a fraction of the TP we used to and feel a lot cleaner.
Carol causing millions of deaths when she loses her shit reminds me of social media, where the need to purge dark stuff conflicts with not wanting to depress or trigger anyone. It's frustrating because it's true—being super negative around people is corrosive. And yet...and yet....
Sidenote: Did you know??? The Elisabeth Kübler-Ross Five Stages of Grief describes how people who are terminally ill deal with their *own* death. They were never meant to apply universally. There is no roadmap or blueprint for grieving. No right or wrong way to deal with loss.
Sometimes you slip and say something mean or ungrateful. They're shocked and hurt, and you feel like an asshole. So you keep quiet and wear the mask. It's you who ends up walking on eggshells and managing other people's feelings. It's the price of not being alone, but it can be a huge strain.
Something that gets left out of the traditional grief narrative is how oppressive and isolating being around people can be. You don't say it because it would be churlish to be hurtful to people who mean well. They want to help, but your pain is in a place beyond the hope of comfort.
So much about Carol feels recognizable. Her reactions to the unconverted who are making the best of the new reality. The misery and self-hatred she can't medicate away. The push-pull of wanting to be alone but needing human connection. Wanting to blow up the world because fuck everybody.
There's resentment towards a world that keeps on turning despite your tragedy. I've been shattered, and everyone's out there living their lives. Like I said, it's irrational. My father died. No one gets to be happy. You didn't know him? Too bad! I shout as I knock the ice cream cone from your hand.
Part of it was utter helplessness. Luckily, I had the chance to say goodbye to my father, to hear him say "I love you." But there wasn't enough time for everything. When someone dies, wherever you were at with them, that's all you'll ever get. That door closes forever.
When my father died, something I did not expect to feel was anger. Not at my dad, but at myself and everyone and everything. A cold, bottomless fury. Totally irrational. I was angry at people who offered condolences and those who didn't. I was angry at strangers. I was angry at myself especially.
Thinking about Pluribus as a story about grief (present & past—there are signs all over these episodes of some bad past stuff) unlocked some thoughts about loss and depression. Rambling follows.
(Disclaimer: Grief is a highly personal experience and I speak only for myself.)
I think we all know this deep down, which is why we get so violently angry at those who remind us of it.
To me, he epitomizes some of the worst stereotypes of the male literary fiction writer. Casual misogyny, everything's about his boner, stylistic self-indulgence. Brilliant but shockingly un-self-aware and no sense for when to dial it down.
