T Ash

@crewgrrl.bsky.social

Knitter, mom, cook, artist wrangler. ADHD, Depression, trauma survivor. Unabashed feminist & fan. Jewish, Zionist & not sorry. Support class, not front lines. Hugo Finalist. Posts from Hugo Finalist @geekcalligraphy.com. She/Her https://linktr.ee/terriash

Unsurprisingly, here we have a white Christian Brit, a citizen of a country and a member of a religion that both kinda don’t think colonialism is a bad thing, trying to deflect Christianity-as-empire onto Black people.

James@derpjames.bsky.social · last wk.

I agree. In the UK street preachers are generally very fringe, very evangelical, often rambling and a bit mad, and fairly likely (though by no means exclusively) to have an African accent. It's rare I get the impression they are insincere.

Tonight I am sleeping in my own bed for the first time in almost a month. I missed it so very much. The house is still a maze of twisty passages all of boxes, but MY BED is in my bedroom.

Husband Shaped Creature: “we have too much stuff.” Me: “look at this. Can we throw it out?” HSC: “it might be useful.” Um. Maybe that’s part of why we have too much stuff?

We are stuck in London for two extra days due to flight cancellation. This is a bit harder for us due to Shabbat being involved, but we’ve made that work. Part of making it work involved double checking with the hotel if they’d store/warm up food for us and explaining why.

On the list of silly things that I, a non FIFA enthusiast, have attempted to do in London, trying to get a pint on the night of the England/Argentina game after kickoff is one of the silliest.

Question for the ppl who think about language. I use the מקוה, the Jewish ritual dunk tank when necessary (significantly less often than in my pre-IUD life, I have to go about once a year these days. The euphemism for this visit has not changed since my childhood - “an evening appointment.”

We are headed eastward! Goodbye PNW, hello Midwest. Tabitha is snoozing in her carrier (or at least stoned enough to not give a shit), about 80% of our stuff is in the truck, and our suitcases all made it into the plane without incident.

A purple soft sided cat carrier slid under the seat in front of me.

So the @brisbane28.org bid table has a small stuffed wombat in addition to our stuffed koala. And there is no reason said wombat should go unadorned when their fellow has such a natty beret. And so I present to you: “In Memoriam For Those Lost At Tunnel 17.” Second photo has the beret for scale.

Small triangular knitted shawl. It is striped gray, pink and orange. Tiny triangular knit shawl and tiny swirly beret.

The movers are packing my kitchen. They are packing the basement. The cat has been exiled to the guest house. There is precisely nothing and no one I do not hate at this moment.

We are in the worst part of the move, where I break out into sobs every five minutes (Husband Shaped Creature breaking his toe so bad it needs an orthopedic surgery consult is not helping) and wish to eat my weight in feelings. Everything seems too big to complete.

Things I didn’t really need to be happening two weeks before our move part too damn many: Millie 2.0, my beloved @ternbicycles.com QuickHaul, quit being an e-bike on my way home from the farmer’s market yesterday. Thankfully, I was on a flat stretch of road that led straight to my bike shop.

Something I concluded with my new therapist the other day was that for me in many ways, having a childhood ADHD diagnosis is almost worse than being late diagnosed. I’m a cis woman who got diagnosed in the 90s. You know what we got? Meds and being told to mask harder.