I feel so compressed.

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The hardest weight to lift at the gym is the one you bring with you.

Also PRISM. Maybe the third—wait, wrong side of the array—worst.

It was /c/amotio? Pitchforks out; GET ‘EM!

Pro tip: if you stop breathing, you’ll stop releasing CO2 into our atmosphere too.

I figure I can probably convert about 10 kg into manure before it autoconverts into compost. Which is maybe even a worse problem.

Would you rather have 100,000 kg of tasty supreme pizza, or 200 kg of steaming manure?

Choose wisely.

Some people use git to flog, though. See

git blame

Every time.

My record is a year. Holy fuck did I burn that networking opportunity.

“Hey there; I know it’s been—holy moly, a year?!—since you messaged me but I just wanted to say that it was good to hear from you and that I enjoyed working with you.”+some other specific potentially identifiable stuff.

I never got a response; even a year later (although that would have been super funny to encounter such a similar soul).

A professional charges $200/hr, so we get seen a few times per year at most.

I’ve fucking read the relevant chapters of the DSM V more times than she has. This isn’t the dark ages, this is the information age. Stop gatekeeping knowledge, bitch. I know myself and my symptoms better than she does, because I fucking live with myself and she’s just that annoying not-relative that comes in and after half-hour solves all my problems and tells me how to live my life and then “WOW I’M HEALED THANKS SO MUCH” —now fuck off and write my scrip so I don’t have to go to the darkweb for my shit that I hate but enables my neurodivergent mind to function in in the way that’s at least partially compatible with this fucked up society.

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Then StuffIt.

I’d be down for a 5/9 rp night.

Fuck you I won’t do what you tell me lolol.