‘Deleted’ families: What went wrong with

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‘Deleted’ families: What went wrong with Trump’s family-separation effort:

chamerionwrites:

I’ve put this article under a cut because I think it’s worth reading in full, but I want to draw everyone’s attention to this, because it’s a key takeaway from all my reading on this subject:

“We missed out on an opportunity to educate the public about the reality of the border,” said a Border Patrol official who shared criticism of the White House on the condition of anonymity. “You have to think everything through before you move on something like this, and when the pushback hits, you have to weather the storm.”

They are not chastised. They are not remorseful. For this administration, the lesson learned was not don’t implement a policy of state-sponsored child abuse; it was we have to plan better next time if we want to get away with it. 

Keep reading
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So *I* have moved offices. I have moved five carloa

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So *I* have moved offices. 

I have moved five carloads of crap from one store to the other. I have set up my desk, computer, a new printer. I have downloaded countless Windows Updates, and have now upgraded from Win 10 Home to Pro so we can install the VPN.

My coworker is still at the old location with his desk, his computer, our database server, and all our shipping supplies. 

I am in the new office and three-quarters of the room is filled with junk the people who work here wanted to store in here. But I have my shit set up in the ¼ of a room that’s left, and have put my shit neatly away. It is up to my coworker to be a dick about the rest of the garbage in the room; it seems the others do intend to remove it but I have little faith in them doing so unprompted.

I also flipped my shit because the bathroom was covered in residue from one of the workers here’s experiment in cyanotype print making, which was impressively splattered around in such a way that a fresh roll of paper towels was lightly included in the splatter, making it one thousand percent fucking clear that she hadn’t so much as torn a single sheet off the roll and made the most cursory attempt to tidy up after herself. And so she was summoned in to clean up the room, as it’s been several days now and she lives locally. Apparently she was running late at the time, was the excuse, but, it’s been several days, and it’s obvious she had literally no intention of cleaning up in that room. So maybe now she thinks I’m a horrible bitch, she’s never met me and avoided looking at me when she was here, but I don’t give a shit, that was an incredibly shitty thing to do and I’m going to be a bitch about it. 

I am going away to the farm for an overdue week, and i don’t give a shit whether the rest of the move is completed in the meantime. 
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F Y I

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greywash:

re: writing about busty people: I’ve read like 1093821903821930 things that treat bras as, like, these dainty lace confections, or these cruel torture devices invented by men, but there is a weird absence of stories where bras are a thing that hold your tits up. There are similarly a weird absence of stories where boobs behave in the many and varied ways in which boobs behave, i.e., they go kind of where you don’t want them sometimes; their nipples point at an angle or, in fact, down rather than straight out in the absence of a bra; they are one size and shape when you are standing up and literally a completely different size and shape when you are lying down on your back and yet another completely different size and shape when you are lying down on your side. Tits!! They’re squishy? So they move around. And bras are a big part of how people who have a lot of tit manage their tits, to keep from them doing things that are super uncomfortable.

This is especially relevant to me, because some busty people (including me) are just more comfortable in a bra than without one. Like, sitting around, eating Doritos, or whatever. Also while working out, but: sitting around! Doing fuck all! I for one am, in fact, more comfortable in an underwire bra than without a bra, because underwire bras—annoying though they may be—tend to give me better support and make my back hurt less than non-underwire bras, when I’m wearing them all day. That said, my ultimate boob comfort preference is a medium-supportive stretchy sports bra–I sleep and do my morning stretches and PT exercises (though not heavier workouts) in the same medium-supportive stretchy sports bra. I sleep in a sports bra because if I don’t, I have been known to roll over onto my own tit, which is super painful and does not make for a restful night’s sleep. Just in case you wanted a) a data point and b) a hilarious boob faux pas you can now feel free to use when writing busty people in fiction, have fun. And yes, I too find the experience of taking off my daytime bra super ecstatically wonderful, but this sensation is in no way diminished by the fact that I then put on a different bra in which to lounge around lazily. It feels good because they wear differently.

Anyway. This isn’t universal, and not everyone with big boobs is more comfortable in a bra, but I like them! They hold my tits up! And my point here is just that bras are not, like, exclusively tools of the patriarchy, or exclusively decoration: for some people, especially people with big tits, bras also allow us to do normal activity, like jogging, walking, and rolling over in bed without causing ourselves personal injury.
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sentientsynth: “the children came to a perfume

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sentientsynth:

“the children came to a perfume shop. In the show window was a large jar of freckle salve, and beside the jar was a sign, which read: DO YOU SUFFER FROM FRECKLES? “What does the sign say?” ask Pippi. She couldn’t read very well because she didn’t want to go to school as other children did. It says, “Do you suffer from freckles?’” said Annika. “Does it indeed?” said Pippi thoughtfully. “Well, a civil question deserves a civil answer. Let’s go in.” She opened the door and entered the shop, closely followed by Tommy and Annika. An elderly lady stood back of the counter. Pippi went right up to her. “No!” she said decidedly. “What is it you want?” asked the lady. “No,” said Pippi once more. “I don’t understand what you mean,” said the lady. "No, I don’t suffer from freckles,” said Pippi. Then the lady understood, but she took one look at Pippi and burst out, “But, my dear child, your whole face is covered with freckles!” "I know it,” said Pippi, “but I don’t suffer from them. I love them. Good morning.” She turned to leave, but when she got to the door she looked back and cried, “But if you should happen to get in any salve that gives people more freckles, then you can send me seven or eight jars.””

—

Pippi Longstocking 

(is a goddess!)

This is goofy but just this moment I saw a photo of my face from the side and realized how many freckles I have that I don’t see in the mirror and I was thinking I should look into how to hide them or get rid of them and this really made me feel better, so. Thank you, Astrid Lindgren.
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