[image moved to end of post]
Tattoo i sketched today that i am getting soon.
holy fuck, this is like a vomit cocktail of cultural appropriation.
I do believe that is the aptest possible description.
I’m a little confused, though… where are the ΙΧΘΥΣ fish, tree of life, pentacle, sun cross, seal of Solomon, star-and-crescent and hammer-and-sickle? Maybe those are going to be on the “matching” tattoo on the other limb…
[image description: A drawing, in what looks like dark brown pen or marker, depicting two circles attached by a short thin chain.
[end image description]
Ugh.
(Source: drownitoutwithlovesongs)
It is 2 a.m. I am very sick. I am not sure how long I have been hospitalized. The last two or three days have been a blur, a parade of procedures and people. I had a bloody debridement for a severe, large, and grossly infected stage four wound — the first wound I have had since I was paralyzed in 1978. I know the next six months or longer are going to be exceedingly difficult. I will be bedbound for months, dependent upon others for the first time in my adult life.
As these thoughts are coursing through my mind, a physician I have never met and the registered nurse on duty appear at my door. As they put on their gowns I am weary but hopeful. Surely there is something that can be done to stop the vomiting. The physician examines me with the nurse’s help. Like many other hospitalists that have examined me, he is coldly efficient. At some point, he asks the nurse to get a new medication.
What transpired after the nurse exited the room has haunted me. Paralyzed me with fear. The hospitalist asked me if I understood the gravity of my condition. He grimly told me I would be bedbound for at least six months and most likely a year or more. That there was a good chance the wound would never heal. If this happened, I would never sit in my wheelchair. I would never be able to work again. Not close to done, he told me I was looking at a life of complete and utter dependence.
He went on to tell me I was on powerful antibiotics that could cause significant organ damage. He informed me I had the right to forego any medication, including the lifesaving antibiotics. If I chose not to continue with the current therapy, I could be made very comfortable. I would feel no pain or discomfort at all. Although not explicitly stated, the message was loud and clear. I can help you die peacefully.
Read the rest of the article here.
I have long been a strong proponent of appropriate euthanasia and the right to die. That people dying of incurable cancer are expected — are required by law! — to endure weeks of pointless pain and suffering, often against their will, when to deny euthanasia to a companion animal in similar straits is considered cruelty to animals, has always baffled me.
And, after watching my great-grandmother’s long decline and eventual death from Alzheimer’s, I believe that I would prefer, should I someday receive a diagnosis of incurable progressive dementia, to end my life at a time and place of my own choosing (probably a forest) rather than put myself and my loved ones through a needlessly drawn-out pantomime of pointless “life” where my body would have to be locked away for “my” own protection (and that of others if, like many dementia patients, I become violent); I say my body would have to be locked away because, if it gets to that point, I will have ceased to exist.
After reading the above article, I have second thoughts on this issue for the first time.
I encourage everyone to read Mr. Peace’s article in its entirety, even — or maybe especially — if you yourself are not (yet?) disabled. I do still think that denying right-to-die in all cases will necessarily lead to inhumane and unconscionable torment for some individuals who might wish to avail themselves of that right. But it’s now clear to me that the possibility of people who might wish to fight until their last breath having <i>that</i> choice taken from them, explicitly or otherwise, is part of the equation that must be balanced.
[video]
![[image description: Two separate photos, one above the other. At the top of the image, a birch tree with just a few small, still-yellowish leaves having opened from buds; at the bottom of the image, an evergreen tree. Large meme-type captions appear on each photo, as follows.
Birch tree: “CHECK IT OUT, I’M TURNING GREEN”Evergreen: “BIRCH, PLEASE”
A small border at the bottom of the image credits Memebase.com where the image was captioned.]
Happy Earth Day, Tumblr!](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2dyb0Xk7F1r35y2yo1_500.jpg)
[image description:
Two separate photos, one above the other. At the top of the image, a birch tree with just a few small, still-yellowish leaves having opened from buds; at the bottom of the image, an evergreen tree. Large meme-type captions appear on each photo, as follows.
Birch tree: “CHECK IT OUT, I’M TURNING GREEN”
Evergreen: “BIRCH, PLEASE”
A small border at the bottom of the image credits Memebase.com where the image was captioned.]
Happy Earth Day, Tumblr!
(Source: rastafarigirl)
[video]
you really need to make 100yr+ birth certificates searchable for free online, since they’re public records and all and I’M IN FLORIDA. Cause I need my grandma’s birth certificate (from 1907) to try to get my papers together to apply for enrollment. FML. NDN problems….
(for real, what is with records in this country? only thing i’ve been able to find for her is the 1940 census, and that’s long after she moved to ohio to marry my grandfather and have my dad and uncle. Finding crap on my grandfather all over the place, but he’s not the one I need records on, since he’s italian, It’s my grandma who’s the Odawa.)
FYI, obviously it’s not your current concern, but if you have records showing that you’re descended from an Italian citizen, you’re eligible for Italian citizenship and can get an Italian passport and even, if you wanted to, visit Italy without having to leave before your visa expired.
I know because I’m working my way through the verification process myself, having had an Italian grandparent (my mother’s father) also. Hey, paisan’!
“It is my privilege, and an honor, to introduce to you Martha Kane Wayne…
…my significant mother.”
/end Bruce voice
[drawn by me, on the tablet (no stylus) using the PaintJoy app; now you all know why I’m usually reblogging other people’s art instead of posting my own]
[why are hairlines so hard augh]
(Source: buggeryisthegenus)
“If your partner were terrible all the time, it would actually be easier to deal with in many ways; you would tell yourself, “Well, he turned out to be a jerk.” But when someone you love goes back and forth between kindness and cruelty, generosity and selfishness, tenderness and intimidation, loving you and cheating on you, you can come to feel that it’s impossible to understand people. Your feelings for the primary person in your life tend to carry over into how you view everyone. Your partner may further feed the problem by encouraging you to think badly of others. He may tell you that people are lying to you or taking advantage of you; that your friends have hidden motives; that you are naïve in your dealings with people; that “everyone is just out for themselves.” He’s talking about himself, though he probably doesn’t know it.” — Lundy Bancroft, Healing and Hope (via waronxmas)
(via feministwerewolf)
Yeah, I’ve been on a kind of feministwerewolf-reblogging spree today. Just how I’m keeping my reblogs (semi- …sorta- …quasi-) organized at the moment. Not a tumblr crush.
much