New Hyperfixation: Investigrave Games

waving at you hey hey I don’t know if you remember me but haii! 🦭

HEY!!!!!!!!!!!! Dont worry I still remember !! I missed ya

they said it couldn't be done etc etc [x]

I think people need to get better at saying “maybe, maybe not” or “do I really need an answer?” when faced with uncertainty. this is something that gets taught to people with OCD, but I think the masses would benefit

“what kind of attraction am I feeling?” would it be the end of the world if that question didn’t have an answer?

“am I allowed to identify as x when I’m not sure if it applies to me?” maybe! who cares!

literally. you can apply the “fuck around and find out” method to anything

continuously feeling the need to hunt for answers is going to eat you up inside. take it from me. your life gets so much easier when you let yourself be unsure

being alive

(u/MrTechnodad // Minecraft End Poem by Julian Gogh // You Are Alive Today (Can you Believe it?) by Laura Jo Peck //  Hussein Dekmak // I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor)

something about tsukumo yuma.

something about having every right to hate, to distrust to take revenge, but instead, he chooses to love, to believe to have hope every single time.

something about having a bright, colorful room but instead sleep in a cold, lifeless attic where the artifacts— the very memories of his parents - are stored. something about keeping them close to his heart. something about desperately clinging to the lives of people who are gone

something. about repeating the catchphrase his father taught him. something about letting "kattobingu" become the center of his personality. something about the echo of someone living on in another.

something....about being lonely. something about keeping his sadness close to his heart. something about showing happiness instead. for the sake of others.

something..

I see you, your struggles and your agony. I see how hard you fought, I wish to honor the sacrifices you made along the way for me. I don't want to let your pain and efforts be in vein. I won't let it.

Come here, rest with me, please? My arms are open for you to surround yourself with, because you've earned it. You're safe, it's okay, everything is okay thanks to what you did. You can put your worries down for just a moment now.

You don't have to stop, but can you slow down just for me? The sky looks very pretty right now with your symbols floating brightly within it, lets slow down so we can admire that.

Do you want to read a book? Can you read it to me? Even if I've already read it a thousand times, there's still value in hearing your voice carry the words to to me. Your voice can be gentle, so go, read and give me a new spin on it.

Do you want to paint? Sure, your hands are capable of creating beautiful pieces of art, believe me. I've seen it before and I'll see it again. Don't worry about getting messy either, creation always comes from chaos, after all.

You need to stitch some old clothing back together? Can I join you? You do a wonderful job at mending this cloth. The patches you pick and sew are wonderful, and I can tell you stich it on with care and dedication. Your determination to restore what is old, once broken, yet loved, is admirable. I hope you understand that soon

and another thing: no child should ever be made fun of for things they love especially by their parents

Ok so my kid had an ear infection, right? As kids often do.

The doctor scraped out a bit of earwax to have a better look inside.

I was sent a bill for $200 PER EAR for this 5 second procedure which I did not give permission for them to do.

That was key- they did not ASK me if they could do this "procedure". And, as I OWN a medical practice (it's me. The medical practice is me, sitting in my house on video calls) I knew to call them when this bill came in to be like "You did not obtain informed consent for this procedure, and it was not en emergency procedure. You had full ability to gain my consent and didn't. I'm not paying."

And the massive hospital who owned the bill said "yuh-huh you do have to pay."

And I said "I own a practice. I know these laws. I do not owe you money for this."

And they conducted an "internal review" and SURPRISE! Decided I totally owed them money and they had never done anything wrong ever.

And so I called my state's Attorney General office, and explained the situation because, as I mentioned, I know the law. The AG got in touch within a couple days to say they were taking the case and would send the massive hospital conglomerate a knock it off, guys letter.

Lo and Behold, today I have a letter where said hospital graciously has agreed to forfeit the payment.

"How not to get screwed over by companies" should be part of civics class.

Know your rights and know who to call when they're infringed on. This whole process cost me $0 and honestly less effort than I would have expected.

May this knowledge find its way to someone else who can use it.

people might think creating OC lore involves a lot of thinking & planning, but in my personal experience, OC development is more like a divine vision from a god slamming you over the head with a mallet while ur doing the fuckin dishes or folding laundry

So, okay, fun fact. When I was a freshman in high school… let me preface by saying my dad sent me to a private school and, like a bad organ transplant, it didn’t take. I was miserable, the student body hated me, I hated them, it was awful.

Okay, so, freshman year, I’m deep in my “everything sucks and I’m stuck with these assholes” mentality. My English teacher was a notorious hard-ass, let’s call him Mr. Hargrove. He was the guy every student prayed they didn’t get. And, on top of ALL OF THE SHIT I WAS ALREADY DEALING WITH, I had him for English.

One of the laborious assignments he gave us was to keep a daily journal. Daily! Not monthly or weekly. Fucking daily. Handwritten. And we had to turn it in every quarter and he fucking graded us. He graded us on a fucking journal.

All of my classmates wrote shit like what they did that day or whatever. But, I did not. No, sir. I decided to give the ol’ middle finger to the assignment and do my own shit.

So, for my daily journal entries, over the course of an entire year, I wrote a serialized story about a horde of man-eating slugs that invaded a small mining town. It was graphic, it was ridiculous, it was an epic feat of rebellion.

And Mr. Hargrove loved it.

It wasn’t just the journal. Every assignment he gave us, I tried to shit all over it. Every reading assignment, everyone gushed about how good it was, but I always had a negative take. Every writing assignment, people wrote boring prose, but I wrote cheesy limericks or pulp horror stories.

Then, one day, he read one of my essays to the class as an example of good writing. When a fellow student asked who wrote it, he said, “Some pipsqueak.”

And that’s when I had a revelation. He wanted to fight. And since all the other students were trying to kiss his ass, I was his only challenger.

Mr. Hargrove and I went head-to-head on every assignment, every conversation, every fucking thing. And he ate it up. And so did I.

One day, he read us a column from the Washington Post and asked the class what was wrong with it. Everyone chimed in with their dumbass takes, but I was the one who landed on Mr. Hargrove’s complaint: The reporter had BRAZENLY added the suffix “ize” to a verb.

That night I wrote a jokey letter to the reporter calling him out on the offense in which I added “ize” to every single verb. I gave it to Mr. Hargrove, who by then had become a friendly adversary, for a chuckle and he SENT IT TO THE REPORTER.

And, people… The reporter wrote back. And he said I was an exceptional student. Mr. Hargrove and I had a giggle about that because we both knew I was just being an asshole, but he and the reporter acknowledged I had a point.

And that was it. That was the moment. Not THAT EXACT moment, but that year with Mr. Hargrove taught me I had a knack for writing. And that knack was based in saying “fuck you” to authority. (The irony that someone in a position of authority helped me realize that is not lost on me.)

So, I can say without qualification that Mr. Hargrove is the reason I am now a professional writer. Yes, I do it for a living. And most of my stuff takes authorities of one kind or another to task.

Mr. Hargrove showed me my dissent was valid, my rebellion was righteous, and that killer slugs could bring a city to its knees. Someone just needs to write it.