Yes and no, applying for accommodations is as fun and easy as pulling out your own teeth with a rubber chicken.

It took months to get the paperwork organised and the conversations started around accommodations I needed for my disability, I realised halfway through I had to simplify what I was asking for and just deal with some less than accessible issues because the process of applying for disability accommodations was not accessible and I was getting rejected for simple requests like “can I reserve a seat in the front row because I can’t get up the stairs, and I can’t get there early because I need to take the service elevator to get to the lecture hall, so I’m always waiting on the security guard”

My teachers knew I had a physical disability and had mobility accommodations, some of them knew that the condition I had also caused a degree of sensory disability, but I had nothing formal on the paperwork about my hearing and vision loss because I was able to self manage with my existing tools.

I didn’t need my teachers to do anything differently so I didn’t see the point in delaying my education and putting myself through the bureaucratic stress of applying for visual accommodations when I didn’t need them to be provided to me from the university itself.

Obviously if I’d gotten a result of “you cheated” I’d immediately get that paperwork in to prove I didn’t cheat, my voice over reader just gave me the ChatGPT instructions and I didn’t realise it wasn’t part of the assignment… But that could take 3-4 months to finalise the accommodation process once I become aware that there is a genuine need to have that paperwork in place.

Gay lead; when being a stone top just isn’t hard enough.

Every time I do a Bunnings BBQ for the community centre, it’s women run, we get the onions on ASAP because they need time to cook, and we’ll have people buying a plain onion sandwich in addition to a snag, because caramelised onions are so good!

Every time I volunteer to help my partners football club run a sausage sizzle, I’m saying “put the onions on, they take longer” and I’m told by the guys “I’m a man, I know how to BBQ, go away little girl, go hold the sign and be pretty”

Then everyone buying a snag is complaining about crunchy raw onions, and the guys are saying “why did we buy so many onions?” (because you were supposed to cook them down so they shrink!)

These same men will unironically say “women belong in the kitchen” then won’t take cooking advice from a woman.

(also, the footy guys always giving me flak for deglazing the BBQ plate with water to help the onions cook down faster. They’ll just keep adding oil, once saw a Rotary Club use 1L of canola oil to half cook 5kg of onions, when we’ve never needed more than 200ml to fully cook onions, because onions need water to cook down!)

No idea, he lives on the other side of the state and I only see him 3 times a year for his birthday, father’s day and Christmas. My brother used to live with him but he spends most of his time with mum now.

I’m certain my dad is getting this rhetoric from social media because he’s a lonely and isolated man in his late 60s with no friends outside of his male dominated blue collar job.

But it’s not my job to reform him, I don’t have the skill set or energy.

He’s also not a racist!

I’d had the same recurring dream since early highschool. It was dream like in that it was a true labyrinth that mademoiselle no structuralism sense, walking around in the dream was ethereal, but the objects within were mundane, the toilets were broken or dirty in ways that could be reality not fantasy, but I always knew it was a dream, and for me it wasn’t panicked, it was just helplessly frustrating.

Because it was so recurring (at one point I was having this dream weekly) I told every therapist I ever had and they’ll all suggested it was about performance anxiety, since many of the toilets were missing doors, or contamination anxiety, or even just having a full bladder before bed. None of that really resonated.

It was in my 20s, having lunch with and old friend, they’d brought their new partner and we got talking about recurring dreams somehow. We covered the usual, the teeth falling out dream, the highschool exam you never studied for that you’re also naked for, etc. I start describing the toilet labyrinth, specifically mentioning that I’m not panicked in the dream, in just confused and frustrated, and this new guy excitedly exclaims “you’ve got an undiagnosed disability, I guarantee it”. He was half right, I was diagnosed, but I didn’t have any support systems because I’m broke.

The toilet labyrinth is a very common stress dream, but everyone has a slightly different response to it, and it’s motivated by different factors. For some people it’s performance anxiety, for some people it’s health anxiety. Sometimes it’s a fear that your private secrets will cause public shame if they got out. In my case it was my subconscious asking the question “how is everyone else making this look easy? how is everyone else able to do this? The tools I’ve been given fundamentally don’t work! why do people keep staring at me like I’m the idiot for not being able to use a broken toilet? why is no one else talking about how to broken and unusable these toilets are? How is it everyone else managing to do this!?” because I in my real life I was trying to keep up with the able bodied peers while disabled with no support, and I wasn’t eligible for support so it was very much “but how do I do anything when I don’t have the tools? Stop asking me to jump, and punishing me for not jumping when I have no legs to jump with”

(I have legs, that’s just a metaphor)

Jesus, now that its terrifying!

What would even be the point of a link that allows you that? Like, why was it designed to do that!?

Props to that person who PM’d you the warning.

I’ve been out as queer since I was 14. I’m in my 30, he still hasn’t come around.

Given his age and health, if he’s planning too come around he’d better get on it quick, at this rate he’s dying a bigot.

I’m not waiting any more, I put my whole life on hold waiting for him to come around so I could live my life safely. If I need to cut him out of my life I will.

I appreciate they kind words, but please keep in mind mind that it’s not always smart or safe to tell a trans person to be patient. The individual will know their level of safety, and advice to be patient and understanding can in some cases case be very, very harmful.

And if my yeasty poison goes bad, I’ll just pour it over some poisonous leaves, I love salad.

Don’t forget to season it with minerals you chipped off a rock in a dried out lake bed.

This is the thing. Musk and everything his company does in terms of labour and marketing, and just their whole ethos is unethical as fuck, and I can’t stand that as a society we are celebrating Tesla.

But self driving cars are not inherently bad or dangerous to persue as a technological advancement.

Self driving cars will kill people, they’ll will hit pedestrians and crash into things.

So do cars driven by humans.

Human driven cars kill a lot of people.

Self driving cars need to be safer than human driven cars to even consider letting them on the the road, but we can’t truly expect a 0% accident rate on self driving cars in the early days of the technology when we don’t expect that of the humanity driven cars.

Yuuuup, found out the hard way that tiktok shows you when someone watches a link you sent them.

My dad loves sending me cat videos on the tiktok, he sends me the links on Facebook.

I have two tiktok accounts because I knew there was a risk that my dad would be able to find me on tiktok through contacts. My dad is a transphobe, so in order to not poke the bear I maintain a cis persona when dealing with him.

But it took him 0.3 seconds to realise that he sent his daughter a link, and then an openly transmasc account user with a similar name opened that link, and then his daughter replied to his message reacting to the link…my ears are still bringing from the phone call he made to me.

So thats how my misunderstanding of tiktok trackers outted me to my transphobic father.

(fortunately I’m a fully grown adult and can cut him out of my life if he doesn’t calm down)

Yes, there are practices you can adopt in every day life that make you more likely to experience lucid dreaming.

Certain mindfulness exercises to do during the day that essentially give your consciousness muscle memory that you later kicks in when you’re dreaming and helps you you pull a bit of control into the dream.

If you have a Circadian rhythm disorder it helps.

As a kid I learned I could “rewind” my nightmares and go back and do things differently the second time. Lots of nightmares where I couldn’t run fast enough to save myself I was able to rewind and run faster the second time around.

As a teen I learned that I could just deux ex machina my way out of any dream.

I was having one of my recurring stress dreams about not meeting societal expectations due to lacking resources. I’d had this dream a million times before, I’m desperate to pee and I’m in a labyrinth of broken toilets. Other people are coming and I going and seemingly peeing just fine and not getting lost in the labyrinth at all. but I can’t figure out how they’re using these broken toilets. Usually in the dream I just wander around anxiously looking to pee until I wake up (and notably, I don’t actually need to pee). But this time I was lucid enough to decide, fucking this, the ceiling had been made of glass the whole time, and a dragon burst through to pick me up on the her back and burn the whole Loo-byrinth down.

So now I do that a lot. I was dreaming I was in a house slowly filling with green water and I may or may not have been a snake, but never fear, I summoned a goat from the thin air and gave it wings and we flew away.

I had a dream where the fat bastard from Austin Powers was roomates with Oscar the grouch and I’d been sold to them as a indentured maid and for some reason they were naked and I was deeply uncomfortable with the arrangement, that’s when the lucidity kicked in, so I froze time and just walked away from the weird dream, deciding once I turned onto the main road I’d wake up because this was too bizarre to even come up with something better (I haven’t even seen Austin Powers)

I managed to go all of 22-28 never once being carded for anything.

When I hit 30 I started getting carded for things I’d never been carded for before, even the milk bar I’d bought smokes at for 10 years, same guy and his son running it, suddenly started carding me.

That’s how I learned the ID that I’d been carrying around for 10-11 years since getting my photo ID in highschool was functionally useless, because hardly anywhere would accept it as legal ID despite it being legal ID.

I had to keep the website for the government list of ID boolmarkef so I could show doubtful cashiers that my ID was indeed federally accepted, legal and valid ID.

I went to try and get a different type of ID last year which is how it found out that despite being born in my country to a citizen of my country, and having my birth recorded and receiving my birth certificate. Somehow I’m not actually a citizen of my own country and I can’t get a passport…so I’m trying to navigate that system but that’s extra fun and confusing because I have neurodevelopmental issues and no one to help me understand what I need to to do.

I just want to be able to buy alcohol as a person in their 30s, without having to jump through impossible hoops to prove that I’m not not 17.

I’ve got smile lines and the beginnings of crows feet, I am weathered! Why am it getting carded now

Pretty sure I still catch myself smiling over the girl in highschool 18 years ago that said she was jealous because I had really long and pretty eyelashes.

Wow, that kind of blows my mind to think about, cleaning is often the longest part of preparing and eating food for me. I hate doing it and I will choose what I’m cooking and how to cook it based on the dishes in prepared food to wash up.

My partner once asked why the carrots I cook are always chipped in a rustic style …because I’m not dirtying a chipping board for a carrot, I fruit ninja that shit.

But I’ve come to find the cleaning up therapeutic, it makes me feel like the process is over, it’s a sense of completion and a job well done.

That said, it’s only therapeutics when it’s my dishes, and I’ve got a clean kitchen. If I’m working around, or expected to deal with someone else’s dishes, I’m having a protein shake for dinner, because I will lose my temper at inanimate object trying to cook in someone else’s mess or having to do 2-3 loads of dishes so I can eat 1 meal.

It helps that I’d had several previous surgeries, so I’d had practice at keeping my cool. Plus my surgeon was in discussion with me for months with multiple consultations to really understand the issue, I don’t think I could have possibly been in safer hands.

Regional Australia. I know they’re common in new builds, but not the kind of landlord special flips I’ve lived in obviously 😂.

Well either it’s 1 in 10,0000 in my country, or the department of health, my surgeon and GP are all missing a zero… which isn’t more likely because there’s no way our risk would be that much higher than the UK, and the NHS public health resources is 100,000.

Well then it’s definitely a deal breaker 😂

(Are dishwashers that common in the states? I’ve lived in 16 houses and never had one, when friends get them installed it’s a celebration, they’re dishwasher owning kind of people now, fancy)

Depending on what you’re treating, 50% sounds pretty good.

I remember when I went for my last surgery and I was signing all the consent forms, my doctor was emphasising the 17% chance of this known lifelong complication, and the increased 4% chance of general anaesthesia fatality (compared to 1 in 10,000 for general public).

My mum was freaking out because when she had the same surgery she’d been seen much earlier in the disease process, she wasn’t expecting such a “high” risk of complications in my care.

But all I was hearing is that there’s an over 80% chance it will be a success. Considering how limited and painful my life was by the thing we were treating, it was all no brainier, I liked those odds. Plus my condition is diagnosed 1 in 100,000 people, so how much data could my surgeon really have on the rate of risk, the sample size would be laughable.

Still the best decision of my life, my surgeon rolled his skilled dice, I had zero complications (other than slow wound healing but we expected and prepared for that). I threw my crutches in the trash 2 years later, and ran for the first time in my life at 27 years old after being told at 6 years old that I’d be a full time wheelchair user by 30.