Tag: :’)
On the other side of the dressy scale there was a 7 months pregnant lawyer sitting on the floor at IAD
At O’Hare there was a lawyer who was about five minutes away from giving birth sitting there in her sweatpants with a sign that said “I’m a lawyer and I speak Hindi/Urdu”. Just her and her sign and supersized tea from McDonalds.
I’ll say it again. MOSTLY WOMEN.
Why does their being mostly women matter?
Because, statistically speaking, 64% of lawyers in the United States are men, meaning that the majority of the demographic showing up should reflect this.
It is also interesting to note that only 27% of American born lawyers are female- that means that a lot of these women are likely immigrants or foreign born.
We have a majority of women showing up in a field where they are a minority; women who dropped everything to help defend human rights and the country.
There’s no cis-male equivalency to pregnancy, but if you fail to see the importance and stength of a woman who might feasibly go into labour at any second still standing up for what is right and good whilst the majority of politicians are cowering, then I can’t help you.
stop checking on them
they don’t miss youThese are the words written on a post-it (a human invention) in Persephone’s bedroom. They’re written in what she fondly calls New English, aka the English that her mother still doesn’t know, even after all these years.
Every morning, when she wakes, she sees this post-it stuck onto the stone wall and makes herself read it out loud.
“Stop checking on him,” she says, arms wrapped tight around her knees. “He doesn’t miss you.” The words bring the familiar sting of pain, the familiar tightness in her chest, the accompanying breathlessness. There’s still a part of her that rebels at the thought, that clings to what he said before and not after.
She thinks she might have been happier loving a mortal, which is so in fashion these days that her mother is gallivanting about Earth like she hadn’t spent centuries chastising Persephone for the same. If she loved a mortal, she could bind them in ways that it’s impossible to bind a god.
She gets up and gets ready for her day. Being an immortal means that she can’t just spend all day in bed. That path leads to centuries of apathy and she’s still young. So very, very young.
“Go back to Olympus. I should have known better than to let a child into my kingdom.”
There was no “letting” about it. She’d been younger still and in chains and in captivity and in love. She’d beguiled and coerced so that he’d take her with him, made him free her.
She’d thought she was shedding her chains, choosing new ones that better suited her, but she didn’t see the way her discarded shackles slipped onto him. She didn’t see what a burden she was, what a burden she would become to him, how limiting, how heavy, how stupid.
It’s been five years now and she’s still counting seasons like she has a chance of being let back in. Summer and winter, summer and winter, summer and winter, ad nauseum. Her mother had said that she’d stick to the cycle, that the Earth actually benefited from winter, but Persephone sees the way the summers are growing longer and hotter, the way the winters are short but so sharp she could cut her teeth on them.
Spring? She stopped that a long time ago. The melting of winter is good enough for mortals and gods alike. They don’t notice and, therefore, they don’t ask.
Oakleaf-tailed dragon hiding from you.
…this was an exercise in texture and rendering fiddly, fiddly forest bits
eeeeeee!
It’s so hot. And it’s so humid. I think I’m melting. Good bye world, have a Tony Stark and a crab floaty to remember me byyy…
In The Wee Free Men, the village has a tradition of burying a shepherd with a piece of wool on his shroud, so that the recording angel will excuse him all those times during lambing when he failed to attend church — because a good shepherd should know that the sheep come first. I didn’t make that up. They used to do that in a village two miles from where I live. What I particularly liked about it was the implicit loyalist arrangement with God. Americans, I think, sometimes get puzzled by people in Ireland who call themselves loyalists yet would apparently up arms against the forces of the crown. But a loyalist arrangement is a dynamic accord. It doesn’t mean we will be blindly loyal to you. It means we will be loyal to you if you are loyal to us. If you act the way we think a king should act, you can be our king. And it seemed to me that these humble people of the village, putting their little piece of wool on the shroud, were saying, “If you are the God we think you are, you will understand. And if you are not the God we think you are, to Hell with you.” So much of Discworld has come from odd serendipitous discoveries like that.
– Terry Pratchett, “Straight from the Heart, via the Groin,” A Slip of the Keyboard (via thelonelyskeptic)
kototyph 