Practical Guidance from the Church of the Ever-Changing Moment

The Rehearsal Addict

Aka: The Future Debater

• Tell – She paces the kitchen rerunning the same future conversation, tightening the timing, sharpening the tone.
• Telltale Sign – You’re blinking less. Inner dialogue looping without new input.
• Undoing Phrase – “Let the lines go off-book.”
• 60-second Practice – Close the eyes. Mouth the words without sound until the meaning drains. Then breathe.

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The Fixer

Aka: The Inner Emergency Technician

• Tell – Mid-shower, a remembered problem calls—maybe solvable, maybe not. You're fixing it from the soap lather.
• Telltale Sign – Rushing energy. Breathing shallow. Muscles already prepped for a task.
• Undoing Phrase – “Not all sparks are fires.”
• 60-second Practice – Walk 10 steps absurdly slowly while letting the problem remain unsolved.

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The Meaning Ferret

Aka: The Pattern Chaser

• Tell – That thing they said... was it a sign? Was yesterday’s weirdness part of a larger arc? What does it all mean?
• Telltale Sign – You’re squinting mentally. Your mind feels like it's tightening around a sentence fragment.
• Undoing Phrase – “Maybe this means nothing—and that’s holy.”
• 60-second Practice – Say what you’re doing right now out loud like a narrator. Nothing else. Just that.

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Here come 10 more, staying in the same tone—sharp, warm, a little weird:

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The Curator

Aka: The Museum of Me

• Tell – You’re mid-scroll, not for joy, but for the right post, the right article, the right thing to share.
• Telltale Sign – Shoulders hunched forward. Fingers fidgety. Brain previewing how others will see this.
• Undoing Phrase – “I don’t owe the moment a caption.”
• 60-second Practice – Take one random photo, immediately delete it, and say “unarchived.”

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The Moral Accountant

Aka: The Inner Scorekeeper

• Tell – You’re reviewing: what they did, what you did, who owes who what. It’s very fair.
• Telltale Sign – Chest tension. Imaginary courtroom forming.
• Undoing Phrase – “No one’s keeping the ledgers.”
• 60-second Practice – Make an absurdly unfair offering: gratitude to the person who didn't deserve it.

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The Symmetry Seeker

Aka: Closure Craver

• Tell – You replay the ending, looking for one more line, one more move, one clean exit.
• Telltale Sign – Breath held. Palms itchy. Urge to “send just one more message.”
• Undoing Phrase – “Some doors close mid-step.”
• 60-second Practice – Trace a circle with your finger… but don’t let it close. Leave it open. Stop.

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The Inner Archivist

Aka: The Voice Memo Hoarder

• Tell – You must record this thought before it disappears. Never mind the last dozen notes.
• Telltale Sign – Tense forehead. Desperate reach for the phone.
• Undoing Phrase – “If it’s real, it will return.”
• 60-second Practice – Write nothing. Speak nothing. Just sit. Let it go unpreserved.

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The Tense Host

Aka: The Social Weather Forecaster

• Tell – You feel them shift—tone, mood, gaze—and scramble to adjust the vibe.
• Telltale Sign – You’re listening to how they’re speaking more than what they’re saying.
• Undoing Phrase – “I’m not the thermostat.”
• 60-second Practice – Inhale, let the exhale be audible. Leave one silence untouched.

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The Drafts Folder Monk

Aka: The Email Whisperer

• Tell – You’ve reworded the message three times, still unsent. You may never send it, but it must be perfect.
• Telltale Sign – Editing while rereading. Your finger hovers instead of clicking.
• Undoing Phrase – “Let them meet the unpolished.”
• 60-second Practice – Hit send on the unsendable draft. If that’s too much: delete it entirely.

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The Replay Judge

Aka: The Shadow Commentator

• Tell – Something you said three days ago replays out of nowhere. It still stings. You rehearse a cooler version.
• Telltale Sign – Flash of embarrassment. Quiet mutter. Jaw clenched.
• Undoing Phrase – “That moment died. Let it stay buried.”
• 60-second Practice – Whisper the old line, then whisper a nonsense version until it breaks into laughter or gibberish.

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The Little Prophet

Aka: The Doom Forecaster

• Tell – You feel a tiny shift in tone, luck, or silence—and predict disaster.
• Telltale Sign – Inner stormcloud. Sudden need to brace.
• Undoing Phrase – “Not every cloud is an omen.”
• 60-second Practice – Count 5 blue things in sight. Say thank you to each one, no matter how dumb.

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The Mirror Hound

Aka: The Imagined Gaze

• Tell – You walk into a room, open a tab, or answer a question with an invisible audience watching.
• Telltale Sign – You’re adjusting posture. Imagining the angle.
• Undoing Phrase – “The witness is imaginary. The moment is not.”
• 60-second Practice – Do one thing completely “badly”: speak monotone, slouch, chew with your mouth open.

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The Inner Echo

Aka: The Self-Quoter

• Tell – You said something beautiful or true earlier. You keep circling back to it. It mattered.
• Telltale Sign – Warm pride mixed with subtle grip. Wanting to say it again, frame it, pin it.
• Undoing Phrase – “It already landed. Let it fall.”
• 60-second Practice – Write the line down. Crumple the page. Burn it if you’re bold.

A challenge to everyone

If we would see each other as unique persons, each capable of unique contributions, we could come to a common vision and a common meaning. We would be able to transcend our differences, even transcend ourselves and our surrounding for the good of a greater community by experiencing relationships of respect, caring, and at times love. Dr. Frankl would challenge you to join the human minority, not to be or remain lost in the crowd but to become one of those who lives, thinks, speaks and acts according to one’s conscience

McKilopp, T. (1993) A MESSAGE OF HOPE, The International Forum of Logotherapy, p. 8

Visitor: Maharaj … I must confess something terrible. I did not come only to ask questions. I came with the intention to kill you.

Maharaj: (smiling gently) Very good. Then you have come honestly, at least.

Visitor: You are not afraid?

Maharaj: Afraid of what? Of being killed? I am not alive in the way you think.

Visitor: But this body—this man before me—

Maharaj: Is already dead to himself. It is only appearing, like a reflection in water.

Visitor: Then who is it that I wished to kill?

Maharaj: An idea. A story in your mind. You came to destroy an image, not me.

Visitor: Why would I want to do that?

Maharaj: Because you hoped that by killing me, your suffering would end. You thought I was the cause.

Visitor: Is that true?

Maharaj: Your suffering is born of believing you are a person. I only point to that illusion. That feels dangerous to the mind.

Visitor: So my anger was fear?

Maharaj: Yes. Fear of disappearing.

Visitor: And now?

Maharaj: Now see: the one who wanted to kill is also only an idea.

Visitor: Then who am I?

Maharaj: The space in which both murder and forgiveness appear—and vanish.

Visitor: (quietly) I feel… empty. And peaceful.

Maharaj: Good. You have killed the right one.

So my friends and I were on the ol’ group text last night bemoaning the fact that nobody’s written a resistance anthem for the current moment. That is to say, there are plenty of anti-Trump, Anti-ICE songs, but I haven’t yet come across one that folks can sing acapella in the streets.

So I wrote one. Well, I wrote words for one. I do not have enough understanding of how music works to write an anthem, but I was thinking something stirring like the Marseillaise or something.

Anyway, here are the words I wrote. I hereby put them into the public domain, so if you wanna add music, remix, add, subtract, whatever, feel free. I don’t even need credit. I’d just like for us to be able to sing together.

VERSE:

From the snows of Minneapolis

To the palm trees of L.A.

From Chicago up to Portland

You can hear the people say

CHORUS:

We stand as one

We stand together

We stand to keep our country free*

And if you want to take my neighbor

Well then you have to go through me

VERSE:

In the schools and in the hospitals

The streets we call our own

We’ll greet those cowards with the courage

They have never known

CHORUS

VERSE:

When we send them crawling back

Into the holes where they belong

We will drown their mournful crying

With our joyful victory song

CHORUS

*Keep is for mass appeal, though of course kinda historically inaccurate. “Make” is an okay subsitute here.

There you go.

When you are experiencing hard times because of your Homeowners Association, you have to learn—or revert to—certain behaviors to stay afloat while you figure out how to get your life out of shambles. Living in a working-class neighborhood should not be so difficult. We go to work our asses off, come home, eat, then sleep. But when you already are in a disadvantaged situation, you are hyper aware that there is a thin line between working-class and below the poverty line.

Although I have been in several hurricanes, I never lost power continuously until Milton. I remember waiting to see if we were going to make it to three days sans electricity so that we could get emergency food assistance from FEMA. And it did take three days for the power to be restored. I immediately applied to FEMA. More and more days passed as I listened to other people I knew (and didn’t know) get their food assistance. But I did not. In fact, I have never gotten any type of assistance from FEMA for any of the five storms since I have lived in my house.

As I began to toss items from the main fridge, the mini fridge, and my camping fridge into the garbage, I wondered if I really had to throw these items away. I mean food guidelines are just guidelines, right? It was a painful process because I have a “thing” about wasting food—I don’t waste anything. I will eat the same meal for a week. I scrape my plates. I bring home scraps from restaurants. And I will eat your leftovers on your plate so that no food is wasted. It took me two weeks to throw everything out because I could not stay committed. My parents had to make me do it.

My refrigerator has never been the same. The storms delayed the start of my job. I missed the date to file for my last unemployment check by one day. All the damage to my home stressed me out and FEMA nor my insurance company were easy to deal with. When I get stressed, I get sick. Of course it didn’t help that my new boss was bitch of the year. Then, I found out my great, long-time friend that I met on base had died. Then my 102 year-old auntie from whom I was trying to learn my ancestry died. All of this affected my income. And as food prices continued to rise, I had trouble restocking while trying to overcome the mental anguish of knowing what the food prices used to be.

I’ve been poor before: foodstamps/EBT, WIC, TANF/AFDC, Medicaid, health departments, sliding scale clinics, Goodwill, and garage sales (never got section 8 in any state because the waiting list was 5 to 10 years!). Up North, I remember a Haitian church that used to feed those in need hot meals twice a week. I did not accept their offer until one day they yanked me inside. And we have some food banks in my area in which I have seen lines of people in the morning while I go to work while thinking,

Damn. I need to be in that line!

Bay Area Legal Services asked me why I was not on foodstamps.

Foodstamps? I can get foodstamps? I didn’t think a “‘homeowner’ with a car” could get foodstamps (well, at least not down here in Florida).

Plus with all the drama with the government shutting down benefits and non-poor people always trying to decide what others should be able to eat (in-group vs out-group, exclusionary…I am going to keep hammering this), I didn’t think it was worth the effort.

I got on public assistance as a teen. And I remember when I got off it and how proud I was that I had graduated from college and gotten my first big girl job. I went to Panera Bread for the first time…and I bought…organic milk! Oh well, that was yesteryear, this is today. At least I can now make meals for my parents that have been feeding me incessantly during this time.

here is the so called elephant text, a pretty good one with a powerful elephant metaphor which came to me, just like that!

I followed an impulse to remove it, because it gave the impression that I was offended, but I was!

And rightly so! I reserve the right at any and all times to be: OFFENDED!

🤌🤌

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My face looks like it’s got the texture of an elephant’s; with wrinkles. That’s a recurring thought which strikes me lately when I see my brightly lit face in the bathroom mirror. It’s been a gradual change which suddenly reaches a certain threshold, and then you see it clearly. But not before!

The kind aunt called me earlier today to tell me I’m wrong about my childhood. Apparently she’s a subject matter expert.

But I’ve become an elephant. Elephants never forget.

I was therefore able to take what she said with a grain of salt fortunately.

She hadn’t seen my metamorphosis.

That was the last time I referred to her as the kind aunt, though.

So everything changes

Kooperation gilt heute fast überall als Schlüsselkompetenz: in Teams, in Organisationen, in Bildungskontexten. Gleichzeitig bleibt oft unklar, was mit guter Zusammenarbeit eigentlich gemeint ist. Reicht es, wenn alle nett sind? Oder wenn Geben und Nehmen fair austariert sind? In meinen Leadership-Trainings und auch im Unterricht beobachte ich immer wieder dieselbe Spannung: Menschen wollen kooperativ sein, fürchten aber, ausgenutzt zu werden. Genau hier setzt die Arbeit von Adam Grant [1] an. Seine Typologie der Kooperation liefert ein überraschend nüchternes Raster, um diese Spannungen besser zu verstehen – ohne moralischen Zeigefinger, aber mit klaren Befunden.

Die vier Typen der Kooperation

Adam Grant unterscheidet vier grundlegende Kooperationsstrategien. Wichtig ist mir vorab ein Punkt: Es handelt sich nicht um feste Persönlichkeitstypen, sondern um Verhaltensweisen, die stark vom Kontext geprägt sind.

1. Der Nehmer Nehmer handeln konsequent eigennützig. Sie unterstützen andere nur dann, wenn sie sicher sind, mehr zurückzubekommen, als sie investieren. Kooperation ist für sie ein Mittel zur individuellen Vorteilsmaximierung. Kurzfristig können Nehmer erfolgreich wirken, langfristig beschädigen sie jedoch Vertrauen und Beziehungen. Ihre Reputation leidet, und Netzwerke schliessen sie zunehmend aus [2], [3].

2. Die Tauscherin Tauscher orientieren sich strikt an Ausgleich und Gegenseitigkeit. Hilfe erfolgt nach dem Prinzip „Wie du mir, so ich dir“. Fairness steht im Zentrum, nicht Grosszügigkeit. Wer mehr gibt, als zurückkommt, fühlt sich benachteiligt; wer weniger gibt, wird sanktioniert. Laut Grant ist dies die verbreitetste Strategie in Organisationen, weil sie sozial akzeptiert ist und Nehmerverhalten begrenzt. Gleichzeitig verhindert die ständige Bilanzierung, dass Vertrauen wirklich wachsen kann [2], [3].

3. Der fremdbezogene Geber Kluge Geber helfen anderen, wenn ihr eigener Aufwand geringer ist als der Nutzen für das Gegenüber. Sie starten mit Vertrauen, setzen aber klare Grenzen. Wird dieses Vertrauen missbraucht, stellen sie ihre Unterstützung ein. Diese Kombination aus Prosozialität und Selbstschutz erweist sich in Grants Studien als besonders erfolgreich. Kluge Geber bauen starke Netzwerke auf, ohne sich selbst zu überlasten. Sie geben strategisch dort, wo es wirklich wirkt [2]–[4].

4. Die selbstlose Geberin Selbstlose Geber stellen die Interessen anderer konsequent über ihre eigenen, selbst wenn sie ausgenutzt werden. Harmonie und Anerkennung sind zentral, eigene Bedürfnisse treten zurück. Grant zeigt deutlich: Diese Gruppe weist die höchsten Burnout-Raten auf und ist beruflich im Schnitt am wenigsten erfolgreich. Selbstlose Geber werden oft übersehen, ihre Beiträge für selbstverständlich gehalten. Nehmer nutzen ihre Bereitschaft systematisch aus [2]–[4].

Die vier Kooperationstypen nach Grant (eigene Darstellung mit NotebookLM)

Der zentrale Befund ist bekannt, aber dennoch irritierend: Am unteren Ende der Erfolgsskala, so Grant, finden sich selbstlose Geber, im Mittelfeld Tauscher und Nehmer, an der Spitze kluge Geber. Entscheidend ist nicht, ob* jemand gibt, sondern wie.

Adam Grant

Adam M. Grant (*1981) ist Organisationspsychologe und Professor an der Wharton School der University of Pennsylvania. Internationale Bekanntheit erlangte er mit Give and Take (2013, deutsch: Geben und Nehmen), in dem er auf Basis umfangreicher Studien zeigt, dass Erfolg weniger mit Durchsetzungsstärke als mit klugem, begrenztem Geben zusammenhängt [1]. Grant verbindet experimentelle Forschung mit anwendungsnaher Organisationspsychologie. Seine Arbeiten richten sich explizit an Praktikerinnen und Praktiker – ein Grund, weshalb sie in Leadership- und Bildungskontexten so anschlussfähig sind.

Was bedeutet das für die Führung?

Für #Führung – bewusst breit verstanden – sind Grants Befunde relevant, weil sie zwei weit verbreiteten Annahmen widersprechen: erstens, dass Wettbewerb Leistung steigert, und zweitens, dass bedingungslose Hilfsbereitschaft per se wünschenswert ist:

• Erstens zeigt sich, dass stark wettbewerbliche Kulturen Nehmer- und Tauscherverhalten fördern. Wissen wird zurückgehalten, Unterstützung strategisch dosiert. Vertrauen bleibt fragil [2], [3].
• Zweitens ist selbstloses Geben kein tragfähiges Ideal. Führung, die permanente Verfügbarkeit und Hilfsbereitschaft implizit erwartet, produziert Überlastung und lädt Nehmer geradezu ein [4].

Produktiv wird Führung dort, wo kluges Geben möglich ist: Vertrauen als Ausgangspunkt, klare Grenzen als Korrektiv. Das zeigt sich auch im Führungsverhalten selbst – etwa beim Delegieren von Verantwortung, beim Zulassen von Kompetenzgefällen oder beim bewussten Verzicht auf permanente Kontrolle. Führung wird damit weniger zu einer Frage der Macht, sondern der Rahmensetzung.

Was heisst das im Unterricht?

Auch im Unterricht, insbesondere in der Erwachsenenbildung, begegnen mir die vier Typen regelmässig. Gruppenarbeiten, Peer-Feedback oder kollaborative Lernformate sind ideale Beobachtungsfelder.

Selbstlose Geber übernehmen oft zu viel, erklären alles, tragen Gruppenarbeiten. Tauscher achten genau darauf, wer wie viel beiträgt. Nehmer profitieren davon – zumindest kurzfristig. Ohne didaktische Rahmung kippen kooperative Settings rasch in Schieflagen.

Didaktisch interessant ist daher nicht, alle zum Geben zu motivieren, sondern kluges Geben zu ermöglichen: transparente Erwartungen, begrenzte Aufgaben, klare Verantwortlichkeiten. Lernende sollen erfahren, dass Kooperation sinnvoll ist, ohne Selbstaufgabe zu verlangen. Gerade in der Erwachsenenbildung ist das auch ein implizites Leadership-Learning.

Mein Fazit

Was mich an Grants Typologie überzeugt, ist ihre Nüchternheit. Sie romantisiert Kooperation nicht, verteufelt Eigeninteresse aber ebenso wenig. Überrascht hat mich vor allem, wie klar die Daten gegen selbstloses Geben sprechen – ein Ideal, das in vielen Organisationen und Bildungskontexten immer noch hochgehalten wird. Ich habe gelernt, dass die Frage nicht lautet „Wie bringe ich Menschen dazu, mehr zu geben?“, sondern „Wie schaffe ich Bedingungen, unter denen kluges Geben rational und nachhaltig möglich ist?“

In Führung wie im Unterricht geht es nicht darum, Nehmer auszumerzen oder Selbstlosigkeit zu belohnen. Entscheidend ist, Kontexte zu schaffen, in denen kluges Geben sichtbar, begrenzt und wirksam ist. Kooperation ist dann keine moralische Pflicht, sondern eine kluge Strategie.

Drei Handlungsempfehlungen

1. Unterscheide klar zwischen Geben und Selbstaufgabe. Beispiel: Setze in deinem Team oder Kurs explizite Limits für Verfügbarkeit – etwa durch Sprechstunden statt permanenter Erreichbarkeit. Mache deutlich, dass Nein-Sagen nicht egoistisch, sondern professionell ist.
2. Gestalte Rahmen statt Appelle. Beispiel: Statt an Teamgeist zu appellieren, führe transparente Dokumentationspflichten für Beiträge ein (z. B. in Projekten oder Gruppenarbeiten). So wird sichtbar, wer was leistet – und Tauscher wie Nehmer müssen ihre Strategien anpassen.
3. Thematisiere Kooperation als Lerngegenstand. Beispiel: Diskutiere zu Beginn eines Projekts oder Kurses offen die vier Typen. Frage: „Welches Verhalten wollen wir hier fördern? Woran merken wir, wenn jemand ausgenutzt wird?“ Das schafft ein gemeinsames Vokabular und senkt verdeckte Konflikte.

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💬 Kommentieren (nur für write.as-Accounts)

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Quellen [1] A. Grant, Geben und Nehmen: Warum Egoisten nicht immer gewinnen und hilfsbereite Menschen weiterkommen, München: Piper, 2013.

[2] J. Beil, „Karriere: Mit diesem Verhalten steigt die Chance auf beruflichen Erfolg“, Handelsblatt, 28. Jan. 2026. [Online]. Verfügbar: https://www.handelsblatt.com/karriere/karriere-mit-diesem-verhalten-steigt-die-chance-auf-beruflichen-erfolg/100007985.html

[3] Redaktion Personalwirtschaft, „Tauschen ist das neue Nehmen“, Personalwirtschaft, o. J. [Online]. Verfügbar: https://www.personalwirtschaft.de/news/hr-organisation/kollaboration-tauschprinzip-verhindert-echtes-teamwork-103566/

[4] D. Schmid, „Kooperation: Diese 4 Team-Typen gibt es in jedem Unternehmen“, impulse, o. J. [Online]. Verfügbar: https://www.impulse.de/personal/kooperation/7310209.html

Bildquelle Paul Klee (1879–1940): Liegend, Detroit Institute of Arts, Public Domain.

Disclaimer Teile dieses Texts wurden mit Deepl Write (Korrektorat und Lektorat) überarbeitet. Für die Recherche in den erwähnten Werken/Quellen und in meinen Notizen wurde NotebookLM von Google verwendet. Die Infografik zu den vier Typen wurde von NotebookLM basierend auf meiner Inhaltsangabe generiert. Ergänzender Prompt: „Verwende einen typischen Whiteboard-/Flipchart-Stil und stelle die 4 Typen anschaulich dar.“

Topic #Erwachsenenbildung | #Coaching

The image above is a post I made on all social networks that I use. The picture above is a screenshot from Threads.

I've been sent a cancer screening kit from the NHS. As I say in the post this is not a task I am looking forward to. The post on BlueSky got no response. The post on Mastodon got a couple of replies. The post on Threads though has almost a hundred replies at the time of writing this. It's become almost a support network of people who have also got to do theirs and people who have done it supplying advice.

Most people who know me on social media know I post bog standard boring day to day stuff. I thought this post was exactly the same, but it seems to have struck a chord with some who are heading off to do the same thing. It is also amazing that those that have been through this and got the results that nobody wants have also commented and encouraged.

As I say I thought I was posting a boring everyday thing. I was also kind of not wanting to go ahead and do the test. My uncle passed away a few days ago from cancer. My Dad has had a six year long battle with a couple of cancers. With that in the back of my mind of course I'm here thinking the writing is on the wall for me.

Anyway I am not making any points here, I just wanted to get the words out of my head. If a small post like mine can have people conversing about cancer in a healthy way then all's good.

The ironic thing is the results from this free NHS cancer test will come back quicker than the paid for Ancestry DNA test. Our NHS is amazing.

14 January 2026

Flat light (working title): The light bulb in my flat, my flat through the light bulb. Hard to say if it's working or not yet. Have been looking at Artschwager's Intersect (1992) aquatint/drypoint work of a dog in a corner a lot this week. That monochrome approach to sitting at some essential point where vision both understands an essence and fails to differentiate between its constantly changing parts felt (and still feels) like something related to why I keep approaching light. And so I painted a corner of my room through an unilluminated light bulb. Mixed colors instinctually this time (as opposed to from a reference work), and while I did not intend this, it occurred to me after I finished working how the hues and tones seem to relate directly to the amalgam of visual sensations I've absorbed in my room in the three plus weeks since I moved in.

Hah, I made a mistake. In my post, New Apple Watch Sleep Tracker Results, I forgot to increase the counter. The last ... posts #3 and New Apple Watch Sleep Tracker results have the same #48. Which is wrong. This post here should be #98 but is instead 99!

I was checking my general post count on write.as and saw that the overall count is not the same as I expected. I've clicked through the posts and located the issue. Editing all the post would make to much work, so I decided to write this post instead as a clarification.

The next post will be the last in this round of #100DaysToOffload.

🎉

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99 of #100DaysToOffload
#log
Thoughts?

Rayleighův prd je fyzikálně-dědkovský jev, ke kterému dochází, když jeden dědek prdne na druhého bez vyvolání nasraného stavu. Nedochází k agresi, odvetě ani k brblání — pouze k indukovanému vyprdnutí. Zasažený dědek nevypustí vlastní originální prd, ale modifikovanou kopii původního prdu, lehce posunutou vůní, tónem a délkou doznívání. Jde o čistý přenos prdelní informace. Klíčové je, že prd se nezesiluje, ale přenastaví. Stejně jako Rayleighův rozptyl mění barvu světla bez jeho zničení, Rayleighův prd mění charakter prdu bez emoční excitace. V Dědolesu se tento jev považuje za známku vysoké prdelní vyzrálosti — dědek, který podlehne Rayleighovu prdu, je klidný, stabilní a prdelně kompatibilní s okolím.

Ramanův prd je naopak neelastický prdelní rozptyl. Původní prd sice zasáhne cílového dědka, ale část prdelní energie se přenese do jeho emoční struktury. Dědek se excituje, zpravidla se nasere, začne funět, zrudne a výsledný prd už není kopií, ale zcela nový stav. Má jinou frekvenci, jinou pachovou stopu a často i delší dozvuk s verbálním doprovodem typu: „No to si děláš prdel?!“ V Dědolesu se Ramanův prd používá opatrně. Je to mocný nástroj, ale nebezpečný — může rozjet řetězovou reakci nasranosti, kdy se z jednoho prdu stane prdelní konflikt. Zatímco Rayleighův prd je znakem harmonie a klidu, Ramanův prd je počátek dramatu, legend, hádek u lavice a někdy i týdenního ticha.

She got me a framed photo of us after one of our early surprise dates. I’m so happy.

I am working now, don’t have time to write

I have slept poorly it is however THURSDAY soon the weekend will be upon us!! Take heed!

I feel my soft yoga body and I would like to think that all is good

I wrote a really strong elephant post yesterday but was stricken by an impulse to delete it

Not entirely sure why?

I will write it again some day

Maybe it felt too personal but that hasn’t stopped me before?

I just say ”fuck it” and post; that’s why everyone loves this blog !

Anyway I better get back to work now, I am sure Windows updates are through

raindrops like berries on the winter morning hawthorn

Yesterday, I was trying to build an igloo with my oldest. As a child, every time it snowed, I was so excited to get outside to build an igloo. I simply just started. I grabbed a shovel and made a massive pile of snow. When the way was too long to the igloo, I made huge snowballs and rolled them onto the snow pile. After compacting everything, I just dug a hole into the pile and was done.

Now as an adult, I’ve tried to overengineer the whole thing. My son just wanted to start, but I was not ready. I wanted to have a plan. A proper way to build this thing. I would rather not make a massive pile of snow and then dig into the snow. (I am a grown-up now; I can't lie on the ground and dig a hole into a pile of snow.) I wanted to build a good igloo. So I searched for ways to accomplish that. It took far too long. My oldest was bored and did other stuff meanwhile.

We lost some time, and it gets dark early in the winter. 😅 We created the first half of the igloo. From here on, my plan was not working out anymore. So I had a new thought. Why not create blocks of snow and do it the Minecraft way? (My son has been into Minecraft for some weeks now.) He approved it, and we started filling buckets with snow, compressed them, and placed them in a line.

Now the “blocks” are waiting to be assembled.

I wish I could be as carefree as a child again. Just do things without planning them to death. But then, you have moments where the “wisdom” of an adult has prevented the child from frustration. (Still, frustration is a good thing for learning.) It is really strange. Both worlds have their pros and cons. Somehow, we need to align to get the best of both.

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97 of #100DaysToOffload
#log
Thoughts?

CeCe is Normal

#nsfw #CeCe

I remember the relief washing over me when CeCe actually agreed to get help. After that eye-opening moment in our dorm, where I'd seen the DMs and realized how deep her obsession ran, I gently suggested she talk to someone—a counselor, maybe, through the college's free services. To my surprise, she nodded, her fingers still idly tracing patterns on her inner thigh. “Yeah, okay, Tasha. If it'll make you feel better.” I thought this was it—the turning point. Maybe she'd dial it back, find some balance. But CeCe had her own way of twisting things, and it wasn't the help I expected.

She ended up booking sessions with this college intern at the student wellness center—a young psych major doing her practicum, not even a full therapist yet. CeCe framed the whole thing so cleverly, like she was pitching a TED Talk on self-empowerment. She'd sit there, all composed, explaining how watching porn was her form of emotional regulation—a safe outlet for stress in our high-pressure city life, where the constant grind of classes and part-time jobs could crush you. “It's safer sex, you know?” she'd say, according to what she told me later. “No risks, no heartbreak, just me controlling my own pleasure. It's made me less shy, more confident in my body. I used to hide these curves, but now? I own them.”

She made it a habit to dress nice for her sessions, further playing the charade and crafting her narrative. I complimented her on her new look quite a bit until I realized why she did it. I knew I had created a monster.

The intern bought it hook, line, and sinker—probably because CeCe was so articulate, so damn smart about justifying her freak flag. After a few sessions, the intern declared her “well-regulated and genuinely happy,” suggesting only that she keep journaling her feelings. No red flags raised, no interventions suggested. CeCe came back from those appointments beaming, like she'd gotten a gold star for her addiction.

All the while, though, she was escalating behind closed doors—or rather, in our very open dorm room. It escalated slowly. She did more than play porn casually during down time. She started playing porn videos in the background while she studied, the low volume moans and slaps mixing with her typing on engineering problem sets. She'd sit at her desk naked all the time. Her caramel skin always bare and glowing under the fluorescent lights, thick thighs pressed together, and she absentmindedly rocked against the chair, humping to stimulate herself.

From that point forward, I never saw her wear clothes in our dorm. She continued to lounge around nude, her full breasts swaying as she moved, that juicy ass planted wherever she pleased, chatting with me about classes like it was nothing. I didn't stop her. I enjoyed looking at her naked. My own porn consumption had silently turned me bisexual a long time ago.

As far as masturbating, she pushed this to new levels. She eroded all shame when it came to me. If I saw her naked, she was probably touching herself.

I'd be venting about my day, and there she'd be, fingers dipping into her wet pussy right in front of me, moaning softly as she nodded along. “Uh-huh, that sucks, Tasha,” she'd say, her voice breathy, eyes half-lidded while she pinched her nipples or rubbed her clit in lazy circles.

I didn't stop her. I didn't mind. I had a friend that would listen to everything. She was more attentive than most boyfriends I dated. She was just so raw, direct, honest and didn't ask for anything in return. So I accepted her overtly sexual habits. She was still a good person. But I knew she was turning into an out of control naked freak.

She had started watching public porn, almost exclusively. She had fixations on everything. What color clothes she wore, her favorite pen, notebook, socks. It didn't matter; something had its place in her life. Her porn was no different.

Her blatant exhibitionism bled into every moment in front of me. She chose me. Legs spread, wet and insatiable. Looking me in the eyes like I was her whole world outside of porn. Everyone else had bailed, but I stuck around, hoping the “therapy” would kick in eventually. I think she was conditioning me to normalize her behavior instead.

It all came to a head one crisp morning in our bustling city, where the air hummed with the sounds of commuter trains and street traffic outside our dorm window. I was rushing to class, grabbing my bag, when I caught CeCe slipping out the door ahead of me. She was dressed—if you could call it that—in just a baggy zip-up hoodie that hung loose over her frame, a pair of tiny shorts that barely covered her thick ass, and flip-flops slapping against the floor. No shirt, no bra, nothing underneath that hoodie. Probably no panties either. Her large breasts were basically hidden under the baggy fabric, sure, but one wrong move—a gust of wind, a quick turn—and she'd be flashing the whole hallway. She was heading to her therapy session and then straight to class, essentially topless, like it was no big deal.

“CeCe, wait—what are you wearing? Or... not wearing?” I called out, my voice a mix of exasperation and concern. I did my best to keep my voice down as to not draw attention in the hallway.

She turned, zipping the hoodie up just enough to tease the outline of her curves, a sly grin on her face. “Relax, Tasha. It's baggy—my tits are totally hidden. See? No one's gonna notice. And if they do, maybe it'll brighten their day.” She had a way out for everything, twisting logic until it fit her narrative, leaving me speechless once again.

Life in our college dorm carried on with that laid back vibe you only get in a place like our campus—where eccentricity was just part of the scenery, and as long as you weren't causing chaos, no one batted an eye. CeCe's increasingly bold outfits, or lack thereof, flew under the radar; professors and classmates shrugged it off as her quirky style, especially since she was killing it academically.

She was the star student, pulling in straight A's in her engineering courses while I scraped by with B's, my focus split between classes and worrying about her. It was frustrating, but also a twisted point of pride—my best friend was thriving, even if it was fueled by her nonstop naked porn habit.

There were moments when I genuinely had fun with her, though, dipping into her world when the stress of college life got too heavy. On rough nights after exams or bad shifts at my part-time gig downtown, I'd strip down alongside her, our naked bodies lounging on the beds as we scrolled through porn videos together. It was a release—her caramel curves pressed close to mine, the air thick with shared arousal as we'd touch ourselves, moaning in sync to some steamy scene.

Our friendship was charged with this electric tension, platonic at its core but teetering on the edge, never quite sure if we'd cross that line and turn it into something more. CeCe always brushed it off with a laugh, her fingers still slick from her latest orgasm. The room always smelling like pussy when we gooned together. “Porn's perfectly okay for me, Tasha. It's all I need—why complicate things?” A part of me secretly wished we could cross that line. But I held my tongue.

I didn't want to ruin a good thing. It's not like I was having any good dates worth my time anyway. I was always thinking about what porn CeCe was watching in our dorm while rubbing herself silly. They just never had that spark I was looking for. It just felt hollow. It felt empty. It felt meaningless. Maybe CeCe was onto something with her lifestyle.

It wasn't until later, during one of our late-night talks, that she opened up about being autistic. She said it casually, like explaining a homework problem, and suddenly it all clicked—the hyperfocus on her obsession, the way she justified everything so logically, the lack of an off switch for her escalating behaviors. It made sense why porn had gripped her so hard; it was a sensory fixation, a safe routine in a chaotic world. I knew then there was no flipping that switch back—CeCe was wired this way, and while it worried me, she'd become my ride-or-die best friend, the only person who truly got me in this massive, impersonal city.

But CeCe had a real problem with escalation, always pushing boundaries further than I could keep up with. Spring break rolled around, and while most students fled to beaches or hometowns, we stayed put in the near-empty dorms, the building echoing with silence amid the distant hum of city traffic outside. With no one around, CeCe let loose even more. She'd wander the halls with her baggy hoodie unzipped, her breasts fully exposed, nipples hard from the cool air, or sometimes she'd ditch the top half altogether, strolling topless in just short shorts and flip-flops, her thick ass swaying as she hummed to herself. I'd catch her like that, heart pounding, and try to pull her back inside.

“CeCe, come on, what if someone sees? Security could walk by, or maintenance—this is reckless!” I'd plead, grabbing her arm and steering her toward our room, my voice cracking with frustration. She'd just grin, zipping up halfway or not at all, countering with her usual logic. “No one's here, Tasha. It's freeing. Feels good against my skin. I checked. There are no cameras in the halls either.” I just didn't want to see her get in trouble and her world come crumbling down. It scared me.

But one evening, she crossed a line. She decided to go out fully nude to the laundry room down the hall. I was taking a shower and didn't see her leave our dorm room. So of course when I didn't see her, I got dressed and stepped out to look for her.

I had this protective habit to always make sure she was okay or I knew where she was. I tried to hide it, but over time I just needed that knowing comfort. She was okay with that and smiled one day because she had already noticed before I admitted it. She hugged me and said that was so cute. It made my day.

I decided to head to the laundry room since that was the most logical place she would be. I was shocked to see she was fully nude like it was normal. She emerged from the laundry room bare as the day she was born and sauntered back fully exposed without any shame, breasts bouncing freely. After I got over the initial shock, a part of me inside broke. I couldn't hold it in anymore.

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. I rushed up to her and gently pulled her back to our dorm. Back to safety. I held her arm with a firm grip but still as gentle as possible. I was not angry. I was fearful. I had to talk to her about this. I was so sad that I corrupted her and she just kept getting worse. If it wasn't for the porn she was watching, she wouldn't get the idea in her head to try this. I had so much guilt that I had made her this way.

Half sobbing and half speaking, I spoke to her. “I regret this so much—I regret showing you that first video. I turned you into this, and now you're spiraling. What if you get in real trouble? I'm so sorry, CeCe, I messed up.” I started crying then, hot tears streaming down my face, the weight of it all crashing down. Had I known she was autistic, I would have done things so much differently. The comments I said to her, the jokes at her being awkward or not opening up. I didn't know at all. All of these feelings rushed up now. I was sobbing on my naked friend's shoulder.

CeCe's playful expression faltered. It finally struck home. For the first time she realized the strain I was having on her. She set her laundry down, and grabbed her hoodie and put it on. For the first time in months she was dressed in our dorm. She pulled me to her bed and we sat down together. She covered her lap with a blanket as she patted the spot inviting me to lay my head on her lap.

The invitation was too inviting, too open. I wanted this. I have not been touched in months. I didn't want to admit it then, but I only wanted to be intimate with her. Even though I knew she didn't want the same things, I think deep down she knew my heart. CeCe was my comfort. I felt so vulnerable. But in that moment, she instantly made me feel safe.

So as I lay my head down, she petted my head in the most gentle loving way. It's like she instinctively knew how to cradle my head and touch the right places. She was so calming. My wails of sadness eventually faded to quiet sniffles. She rocked me slowly. Then she said gently, “Hey, Tasha... let's talk. For real.”