It says “product contains plastic”. The pictogram is telling you not to flush it (or otherwise improperly dispose of it) so it doesn’t go out to sea and kill a turtle.

My internal monologue is constant. Unless I’m using my language processing capacity for something else (e.g. listening to a podcast or reading text) then my brain is full of verbal diarrhoea. I’ll count each step on my way up a staircase just to fill the dead air in my head.

The first time I heard mention of Brick Em’ Young I thought I was a dark joke. Nope, just knock-off Mormon Lego.

When I worked in memory care I found that the easiest way was to play along. I had co-workers that did their training decades before I did and they were largely attached to “reorientation in time”, which is a nice way of saying confronting their delusions, and it was just upsetting for everyone.

I don’t want to tell Doris her husband isn’t actually late coming back from the shops, or that her parents aren’t coming to pick her up, or that she doesnt need to pick up her small children from school. Wouldn’t you get upset if some random stranger insisted that your spouse, who you remember waking up next to that day, died ten years ago? Or if that random 50 year old stranger insisted that they were actually your small child that you definitely dropped off at school that morning?

Unfortunately humans aren’t capable of experiencing objective reality. Instead everything gets filtered through our brains, which even in a totally healthy state still can’t help but filter reality through a layer of subjectivity. Personally I’d pick being lied to every day over being told my life has already passed me by every day.

No luck catching them peacocks then?