#anyway I’m tired. I have to do scheduling stuff for school and call the gas company for my apartment. I’m just so tired

[waywardkrypton-blog]

AITA???/ MASSIVE FEELING POST

So me and my husband bought a new house (about 40 minutes from where we lived before) about a month ago. I have a really good friend who lives in our old town. She’s incredibly busy because she owns a candle shop and it’s Christmas time. Her and her husband were supposed to help us move, but then had to back out because of work. (That’s understandable) but then we kept inviting them over for dinner, and inviting them to come see the house but they never would come until about a week ago. (My husband had to call her and say hey my wife is getting her feelings hurt) (which I was but I got mad at him for telling her that cuz why would you tell someone that 😭😭) Anyway they finally came over, and we hardly talked at all :( like I don’t understand cuz I was trying to talk :( like we wrapped a couple presents then she took a nap on our couch for a little bit and then they had to go back to their house.

But then she drove all the way to Texas to help one of her other friends.

But anyway my feelings are hurt because I feel like we had to beg them to come over, when they’ll go out with other people all the time no problem. And I know that even if I was super busy and my freind bought a house, (major life milestone) I would make time to go see it before the week was up, like I would go early in the morning or late at night even if I would be tired.

But then she asks me to do stuff for her since we live closer to a bigger city now. And I didn’t reply to the text because it feels like I’m being used. But my husband thinks I’m being petty and over reacting. Which I can kinda see. But idk something doesn’t feel right.

But also she even told me, when y’all move I’m not going to drive all that way to come see you all the time. Which is fine. And I understand cuz I have freinds that live about an hour away and it’s hard to find time where our schedules line up to where we can hang out. And gas is expensive and I don’t have a car right now. But if I could afford gas and had a car I would go see them all the time :(

Maybe I’m dealing with a lot more emotion as well cuz my dad has been over here at the house helping me and Husband clean up the yard and trim trees and pressure washing everything for the past month (it was a dump when we bought it) and my mother hasn’t even come down one time :( and that really hurts my feelings cuz her oldest daughter and first son in law (me and Husband) just bought their first house together (major life accomplishment right??) and she won’t even come see it :( like did I do something to make her mad at me?? And I’ve invited her and dad has asked her to come and everything and she just won’t come :( and I feel like I’ll never be good enough for her or anyone

Cuz none of my other friends have come to see the house either but they’re all farther away which is fine and they have school stuff which I understand but the freinds I have that are local haven’t even come over :( and I feel like everyone secretly hates me and thinks I’m annoying or something but I try so hard to be nice to people and always be there for them like I used to get up at 4:30 am to go see people because I had work during the day and a curfew at night :( like I don’t understand why people can’t put in just a little bit of effort to go out of their way to make someone feel wanted :( cuz I would do anything for any of my freinds but the ones that have it easy won’t even come see my house :( and I decorated for Christmas too :((

idk I just feel so lonely and left out :(

[southislandwren]

My boss was like “you can take Wednesday off if you want” and I was like NO and she was like “you don’t want to hang out with the kids all day?” Girl the reason I’ve been so vehement about working a lot is because the kids are irritating :/

[orangeoctopi7]

Stupid Teen Emotions

@forduary Week three is travel/trapped. In this story, Stan and Ford TRAVEL back to the past, where they become TRAPPED! It fits!

Chapter 1:  Back in My Day

They didn’t sleep well, that first night. Ford stayed up late, because of course he would have stayed up into the wee hours of the night working on his perpetual motion machine in the original timeline. But he barely touched the project. With the knowledge he had now, he could probably build the whole thing tonight, but that would, of course, be changing the timeline. A younger Ford had learned a lot, working so hard and so long on this machine, and future Ford didn’t want to deprive his past self of that important lesson. So instead, he began writing, racking his brain for anything he could remember of January, 1969.

Stan tried to sleep at first, but he just couldn't. He was too anxious and excited, all rolled into one. So he instead dug out a few of his old comic books that never got thrown away.

They both must have fallen asleep at some point, because come morning, there was a rapping at the door that woke them both with a start.

“Get up, you two! You’re gonna be late for school!” A woman with a thick Jersey accent yelled through the door.

“M-mom?” Ford’s head lifted blearily off his desk.

“Wow, you are really taking the whole ‘stick to the timeline’ thing seriously.” Stan mused from his bottom bunk.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep at my desk…” Ford groaned.

“You never do, Sixer, you never do.”

They marched downstairs and into the kitchen, where their mother had a breakfast of hot cinnamon and apple oatmeal waiting for them. Stan was so happy to see her, he ran over and hugged her, pecking a swift kiss on her cheek.

"Aww, sweetie!" She planted a kiss on his forehead. "I'm still not paying your parking ticket." She added flatly.

"What parking ticket?" Stan asked, confused. "Oh, um, I mean, drat."

Ford was too tired to even work up the energy to be happy to see his mother. As he sat down, he automatically reached for the coffee pot. But a rolled up newspaper smacked his hand away.

“What d’you think you’re doin’?” Caryn asked, eyebrow raised.

“... getting my morning coffee?” Ford answered, addled.

“How many times do I have to tell you, honey? No coffee ‘til you’re 18. It’ll stunt your growth!”

Ford looked like he was about to have a fit.

“Wait, are we not 18?” Stan asked quickly. Luckily, his parents ignored his out-of-place comment.

“Ya don’t need coffee, ya need more sleep!” Filbrick grunted from behind his newspaper.

“You both drink ten cups a day!” Ford argued, his voice cracking again.

“That’s cuz we’re adults.” Filbrick growled, “Once you’re old an’ decrepit, you can drink all the coffee ya want.”

“Trust me, he will.” Stan said flatly.

Ford kicked him under the table. Hard. Stan cried out.

“Can it, you two!” Caryn scolded them, “You’ll wake up Shermie. I don’t wanna have to deal with three crying babies.”

The brothers finished their breakfast sullenly but quietly, and grabbed their backpacks before heading out the door.

“Think we should leave Shermie a note warning him to watch out for time travelers?” Stan asked as he fished out his keys to the STNLYMBL. “Y’know, for when he’s older?”

“Then Dipper and Mabel will be born later than 2000.” Ford reminded him irritably.

“Right.” Stan smacked himself. “Man, this sucks! Why time travel if we can’t make things better?”

Ford’s only reply was a surly sigh as he turned to the cafe next door.

“Hey, where’re you goin’?” Stan asked.

“To get some coffee!”

“Seriously, Sixer? Hot Belgian Waffles is next door, Mrs. DuBios will rat you out to Ma for sure!”

Ford heaved an even more enraged sigh that bordered on a growl, and turned on his heal to get into Stan’s car, slamming the door shut.

“Whoa, easy, we’ll just stop by the donut place on the boardwalk.” Stan reassured him as he started the car. “What’s gotten into you?”

The scientist groaned and pulled his fingers through his curly brown hair. “I don’t know! Normally it’s simple to just focus on my intellect and control my emotions, but it just isn’t working now for some reason!”

“‘Control’ your emotions, or bottle them up?” Stan muttered. Ford shot him a withering glare. “Shoot, I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud. Why do I keep doin’ that?”

“And the only reason I’m so mad in the first place is because I’m so tired!” Ford continued to rant, “I got at least four hours of sleep last night, it doesn’t make any sense!”

“Heh, guess teen Ford isn’t used to old man Ford’s space-sleep schedule. Or lack of sleep schedule, anyway.”

Ford’s face brightened into his ‘a-ha!’ expression. “Stanley, that’s it!”

“What?” 

“The reason I’m having such a hard time regulating my emotions, and the reason you can’t keep your mouth shut even more than usual! We may still have our minds from 2013, but our bodies are teenagers in the middle of puberty. Our hormone levels are magnitudes higher than what we’ve become accustomed to.”

“Great. Goin’ through puberty again. Just what everyone wants outta time travel.”

They pulled up to the donut shop on the boardwalk. Stan poked around in his seat and found a quarter, which he handed to Ford. Suddenly, his brother looked unsure.

“Stan, maybe you should hang onto this. You’re going to need all the money you can get, come summer.”

“It’s a freaking quarter, Poindexter.”

“Yeah, but a quarter is worth a lot more in 1969 than it will be in 2013! This is almost a whole gallon of gas!”

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ten minutes ago you were about to have a meltdown because you couldn't get your morning coffee, just buy it, Ford!”

“Fine, but I’ll pay for it myself.”

“With what money, genius? You didn’t have a job in high school because you were too busy with your academic science nerd stuff! Now go buy yourself a cup of coffee, or I’ll make you walk the rest of the way to school.”

Ford frowned, but took the quarter. He couldn’t help but feel guilty as he got his cup of coffee. How could he or anyone else have ever said that Stan was the lazy one, when Stan was the only one who’d ever had a ‘real’ job? Even to this day, Ford had never had what anyone would call a normal job, barring that one summer he’d been a lifeguard at a waterpark in a dolphin-dominant dimension. He’d always relied on scholarships and grants and accademia, which was hard work, in its own way, but still.  It certainly wasn’t what his father would have called a real job. While traveling across dimensions, he’d relied on trading information and knowledge, building and selling inventions, and even, occasionally, stealing.

Stan was the one who’d gotten a minimum wage, part-time job selling popsicles on the beach. Stan was the one who’d entered local semi-pro boxing matches and brought home winnings. Stan was the one who’d saved up for his own car. 

“Ar-are you crying!?” Stan exclaimed when Ford climbed back into the car, cup of coffee in hand.  Ford reached up to wipe his eyes, surprised as his brother to find tears there.

“Oh geez, Stanford, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so harsh, I just--” Stan began to babble.

“N-no, it’s not you.” Ford found his voice wavering as soon as he tried to speak. “It’s just-- gah, I’m so stupid! Stupid hormonal chemical imbalance!”

Ford tried to keep himself from crying anymore by taking a big gulp of coffee. It wasn’t very good, and it was just this side of warm, but it instantly improved his mood.

“Ah, there’s that good dopamine.”

“Better?”

“Much. Let’s go. I think we’re already late.”

Despite the fact that they were ten minutes late, there were still several students milling about when they arrived at the school. The twins felt like they should stick out like a sore thumb, but nobody paid them any mind. 

“Ugh, never thought I’d come back here.” Stan grumbled.

“Well, look on the bright side!” Ford reassured him, “Now that you’ve studied quantum physics and run your own business for thirty years, Math and Science classes should be a breeze!”

“Hey, yeah! I can’t wait to see the look on Mr. Grauberger’s face when I can tell him exactly how much interest $300 will accumulate over 20 years!” But he paused. “Wait, what about changin’ the timeline? Pretty sure I never answered questions in class.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t make that much of a difference.” Ford scoffed. “Even if you get 100% on every quiz while we’re here, I don’t think it’d be enough to bring your grade up past a C, and you’ll be dropping out before graduation anyway.”

“Oh yeah….” Stan’s good mood quickly washed away.

Ford rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We know it all works out in the end.”

“Yeah…” Stan agreed, “but there was still a lot of heartache gettin’ there.”

[danni-whatshername]

cut your teeth // chapter 1

It’s said that everyone in Starklake knows a missing person. For the last decade, the small town has been plagued by disappearances and sparked its own satanic panic. Through the combined efforts of the police and tourism departments the general public is none the wiser. In fact, the nearby beach is perfect for bonfires and camp outs...

Chapter 1 Almost two years after that fateful homecoming night, the survivors of the Westchester attack come together for their first annual camping trip.

Word Count: 2.1k

Note: The leaves emoji links to accompanying Choices music. I decided to use 2nd person POV to simulate the experience of playing the app in a sense. I’d love constructive feedback and any comments! Strap yourselves in for a wild ride of a mystery.

Tags (For this first chapter I’m basically considering this a thank you/dedication for good pals! 💝): @brightpinkpeppercorn @strangerofbraidwood @jesusofnazario @itlivesinthegays @lady-kato

[  🍃🍃🍃]

It starts the same way every time. Somewhere deep down you know it’s not real, but you don’t have a chance to stop it. You feel as though you’ve been walking for miles. Every step sends a dull ache up your legs, but there’s nowhere to stop and rest. Besides that, you’ve felt it coming closer and closer the whole time. You heard from one of your professors that the reason cavemen survived was their sheer ability to endure the hunt. Where wild beasts tired after a sprint, humans could track for hours. Which is how you know what follows must be human—a beast would have taken you out long ago.

Tall pines surround you and every step feels agonizingly slow and heavy. You finally consider just collapsing onto the ground when you hear it. Telltale whispers that feel as though they’re coming from all directions at once. They are growing louder and louder despite your efforts to escape them. The edges of your vision grow dark as a shadow begins to envelop you. You feel a sharp blow to the side of your head—

[ 🍃🍃🍃]

“Whoa!”

Your eyes jolt open as a hard smack against the car window shakes you from your nightmare.

“Sorry. The potholes here are crazy,” Andy says and casts a worried glance at you. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Ouch,” you say as you rub the already growing bump on the side of your head.

Andy’s focus is back on the road as he attempts to avoid any more potholes. The road stretches on for miles ahead and is flanked by tall pines. Unlike the ones in your dream, the morning sun makes these look almost friendly.

“I know what’ll make you feel better,” he says.

“A kiss?” you tease as the fog of your nap wears off.

“I was gonna say picking up some snacks at the gas station, but if you insist on a kiss…”

“Oh I definitely do,” you say as you lean over.

“I could go for some snacks,” Tom pipes up from the backseat.

“Ah!” you jump in your seat, “I totally forgot you were riding with us,” you turn to look back at Tom who has the whole backseat to himself.

“Oof. Straight shot to the ego,” Tom winces and cutches his chest.

“Hey! You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Don’t worry about it, Katya.,” he laughs, “I’m just stoked you guys decided to invite me to your camping trip.”

“What? C’mon, man. Of course we’d invite you,” Andy grins at Tom through the rearview mirror.

“And it’s not just a camping trip. It’s the first annual Westchester Badass Club camping trip.” You turn back to Tom and make jazz hands.

“Please tell me you don’t actually call yourselves that.”

“I named our group chat that, so it’s basically the same thing,” you nod resolutely.

“I’m just excited to see everyone again. Everyone’s out doing their own thing now, so other than you two I barely see anyone.” Andy frowns and you notice him drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

“You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to coordinate eight people’s schedules after you graduate high school.” You groan and feel the bump on your head throb just from remembering the constant rescheduling, following up, and organizing it took to even make one trip happen. Now with Andy finally graduated from his senior year, a summer camping trip sounded like the perfect activity to bring everyone together. Luckily group chats and Pictstagram made keeping in touch with everyone a lot easier.

“The last time we were all really together was at the memorial,” Andy says.

“Gosh, that’s coming up again soon too,” you frown and think back to the nightmare you had earlier.

“It’s in a few months. Do you think you’ll give another speech?” Tom asks.

“I hope not. There’s not much left to say. At least as far as the rest of Westchester is concerned.” You shift uncomfortably at the memory of your nightmare and the similarities it shared with the events that had taken place. “Anyways… this campground seemed nice online. Bonus points for being close enough to town that we won’t be totally screwed once we realize we forgot to bring something important.” You change the subject and hope it’ll stick.

“So… how much longer ’til we get there?”

You pick your phone up out of the cupholder and pull up the GPS app.

“Five hours.”

Tom whistles and leans back into his seat.

“Geez. Guess I’ll make myself comfy back here then."

“Are you gonna be okay driving so long?” you ask Andy. Your gaze naturally drifts over to his left leg. Despite Andy’s assurances to everyone (including the college recruiters) that his leg was doing better, you know enough to see that he still has his bad days.

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” Andy teases, “I’m doing fine. Really. Besides, what’s the point of getting a car if I’m not gonna take it out for a road trip or two?” he pats the dashboard.

“Alright. But if you need a break let us know.” You point between Tom and yourself.

“Seriously, dude. And we promise we won’t crash it or anything.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m going Dukes of Hazard on it the moment I get on the wheel.”

The next stretch of road is punctuated by singing along to old school hip hop (‘Can they even say that on the radio?!’), games of I Spy (‘Ok… I spy something green.’), and debates on the finer points of who really controls the music on a road trip (‘I have girlfriend and front seat privileges.’ ‘Oh yeah? Well I have seniority in how long I’ve been friends with the driver.’ ‘Neither of you has good taste in music.’).

———

Some time after crossing the Oregon-California border you decide to make your final stop.

Apart from the gas station and a tire shop, there isn’t much to see. The woods are far sparser and you swear you can smell the sea, but it’s definitely just in your head.

The three of you pile out of the car and stretch your legs. You swipe your card at the pump to pay and Tom heads into the gas station to pick up some final snacks.

As the number on the pump’s display slowly creep up you realize Andy hasn’t said anything yet. You turn to see him leaning against the hood and experimentally kicking his leg in and out. He stops when he notices you watching.

“Hey.” He grins innocently.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” you cross your arms, “You should have said something earlier if you weren’t feeling good.”

You’ve gone through the same conversation at least a dozen times before.

“I know, but if I can’t make it through one road trip…”

“Andy, you need to stop making up these arbitrary rules for yourself.” The two of you pause for a moment in awkward silence before you speak. You clear your throat and drop your voice to a comically low baritone. “Alright, Kang. I’m benching you for the rest of this car trip. You’re riding in the passenger seat ’til we get to the beach.”

The two of you break out into laughter.

“You’re so cheesy.”

“You mean you aren’t impressed with my vast knowledge of sports lingo?”

“If I close my eyes it’s like I’m really on the court.”

You finish filling up the car and settle into the driver’s seat. Not long after, Tom finally emerges from the gas station. His pace is hurried and when he finally gets in you notice his worried expression.

“Hey. You alright, man?” Andy leans his seat back and looks over to Tom.

“Yeah. The attendant just said some weird stuff after I mentioned where we were going,” he says.

“Gas station employees are either really cool or total weirdos. I wouldn’t worry about it,” you reassure him as you pull out and back onto the road.

“Spoken like a true horror movie victim, Katya,” Andy says.

“Shut up!” You laugh and playfully punch him on the arm. “I refuse to be a cheesy teen movie. I read Google reviews for this place. If a bunch of old white people say it’s fine, it’s fine.”

Your banter seems to ease the mood and the conversation slips back into something more lighthearted as you finish up the last leg of your trip.

———

[ 🍃🍃🍃]

The scenery begins to change the closer you get to the beach. The tall, dark pine forest is pushed further back and what trees do line the road are short and sparse You drive by the fork in the road that leads to the nearby town of Starklake. Even outside of the town proper you drive by a few homes and small businesses. A small brown sign points you in the direction of the campgrounds.

“We’re here!”

You pull into a small gravel parking lot and hop out to stretch your legs. Surprisingly, only a couple other cars are present. You figured that a beach campground would be absolutely swarmed during the summer which was why you had been so insistent about leaving early in the morning. The almost stranded lot proved that to be a wasted effort.

“Look who finally decided to show up.”

You recognize her voice before you even turn around.

“Ava!” you shout and have to hold yourself back from running over and hugging her. “How long have you guys been here?”

“Almost an hour. We were lucky to find a spot with how busy it was,” she waves a hand at the almost deserted parking lot.

“Ok, so I may have overestimated how packed it’d be. Can you blame me?” you say, grabbing your bags from the trunk.

“Oh don’t worry. We’ve already decided you’re in charge of setting up camp,” she says and grins.

“Suddenly I’m regretting my decision to ride with you,” Tom jokes before giving Ava a short wave. She nods in return.

“Don’t worry. I know the secret to setting a camp up real quick,” Andy says and slams the trunk closed.

“Pitching the idea that camping under the stars is the hottest summer trend?” you offer.

“No, but that can always be Plan B.”

“If you’re done trying to worm your way out of the work I’ll show you where everyone else is,” Ava says and begins to walk ahead without waiting for a response.

“You know it’s been too long when I actually miss Ava’s attitude,” Andy says.

The three of you scramble to keep up with her on the way to everyone else.

Your campsite ends up being about a fifteen minute walk from the parking lot, but the landscape of the beach makes it feel far more secluded. A rocky peninsula juts out to the right and encloses the campsite in its own little space. While the water isn’t crystal clear (or even particularly inviting) just being by the ocean invigorates you. Up ahead you see familiar figures standing by a small mountain of bags and camping gear.

“Hey guys!”

“Lily!” You break out into a run, but the sand slows you down and instead you amble on over to the group with all the grace of a giraffe. You almost knock her over with the force of your hug when you finally reach her.

“Whoa!” she yelps, trying to steady herself.

“Sorry. I just missed you.”

“You’re so lucky we missed you too or you’d need to do a lot more than set up our tents for making us wait so long,” Stacy says and pulls you into a hug.

“Don’t worry. Ava already chewed us out about it,” Andy says after he and Tom drop your cooler and bags off with everyone else’s.

“It hasn’t been that bad,” Dan says and bumps a volleyball over to Andy.

“Dan’s right. There’s actually some really interesting examples of the growing erosion problem on the beach here,” Lucas says and points out certain spots of the shore.

“Oh my god. Somehow your nerdy Picstagram posts pale in comparison to the live action Lucas,” you say.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says and pulls you into a side hug. “It’s great to see you all again.”

“Same here. I’m psyched we all get to hang out again before I start school,” Andy says while bouncing the volleyball between Tom, Dan, and himself.

“Let the first annual Westchester Badass Club camping trip begin!” you exclaim to a chorus of groans.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

End of Chapter 1

Chapter 2: With the camping trip in full swing will everything go on without a hitch?

[ungarmax]

ya boy’s been freaking out all morning because jobs and $$$

and like the ridiculousness of this situation?  because here is what it is:  i haven’t worked a real job in over 6 years because my last work experience was so awful i had some sort of emotional breakdown.  so now i am back in nj and i’ve given up on them giving me disability (they rejected me twice without even letting me talk to their doctors), so i need to do something.  my patreon gets me a little bit of cash but i can barely pay for my own gas.

here are two stupid things:

i had an appointment to get on foodstamps, but the letter arrived after the scheduled meeting time so i missed it (this happens frequently), and i haven’t worked up the nerve to call them back and reschedule.

i have a potential weekly babysitting job where i’d work for 6 hours a week (two hours for three mornings) that seems extremely easy.  two boys between the ages of 7 and 11, i’d have to clean up their breakfast dishes, have them brush their hair and teeth, and drive them to school.  babysitters make good $$ around here, especially when they, like me, have like 20+ years of experience.  so that’d be $60 - $90/week.  but i have to meet with the mother and i was flipping my shit out about that.

and i know this is compounded with the fact that this is probably my last christmas with my mom, and that i’m going to be spending the days after christmas packing her things and moving her to a nursing home, which is just the epitome of shitty irony because she worked as a nurse in a nursing home for like 35 years.

and the thing is like, i don’t do emotions half way?  i feel every emotion like 100% all the fucking time, and it sucks and i hate it.  i can burst into tears for literally no reason at literally any time.  yesterday, the cat got upset with me and batted at my face, which was probably my fault, but i had to go sit in my room and cry about it because i literally have no control over anything.

anyway, i cried all morning and then i laid down in bed and played animal crossing on my phone until i felt better, and like, i don’t feel good, but it occurred to me that the very worst thing that could happen with the babysitting job is that the lady could say no.  which isn’t all that bad.  if she says yes, i get some money and i’m not just a 100% drain on qp’s resources.  if she says no, then i don’t have to worry about the anxiety of starting this job.  no problem.

i’ve just been trying so hard to get work, but everything seems so big and scary and like way more than i can deal with, and i hate it because i haven’t done any transitioning yet so i have to apply and pretend i’m a girl which is incredibly draining.  i’ve applied to a bunch of jobs, some i know i just won’t be able to handle even, and i’ve been doing like...online bullshit like surveys and whatever to get $$ (i’ve made almost $2 lmao rip) and i need a fucking graphic design portfolio to get a graphic design job but have i ever done... anytihng...... i don’t know how to make one

i want a job that i can freelance and actually get people to buy my stuff.  no one ever wants commissions from me, probably because i’m not that good or reliable when it comes to art.  if i could...just...have any motivation to do anything or improve on anything at all, that would be super

but i guess i’m gonna have to start the medication roulette again before i can actually function as a human being.  man i fuckin hate psychiatrists though, especially the one i had to meet with at hunterdon medical which is probably...where i’m going again lmao

i’m just so tired of this.  i walked through nyc just two days ago, stopping and giving out money to all the homeless people sitting out in the 35 degree weather and thinking, damn, it’s only sheer luck that i’m not sitting out on the street too, you know?  the fact that there are two whole people in the world who would let me live with them and support me even though i give nothing back is...holy shit?  way more than i deserve probably.

anyway i replied to the babysitting job so give me a cookie or something.

[mlovesstories]

Sandwiches and Stress

Warnings: language, stress?

Word Count: 1115

Summary: the life of a high school hunter isn’t easy.

Science project, math test, help Sammy research the wendigo case since no one wants it, dishes, more studying, training, shooting practice with Dean, be perfect.... shit.

Nicole sat in her room at the bunker overwhelmed by the demands of being a highschooler by day and hunter by night.  It was finals time, and she was feeling it.  Why did she have to be so academic?  Why did she need to be a good hunter? 

Thanks for the influence, Sam and Dean.

Although she participated online schooling (per Sam’s unwavering demand), that didn’t stop the assignments from rolling in, just like any other school.  The things to be accomplished were gaining on her.  Every day seemed to bring a new task to add to the list.  Her brothers didn’t notice.  She tried to maintain her insanely long list of to-dos, but it was difficult. 

Her brothers had left for a hunt yesterday.  She was on research duty while they were gone.  Of course, they didn’t ask.  They just assumed she would be available because that’s how it always had been.  Her phone screamed an ACDC song.

Dean.

“Hey, Dean. How may I be of assistance?”  She chuckled to herself.

“Who says I need something, brat?”  He replied.

“You never call me unless you need lore information or food, dumbass.”

“Language.”

“Whatever.  What do you need?”

“Umm.... we are on our way home.  Maybe 5 hours.  Can you make your famous pulled pork sandwiches please? We are craving actual food.”

“That hunt must’ve gone fast.”

“Thankfully.” He sighed.  “Please?  I’ll owe you one.”  He begged her.  

Add it to the list, big bro.

“Two hours of driving Baby.”

“What?  No!”  Dean scoffed over the phone.

“Then stop by the Gas ‘N Sip. I don’t make those for free.  Bye, Dean.”  She rolled her eyes and was about to hang up when she heard Dean speak.

“Ok! Fine, you win.  Thanks, bye!”

I’m going to sell him to Crowley for this. 

Nicole came through with the sandwiches.  They were ready to be eaten when the boys came through the door.  

“Nicky!  We’re home!”  Sam shouted to his sister.

“Kitchen!”  She grinned, happy her boys were back.

They ate in silence because everyone was tired.  

“I’ll do the dishes tomorrow. Hope you liked the sandwiches.”  Nicole got up and put her dishes in the sink. She headed out toward her room.  

“Hey, we had a deal.  Training for chores.  Dishes EVERY day.”

“Dean, I’m exhausted. Please, I have a more open schedule tomorrow.”  She tiredly looked at her oldest brother.  He gave her a disapproving look.  “Then I miss training this week.  I’ll see you tomorrow,” she answered his unasked question.  

In the man cave, a Marvel movie’s credits rolled.

“What was up with Nicky?  She never gives up training.”  Dean started the conversation.

“Yeah, that was kinda weird.  She made her choice though.”  Sam was tired and blew it off.

She never misses training with us.

Dean couldn’t make sense of it.  He loved working out with her.  The oldest brother was able to teach her new things, and on a rare occasion, she would win a fight or two.  “Whatever, man.  I gotta hit the sack.  ‘Night, Sammy.”

“’Night, Dean.”

Dean walked down the hallway toward his room.  As he got closer, he heard some noise.  

Maybe she is watching a movie. 

Dean kept hearing the sound over and over repeatedly. He walked past his room to Nicky’s.  He listened and identified the noise. He knocked but there was no answer.

Crying? She never cries.

He slowly opened the door.  “Hey, Nick.”  He walked in and saw her practically melting into the floor with her face tomato red from crying.  

“Go away, Dean.”  She sniffled but tried not to give anything away.

“You’re upset, I wouldn’t be doing my brotherly duty if I didn’t try to figure out what was wrong.”  He sat on her bed while she leaned against it on the carpet.

“I’m fine.”  She deadpanned.

“Bullshit.”  He gave it right back to her.

“Whatever, Dean.”  She turned away.

He started massaging her head and scalp, combing her hair with his fingers in the process.

“Dean, don’t.”

“Shhh... don’t talk.“  Dean knew that she always responded to touch well when she was down. Although she wasn’t very expressive with emotions, she liked the feeling of physical contact.  

She quieted and eventually leaned into his leg.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” Dean slowed his hand on her head but didn’t cease completely.

“I’m tired, Dean. So tired.” Nicole took a dragging breath.

“I’ll leave so you can go to bed.” He stopped touching her head and was about to stand up when she grabbed his wrist.

“No, that’s not- ok, look. You see all this?” She motioned to her lap and the floor. He nodded. “I have to work through all this tonight, shoot with you, do regular chores and homework, study for a math test, and I have a science project due. I have to do all of that by the weekend. It’s Thursday, Dean.  I’ve worked all week and am nowhere near done. Going to school and hunting is like two full time jobs, Dean.  I can’t just relax after my school stuff is done.  I have to help you or some other hunter tracking down research and lore. It doesn’t end.”  She started her tears again softly, and he resumed the head massage. 

“Baby, I’m so sorry. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have bothered you so much. I’ll do the dishes. Don’t worry about chores this next week. Next time tell us, ok? I don’t want you getting sick because you pushed yourself too hard.”

“I can do the chores, Dean. Just not tonight.” She turned and looked at him.

“No, you will not. You are grounded from chores.” He smirked.

“Dean, that’s not a thing.” She gave him a laugh. He stood up and walked to her door.

“Well, now it is. I’m so sorry. Maybe the nerd can help you out too. He’s the brainiac brother anyway.” She half-smiled at his description of Sam.

“Sounds good.” Nicole responded to her brother. “Oh, Dean?”

He glanced at her.

“You still owe me drive time with Baby.”

“Crap. Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “Ok, you need to take a shower and go to bed, missy.” She started to object. “Don’t worry, Sam will talk to your teachers. You need sleep more than all this right now.” He pointed to the papers in the ground.

“Dean-“ she tried again.

“You have ten seconds or you ain’t driving my girl at all. Shower. Now.” He beamed behind the tough guy facade.

“Thanks, Dean.”

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rhondastephens To Catch A Falling Cactus

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Parenting: Are We Getting a Raw Deal?

Summer 1974. I’m 9 years old. By 7:30 am, I’m up and out of the house, or if it’s Saturday I’m up and doing exactly what my father, Big Jerry, has told me to do. Might be raking, mowing, digging holes, or washing cars. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Summer 2016. I’m tiptoeing out of the house, on my way to work, in an effort not to wake my children who will undoubtedly sleep until 11 am. They may complete a couple of the chores I’ve left in a list on the kitchen counter for them, or they may eat stale Cheez-its that were left in their rooms 3 days ago, in order to avoid the kitchen at all costs and “not see” the list. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); If you haven’t noticed, we’re getting a raw deal where this parenting gig is concerned. When did adults start caring whether or not their kids were safe, happy, or popular? I can assure you that Ginny and Big Jerry were not whiling away the hours wondering if my brother and I were fulfilled. Big Jerry was stoking the fires of his retirement savings and working, and working some more. Ginny was double bolting the door in order to keep us out of the house, and talking on the phone while she smoked a Kent. Meanwhile, we were three neighborhoods away, playing with some kids we’d never met, and we had crossed 2 major highways on bicycles with semi-flat tires to get there. Odds are, one of us had crashed at some point and was bleeding pretty impressively. No one cared. We were kids and if we weren’t acting as free labor, we were supposed to be out of the house and out of the way. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); My personal belief is that the same “woman with too little to do”, that decided it was necessary to give 4- year old guests a gift for coming to a birthday party, is the same loon who decided we were here to serve our kids and not the other way around. Think about it. As a kid, what was your costume for Halloween? If you were really lucky, your mom jabbed a pair of scissors in an old sheet, cut two eye holes, and you were a ghost. If her friend was coming over to frost her hair and showed up early, you got one eye hole cut and spent the next 45 minutes using a sharp stick to jab a second hole that was about two inches lower than its partner. I watched my cousin run directly into a parked car due to this very costume one year. He was still yelling, “Trick or Treat” as he slid down the rear quarter panel of a Buick, mildly concussed. When my son was 3 years old, we had a clown costume made by a seamstress, complete with pointy clown hat, and grease makeup. His grandmother spent more having that costume made than she did on my prom dress. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); At some point in the last 25 years, the tide shifted and the parents started getting the marginal cars and the cheap clothes while the kids live like rock stars. We spend enormous amounts of money on private instruction, the best sports gear money can buy, and adhere to psycho competition schedules. I’m as guilty as anyone. I’ve bought the $300 baseball bats with money that should have been invested in a retirement account, traveled from many an AAU basketball game, or travel baseball game, to a dance competition in the course of one day, and failed to even consider why. Remember Hank Aaron? He didn’t need a $300 bat to be great. Your kid isn’t going pro and neither is mine, but you are going to retire one day and dumpster diving isn’t for the elderly. My brother and I still laugh about how, when he played high school baseball, there was one good bat and the entire team used it. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Remember your clothes in the 70’s? Despite my best efforts to block it out, I can still remember my desperate need to have a pair of authentic Converse shoes. Did I get them? Negative. Oh, was it a punch in the gut when my mother presented me with the Archdale knock-offs she found somewhere between my hometown and Greensboro. Trust me. They weren’t even close. Did I complain? Hell, no. I’m still alive, aren’t I? We’ve got an entire generation of kids spitting up on outfits that cost more than my monthly electric bill. There were no designer baby clothes when we were kids. Why? Because our parents weren’t crazy enough to spend $60 on an outfit for us to have explosive diarrhea in or vomit on. Our parents were focused on saving for their retirement and paying their house off. The real beauty of it is that none of these kids are going to score a job straight out of college that will allow them to pay for the necessities of life, brand new cars, and $150 jeans, so guess who’s going to be getting the phone call when they can’t make rent? Yep, we are. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Think back; way, way back. Who cleaned the house and did the yard work when you were a kid? You did. In fact, that’s why some people had children. We were free labor. My mother served as supervisor for the indoor chores, and the house damn well better be spotless when my father came through the door at 5:35. The battle cry went something like this, “Oh, no! Your father will be home in 15 minutes! Get those toys put away nooooow!” The rest of our evening was spent getting up to turn the television on demand, and only to what Dad wanted to watch. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); On weekends Dad was in charge of outdoor work and if you were thirsty you drank out of the hose, because 2 minutes of air conditioning and a glass of water from the faucet might make you soft. Who does the housework and yardwork now? The cleaning lady that comes on Thursday, and the landscaping crew that comes every other Tuesday. Most teenage boys have never touched a mower, and if you asked my daughter to clean a toilet, she would come back with a four page paper on the various kinds of deadly bacteria present on toilet seats. Everyone is too busy doing stuff to take care of the stuff they already have. But don’t get confused, they aren’t working or anything crazy like that. Juggling school assignments, extracurricular activities, and spending our money could become stressful if they had to work. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); I don’t recall anyone being worried about my workload being stressful, or my mental health in general. Jerry and Ginny had grownup stuff to worry about. As teenagers, we managed our own social lives and school affairs. If Karen, while executing a hair flip, told me my new Rave perm made me look like shit and there was no way Kevin would ever go out with my scrawny ass, my mother wasn’t even going to know about it; much less call Karen’s mother and arrange a meeting where we could iron out our misunderstanding and take a selfie together. Additionally, no phone calls were ever made to any of my teachers or coaches. Ever. If we sat the bench, we sat the bench. Our dads were at work anyway. They only knew what we told them. I can’t even conceive of my dad leaving work to come watch a ballgame. If I made a 92.999 and got a B, I got a B. No thinly veiled threats were made and no money changed hands to get me that A. Ok, full disclosure, in my case we would be looking at an 84.9999. I was the poster child for underachievement. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Back in our day, high school was a testing ground for life. We were learning to be adults under the semi-vigilant supervision of our parents. We had jobs because we wanted cars, and we wanted to be able to put gas in our cars, and wear Jordache jeans and Candies. Without jobs, we had Archdale sneakers and Wranglers, and borrowed our mother’s Chevrolet Caprice, affectionately known as the “land yacht”, on Friday night. No one, I mean, no one, got a new car. I was considered fairly lucky because my parents bought me a car at all. I use the term “car” loosely. If I tell you it was a red convertible and stop right here, you might think me special. I wasn’t. My car was a red MG Midget, possibly a ’74 and certainly a death trap. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Look at your coffee table. Now imagine it having a steering wheel and driving it. I promise you, it’s bigger than my car was. The starter was bad, so after school I had the pleasure of popping the hood and using two screwdrivers to cross the solenoids or waiting for the football players to come out of the dressing room headed to practice. Those guys pushing my car while I popped the clutch, is a memory no 16-year old girl around here will ever have, and it’s a great one. Had I driven that car in high winds, it’s likely I would have ended up airborne, and there were probably some serious safety infractions committed the night I took 6 people in togas to a convenience store, but I wouldn’t go back and trade it out for a new 280Z, even if I had the chance. I was a challenging teenager, and in retrospect the fact that it was pretty impressive every time I made it home alive, may not have been an accident on the part of my parents. Go to the high school now. These kids are driving cars that grown men working 55 hours a week can’t afford, and they aren’t paying for them with their jobs. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); And those new cars don’t do a thing for telling a good story. I tell my kids all the time, the very best stories from my teen and college years involve Ann’s yellow Plymouth Duster with the “swirling dust” graphic, Randy’s Valiant with the broken gas gauge, and Carla’s burgundy Nissan that may or may not have had a complete floorboard. A story that starts, “Remember that time we were heading to the beach in Carla’s Nissan and your wallet fell through the floorboard onto the highway?” is so much more interesting than, “Remember that time we were going to the beach in your brand new SUV, filled up with gas that your parents paid for, and the…well, no, never mind. Nothing happened. We just drove down there.” To top it all off, most of them head off to college without a clue what it’s like to look for a job, apply for it, interview, and show up on time, as scheduled. If they have a job, it’s because someone owed their dad a favor…and then they work when it “fits their schedule”. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); We all love our kids, and we want to see them happy and fulfilled, but I fear we’re robbing them of the experiences that make life memorable and make them capable, responsible, confident adults. For the majority of us, the very nice things we had as teenagers, we purchased with money we earned after saving for some ungodly amount of time. Our children are given most everything, and sometimes I wonder whether it’s for them or to make us feel like good parents. The bottom line is that you never value something you were given, as much as something you worked for. There were lessons in our experiences, even though we didn’t know it at the time. All those high school cat fights, and battles with teachers we clashed with, were an opportunity for us to learn how to negotiate and how to compromise. It also taught us that the world isn’t fair. Sometimes people just don’t like you, and sometimes you’ll work your ass off and still get screwed. We left high school, problem solvers. I’m afraid our kids are leaving high school with mommy and daddy on speed dial. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); We just don’t have the cojones our parents had. We aren’t prepared to tell our kids that they won’t have it if they don’t work for it, because we can’t bear to see them go without and we can’t bear to see them fail. We’ve given them a whole lot of stuff; stuff that will break down, wear out, get lost, go out of style, and lose value. As parents, I suppose some of us feel pretty proud about how we’ve contributed in a material way to our kid’s popularity and paved an easy street for them. I don’t, and I know there are many of you that are just as frustrated by it as I am. I worry about what we’ve robbed them of, which I’ve listed below, in the process of giving them everything. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Delayed gratification is a really good thing. It teaches you perseverance and how to determine the true value of something. Our kids don’t know a damn thing about delayed gratification. To them, delayed gratification is waiting for their phone to charge.Problem-solving skills and the ability to manage emotion are crucial life skills. Kids now have every problem solved for them. Good luck calling their college professor to argue about how they should have another shot at that final because they had two other finals to study for and were stressed. Don’t laugh, parents have tried it.Independence allows you to discover who you really are, instead of being what someone else expects you to be. It was something I craved. These kids have traded independence for new cars and Citizen jeans. They will live under someone’s thumb forever, if it means cool stuff. I would have lived in borderline condemned housing, and survived off of crackers and popsicles to maintain my independence. Oh wait, I actually did that. It pisses me off. You’re supposed to WANT to grow up and forge your way in the world; not live on someone else’s dime, under someone else’s rule, and too often these days, under someone else’s roof.Common sense is that little something extra that allows you to figure out which direction is north, how to put air in your tires, or the best route to take at a certain time of day to avoid traffic. You develop common sense by making mistakes and learning from them. It’s a skill best acquired in a setting where it’s safe to fail, and is only mastered by actually doing things for yourself. By micromanaging our kids all the time, we’re setting them up for a lifetime of cluelessness and ineptitude. At a certain age, that cluelessness becomes dangerous. I’ve seen women marry to avoid thinking for themselves, and for some it was the wisest course of action.Mental toughness is what allows a person to keep going despite everything going wrong. People with mental toughness are the ones who come out on top. They battle through job losses, difficult relationships, illness, and failure. It is a quality born from adversity. Adversity is a GOOD thing. It teaches you what you’re made of. It puts into practice the old saying “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”. It’s life’s teacher. Our bubble-wrapped kids are so sheltered from adversity, I wonder how the mental health professionals will handle them all after the world chews them up and spits them out a few times. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); I know you are calling me names right now, and mentally listing all the reasons this doesn’t apply to you and your kid, but remember I’m including myself in this. My kids aren’t as bad as some, because I’m too poor and too lazy to indulge them beyond a certain point. And I’m certainly not saying that our parents did everything right. God knows all that second hand smoke I was exposed to, and those Sunday afternoon drives where Dad was drinking a Schlitz and I was standing on the front seat like a human projectile, were less than ideal; but I do think parents in the 70’s defined their roles in a way we never have.I worry that our kids are leaving home with more intellectual ability than we did, but without the life skills that will give them the success and independence that we’ve enjoyed. Then again, maybe it’s not parents that are getting the raw end of this deal after all. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJQP7kiw5Fk Watch: most watched video on youtube source Read the full article

[summernumber74]

“Summer No. 74″ — Day 1 — 1,674/50,000

Summer No. 51

With her unspectacular hands, Judy ran tape over her one large box. She required a second piece of tape to feel good about her box’s security, the first piece being crooked as God’s Own Word. Her room was hot and covered in a film of wrinkled tops. She herself was sweaty and indifferent to this summer’s hovel, the rent being agreeable in proportion to collapse. And she spent many weekends away, the next county over, coaching her mother for a forthcoming divorce. Five nights, two nights, five nights, two nights, three months of that for a cumulative 500 dollars in rent. So, if she was away enough, and the rent was good enough, why worry about being here? The bugs mostly stuck to the kitchen sink, and though the shower was half-eaten by some mystery mold, there was room for a huge bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo/body wash shared by 5 unhygienic hipsters. Judy and her roommates called it the Hot House, humid and life giving as it was.

 And anyway her tenure here was three days away from being over. After hopscotching away a spring semester on couches, Judy found somewhere to move into mid-May. An unscrupulous landlord had rented the house, sight unseen, to a group of sorority girls back last August, each peeling off until the house was all subletters.

 Judy flew open a trash bag that’d been on her bed and began stuffing it with her ugly provocative blouses. She intended to take most of her clothes to a donation center. She noticed they were stiff with sweat. She paused, shifted on her feet, looked out her door to the cluttered kitchen and the washer/dryer. She slid on her house flip-flops and dumped her load of clothes into the washer, which she often called “the warsh,” which was precisely correct. But, it often caused in her roommates a cruel useless delight.

 The washer, reeking now of her clothes, shrieked it’s evil shriek; Judy winced and examined what was left. At this point, the kitchen was mostly stripped of use. What wasn’t discarded at Monday’s destruction party had been taken away for donation. Behold a summer’s remaining culinary treasures: a few plates, a coffeemaker crusted with grounds, a rice maker. The loveseat by the television, over in the corner, was Ken’s claim, and Dani said that the coffee table had always been hers anyway. Roommates at work, clutter uncluttered, Judy saw the house as a procession of junk stretching back several years, year after year a den of flunkies, the occasional Greek Life outpost, and now, soon then, five fools. This bed frame, that mug, this shower curtain. Judy saw them elongated backwards in time, always busted, always in new ways.

 Approaching the front door, Judy threw on the jean jacket she’d taken from her mom’s closet a month ago. She buttoned it over her clump of a stomach (fuzzy), leaving HRT tits free to the world. On the porch she smoked several cigarettes, thought about what could get into her hair if she leaned back against the outside couch, threw a few horseshoes, and listened to the chimes next door. After so much difficulty, this peace, though lonely, was agreeable. She traced with her big toe a heart, and in the heart three lines suggesting a flame, in the dirt still damn from yesterday. Judy sang over and over her tune:

           Shade shade shade            I live in the shade Judy’d been singing it since June. The house got almost no natural light, shadowed as it was by trees. She liked that, she was piedmont all the way, and if she had to have a nervous breakdown this summer, well, she preferred an absence of the judgmental sun. After lunch (4 PM), Judy slept for a few hours. She dreamed often, this time of her mother’s husband with a pair of massive wings. In this one she caved his head in with her own humerus, painfully extracted with a pair of salad tongs. This dream was about as violent as anything else. She was horrified and bored with what her mind, in ugly fragments of sleep, gave her. Occasionally her dreams were suggestions of a beautiful future.

 Through a hole in the limbs the sun illuminated the whole yard and porch. The situation at around 6:40 PM, though before it’d been 7, even 7:15. Judy withdrew to her room after quickly popping her head out. Paint flakes fell like pollen as Judy opened the old window, lit a cigarette and hunched out into the hot heat. The A/C chugged like a train, nearing it’s fifth death of the summer. Soon, she’d be back at her hometown, bored and belabored. No more waking up at noon, or crying in front of the gas station, or setting off fireworks in the clearing by the tracks. Misery! Her bare torso scraped against the wood of the windowsill, splinter lodged in her rib. “How overloaded. This window is a rotting Longinus,” Judy said aloud to her still empty house. She desperately needed her roommates. Or any sort of attention. Or any sort of company. Where was Marshall? She hadn’t heard from her in a few days. She spat outside, missing the dirt and putting a drag of spit on the house. Finally, restless to death, she went to pick up her last check.

 She parked a few feet from the backdoor, barely missing a few plastic chairs reclaimed from the shuttered church’s Sunday School building just across the street. Right up against the building was an upturned metal basin with a flowerpot on top; The pot was filled with packing peanuts and a faux-plant made of faux-leather and parts from a rusted bicycle. Judy pulled on the door a few times. She wasn’t sure if it was stuck or locked. She yanked more until out burst the coziest looking lesbian you’d ever seen. “Hey Jud. It was stuck, so, I rammed it,” Kathleen said. For a while now she’d been sewing in shoulder pads to the floral sweatshirts she wore the whole year; “For the silhouette,” she’d explained. “Come on in. What’s got you around here?” Jeremy was filling boxes with t-shirts for all the Greek Life events next week, his headphones in and lips puckered in concentration. Judy waved at him, to no outcome. “I came to pick up my last check,” Judy said. Kathleen shuffled through a couple envelopes on the manager’s desk. “Yeah, uh, I haven’t seen Ricki since Saturday, I think she’s out of town? I think her mom’s sick. I was actually texting her earlier. She’s not going to be back until this Sunday. It must be serious. She didn’t say that but I figure it is. We could really use her, what with next week being Rush Week. Can you come back Sunday for your check? And, actually, can you work a couple more shifts? I mean I know you’re off the schedule, now, but, it’s not like you wouldn’t get paid. If you’re available. It’s just, with Rush Week, and then we’re getting a bunch of orders from student orgs and stuff, we’ve got at least one or two people here 20 hours a day. Someone from the Gwinnett branch is even coming in this weekend.” Kathleen scratched her jaw.

 Judy pressed her heel into the concrete floor until her ankle was felt like a tight bag of stones. Jeremy throw a full box to the side. “Well, I’m out of here on Saturday morning, but, I can come back next week,” Judy said. “Did Ricki say she’d be back next week?” Judy could feel her face getting hot, the dried sweat making her feel sick. Kathleen, clearly tired, shrugged and said, “That’s what she said, yeah.” Kathleen grabbed a clipboard and said, “I’m gonna go check to see how the stock is. We’ve been printing all day and me and Jeremy will be here to midnight, probably. I haven’t even checked where we’re at with it.” She quick-walked through a heavy sliding door to the outbound garage.

Judy went to the bathroom to cry, more like hyperventilating. Her mind raced to nothing, no solution, nothing. She’d just have to come back. It’s nothing. It’s not a far drive. It’s a nice drive. She hated what it meant. Leaving and coming back. She felt like that was her life, leaving and coming back. If she left, she could submerge herself in her crappy hometown. If she came back, she’d be at someone else’s place, staying over, visiting, practically a tourist. She put the lid down on the toilet and let her legs shake for a few minutes and washed her face. She opened the door and snuck through towers of boxes to get behind Jeremy, still in his thing. She tickled his flanks, getting out of him a hoot that turned into a cackle. His face fell back into a solemn fashion model scowl. “Hey Judy. When’d you get here?” Judy cupped his cheeks and said, “Jeremy, you’re like a brother for me. You’re too pretty to be here. What are you doing?” They launched into a little dialogue they’d been doing for the last year. “You know, I was talking to Kathleen, she’s really stressed about all these orders. I think she’d really appreciate if you could do like, even an extra shift.” Judy rubbed his arm and said, “I’ll think about it. How is it for you? You seem like it’s okay.” Jeremy did this little eyebrow wiggle that meant ‘How could I do anything but make it look like I’m taking it in stride?’ Judy thanked god he didn’t go to college in New York or he’d be modeling now. She wanted more for him. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go say bye to Kat. Text me when y’all get off work, maybe we can do something,” Judy gave him a quick hug.

In the garage, Kathleen clopped around in her boots. “Judy! No one arranged these boxes, it’s a nightmare to check off.”

[mittsartistrydesign]

So apparently blogging has become a really big deal. I've never done it, but maybe it will help organize my thoughts, works, etc. I guess because this is my space, I have no limits as to what I can write about huh?

Well, I was thinking I would do random daily rambles. (I say daily loosely. Probably three-four a week). I could also do life updates. And maybe some tutorials of random things I work on. First off I guess I should explain who I am and what I'm even doing. So this post may be longer than future ones.

Rachel Ruth Mitts. That's my name. Never gone by Ruth, but I like how it looks written out. I'm a chick that graduated college two years ago with a bachelor in theatrical design and high hopes to achieve something. What that something was is kind of foggy. But I went off in search of it in Chicago, Illinois. After living in Texas my whole life, it was a huge step. Two college friends needed a third to get an affordable place, so I signed up with no idea what I was going to do when I got out there. 3 days before I packed up the truck to move, I got a job at this really awesome place. Ravenswood Studio. They make cool stuff. They build sets for theaters, film, museums, window displays, huge events, you name it. And I got a job right out of school to be an over-hire painter. I was over the moon. And I loved that place. Everyone was so great, and I learned so much.

After about 4 months, they no longer needed so many painters, so I left to go find something new. And then there was nothing. For about two months, no one would call me back. No one would respond to emails. It was discouraging to say the least. But then I finally got a call. To dog walk.

Okay, so not exactly what I was looking for, but hey! I love dogs. Grew up with a wonderful dog, Sparkie, for 15 years. I can totally walk dogs while I'm searching for a new paint gig. Oh boy! Oh boy. The job was much more demanding than I realized. Most of my walks were in the south loop, and I lived almost in Skokie. And for those of you who have no idea what that means, it means that I had to drive at least 45 minutes to my destination, and then drive around FOREVER to find parking. Or if I wanted to take the Red Line train, I could've spent 2 hours to get there, and then longer to get back, depending on what time of day. It sucked. And I was definitely not getting paid enough. $7 for a 30 minute walk and I paid for gas AND parking most days. But I had committed. I had told them I would give them 6 months. Rachel god-damn Mitts gave her word, and if there is one thing you can trust about me...if I give my word, I mean it. So I persevered. Through the snow, walking dogs every day, not finding another paint gig.

Then there was rent. My mom would have definitely sent me money had I asked, but I was a grown up. I was paying for everything other than my phone bill and car insurance. I wanted to be able to support myself. So because of that I applied and got hired at a store that rhymes with Jet Heart. It was an easy in because the dog hotel had such a large turnover rate with new hires. So I worked in doggy day camp. It had its ups and downs, but I enjoyed most of the dogs. Then the six month cap of dog walking hit, and I left. I couldn't make sense of the money I was spending to walk dogs vs the money I made from it. So the company that sounds like Met Start offered me full time if I did one day shift and three overnight shifts a week. 9pm-6:30am. There was a bit of time every night where I started drawing little doodles on our white board, and it was a lot of fun, so I thought, I could totally do this, just for that! Little did naive Rachel know was that this would be the worst decision she ever made. 

I won't go into detail about it unless people are dying to know, but long story short, switching your sleep schedule back and forth from nights to days is AWFUL for your body and health. I swear it was slowing killing me. But I did it for the rent. A year and three months I did that. Until I just couldn't do it anymore. I hadn't found another painting job, I was always tired, I could fall asleep at the drop of a hat, I was so discouraged that I eventually stopped even applying. And then Mom said the words, "If you need to get out of there, you can always move back home." Decision made, I gave Ret Fart two months notice (which is like so freaking nice of me. Night shift is impossible to find people for, and because of who I am as a person, I didn't want to leave them high and dry) and then packed my bags and 16 ft truck with all of my crap I had accumulated back to Texas. (With the help of my mom, sister, and boyfriend.)

And here I am. I've been back home for a month and a half now, and am finally back on a normal sleeping schedule and am on weight watchers to get healthy. I'm feeling myself which I haven't felt in a long time. But now looking back at my foggy high hopes, I'm not sure what I wanted to achieve. I loved painting professionally those 4 months, but did I really try hard enough to find another job after that? Or was I willing to give up so easily because I didn't truly believe in my abilities in the first place? Which if you know me, doesn't sound like me at all because of all my good personality traits, being humble isn't a big one. I know I have skill. I know I have talent. I know I'm smart. I know that I can go out and get my dream job. And I let other people know this. But I'm not fearless. I hate phone interviews. I get anxiety just thinking about phone calls, much less interviews on the phone. I get anxiety waiting for an email or even text response. I start second guessing what I wrote, and my mind freaks out. It's very opposite to the rest of my personality so a lot of people don't know how much anxiety I actually have.

Anyway. I have finally set up my "desk" at home to work on some art. Thinking about my options, I've always thought it would be great to have a company with my sister. We both love "arting" and we both have very different styles and skills, so together we could cover a lot of bases. Which is what brings me to this: M.A.D. Mitts Artistry and Design. At some point I would love to make this a real company. Be able to paint murals, do commissions, design and create props, maybe do some book illustrations, or write our own book, anything that we can dream of.

So the best idea I can come up with right now, is to just start this blog. This portfolio. Just start making art for me. Or any friends or family that want some. And maybe they'll tell their friends. Maybe I can convince a family member to financially back me.  Who knows? But for now, I just want to make art. I'm tired of not painting. I'm tired of doing nothing on my days off. I'm tired of not making things. I want to build something with my hands. Whether this leads me to start up this company, go back to school to get a teaching degree to teach high school theater or art, or go hit the pavement and be the squeaky wheel my grandma always told me to be and apply at every theater I see. 

It's time to start. And you know what? You cannot start without "art". 

-RRM

[alicedoessurveys]

100 Questions

1. What was on your mind mostly today? back pain

2. If someone looked on your bed, what would they find? pile of clothes that need to be put away, a big ass teddy and a load of cushions

3. What’s on your schedule for tomorrow? nothing. I can't move atm cause of my back injury

4. Are you nice to everyone? I try to be

5. Is it possible to be single and happy? yes

6. Is it easy for people to make you cry? too easy

7. Did you sleep alone last night? yup

8. Do you play with dead bugs? ew no wtf

9. Honestly, are you dating two people? im not even dating one person

10. Do you think things will change in the next 3 months? I hope so 

11. Have you ever slept in the same bed with someone other than family?   yes

12. Do you want to see somebody right now? no I want to go to sleep

13. What if you had a baby with the person you like? no thanks

14. Are you happy? not right now nope

15. Have you ever tripped in public? yes

16. Is there anyone who doesn’t like you? idk probably, you can't be liked by everyone

17. Have you ever sat in the back of a police car? nope

18. Are you stubborn? can be yes

19. Do you tend to hold a grudge? a little bit

20. What’s a fact about the last person that texted you?   he's my dad.. first fact I thought of was that he was on a tv show with Terry Wogan about 8 years ago

21. Has anyone called you perfect before? yes, they lied

22. Where is the biggest scar on your body? my stomach

23. Have you ever been told you were amazing? yes, again they lied

24. Would you date someone who was addicted to drugs? probably not no

25. Are you trying to avoid liking somebody at the moment? yes

26. Do you trust all your friends? not 100% 27. If you could go back and change something in the past 5 months, would you? can't think of anything 

28. What pissed you off today? I found a moth in my cereal

29. What was the last thing you cried about? pain

30. Who was the last girl you talked to? mom

31. Do you know anyone who drinks a lot? not really no

32. Who sits next to you in English? im not in school anymore thank god, so n/a

33. Ever talked to someone who was drunk? yes. I dont drink and when I'm at a party I tend to attract the drunk people. last party I went to I had a very drunk middle aged woman crying on my shoulder and another drunk guy singing in my face and trying to pull me into a photo booth. I still have no idea who these people are. 

34. Have you heard a song that reminds you of someone today? nope. I haven't really listened to any music today

35. How late did you stay up last night and why? went to bed about half 10, which is early for me. was in so much pain I just wanted to go to sleep asap

36. Do you know how to properly use grammar in a sentence?   mostly yeah 37. Are your parents very protective of you? yes, and Im 22 next month. I dont think they’ll ever stop being protective 

38. Will you be in a relationship in the next couple months? probably not no

39. How many drugs are in your system?   Prescription drugs, two; paroxetine and levothyroxine

40. The person who hurt you the most calls and needs you, do you go? I can't think of anyone who has really hurt me that much 

41. Is it easy to pretend everything’s okay for you? yes I do it every day 

42. Are you afraid of losing the last person you talked to on the phone? it was just some random lady from Wilko store so not really no 

43. Do you think you are a good person? I try 

44. What do you want right this second? to not be in pain

45. Do you think it makes him weak if a guy cries? not at all

46. Have you ever cried cause you were so mad? yes. its an involuntary reaction when I get angry, which is super annoying 

47. Could you last in a relationship for over a year?   I hope so 

48. Who were you with on your birthday? mom, dad, sis and sis’ boyf 49. Have you ever crawled through a window? yes

50. First person to talk to you in 2014? how the fuck am I supposed to remember that, it was 3 years ago

51. Do you miss your past? I miss how healthy I was and the way I looked, but I do not miss where I was 

52. It’s 4 in the morning, your phone rings, who is it? probably a drunk rhys

53. Do you have anything interesting planned for the next week? yes! I'm going to The Vamps concert at the end of this week and my sis got us passes to the beauty show for the beginning of next week

54. Who was the last person to text you? Do you know when that person’s birthday is? my dad, 18th January

55. What were you doing 4 hours ago? sitting on the same sofa I'm on now

56. Is there a certain song that you can’t stop listening to atm? Slow Hands

57. Tell me 3 things that your friends don’t know about you. I can't say

58. What is something that people often give to you as a gift? anything Disney related

59. Do you tend to hold on to a lot of stuff you don’t need, just because it has sentimental value? yes, I hoard things 

60. What is something that reminds you of your ex? n/a

61. Has the last person you kissed ever cried in your arms? no

62. Which would you prefer to receive as a gift - flowers or chocolate? chocolate

63. When did you last take a shower/bath? Do you wash your hair every time? not gonna lie, I only shower like once a week (sometimes longer if I'm extra lazy) but I always make sure that I dont smell bad. 

64. Would you prefer to be somewhere else right now? bed

65. Do any of your followers on Tumblr have your phone number? yes, but they're friends who I know in person 

66. Will you be going out tonight, or staying in? staying in

67. How many times have you been in love? never 

68. If you were heartbroken, who would help you pick up the pieces? mom or sis

69. Apparently, it’s very common to crave chocolate around the ‘time of the month’; do you ever get that craving? hell yeah! I get chocolate cravings every freakin day, not just when its ‘time of th month’

70. How would you feel about dating someone who had a reputation for being a player in the past? Do you think that players will ALWAYS be players, or is it possible that they can change? id give them a chance, but they would have to prove to me that they changed 

71. Did you sleep well last night? no

72. Is your bedroom big enough for you? yes. I would like a bigger room for decor purposes but I dont need more space been as theres only me in there 

72. Are you looking forward to seeing someone soon? yah, my cousin on Friday who I havent seen in months 

73. Ever had a one-night stand? no

74. Is anyone flirting with you? I wouldn't know haha I'm oblivious 

75. Have you ever felt pressure to do anything you didn’t want to, like smoking, drinking, or losing your virginity, before you were ready for it? If so, how did you deal with that? my friends do try to pressure me into drinking, but I'm strong willed with my choice not to. I'm stubborn with things like that 

76. Do you consider yourself to be an intelligent person? Why/why not? in some ways yeah, I can't really explain it. I'm not super clever, but I know a lot of practical skills and I do know random facts that shock my sis quite a lot 

77. Who would you most like to be stuck in a lift with? Eddie Redmayne

78. Is there anyone you’d HATE to be stuck in a lift with? SO many people

79. When did you last talk to the person you love/like? What did you talk about? there isn't anyone I really like atm 

80. Have you ever seen your father cry? only a handful of times. first time was when we lost my unborn baby brother. Other times have been when our dogs have died. Also he cries every time he watches the scene in ‘The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe’ where Alsan is killed. 

81. How would your parents react if you got pregnant? mom would be thrilled. I dont know how dad would react.

82. Do you/did you keep to your school’s uniform/dress code? I did, I was terrified of getting in trouble 

83. If the last person you kissed said you were the only one they wanted, would you believe them? no. I know how easy he finds cheating so I wouldn't trust him

84. What was the highlight of your summer? tbh I can't remember last summer right now, Im too tired

85. The last time you threw up, was it because you were hungover? nope

86. Have you ever seen the film ‘Wake Wood’? What did you think of it? never heard of it 

87. Are you confused about anything atm? Is there anything bothering you? Or, is everything good? a lot of things bothering me atm

88. If you say ‘I’ve had enough’ or ‘I’m done’, do you always mean it? I do

89. Who was the last person that invited you to their house? my sis

90. Have your parents ever told you about any alternative names they considered for you, or the name they would have chosen, if you’d turned out to be a boy? yeah, my dad wanted to call me Sarah, but mom said no cause thats what his ex girlfriend was called. they also called about the name ‘fearne’

91. Are you friends with any of your exes? n/a

92. Have you ever had to make an emergency phone call? no

93. If you’re in a relationship, how is it going? If you’re single, are you looking for someone? single. I dont believe in actively looking for someone, I believe in fate and that God will bring the right person along at the right time.. (I just wish he’d hurry it up a bit haha)

94. What language do you like the sound of? italian

95. Think about the last guy, outside of family, that you had a conversation with. Do you find him sexy? ew no

96. What do you think is an assumption that someone could make about you, just by looking at your Tumblr? Would this assumption be correct? that Im obsessed with newt Scamander... and they wouldn't be wrong ;)

97. What’s the most attractive physical feature of the person you love/like? no one I like atm, but I find certain eyes and mouths attractive 

98. Do you consider yourself to be a strong person? Why/why not? nope. I'm just not. 

99. Tell me about a special moment you’ve had with the person you love/like. again, n/a right now 

100. What are you doing tomorrow? not much, I can't move much atm with my injury 

[chipsandwaffles]

Drive

You can’t ignore Doyoung, especially when he wants to be alone with you at three in the morning. Just you, him, and the road stretching out in front of you.

i don’t know exactly what this is but, i feel like kdy would be the type to really like late night drives so. enjoy?

Kim Dodumb, 2:01 A.M Wake up I can’t sleep.

Kim Dodumb, 2:05 A.M Come on I’ve woken up for you before.

Kim Dodumb, 2:10 A.M Mountain man Yuta is snoring wake up and come get me.

Kim Dodumb, 2:12 A.M Winwin is reciting Chinese proverbs in his sleep y/n please I need my best friend

Kim Dodumb, 2:16 A.M If you don’t come get me in the next half hour I’m deleting your number and getting a new best friend.

3 missed calls and 5 texts from: Kim Dodumb

You wake up to your phone buzzing next to your head, and you quickly grab it to shut it off. Whoever wanted you could have you in the morning, but right now it was sleep time and that meant no time for anything else at the moment.

When you catch a glance at the caller I.D through blurry vision, you sigh because you can’t just shut off your phone.

If it was anyone else, you’d have ignored them for the rest of the night. But it’s Doyoung, best friend, favorite person to talk to, current crush and all in all the one person you can’t just ignore. Partly because it’s Doyoung and partly because if you don’t answer he’s going to threaten you with something or tell you he wants a new best friend. Normal things, really, but you didn’t want to deal with that in the morning.

So, you answer.

“Hello?”

“Oh my god, finally. Didn’t you see my texts?” Doyoung asks. You wish he could see you so he could witness the eye roll you’re giving him.

“I was busy.”

“Doing what? Watching YouTube videos again? I wouldn’t call that busy enough to ignore your best friend.” If you didn’t know Doyoung well, you’d say he was actually offended that you were doing something else besides talking to him. Fortunately, he’s just messing with you. As always.

“I was sleep - says the one who ignores me to fuck around on Twitter all the time-

“I do not-

“What were you doing while you waited for me to pick up?” You ask. Doyoung is silent on the other end before you hear him mumble something. You’re too tired to pay attention to what it actually was, but you’re pretty sure it was something along the lines of “shut up”.

“Anyways, what did you need?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Come pick me up.”

“…why can’t we just talk over the phone? I’m lazy I don’t want to get up.”

“Yuta and Sicheng are loud and before you ask me to go to the living room Mark and Jaehyun fell asleep on the couch so I can’t go talk in there and you know I hate being in the bathroom after what happened last time with Taeyong.”

You contemplate your options for a moment. You could hang up on Doyoung now, turn your phone on silent and deal with the repercussions in the morning. You don’t particularly want to, because you had school in the morning and had to focus on that and not making it up to Doyoung. You could whine enough that he can just go outside, but you don’t want him running into some stalker fans or a mugger while he’s out there.

You sigh when you come to the conclusion that you have no other choice.

“Be there in ten. Meet me at the back entrance.”

“Of course. See you soon best friend,” Doyoung says. He sounds happy and cocky, and you pout at his tone.

“Don’t call me best friend like you mean it. Best friends don’t wake other best friends when they’re trying to get their beauty sleep.”

“You might as well stop sleeping if you’re expecting to get pretty. No amount of sleep will help you.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too.”

-

Just to make a point to Doyoung how frustrated you are with having to come pick him up at three in the morning, you arrive at the dorm twenty minutes after you said you’d be there. You pick up some snacks, you fill up on gas, and then finally arrive at the dorm. Doyoung is not pleased when he gets in, complaining that his pajama pants aren’t exactly the best at keeping in warmth. You laugh at him.

“Not my fault you waited outside so long.”

“You said you’d be here in ten. Not half an hour later.”

“I had to get gas. And snacks. This isn’t cheap you know. You’re going to have to start paying me for these late night drives.”

Doyoung is quiet for a second as he buckles up. You stare at him, waiting for him to say whatever is on his mind.

“I’ll pay you back,” he mumbles out. You roll your eyes and punch his arm gently.

“I’m joking, KDY. I was just messing with you. You know I don’t mind.”

“I’ll still-

“Shut up. It’s fine. I like hanging out with you especially at three in the morning,” you say. Doyoung looks at you, a shy smile on his face.

“Yeah?” You nod.

“Yeah. I like it best. No one here to interrupt us, no one but us hanging out. It’s nice and relaxing.”

Doyoung laughs and you put the car into drive, heading out of the dorm and onto the road. Knowing Doyoung, he’d want to drive on the highway for a while, so you get on it as quickly as possible.

It only takes ten minutes of driving before Doyoung is already talking shit about his week.

“And Yuta- god, he’s such a cocky fuck sometimes. Thought he could cook better than Taeyong and almost blew up the microwave. The microwave!”

“I’d just punch him in the balls, honestly,” you say. Doyoung lets out a sigh.

“Last time I did that I got nagged out by our manager. Not doing that again.”

“Better than hearing Taeyong nag though. Even if it’s not at you, it still sucks to hear. He always goes on for hours.”

“Oh my god, I know. He nagged Yuta about the microwave and then started talking about cleaning our rooms and he tried to nag me about our room as if I have my clothes laying around everywhere.”

You laugh and move over a lane, slowing down a bit to keep up with the speed limit. “To be fair, sometimes you leave your shirts laying around.”

“To be fair,” Doyoung mocks, “It’s been at two in the morning when we got home from schedules. Unlike Yuta, who leaves his shit laying around at every point of the day. You could walk in our room while we were cleaning and all his stuff would still be everywhere.”

“He sounds like such a hard guy to live with,” you say. You can see Doyoung shake his head from the corner of your eye.

“He’s only hard to live with when he’s being an asshole. The other 20% of the time, he’s fine.” You laugh again.

“So 80% of the time he’s an asshole?” Doyoung laughs with you.

“You got it.”

Your conversation veers off onto something else as you keep driving. You talk a bit about one of your professors being a terrible teacher, Doyoung tells you he’ll get them fired for you, which, makes you laugh again. You talk about one of his fanmeets, him talking about how nice the fans were and how one of them didn’t know a lick of Korean, but still managed to tell Doyoung how beautiful he was. You agreed with the fan, and for three minutes it stopped Doyoung from talking.

Eventually, you pull off into a parking lot off the side of the highway, one of the parking lots you and Doyoung usually sat in when you needed an hour of sleep. You both climb in the backseat of your car and you cuddle close next to him, resting your head on his shoulder as he plays on his phone.

“Anything interesting on Twitter?” You ask him. You pull one of the blankets you got from the trunk over your body, trying to get a little warmer without the heat on.

“Not really. Kind of slow right now.”

“Slow? Twitter is never slow, Dodo.” You watch Doyoung turn his phone off and place it in his lap before he pulls his own blanket over himself, his head moving to rest against yours.

“Go to sleep, Y/N.”

“Mm… I will. Wake me up in like an hour.”

“Of course.”

You close your eyes and immediately one of your hands is being entwined with Doyoung’s. His fingers are slender and cold, and you almost want to pull your hand away because it wasn’t helping with getting warmth. But. Doyoung is holding your hand, and he only ever does this when you’re on the verge of sleep.

Sometimes you wonder if it’s because he’s being friendly, or maybe if he likes to really hold your hand when he thinks you’re not awake enough to know he’s doing it. Sometimes you wonder if maybe Doyoung likes you too, enough to hold your hand outside of these instances.

You squeeze Doyoung’s hand under the blankets and nuzzle your head a little into his shoulder, letting out a content sigh.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

Doyoung is silent for a long time, contemplating what he wants to say to you, you suppose. You almost fall asleep, finally warm and comfortable enough until he’s shifting next to you.

“If I kissed you, would you punch me?”

“Huh?” You pull your head away from Doyoung’s shoulder and open your eyes to look at him. He looks almost shy, his eyes looking down at the floor of your car instead of at you.

“…you want to kiss me?” You ask. Doyoung nods his head slowly. “Okay. You can kiss me then.”

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Doyoung asks. You squeeze his hand and he finally looks up at you, smiling a little when he sees the smile on your face. “And you’re not going to punch me?”

You shake your head. “I’m not going to punch you.”

Doyoung’s other hand comes to rest against your cheek, his thumb stroking across the skin there gently. And then he’s leaning in, pressing his lips against yours in a short, shy kiss. Your lips don’t move, just a peck, really, but it still manages to give you butterflies.

“…see, I wasn’t going to punch you.”

Doyoung laughs and you stare at each other for a moment. You want to kiss him again, but he looks hesitant and then he’s pulling his hand away, moving back in his original position. You rest your head back on his shoulder, snuggling close once more.

“I think I should kiss you again when you’re more awake.”

“Okay.”

You close your eyes and right when you’re about to fall asleep again, Doyoung says your name.

“Hmm?”

“You like me, right? You let me kiss you because you like me?” You giggle and squeeze Doyoung’s hand.

“Yeah, I like you. You like me?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Okay.

“Go to sleep,” Doyoung says. You feel his lips press against the top of your head, and then he’s singing under his breath, and you fall asleep, feeling like you’re wrapped up in his warmth and his love.

[pleathethorry]

Young, Wild, and Free

Namjoon x Reader

Words: 3120

Genre: Fluff????

Warnings: Swearing. Like a lot lol.

Summary: Living in the country was the worst part of your life. You were such an adventurous person, yet what was there to explore when there was nothing but wheat fields and roads that stretched for miles but no scenery. Namjoon was the highlight of all your days but you just wanted to explore. Together, you became the definition of reckless.

"Hey," you said as you sat on top of the counter Namjoon was standing behind. He looked tired, fatigued even.

"You're late again," he sighed and grabbed the white and red cashier shirt that was hanging behind him. You despised it. It's ugly. It's basically the ones in those cheesy movies. You aren't in a cheesy movie. This is real life. No need for dumbass shirts, boss man.

"It's not like the big man cares. I'm always late and he doesn't say a damn thing," you shrugged and hopped down.

"Yeah but I do. I've been standing here for three hours. My fucking legs hurt," He growled. His jaw clenched but you knew he wasn't mad. He could never be mad at you.

You snatched the shirt from him and slipped it on. You didn't bother to take off your tanktop. It was cold outside. It was dumb to wear a tank when it's 20 degrees. Oh well.

You continued the conversation even though the scowl on his face showed he was done with talking and just wanted to rest.

"This is a gas station in the middle of nowhere. It's not like we get any customers," you said and grabbed a pack of cigarettes that were displayed on the beige table. You ripped the annoying plastic that was covering the white and red box. You didn't care for the brand.

You lifted the little tab and pulled a cigarette out.

"Nothing like good old lung cancer to start the work day huh?" You smirked and waited for him to light it. He rolled his eyes deeply as he grabbed the lighter that was also on the counter. He delicately cupped a hand around the vibrant orange flame. There was no wind. You inhaled the smoke when he lit it.

"You're impossible," he rolled his eyes. He had a hint of a tired smile on his face. Even if it were little, you were glad he smiled. You sorta, just a little bit, felt bad that you had him standing here.

"It's in the word Joonie. I'm possible," you said and took another drag of the cigarette.

"Just stand here and look pretty. I'm taking a nap. And stop calling me that, " he walked around the table and went into the room that said employees only. In reality, it was a storage with a bathroom inside. You just put that because too many people were interrupting Namjoon's nap. You cared that the dude has his sleep. He works too hard.

"Fine," you said and hopped back on the counter. It'd been 30 minutes and you finished your cigarette. You threw it on the ground and burned the embers out with your foot. No one will notice.

You grabbed a Hershey bar and looked around the plain store. Dull and ordinary. No one comes through this place because it's miles from anywhere. You and Namjoon just so happen to be desperate enough to drive the miles.

You were both desperate for the money. You had to admit, this place has pretty good pay to not have any customers. Plus, no cameras, so you can do whatever you want. You stole so much snacks and cigarettes. Still, you spend your days in this place for nothing. The only people to come here were people traveling out of town.

It kills you that you can't stay in town. That you can't walk around your campus and etch peoples' faces in your brain and draw them later on. You can't hang with your friends because you have work. Well, you have no friends because all of them went against you because they thought you abandoned them but really you were working. You can't think because you have work. Your sleep schedule was all fucked up because of school and work. You barely get 30 minutes everyday and because of that sometimes you fall asleep in class and fuck up your grades. You bring them up by staying over night to do extra credit. And what does over night school get you? You guessed it! Exhausted. It physically and mentally drains you. The only person to cheer you up: Namjoon.

"Fucking college and it's stupid tuition. I would be able to breathe if I didn't have to be in this bum ass place. Money, money, money. It's all about money. Fuck money!" you screamed.

"Shut the fuck up!" Namjoon yelled from the closet.

"Suck my dick Joonie! We're fucking leaving!" you stormed from behind the counter and to the 'employee room'.

He was laying on a pile of paper towels. That's his usual spot. You grabbed his hand and practically dragged him out the room until he stood up himself.

Before you wanted to leave, you push down every single rack. Stole a bunch snacks, cigarettes, lighters, and other necessities.

Namjoon joined in. The both of you cursed and yelled with all your might. Letting all your anger out on the poor store.

"I want my fucking friends back an for the love of god give me five fucking hours of sleep!" you yelled as you threw every box of candy off the racks.

"I'm so tired of having no life because of this dumbass place. I want my life back," unlike you Namjoon said that with a reasonable tone. He poured every drink from the fridge onto the floor.

You both continued to express your wrath against the store. You threw everything you could get your hands on. Stomped on bags of chips, the left over from what you didn't steal, anyway. You kept all the stuff you stole in a neat stack.

You took the money from the cash register too. After that you threw every creamed filled thing in the store on the walls and windows. In spray-canned cheese, you wrote 'fuck this place' on each of the fridges that lined the wall. You were done. Namjoon had done the rest of the damage. You had one thing left to say though.

"I'M SO DRAINED. I'M LITERALLY A FUCKING SHELL. I CAN'T FIND MYSELF BECAUSE I'M TOO BUSY STUDYING, SMOKING, AND GREETING UGLY ASS, RUDE ASS PEOPLE WITH FAKE ASS SMILES. I DON'T WANT TO BE FAKE ANYMORE. LET ME BREATHE," You just yelled into the air. There was no more that had to be done. The place was completely wrecked. Your throat was raw.

"I'll just tell him we went to unload the milk truck or something when these kids came in and wrecked the place. And then we quit," you said. Your voice cracking with every few words. You should've talked normally like Joonie.

Namjoon just nodded while leaning on a spot on the wall that didn't have cream, dents, or anything on it. His chest was rapidly up and down as he heaved. His hair was all messy, strands going in all different directions. He had his arm crossed which showed off his muscle in his short-sleeve uniform shirt. He looked amazing.

You shook your head and focused on what you were about to do. You called your boss and tried to be as fake as possible.

"Mr. Yung! I'm so sorry! They were so quick," you panted. You wanted to sound like you struggled with the dudes.

"They tore the place up while we were unloading the milk truck. If you get the police involved and they get our fingerprints it's because when we caught them, we tried to stop them. This place is destroyed and I'm pretty sure they stole a lot of stuff. Sorry Mr. Hughes but we quit. We can't stay here after this happened," you hung up before he could say anything.

"Let's go," you picked up all of the snacks and things from the stack you kept neat among the mess that was the store.

Namjoon opened the door to the passenger seat for you. You felt like taking the bus today, so your car wasn't in it's usual space beside his.

As soon as Namjoon drove off, you opened the windows. The cold breeze felt good on your heated skin. You felt so alive.

"Can I smoke?" You asked looking at a tired Namjoon.

"Hell no. Absolutely not. I don't want my car smelling like that shit," he scoffed as if you called his mom out her name.

"Well shit. My bad," you continued to look out the window of the plain fields of tall grass.

"Where are we going?" Namjoon asked.

"Let's go to the dorms first. Get all of our stuff"

"Why? Shouldn't we be like searching for a new job?" he asked.

You chuckled. He's so simple minded.

"Don't you know me Joonie?" you looked to him and ruffled his faded pink hair. He scrunched his face but still looked at the road.

He sighed and removed your hand from his hair. You kept holding onto his hand though. God, you were too excited. You could barely contain yourself. From the way he didn't snatch away from your hold, you knew that he knew you were bubbling with excitement.

"There's a way of getting money without really working," you smirked.

You stood outside the biggest party of the year, Namjoon beside you, with the both of you having maybe about 2,000 each in your hands.

It was the day before testing began and to relieve stress a boy named Jung Hoseok threw the biggest party each year. Well, two years. He's only a Jr. Almost all of the students on campus came. A handful of people stayed home to study. You and Namjoon weren't in that handful.

The both of you stood outside the doors and charged each person 10 dollars. The party was just starting and your pockets were full.

Your heart was pounding so hard. You smiled. You felt so free. You couldn't wait to get all of the money you needed before Hoseok found out.

Namjoon called your name. You looked across the empty hall of the dorm to him. He was leaning against the wall of the other side of the door. You could see his pockets full. You couldn't wait to escape reality with him.

"Don't you think we have enough. I'm tired of looking at these plain ass white walls, dumbass posters talking about what we should do for our living, this plain ass door with 68 cracks in it. Yes, I counted because I'm that fucking bored," he looked at you with annoyance. You smiled. You were so use to him giving you that face.

"We've only just started Joonie. This isn't enough to last us for what I want to do"

"What do you want to do? You know we still have to go to school right?"

"Well after testing we get three weeks off right? Well in that time, I want to travel the world. How much do you have in your savings?"

"Nope, I'm not wasting my savings on that. I'd rather not."

"Fine. I have about 1,500 in mine. That'll get us about 5,500."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" he cursed and looked at you bewildered, "I hope you know this is not a forever thing. We're only going to be gone for break and we're coming back. Don't go too over board on this."

That dimmed your mood a bit.

"Can I be excited? Shit. I just want to shop and drive. Money dude. Money," you said raising the few bills you had in your hand.

He only shook his head at you. A hint of a smile at his lips.

More and more people came but your legs were getting tired. Both you and Namjoon were standing at the door for hours with more than enough money covering whatever part of your bodies you could fit.

"I'm going home," Namjoon said walking away, stopping to stretch, then walking off again.

You stifled a yawn and followed after him.

"Where are we going?" Namjoon groaned for the 16th time since you've headed out out town.

Which was just an hour ago.

"Shut the fuck up! I told you. We're going everywhere and anywhere. We have bank Joonie. How does 10,000 fucking lagoons sound to you. I don't know how the fuck Hoseok had 1,000 people there but I don't give a shit. We can go anywhere!" You laughed.

You were going crazy for sure.

"You're insane. I swear," he shook his head and looked out the window.

"I know right? You know Joonie, with you being the smart one and I'm the 'insane' one we make a good couple. You should marry me," you winked.

"Maybe I would. Who knows?" He pulled your hand from the steering wheel and held onto it.

You snorted. You heard Namjoon snort too. The both of you couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing.

"Give me my hand back. That was so cheesy. What the hell was that?" You said feeling to exact opposite. Hearing him say that gave you chills that you did not welcome.

"It felt reasonable at the time," he shrugged and once again looked out the window.

"What's so interesting out there? It's only cornfield. What? Are you looking for the children of the corn?"

He chuckled.

"No. Just thinking of where this is taking us," he pursed his lips and screwed his eyebrows.

"Me too."

You were exhausted and miles from anywhere. You've been driving for hours and there was only a slight change in scenery. You fucking hate the country.

"Fuck this," you said to no one since Joonie was sleep beside you.

You pulled over at the side of the road which was really just grass. It kind of creeped you out. What if some animal comes and eat you? Oh well.

"They'll be eating good," you said aloud. This woke Namjoon up.

"Where are we? Why'd you stop," he said still disoriented.

"I don't know and I'm tired. C'mon," you said and opened the car door. It was pretty warm outside considering it was night time.

You sat on the hood of the car and gazed at the stars. They are so addicting.

"Here you go with the stars," Namjoon said sitting beside you.

"You know me so well," you pinched his cheeks.

"Why'd we do this again?" he grabbed your hand. You knew he was serious when he grabbed your hand.

"To escape our shitty lives for just three weeks. Just escape reality really. I wanna make it to Paris," you said still looking in awe at the stars.

"That'll require a plane dumbass."

"Oh yeah," you paused, sort of disappointed, "but still, we have to get out of this place for as long as we can. It's slowing taking all the cells out my body. I fucking hate that place."

You looked ahead while Joonie was silent beside you. Your exhaustion was tugging your eyes but you fought it.

Ahead of you was nothing but grass and fences with sleeping cows behind them. That's what living in the country gets you. Greasy food and outdoors that smell like cow shit.

"What do you hate about that place again?"

"Basically everything. The toxic air. The judgemental people. Everything. But what most bothers me about it is that it reminds me of home. Well, what use to be home," you sighed but shook your head, "what do you hate about that place?"

"Just the fact that it's literally no where. There's one library where we live and all of the books are shitty. I'm pretty sure I've read all of them because the damn place is so small. I have no friends besides you. And having you as my only friend is batshit crazy," you chuckled as he did, "as a kid, I thought that I'd be able to go see the big things that was in the city. As I grew older I started to realize there are no big things there. Just Churches Chicken," you smirked as he that.

"Why does it remind you of home?" He asked after looking at the stars in your eyes for what felt like ages. He was glad you didn't feel his stare piercing your skin.

"You know what my 'home' was. I lived with my parents and grandparents on a farm far from where I live now but still rural as shit. I never want to go back there again. Never," you cringed at the memories that were made at that farm.

You looked at Namjoon who was already staring at you.

"You're ugly," you laughed as he punched your arm. You meant the opposite once again but you couldn't tell him that.

"Ass. I know I'm pretty. They say it's the people who feel ugly that call other people ugly, my friend," he pushed your shoulder and you grabbed his hand.

"I know I'm pretty," you repeated in his low voice. You squeezed his hand and let go of it.

"What are we gonna do when we get back? We have no job," he said after awhile of studying how your eyes darted back and forth and you looked at each star and how you chewed your lip which indicates you want to smoke.

"We'll find one. Trust me."

"Trusting you is a dangerous thing to do," he said in a shaky voice but you only smiled.

You looked over at him and saw him quickly look at the stars.

What was he staring at?

You pushed the thought aside and continued looking at him. He's such a beautiful guy who deserves way more then the world gives him. Deserves someone better then you.

You looked away from him at that thought. You felt like you were ruining him just by staring. Why'd he even agree on coming with you?

The urge to smoke came crashing on you and you looked at Namjoon once again. His eyes slowly started to close but he immediately snapped back awake when he realized it. How was he tired again after sleeping for half the car ride?

"Well, I'm gonna smoke and then sleep so..." you said after watching him doze off. He hates the smell of burning nicotine so you knew he'd leave.

He kissed your cheek long and hard like usual and you tried to contain your chills like usual.

"Don't stay out here too long and stop smoking that shit. You'll die," he said hopping off the hood.

"What if I want to die hmm?"

"Then your gonna have to try harder then just smoking. Goodnight, my little insane one," he nudged your arm before hopping back in the car

"Night" you replied a little after he shut the car door and pulled the cigarettes from your back pocket.

[canaryatlaw]

Feels strange writing this now that I finished recapping yesterday a few hours ago, but hopefully I won't be overcome with sleep halfway through this post, I don't think I have as much to say anyway. Today was fine though. I had a noon PT appointment so my alarm went off at 11:15 and I snoozed it till 11:25 because I'm lazy AF and knew I could do my make up afterwards. So I get there (on time of course, because even with my snoozes I am always timely) and end up with a different therapist for booking schedules or whatever, and she's fine, we run through the exercises and such and I think I'm doing them right. It's harder than the wrist exercises because there are a lot more muscles in that general area that can be used so it's more difficult to figure out if you're doing it right but I think I got most of it, and I remember them to do during the week. For now at least it looks like my pattern is gonna end up being on Wednesdays and Fridays, so I'll have to be good with the home exercises the rest of the week. Ended at 1, went home and got ready for oral arguments at school, suit and make up and everything, then walked to the train and got to school plenty early and just looked at my stuff for a while. Since the brief had two issues, with each side appealing one of them, we were working with a partner so one could argue the first issue and the other second, going up against two people on the other side. So adversarial of course, but not all that bad. I think it went fine overall, it's stressful when you go in having a game plan (and this kind of goes for trial strategy in general) and then when you get there it pretty much just goes out the window and you gotta roll with whatever happens, and I'm trying to answer questions about the applicability of the fourth amendments exclusionary rule impeachment exception to criminal cases versus civil cases (that was a real question, I didn't just through a bunch of confusing words together to exaggerate). But overall I thought it went well. They gave us feedback afterwards and they said my confidence started out really well and then kind of dipped in the middle but picked back up in the end, none of which I was aware of of course as it's going on because I'm just going. One of the judges was like "you got really passionate about that child abuse argument and you can really tell you cared about it, is that like something you're interested in?" So I laughed and was like yeah, I work in juvenile court, I could make public policy child abuse arguments for DAYSSSSSSS lol. So that made me smile. Afterwards I was of course happy to be done, so I went to Starbucks and got another unicorn frap because I'm a child and it tastes like sour candy and shit and I like it, okay? I sat there for like 10 minutes and just decompressed a bit before getting on the train and heading home. Got home and made some food, I tried to get kind of fancy and made this like roasted nectarine oatmeal that I just pulled out of my ass but it tasted really good! Lol and yeah, I also started doing laundry because I officially ran out of underwear that I can for sure know is clean, so that's kind of the limit. After not too long my roommate showed up and she was staying in for the night, so I suggested we start binging 13 reasons why since we'd both been wanting to watch it, so we did and got through the first 5 episodes. First background: I read the book shortly after it came out, circa 2008 or so, when of course I was highly suicidal myself, and I don't think it was super helpful to me in that area, but of course that was 9 years ago now and I'm in a totally different place now. I remembered the overall concept and such of course, but I didn't remember like, the individual stories or anything so that was cool to see again. First impressions: damn. Like I knew of course it was gonna be really, really heavy, but this is like, soul-crushingly agonizing to watch. Just, any time her parents are on screen I can just feel my soul aching for them as they so desperately try to figure out what happened that took their little girl away, and shit I'm tearing up just writing this because this exact subject just gets to me so much. I have images in my head of my parents finding my body after I would've killed myself and I just, they're screaming and sobbing and I can't think about it for more than a fleeting second without bursting into tears (I am full on crying now). Because it's just way too close to home. This could've been my story so easily. Seeing them, even as fictional parents, go through that just makes something in me want to scream and cry in rage that any parent would ever have to bury their child who took their own life, and how that was so close to being my story. I couldn't see it then, I really couldn't. But I can now. I can see how much it would've utterly destroyed my parents. I can see how, as much as my brothers abuse have caused me great pain, them carrying that with them, knowing they had been part of the cause of that (and I was going to make sure they knew) would just be something that would never leave them, a guilt they could never absolve themselves of. And my sister. Oh, my sister. My beautiful baby girl who kept me on this earth because I couldn't never possibly leave her here alone. I had to be here to protect her. If my life served no other purpose, I could at least keep her safe. Make sure she didn't suffer the way I did. To be a barrier between her and our brothers and any abuse they might inflict on her. I wouldn't let them do that to her. My precious, sweet little angel that God knew I needed, when I was just a little 6 year old praying for a sister, God knew I would need her to get me through this, that my love for her, in the end, was the one thing that kept me tied to this earth. I could never leave her. I could never hurt her like that. I could never cause her to suffer such a tragedy at such a young age. He knew. He knew all those years ago I would need her. So He gave her to me and I was the happiest 9 year old on earth knowing that God heard my prayer and actually answered me, with living, breathing proof- this was such a big request, I never expected it to be answered. But it was. Because He knew. So He gave me the most precious and important person in my life that I could never imagine my life without. I could never imagine getting through life without her. And I just......I'm so off topic, but apparently I needed a good cry on this specific subject. But the show, the way it captures her parents grief is just such a soul-aching pain for me. As for the rest of the show, the characters have been well-crafted so far, and they've done a good job showing the effects of bullying on people and how these things affect people- that what we say and do doesn't happen in a vacuum, but in a vast network that can get to anyone. Despite its other potential failings, which I'm sure I'll get to addressing as I go, I think it's doing a good job at really showing that actions such as bullying really do have consequences, what you think is just a joke is really at someone else's expense and that's going to affect them for longer than you know. From a cinamographic (that's not a real word, but go with it) perspective, establishing the cut on Clay's forehead as an easy way to distinguish between the flashbacks and the present was rather brilliant. I have to rant about the lawsuit subplot with the parents for a minute though, since it wasn't in the book. All was fine with it up until the end of the last episode I watched where they said the case was taking to trial and I was like BULL. FUCKING. SHIT. I'm sorry, I have a realism threshold, and that crosses wayyyyyyyy way over it. In absolutely no universe would a school EVER go to trial on a case like that. The merits of it don't matter for shit, what matters is that it would be a PR nightmare for the school. The school is fighting against the parents of a dead girl who was bullied by trying to say they weren't responsible? Nobody's gonna give a fuck about the truth of whether she was or not, they're just going to think the school as being absolutely terrible and like I said, PR nightmare. So that really got under my skin, lol, I know its a stupid little thing but I just couldn't get past it because it would just never happen. And yeah, we ended there and I headed to bed and here we are. I'm glad I can sleep in as long as I want (yay Saturdays) being that it's almost 2 am now. Tomorrow I'll probably try to do more laundry, and I gotta make a target run cuz this week I actually am running out of sodastream gas canisters (which of course we all know I need to live) among a few other random items. Then I can hopefully make a big batch dinner for use for packed lunches/dinners during the week, and also make some more progress on the presentation. I don't have to have the 40 page paper done till May 3rd, but I have the presentation that's supposed to be based on the facts in the paper on Monday, so I have to work on fleshing that out and come up with a game plan as to how I'm going to address it. I think I have a pretty solid idea and it shouldn't take too long to work out. So yeah, should be a good tomorrow. Eyes are tired now, and like I said it's almost 2 am, so I'll call it a night now. Goodnight angels. Stay lovely.

[cosmosogler]

today i cleaned the bathroom! and made an appointment with a gi place! i don’t know what they want to do. the scheduling lady told me what it was but i didn’t understand, but i didn’t want to ask her to repeat it because i’d already misunderstood a few things she had asked for. so i just said ok and wrote down the address.

then i picked up asher and we hung out for like 8 hours. it was great. i couldn’t shake the feeling i was forgetting to do something all day though. besides, you know, the grad school email thing. i don’t know what it was. i couldn’t think of anything i’d left undone when i got home from dropping him back off at home.

we took the dogs to the park and talked about jojo and sat around and looked at photos of his room’s new paint job and played wwe for the ps4 and screamed at john cena and a bunch of other wrestlers i didn’t recognize. oh but kane was on the roster! i didn’t know he still wrestled. i used to play as him sometimes on, like, the n64 wwe. or maybe the gamecube one. i just looked it up and he’s almost 50. i figured out how to climb the poles in the corners and jump off them to body slam asher’s character.

“how did you do that?” he asked.

“i pressed every button at the same time,” i answered.

then we caught up on steven universe. then i drove us to michaels and we looked at washi tape and stickers for an hour. i kept finding odd things around the store and bringing them to him to identify. like scratch and sniff cat-shaped light bulbs called “num noms.” i think he was worried about boring me, but i had a good time. then we went across the street to an indian restaurant and the curry was godly. i felt bad that i could only eat like a third of my meal though. 

my brother apparently hit another driver on the road today. but he refused to talk to me about it. he only brought it up because i asked if i could take the car. i asked if he was ok a few times and he said yeah. the car didn’t look too bad when asher and i went out later with mom’s car. it’s hard to get a read on my brother, and i might have been projecting, but he seemed kind of rattled. his face was more flushed than usual. so far i’ve only gotten into vehicle tangles with inanimate objects. like the curb at the community college, or the curb at the corner by asher’s house, or the curb near rawhide, or a random piece of concrete at the gas station. i can’t imagine how stressful it must be to bump into another car, even gently. i mean, i dream about it a lot, enough that i’ve come across some individual police officers more than once, but i can always wake up and say “that didn’t really happen.” my brother and sister can’t do that.

i attribute it to luck. my sister is a much better driver than i am. more confident and on top of what’s happening around her, less prone to kind of terrifying bodily malfunctions. like my eyes drying out, which kind of blinds me! she also spends a lot more time on the road than i do. and she hit the other car at like the most common accident spot in the whole city, which she used to drive past every day. i mean, I’VE almost hit cars there, and i used to only drive that way like once a week during low traffic hours. it’s a tiny stretch of road under a bridge that has a little dip. the shadow cast by the bridge makes it very difficult to judge how fast the car in front of you is going, and it’s right before a lane merge, so people are usually slowing down. it’s a “once a day” kind of accident place. every time i go past that spot there’s broken glass on the road.

dad is screaming at his computer game again. he does it every night. the dogs spend more time in my room than with him now. even diogi, and dad is her favorite. i hear him throwing stuff around at his desk. i have trouble sleeping because he makes so much noise. and he turns up the volume on his games so i hear the same background music loop forever every night. 

i hate it.

anyway, i gotta figure out what i’m going to talk about at therapy tomorrow for my allotted 50-60 minutes. i guess i should bring a notebook and work out an exact note to add to my grad school applications. i already have all the email addresses written down in my application excel sheet. i guess i’m nervous because sending the note includes checking which schools have accepted or rejected me so i don’t send out emails to schools that no longer have my file. and... i gotta apply for the visa stuff for london. that requires acknowledging that i am in fact going to grad school in august. the game is getting harder, but i’m not any better at it. 

i WANT to go to grad school, i just worry... that i won’t be good enough, or creative enough to compensate for not being good enough. apparently i get violently physically ill for months at a time if i’m too stressed? which is stressful by itself, but like, it means i have no stamina. i am not a stress marathon runner. i physically cannot do work every single day. i can’t even take in new information every single day. like i’ve been too tired to watch or read anything i haven’t already seen before for like a whole week. sometimes i can’t work for weeks at a time because i get so depressed. how am i going to fulfill my academic and professional obligations if this happens? how can i put in the hard work required to learn (and actually be any good at) physics if i don’t have the energy for it? 

the solution, of course, is to try harder. every moment i spend doing nothing, every day i waste retreading old ground, every hour i spend doing something comfortable instead of doing something difficult, is time i spent being LAZY. every time i decide i have to get a full night’s sleep in order to make it through the next day, i am being weak. every time i stop to make sure i get enough to eat so i don’t get sick i am being thoughtless about the commitment i made. 

and the balancing act required to make use of every second of every day, to make sure everything gets done and i also take care of myself, takes energy and focus i just don’t have. but focus is a matter of trying harder. i know the energy and determination are there somewhere, i just have to keep scraping the bottom of the barrel for that last ounce that has to be there. it has to be. “you can do anything if you put your mind to it.” and if i can’t brute force it then i am not being resourceful or creative or clever enough. if i’m not succeeding i’m doing something wrong.

the solution is not obvious. unless it is and i’ve been missing the forest for the trees or something. i’ve been throwing myself against this problem for like nine years. even when i physically have to stop and take breaks or else i will literally die i haven’t been able to figure out a new angle. what am i missing? is it really just a matter of discipline? can you... even discipline away anxiety and depression and fatigue? 

“i want you to get this thing solved,” mom has said repeatedly. “before grad school.” i don’t think you can solve depression... and every bit of energy i spend fighting it i could have spent learning something new instead. it’s like every day not-sick people wake up on the road, and all they have to do is walk down the road. but i start every day in quicksand. and i have to get out of the quicksand before i can start walking down the road. but sometimes all i can do in a day is get out of the quicksand, and then i wake up the next morning IN THE QUICKSAND AGAIN, RIGHT WHERE I STARTED YESTERDAY. it’s maddening!

you know what else is maddening? knowing, or at least believing, there is a way to make this work. and NOT BEING ABLE TO FIGURE IT OUT. i’m too stupid. i’m stunted and retarded like mom said. i am emotionally unable to mature enough to look at the problem in a way that lets me objectively figure out what i should be doing instead of... whatever this is. i don’t have emotions like real people. that’s why i can’t get anyone to stay.

man, i hate everything. i hate feeling dumb. and i hate being just smart enough to know how dumb and helpless i am. 

i dunno. being physically hampered by my heart defect made me focus more on kind of, i guess, taking pride in my thinking and imagination. but i don’t even have that, not really, do i?

[uniquequotesonlife]

rhondastephens To Catch A Falling Cactus

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Parenting: Are We Getting a Raw Deal?

Summer 1974. I’m 9 years old. By 7:30 am, I’m up and out of the house, or if it’s Saturday I’m up and doing exactly what my father, Big Jerry, has told me to do. Might be raking, mowing, digging holes, or washing cars. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Summer 2016. I’m tiptoeing out of the house, on my way to work, in an effort not to wake my children who will undoubtedly sleep until 11 am. They may complete a couple of the chores I’ve left in a list on the kitchen counter for them, or they may eat stale Cheez-its that were left in their rooms 3 days ago, in order to avoid the kitchen at all costs and “not see” the list. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); If you haven’t noticed, we’re getting a raw deal where this parenting gig is concerned. When did adults start caring whether or not their kids were safe, happy, or popular? I can assure you that Ginny and Big Jerry were not whiling away the hours wondering if my brother and I were fulfilled. Big Jerry was stoking the fires of his retirement savings and working, and working some more. Ginny was double bolting the door in order to keep us out of the house, and talking on the phone while she smoked a Kent. Meanwhile, we were three neighborhoods away, playing with some kids we’d never met, and we had crossed 2 major highways on bicycles with semi-flat tires to get there. Odds are, one of us had crashed at some point and was bleeding pretty impressively. No one cared. We were kids and if we weren’t acting as free labor, we were supposed to be out of the house and out of the way. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); My personal belief is that the same “woman with too little to do”, that decided it was necessary to give 4- year old guests a gift for coming to a birthday party, is the same loon who decided we were here to serve our kids and not the other way around. Think about it. As a kid, what was your costume for Halloween? If you were really lucky, your mom jabbed a pair of scissors in an old sheet, cut two eye holes, and you were a ghost. If her friend was coming over to frost her hair and showed up early, you got one eye hole cut and spent the next 45 minutes using a sharp stick to jab a second hole that was about two inches lower than its partner. I watched my cousin run directly into a parked car due to this very costume one year. He was still yelling, “Trick or Treat” as he slid down the rear quarter panel of a Buick, mildly concussed. When my son was 3 years old, we had a clown costume made by a seamstress, complete with pointy clown hat, and grease makeup. His grandmother spent more having that costume made than she did on my prom dress. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); At some point in the last 25 years, the tide shifted and the parents started getting the marginal cars and the cheap clothes while the kids live like rock stars. We spend enormous amounts of money on private instruction, the best sports gear money can buy, and adhere to psycho competition schedules. I’m as guilty as anyone. I’ve bought the $300 baseball bats with money that should have been invested in a retirement account, traveled from many an AAU basketball game, or travel baseball game, to a dance competition in the course of one day, and failed to even consider why. Remember Hank Aaron? He didn’t need a $300 bat to be great. Your kid isn’t going pro and neither is mine, but you are going to retire one day and dumpster diving isn’t for the elderly. My brother and I still laugh about how, when he played high school baseball, there was one good bat and the entire team used it. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Remember your clothes in the 70’s? Despite my best efforts to block it out, I can still remember my desperate need to have a pair of authentic Converse shoes. Did I get them? Negative. Oh, was it a punch in the gut when my mother presented me with the Archdale knock-offs she found somewhere between my hometown and Greensboro. Trust me. They weren’t even close. Did I complain? Hell, no. I’m still alive, aren’t I? We’ve got an entire generation of kids spitting up on outfits that cost more than my monthly electric bill. There were no designer baby clothes when we were kids. Why? Because our parents weren’t crazy enough to spend $60 on an outfit for us to have explosive diarrhea in or vomit on. Our parents were focused on saving for their retirement and paying their house off. The real beauty of it is that none of these kids are going to score a job straight out of college that will allow them to pay for the necessities of life, brand new cars, and $150 jeans, so guess who’s going to be getting the phone call when they can’t make rent? Yep, we are. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Think back; way, way back. Who cleaned the house and did the yard work when you were a kid? You did. In fact, that’s why some people had children. We were free labor. My mother served as supervisor for the indoor chores, and the house damn well better be spotless when my father came through the door at 5:35. The battle cry went something like this, “Oh, no! Your father will be home in 15 minutes! Get those toys put away nooooow!” The rest of our evening was spent getting up to turn the television on demand, and only to what Dad wanted to watch. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); On weekends Dad was in charge of outdoor work and if you were thirsty you drank out of the hose, because 2 minutes of air conditioning and a glass of water from the faucet might make you soft. Who does the housework and yardwork now? The cleaning lady that comes on Thursday, and the landscaping crew that comes every other Tuesday. Most teenage boys have never touched a mower, and if you asked my daughter to clean a toilet, she would come back with a four page paper on the various kinds of deadly bacteria present on toilet seats. Everyone is too busy doing stuff to take care of the stuff they already have. But don’t get confused, they aren’t working or anything crazy like that. Juggling school assignments, extracurricular activities, and spending our money could become stressful if they had to work. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); I don’t recall anyone being worried about my workload being stressful, or my mental health in general. Jerry and Ginny had grownup stuff to worry about. As teenagers, we managed our own social lives and school affairs. If Karen, while executing a hair flip, told me my new Rave perm made me look like shit and there was no way Kevin would ever go out with my scrawny ass, my mother wasn’t even going to know about it; much less call Karen’s mother and arrange a meeting where we could iron out our misunderstanding and take a selfie together. Additionally, no phone calls were ever made to any of my teachers or coaches. Ever. If we sat the bench, we sat the bench. Our dads were at work anyway. They only knew what we told them. I can’t even conceive of my dad leaving work to come watch a ballgame. If I made a 92.999 and got a B, I got a B. No thinly veiled threats were made and no money changed hands to get me that A. Ok, full disclosure, in my case we would be looking at an 84.9999. I was the poster child for underachievement. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Back in our day, high school was a testing ground for life. We were learning to be adults under the semi-vigilant supervision of our parents. We had jobs because we wanted cars, and we wanted to be able to put gas in our cars, and wear Jordache jeans and Candies. Without jobs, we had Archdale sneakers and Wranglers, and borrowed our mother’s Chevrolet Caprice, affectionately known as the “land yacht”, on Friday night. No one, I mean, no one, got a new car. I was considered fairly lucky because my parents bought me a car at all. I use the term “car” loosely. If I tell you it was a red convertible and stop right here, you might think me special. I wasn’t. My car was a red MG Midget, possibly a ’74 and certainly a death trap. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Look at your coffee table. Now imagine it having a steering wheel and driving it. I promise you, it’s bigger than my car was. The starter was bad, so after school I had the pleasure of popping the hood and using two screwdrivers to cross the solenoids or waiting for the football players to come out of the dressing room headed to practice. Those guys pushing my car while I popped the clutch, is a memory no 16-year old girl around here will ever have, and it’s a great one. Had I driven that car in high winds, it’s likely I would have ended up airborne, and there were probably some serious safety infractions committed the night I took 6 people in togas to a convenience store, but I wouldn’t go back and trade it out for a new 280Z, even if I had the chance. I was a challenging teenager, and in retrospect the fact that it was pretty impressive every time I made it home alive, may not have been an accident on the part of my parents. Go to the high school now. These kids are driving cars that grown men working 55 hours a week can’t afford, and they aren’t paying for them with their jobs. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); And those new cars don’t do a thing for telling a good story. I tell my kids all the time, the very best stories from my teen and college years involve Ann’s yellow Plymouth Duster with the “swirling dust” graphic, Randy’s Valiant with the broken gas gauge, and Carla’s burgundy Nissan that may or may not have had a complete floorboard. A story that starts, “Remember that time we were heading to the beach in Carla’s Nissan and your wallet fell through the floorboard onto the highway?” is so much more interesting than, “Remember that time we were going to the beach in your brand new SUV, filled up with gas that your parents paid for, and the…well, no, never mind. Nothing happened. We just drove down there.” To top it all off, most of them head off to college without a clue what it’s like to look for a job, apply for it, interview, and show up on time, as scheduled. If they have a job, it’s because someone owed their dad a favor…and then they work when it “fits their schedule”. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); We all love our kids, and we want to see them happy and fulfilled, but I fear we’re robbing them of the experiences that make life memorable and make them capable, responsible, confident adults. For the majority of us, the very nice things we had as teenagers, we purchased with money we earned after saving for some ungodly amount of time. Our children are given most everything, and sometimes I wonder whether it’s for them or to make us feel like good parents. The bottom line is that you never value something you were given, as much as something you worked for. There were lessons in our experiences, even though we didn’t know it at the time. All those high school cat fights, and battles with teachers we clashed with, were an opportunity for us to learn how to negotiate and how to compromise. It also taught us that the world isn’t fair. Sometimes people just don’t like you, and sometimes you’ll work your ass off and still get screwed. We left high school, problem solvers. I’m afraid our kids are leaving high school with mommy and daddy on speed dial. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); We just don’t have the cojones our parents had. We aren’t prepared to tell our kids that they won’t have it if they don’t work for it, because we can’t bear to see them go without and we can’t bear to see them fail. We’ve given them a whole lot of stuff; stuff that will break down, wear out, get lost, go out of style, and lose value. As parents, I suppose some of us feel pretty proud about how we’ve contributed in a material way to our kid’s popularity and paved an easy street for them. I don’t, and I know there are many of you that are just as frustrated by it as I am. I worry about what we’ve robbed them of, which I’ve listed below, in the process of giving them everything. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Delayed gratification is a really good thing. It teaches you perseverance and how to determine the true value of something. Our kids don’t know a damn thing about delayed gratification. To them, delayed gratification is waiting for their phone to charge.Problem-solving skills and the ability to manage emotion are crucial life skills. Kids now have every problem solved for them. Good luck calling their college professor to argue about how they should have another shot at that final because they had two other finals to study for and were stressed. Don’t laugh, parents have tried it.Independence allows you to discover who you really are, instead of being what someone else expects you to be. It was something I craved. These kids have traded independence for new cars and Citizen jeans. They will live under someone’s thumb forever, if it means cool stuff. I would have lived in borderline condemned housing, and survived off of crackers and popsicles to maintain my independence. Oh wait, I actually did that. It pisses me off. You’re supposed to WANT to grow up and forge your way in the world; not live on someone else’s dime, under someone else’s rule, and too often these days, under someone else’s roof.Common sense is that little something extra that allows you to figure out which direction is north, how to put air in your tires, or the best route to take at a certain time of day to avoid traffic. You develop common sense by making mistakes and learning from them. It’s a skill best acquired in a setting where it’s safe to fail, and is only mastered by actually doing things for yourself. By micromanaging our kids all the time, we’re setting them up for a lifetime of cluelessness and ineptitude. At a certain age, that cluelessness becomes dangerous. I’ve seen women marry to avoid thinking for themselves, and for some it was the wisest course of action.Mental toughness is what allows a person to keep going despite everything going wrong. People with mental toughness are the ones who come out on top. They battle through job losses, difficult relationships, illness, and failure. It is a quality born from adversity. Adversity is a GOOD thing. It teaches you what you’re made of. It puts into practice the old saying “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”. It’s life’s teacher. Our bubble-wrapped kids are so sheltered from adversity, I wonder how the mental health professionals will handle them all after the world chews them up and spits them out a few times. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); I know you are calling me names right now, and mentally listing all the reasons this doesn’t apply to you and your kid, but remember I’m including myself in this. My kids aren’t as bad as some, because I’m too poor and too lazy to indulge them beyond a certain point. And I’m certainly not saying that our parents did everything right. God knows all that second hand smoke I was exposed to, and those Sunday afternoon drives where Dad was drinking a Schlitz and I was standing on the front seat like a human projectile, were less than ideal; but I do think parents in the 70’s defined their roles in a way we never have.I worry that our kids are leaving home with more intellectual ability than we did, but without the life skills that will give them the success and independence that we’ve enjoyed. Then again, maybe it’s not parents that are getting the raw end of this deal after all. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJQP7kiw5Fk Watch: most watched video on youtube source Read the full article

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rhondastephens To Catch A Falling Cactus

Parenting: Are We Getting a Raw Deal?

Summer 1974. I’m 9 years old. By 7:30 am, I’m up and out of the house, or if it’s Saturday I’m up and doing exactly what my father, Big Jerry, has told me to do. Might be raking, mowing, digging holes, or washing cars. Summer 2016. I’m tiptoeing out of the house, on my way to work, in an effort not to wake my children who will undoubtedly sleep until 11 am. They may complete a couple of the chores I’ve left in a list on the kitchen counter for them, or they may eat stale Cheez-its that were left in their rooms 3 days ago, in order to avoid the kitchen at all costs and “not see” the list. If you haven’t noticed, we’re getting a raw deal where this parenting gig is concerned. When did adults start caring whether or not their kids were safe, happy, or popular? I can assure you that Ginny and Big Jerry were not whiling away the hours wondering if my brother and I were fulfilled. Big Jerry was stoking the fires of his retirement savings and working, and working some more. Ginny was double bolting the door in order to keep us out of the house, and talking on the phone while she smoked a Kent. Meanwhile, we were three neighborhoods away, playing with some kids we’d never met, and we had crossed 2 major highways on bicycles with semi-flat tires to get there. Odds are, one of us had crashed at some point and was bleeding pretty impressively. No one cared. We were kids and if we weren’t acting as free labor, we were supposed to be out of the house and out of the way. My personal belief is that the same “woman with too little to do”, that decided it was necessary to give 4- year old guests a gift for coming to a birthday party, is the same loon who decided we were here to serve our kids and not the other way around. Think about it. As a kid, what was your costume for Halloween? If you were really lucky, your mom jabbed a pair of scissors in an old sheet, cut two eye holes, and you were a ghost. If her friend was coming over to frost her hair and showed up early, you got one eye hole cut and spent the next 45 minutes using a sharp stick to jab a second hole that was about two inches lower than its partner. I watched my cousin run directly into a parked car due to this very costume one year. He was still yelling, “Trick or Treat” as he slid down the rear quarter panel of a Buick, mildly concussed. When my son was 3 years old, we had a clown costume made by a seamstress, complete with pointy clown hat, and grease makeup. His grandmother spent more having that costume made than she did on my prom dress. At some point in the last 25 years, the tide shifted and the parents started getting the marginal cars and the cheap clothes while the kids live like rock stars. We spend enormous amounts of money on private instruction, the best sports gear money can buy, and adhere to psycho competition schedules. I’m as guilty as anyone. I’ve bought the $300 baseball bats with money that should have been invested in a retirement account, traveled from many an AAU basketball game, or travel baseball game, to a dance competition in the course of one day, and failed to even consider why. Remember Hank Aaron? He didn’t need a $300 bat to be great. Your kid isn’t going pro and neither is mine, but you are going to retire one day and dumpster diving isn’t for the elderly. My brother and I still laugh about how, when he played high school baseball, there was one good bat and the entire team used it. Remember your clothes in the 70’s? Despite my best efforts to block it out, I can still remember my desperate need to have a pair of authentic Converse shoes. Did I get them? Negative. Oh, was it a punch in the gut when my mother presented me with the Archdale knock-offs she found somewhere between my hometown and Greensboro. Trust me. They weren’t even close. Did I complain? Hell, no. I’m still alive, aren’t I? We’ve got an entire generation of kids spitting up on outfits that cost more than my monthly electric bill. There were no designer baby clothes when we were kids. Why? Because our parents weren’t crazy enough to spend $60 on an outfit for us to have explosive diarrhea in or vomit on. Our parents were focused on saving for their retirement and paying their house off. The real beauty of it is that none of these kids are going to score a job straight out of college that will allow them to pay for the necessities of life, brand new cars, and $150 jeans, so guess who’s going to be getting the phone call when they can’t make rent? Yep, we are. Think back; way, way back. Who cleaned the house and did the yard work when you were a kid? You did. In fact, that’s why some people had children. We were free labor. My mother served as supervisor for the indoor chores, and the house damn well better be spotless when my father came through the door at 5:35. The battle cry went something like this, “Oh, no! Your father will be home in 15 minutes! Get those toys put away nooooow!” The rest of our evening was spent getting up to turn the television on demand, and only to what Dad wanted to watch. On weekends Dad was in charge of outdoor work and if you were thirsty you drank out of the hose, because 2 minutes of air conditioning and a glass of water from the faucet might make you soft. Who does the housework and yardwork now? The cleaning lady that comes on Thursday, and the landscaping crew that comes every other Tuesday. Most teenage boys have never touched a mower, and if you asked my daughter to clean a toilet, she would come back with a four page paper on the various kinds of deadly bacteria present on toilet seats. Everyone is too busy doing stuff to take care of the stuff they already have. But don’t get confused, they aren’t working or anything crazy like that. Juggling school assignments, extracurricular activities, and spending our money could become stressful if they had to work. I don’t recall anyone being worried about my workload being stressful, or my mental health in general. Jerry and Ginny had grownup stuff to worry about. As teenagers, we managed our own social lives and school affairs. If Karen, while executing a hair flip, told me my new Rave perm made me look like shit and there was no way Kevin would ever go out with my scrawny ass, my mother wasn’t even going to know about it; much less call Karen’s mother and arrange a meeting where we could iron out our misunderstanding and take a selfie together. Additionally, no phone calls were ever made to any of my teachers or coaches. Ever. If we sat the bench, we sat the bench. Our dads were at work anyway. They only knew what we told them. I can’t even conceive of my dad leaving work to come watch a ballgame. If I made a 92.999 and got a B, I got a B. No thinly veiled threats were made and no money changed hands to get me that A. Ok, full disclosure, in my case we would be looking at an 84.9999. I was the poster child for underachievement. Back in our day, high school was a testing ground for life. We were learning to be adults under the semi-vigilant supervision of our parents. We had jobs because we wanted cars, and we wanted to be able to put gas in our cars, and wear Jordache jeans and Candies. Without jobs, we had Archdale sneakers and Wranglers, and borrowed our mother’s Chevrolet Caprice, affectionately known as the “land yacht”, on Friday night. No one, I mean, no one, got a new car. I was considered fairly lucky because my parents bought me a car at all. I use the term “car” loosely. If I tell you it was a red convertible and stop right here, you might think me special. I wasn’t. My car was a red MG Midget, possibly a ’74 and certainly a death trap. Look at your coffee table. Now imagine it having a steering wheel and driving it. I promise you, it’s bigger than my car was. The starter was bad, so after school I had the pleasure of popping the hood and using two screwdrivers to cross the solenoids or waiting for the football players to come out of the dressing room headed to practice. Those guys pushing my car while I popped the clutch, is a memory no 16-year old girl around here will ever have, and it’s a great one. Had I driven that car in high winds, it’s likely I would have ended up airborne, and there were probably some serious safety infractions committed the night I took 6 people in togas to a convenience store, but I wouldn’t go back and trade it out for a new 280Z, even if I had the chance. I was a challenging teenager, and in retrospect the fact that it was pretty impressive every time I made it home alive, may not have been an accident on the part of my parents. Go to the high school now. These kids are driving cars that grown men working 55 hours a week can’t afford, and they aren’t paying for them with their jobs. And those new cars don’t do a thing for telling a good story. I tell my kids all the time, the very best stories from my teen and college years involve Ann’s yellow Plymouth Duster with the “swirling dust” graphic, Randy’s Valiant with the broken gas gauge, and Carla’s burgundy Nissan that may or may not have had a complete floorboard. A story that starts, “Remember that time we were heading to the beach in Carla’s Nissan and your wallet fell through the floorboard onto the highway?” is so much more interesting than, “Remember that time we were going to the beach in your brand new SUV, filled up with gas that your parents paid for, and the…well, no, never mind. Nothing happened. We just drove down there.” To top it all off, most of them head off to college without a clue what it’s like to look for a job, apply for it, interview, and show up on time, as scheduled. If they have a job, it’s because someone owed their dad a favor…and then they work when it “fits their schedule”. We all love our kids, and we want to see them happy and fulfilled, but I fear we’re robbing them of the experiences that make life memorable and make them capable, responsible, confident adults. For the majority of us, the very nice things we had as teenagers, we purchased with money we earned after saving for some ungodly amount of time. Our children are given most everything, and sometimes I wonder whether it’s for them or to make us feel like good parents. The bottom line is that you never value something you were given, as much as something you worked for. There were lessons in our experiences, even though we didn’t know it at the time. All those high school cat fights, and battles with teachers we clashed with, were an opportunity for us to learn how to negotiate and how to compromise. It also taught us that the world isn’t fair. Sometimes people just don’t like you, and sometimes you’ll work your ass off and still get screwed. We left high school, problem solvers. I’m afraid our kids are leaving high school with mommy and daddy on speed dial. We just don’t have the cojones our parents had. We aren’t prepared to tell our kids that they won’t have it if they don’t work for it, because we can’t bear to see them go without and we can’t bear to see them fail. We’ve given them a whole lot of stuff; stuff that will break down, wear out, get lost, go out of style, and lose value. As parents, I suppose some of us feel pretty proud about how we’ve contributed in a material way to our kid’s popularity and paved an easy street for them. I don’t, and I know there are many of you that are just as frustrated by it as I am. I worry about what we’ve robbed them of, which I’ve listed below, in the process of giving them everything. Delayed gratification is a really good thing. It teaches you perseverance and how to determine the true value of something. Our kids don’t know a damn thing about delayed gratification. To them, delayed gratification is waiting for their phone to charge.Problem-solving skills and the ability to manage emotion are crucial life skills. Kids now have every problem solved for them. Good luck calling their college professor to argue about how they should have another shot at that final because they had two other finals to study for and were stressed. Don’t laugh, parents have tried it.Independence allows you to discover who you really are, instead of being what someone else expects you to be. It was something I craved. These kids have traded independence for new cars and Citizen jeans. They will live under someone’s thumb forever, if it means cool stuff. I would have lived in borderline condemned housing, and survived off of crackers and popsicles to maintain my independence. Oh wait, I actually did that. It pisses me off. You’re supposed to WANT to grow up and forge your way in the world; not live on someone else’s dime, under someone else’s rule, and too often these days, under someone else’s roof.Common sense is that little something extra that allows you to figure out which direction is north, how to put air in your tires, or the best route to take at a certain time of day to avoid traffic. You develop common sense by making mistakes and learning from them. It’s a skill best acquired in a setting where it’s safe to fail, and is only mastered by actually doing things for yourself. By micromanaging our kids all the time, we’re setting them up for a lifetime of cluelessness and ineptitude. At a certain age, that cluelessness becomes dangerous. I’ve seen women marry to avoid thinking for themselves, and for some it was the wisest course of action.Mental toughness is what allows a person to keep going despite everything going wrong. People with mental toughness are the ones who come out on top. They battle through job losses, difficult relationships, illness, and failure. It is a quality born from adversity. Adversity is a GOOD thing. It teaches you what you’re made of. It puts into practice the old saying “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”. It’s life’s teacher. Our bubble-wrapped kids are so sheltered from adversity, I wonder how the mental health professionals will handle them all after the world chews them up and spits them out a few times. I know you are calling me names right now, and mentally listing all the reasons this doesn’t apply to you and your kid, but remember I’m including myself in this. My kids aren’t as bad as some, because I’m too poor and too lazy to indulge them beyond a certain point. And I’m certainly not saying that our parents did everything right. God knows all that second hand smoke I was exposed to, and those Sunday afternoon drives where Dad was drinking a Schlitz and I was standing on the front seat like a human projectile, were less than ideal; but I do think parents in the 70’s defined their roles in a way we never have.I worry that our kids are leaving home with more intellectual ability than we did, but without the life skills that will give them the success and independence that we’ve enjoyed. Then again, maybe it’s not parents that are getting the raw end of this deal after all. source Read the full article