#being stuck completely alone in bed while feeling like shit for 20 days straight does shit to your brain

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[septiembrre]

Physical affection prompts! 21! 25!

Prompt: accidentally knocking your head into someone’s chin + playfully biting someone

Established relationship. Beth and Rio try couples yoga. An injury ensues.

Side note: This is the first time I’ve ever attempted writing from Rio’s POV. Augauahgah!!! I feel like all the straight Mexi-boys I know are mad sappy about the ladies in their lives so… this is Big!Soft. Don’t hate.

On Ao3

A Bit of a Stretch 

It goes like this. 

Three months ago, a yoga mat shows up in the car. It’s purple (her favorite color), and Elizabeth probably thought it inconspicuous, neatly rolled up and tucked away in the back. But Rio’s only gotten to where he is in life because he’s got a meticulous handle on the details. So he notices, and it makes him pause -- the reminder of who he is these days. 

And he likes to think he’s a smart guy, evolved and shit. But, he’s got to admit he likes the thought of it -- his girl, Aphrodite trapped in suburbia (or was it Athena?), rolling up in the Wagon to some bougie yoga studio. Elizabeth would swing ‘round the back to grab her mat, doing that walk she does when she’s feeling herself as the other PTA chicks’ jaws drop. He likes the security of his second pair of keys in her hands, on her keychain. 

What did it say about Elizabeth’s hold on him that he fuckin’ delights in this daydreaming? 

And it’s complicated -- ‘cause on one hand, when did he become this guy? Actually, he knows. Three years, eight months, and two days ago. He’s not overly-obsessed with his relationship or anything, but a counter runs in his mind -- how long he’s been with her. So much so that he’s been thinking of getting the date of when she robbed him (the first time) on the inside of his wrist, a complement to the bracelets she’d bestowed him, to drag out as A Move during sex or to embarrass her in front of her friends. 

And on the other hand, it’s like...  damn, it’s been too long since they fucked in the car. 

They cohabitate now -- them and all their kids. They still had an absurd amount of sex in public places (and shit, since when had that been his kink?). He still takes great delight in pushing all her buttons and getting her to unspool around his cock, on his mouth, and in his arms. 

But, they were a lil’ calmer now, less feral. They had partially domesticated what this was and had fun in doing so. They shared a bed now, were crate-trained as it were. 

She and hers are his family. 

But, fuck, he’d been a strict no-strings-attached, hit-it-and-quit-it type of dude for years -- all of his adult life. It was what came with his job. 

He had tried to do his best by Rhea when he had gotten her knocked up. But, looking back on it, the exercise had been doomed. When Marcus was born, Rio was in his late 20s rocketing to the top of the food chain. It had been a time when all he could do was keep his head down and do the work -- running in the streets, scheming, consolidating power, and ultimately, he had to make a choice. 

Was he going to be a boss, a father, or a husband? To be honest, he only had time for one, but he did his best to make fatherhood fit. 

It’s what it was all for in the end, right? 

And yet, somehow despite all and many odds, here he was toting Elizabeth’s yoga mat around in his car. Mick rolls his eyes when he sees it, and there’s the typical jokes about being pussy-whipped and what not. But, yeah -- he loves her. At this point, he can’t really deny it. So, he laughs along with Mick’s jokes, and then sends him to chauffeur their million kids around, just to make sure he knows what's what.

Anyway, after a few weeks, Rio comes home from the gym and finds her practicing alone in the house, the kids scattered to their other respective households. Elizabeth’s got a video going on her phone, and her back is arched in a way he’s only ever seen in bed and she has to realize is provocative. But, she eyes him, self-conscious and with old defensiveness, as she twists into a few shapes. 

He tries to keep it chill, knows about the residual feelings she carries about her body (and Christ, he can’t believe he’s only had the opportunity to shoot her ex-husband once, he should have taken his own advice and emptied the fucking clip). So he settles close to her with his battered copy of Edith Hamilton’s Mythology from highschool that he’s been trying to get back into, and steals glances at her over the pages. 

He skims the pages on Athena and then Aphrodite, and he likes the hyperbole of each but neither quite fit. 

He eventually comes back to Artemis. 

And, yeah, maybe.

He looks up at Elizabeth again and admires her form. He admires her strength -- that reedy cord of tenacity he’s admired for so long making itself more visible through the facade of soft as she finds new ways to hold herself up and get herself stronger.  Her hair keeps falling into her face and he itches to crawl on the mat with her and pull it out of her face. 

She’s fucking gorgeous.

As she continues, Elizabeth notices him watching, and she starts to get a little playful. Eventually, he lures her off the mat and onto his lap.

Yoga becomes part of her routine on the days she doesn’t feel like driving into the studio. And he gets it. He’s always turned to grounding himself in his body when he’s needed to work through things. His first love had been basketball, soccer while on family vacations (and only with his cousins from Tamaulipas). In high school, it was track, and he still loves running, but with Detroit winters he’s mostly moved on to boxing and tennis. Never yoga, though. 

And yeah, he has some reservations, and yeah, it makes him feel their differences. He’s a tad judgemental about the white-owned yoga studios gentrifying the fuck out of his city. Blocks he grew up running in Detroit-propper suddenly got white people eyein’ up his tats and clutching their wallets. And shit, when has yoga ever been for guys like him? 

But, life increasingly becomes more complicated. 

He can still like that E’s found something that’s for her and he likes the peace it brings her. He appreciates the way it unknots her shoulders, the particular vibe it gives their day afterward when she’s able to let go of some of that stress she carries. He tries to complement it by eating her out and that special type of really good sex that comes from whatever alchemy is between their bodies. And yeah, he likes the headspace it gets her in, how it shifts the way she approaches their work, and the new depth it adds to the way they touch each other when sex isn’t her only form of therapy. 

So when she gets a water bottle with the yoga studio’s branding, Rio teases her a bit but he encourages her to go for the membership. Naturally, E being E, it don’t take her long to make nice with the owners. And then Elizabeth comes home excited about how she had just committed to doing a run of the studio’s promotional swag at the store. He and Elizabeth end up with a postcard on their fridge, a color photo of the studio’s abstract mural. The other side has text that advertises an event line up at the studio that includes a fucking “gong-bath”. It takes him a week to let it go. 

Actually, he hasn’t. He still brings it up.

But, then a second yoga mat appears -- a green one -- tucked away in the spare bedroom, mostly hidden under some of her crafting materials. He finds it, wonders for a split second why she needs two and has an answering inkling of where this might be going. 

The next day, a lil’ custom print for a “partners” yoga event gets pinned next to the first postcard on the fridge. 

And like... he loves her and all. But, does it really go that deep?

Rio pauses in front of the fridge, sipping his tea and staring at the picture of a white dude balancing presumably his Black girlfriend in a pose above his head. His eyes track to where Elizabeth sits in the other room knitting and watching the latest episode of her British baking show (he has half the mind to submit her name to the American spin-off). Considering what she’s up to, she sits with her back a lil’ too straight (on edge one might say) clearly waiting for a comment or for him to show her some grace.

And…

Nope. He’s not going to make it that easy for her. 

To her credit, after her episode is done, Elizabeth FaceTimes Ruby and asks her first. Then, as if to make a point that she’s rounding out her bases, she calls her sister. And it’s true that Marks’ sisters’ relationship is as close as it's ever been -- their family criming has forced Elizabeth to trust her sister with her life. But, damn, if he knows she don’t trust Annie to do anything remotely acrobatic, much less cartwheel Elizabeth into the air. 

He settles at the island in their kitchen with his tea and his work. She’s got the call on speaker in the other room, when Annie asks, “And gang boo?” 

“What about him?” 

Rio scoffs loud enough to be heard in the other room.  

“Why doesn’t he go with you?” 

E pauses, probably fiddling with the strand of her knitting yarn on the couch behind him. “It just doesn’t really seem like his thing?”

Annie snorts. “Have you asked him?”

“No,” Elizabeth sighs into the phone, as if she isn’t a few paces away, having a very audible conversation. 

“Don’t people usually go with their SO’s to these things? I mean I appreciate that you think I have the upper body strength for this, but you have to know that I will never in my life be able to do a push-up.”

“It was just a thought--” 

Annie continues, stuck mid-rant, “And, like there’s no way I can be your counterweight. You have so much more body than me. We’re like completely different proportions. ” 

“Well, so are me and Christopher.” 

“Yeah, but Christopher actually has body strength. Lots of it. “ Annie retorts. “And he’s going to love you sweaty, and sticking your butt up into the air, bendy and wearing tight clothing--”

He bites at his bottom lip and supposes yeah, he could try it once. 

“Okay, fine! I’ll ask him.”

Rio waits for her to come to him as he tries to make headway on his accounting. But, E doesn’t show. 

Instead, it comes later -- when they’re in bed. She’s being extra-nice, extra-smiley, and charming, cracking jokes and making him laugh. He hates it except he also loves it -- when she thinks she can get the drop on him like her dumb ass ex-husband. Except, unfortunately for Rio, she really does know her target. 

She waits until right after she blows him to ask. 

Elizabeth crawls up his spent, panting body, and pins him with hers. She kisses him hotly with her mouth that tastes like his come and he fucking loves when she does that. Then, she retreats to bite playfully at his chin and asks if he’s seen the flyer on the refrigerator.

And he gives her a little shit about it but…

He admires the strategy

------

The couple's yoga class is on a Saturday morning.

It’s the middle of March, and he’s fucking over winter. Detroit, so far from Mexico and so close to being the fucking North Pole. 

The temperature means he’s got to get bundled up in sweats, put on his damn parka and snow boots, all to take it back off again when he gets there. Apparently, the studio is heated perennially at 90 degrees. He don’t know how Elizabeth handles it, she’s so bothered by heat. He complains to her, and she reminds him that this is just like when he goes to the gym on his own. Except this time, they’re doing something together. And she’s being all shy in a way she usually isn’t any more around him and she’s fuckin’ happy he’s coming with her. 

The night before she had presented the green mat to him. He had said “Thank you” como su mamá lo enseño, and committed to stepping outside of his comfort zone. 

“Show me how this goes, darlin’?” 

Elizabeth had swelled up with the thrill of explaining something to him, and launched into it, “Yoga’s basis is breathing…” 

She had given him the low-down and gotten him started in the basic poses. He liked her hands, soft, and prim and careful, pushing and pulling at him and adjusting his posture. He had ended up fucking her on the mat -- as a proper thank you and to give her a little something to think about in class tomorrow as they contort their bodies in a way she’s adamant is not meant to be sexual. 

And he’s not trying to be a dick or ruin the day for her, but he’s dragging his feet a little bit. He don’t really want to be spending his morning off, kid-less, in a room focusing on his breathing surrounded by crunchy, white gentrifiers. 

And he might be simmering a choice comment about how it’s ironic that she wants him to focus on his breathing after she was the one who fucking shot him in the lung that one time...

But, he knows she’s not thinking of it like that and he knows if he just told it to her she’d get it. But, he don’t want to make it all about him and the struggle... and he’s rich now ain’t he? And Elizabeth’s excited to have him with her while she does her thing, excited to show him off -- and that gives him enough energy to walk through the door, green mat under one arm, and her hand in his. 

Immediately, they’re ensconced in a wave of warmth as they step into the heated studio, and there’s an earthy smell hitting him strong. He zeroes in on the incense lit at the check-in counter and Rio’s nose wrinkles in distaste on its own accord. 

Elizabeth squeezes her hand, in a silent reprimand. Behave. Then, she moves around the counter to hug some of the people hanging out back there.

There’s a flurry of introductions, a Bridgid, a Cassandra, Bryce, Patsy, and Tiffany. Tiffany is Black and he thinks Cassandra could be Latina… He ain’t sure. They’re all revealed to be instructors or staff of some kind and E seems to be chummy with all of them. He knows Tiffany is her favorite and will move heaven and hell (and their fucking drop schedule) to make it to class with her. 

He isn’t sure exactly why so many of them are but apparently, they like to hang out here? His palms itch and he feels the sweat start to drip under his thick jacket. 

E starts to pull off her winter clothes, as she lingers in conversation with Tiffany, asking her about her husband and how Tiffany’s weight training is going. He blinks at his girl and the shit she can pull out of her repertoire.  

“I’m so glad you get to finally meet Christopher.” 

Tiffany turns to smile wide at him. “Beth has made so much progress in the past few months.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” and she’s got a friendly vibe so he tries to dial up the charm. Smiling, and playing the proper beau, “She talks about y’all all the time.” 

Behind them, he clocks that instructor, Brad or Bryce, checking out Elizabeth’s ass when she ain’t looking. And sure he’s about Rio’s height and got some definition on his abs, but his jaw’s too square like it’s never taken a hit, his muscles never used in a fight. 

Rio snags the eyes of some chicks looking at him a little too eager. Damn, it’s Saturday morning and these people need to chill. 

And he rolls his eyes, tsking, then steps closer and loops a hand around Elizabeth’s waist, drops it down to her ass for a moment. He makes a show of leaving a kiss against her temple and then he bounds towards the cubbies, ready to shed some clothes. His jacket is about to kill him. 

As he peels off of the layers, he looks around, and okay -- it’s not as white as he worried it was. There’s other POC settling in for the class, at least one other interracial couple, too. And that Cassandra chick’s sweatshirt says “Chingona AF’ on the back. She’s the same shade of light brown as him, a mid-30s willowy mujer with a queer buzzcut.

He loosens up a bit and settles into the space. This heated shit is nice.

A few moments later, Elizabeth joins him and after they’re done tucking their stuff away, she draws him over to her favorite corner. They roll out their mats -- purple and green -- side-by-side. 

They settle on their respective mats and Rio takes the opportunity to give Elizabeth the same once over that asshole did. Her ass really does look great in those pants and she could fill out any shirt. Her eyes linger over him too, tracing his skin, the bar tattoos peeking out from under his t-shirt that she’s seen a million times and then her eyes meet his and she gives him that small, crooked lil’ smile. 

He’s not one for religion, but every so often he takes his mom to Spanish mass. All the viejitos and pious Catholic types think he’s a banger but his ma’s still excited to show him off. He sits with her in the pew and when the priest asks for the congregation to give thanks to God, he says a prayer for the riches that have come to him, the health and brilliance of his son, the vitality of the other little ones in his life now, and Elizabeth. And when he thinks of her in those moments, he sees her in his mind’s eye with this exact look on her face. 

And to top it all off, the 90-degree heat is already working some kind of magic on the knot he’s been trying to get out of his shoulder for the past two weeks. 

He smiles back at her. 

“This shit is dope.” 

“Yeah?” 

He shrugs, playful. “I like the heat.”

She scoffs, still smiling, “Of course, you do. I thought I was going to pass out the first time I came.” He laughs and tallies a point. He called it. E shakes her head, “I had never sweat so much in my life.”  

And it goes like that. 

Right as class starts, a white guy with dreads and his skinny, blond girlfriend settle in the space next to them. The white dude turns to nod in acknowledgment, but his eyes drop down to take the ink at Rio’s throat. He tries to be subtle about it but he and the girl scoot a few inches away. 

And he ain’t even seen all the old bullet wounds yet. 

Rio turns to look at Beth. She’s also staring at the couple, her mouth settled in a thin line. 

Then she meets his gaze. 

One of the instructors starts calling the group in, welcoming them to class, and Elizabeth takes the last opportunity to gently careen into his side, and kiss him deeply. 

Then she's back on her mat, listening attentively to the instructor like she didn’t just start some shit.  

And yeah-- he and Elizabeth are different. They move through space differently, and she has access to things he never will no matter all the gems, rubies and diamonds, Mercedes and stacks he adds to his hoard of wealth, And Rio has wondered, worried, if there will ever be a day when they look at each other and decide they don’t fit anymore. 

But, damn if she don’t make him feel alive like nothing else. 

So as the instructor has them sit back-to-back and leads them through an opening meditation. It’s corny as shit and formal meditation is not really his thing, always having relied on sports (and fights and hits) as a substitute in the past. 

But, he tries to settle here, in this room warm like a blanket, next to Elizabeth.

The class itself is pretty fun. The instructors are hands-on, demonstrating, and walking them through everything. It’s easy enough to pick up with them (and Elizabeth) giving him adjustments, and he likes the excuse to get his hands on her in a different kind of way. 

He helps Elizabeth through some inversions, smirking down at her with this particular view of her cleavage. She gets a few, sneaky passes at him, and he don’t know who she thinks she’s fooling surrounded by a room of people, and a whole team of instructors circling them. 

In one particularly nice sequence, Rio curls down into the mat in the child’s pose, Elizabeth had shown him as she stretches on top of him, her whole weight settling along him like a cocoon. 

Damn, he’s going to make them take another class like this ain’t he? 

The class eventually shifts into what the teachers call aerials.

He lays on his back and lofting E up into the air over him. It takes a little finagling to fully adjust to the distribution of her weight, she’s obviously top-heavy. He stares up at her -- her gorgeous, sweaty face smiling down at him -- and looks over the particular arc of her cleavage. And despite how much time he spends palming at Elizabeth’s tits, he underestimates how much they must hurt her back.

No wonder she needs this shit.  

‘Course that’s when Bryce or Blake comes over to “check on their form” and is this guy really going to try to check out his girl’s ass again? Right, the fuck now? 

Blake/Bryce pushes at Elizabeth’s shoulders trying to adjust her position and she maintains very apologetic eye contact with Rio. Huh. So, she’s aware. 

Then, It all happens real fast. Her balance shifts and her hand, sweaty with the heat, slips across his palm and out of his grasp. 

The realization hits him--  She’s gonna fall.

And for a brief, terrible moment, her face freezes above him skewed with panic and fear, and then, as if in slow motion, she floats closer, down to earth. 

And he knows better. He fucking knows better from all his fucking years of boxing, the previously-mentioned lifetime of playing sports. But he clenches his damn, fucking jaw just as the crown of her head collides with him.

And there’s a sharp, bolt of pain spearing through his chin.

And in this room, this heated blanket, incense-burning, crunchy, granola room… 

He’s knocked the fuck out.  

-----

Well, then it’s a fucking show. 

In the familiarity of Elizabeth walking into the studio, they hadn’t asked him to sign a liability waiver. Someone procures ice, and he cradles it to his chin as Bryce apologizes and asks if he can call an ambulance. 

For a concussion. 

And he’s pissed the fuck off but it’s still kind of funny? Because the only thing that had ever put him in a hospital had actually been this girl standing next to him (tal pesadilla when she put three slugs in his chest). But, he has to stop laughin’ because it hurts his jaw and they’re all looking at him like he’s nuts. 

Elizabeth grips his free hand like a vice, and he’s nursing a hell of a headache, as he has to swear a million times that he ain’t gonna sue anyone. Then, finally, blessedly, they’re allowed to walk out. 

Elizabeth insists on helping him into the car. Tiffany and Cassandra accompany them, helping Elizabeth carry all of their shit. 

They stand at the curb watching, concern etched on their faces as Elizabeth reverses out of the snowbank and drives off. And Elizabeth drives because he most definitely has a concussion. And she drives them straight to the fucking ER. 

They spend half an hour fighting parked in the lot outside. But, he knows concussions and he knows his limits. 

He convinces her to take him home.

----- 

The first twenty-four hours of the concussion are the most important. He’s not supposed to look at screens, not supposed to work. He knows his shit but Elizabeth reads at least ten internet articles on her phone as she lies in bed curled next to him. 

They spend the childless afternoon with the curtains drawn, lying in their bed, not fucking. 

But, the cuddling is good, too. 

Elizabeth strokes up and down his arm and talks to him about little nothings to keep him company. She periodically gets up to grab him glasses of water and more ice. And this sucks, but all things considered, this might be the nicest concussion he’s ever had. 

Eventually, they wander to the kitchen to figure out food. 

Elizabeth pauses staring vacantly at the fridge. Then her shoulders start to shake, and now he’s wondering if she’s okay. But, her hand raises to unpin the flyer from the fridge and he hears the first snicker.

She turns to him, laughter breaking across her face, pointing to that ridiculous picture. He knows enough now to recognize Tiffany lofted in that showy, stupid af aerial pose. 

He chuckles and then cringes as the pain at his chin flairs.

Elizabeth pouts but is still laughing to herself. She ambles over to him, wraps her arms loosely around his middle, and lays the softest kiss on his chin.

“I’m sorry, Christopher.” 

He shakes his head, just a smidge because movement fucking sucks right now. “It ain’t your fault.” 

“It was my idea.”

“It’s okay.” 

She curls into him, deflating, crumbling the flyer into her fist.  He gingerly rests his head on top of hers. 

“I liked it.” He admits. 

“You did?”

“Yeah.” The smell of her lavender-shampoo drifts into his orbit. “Liked you curled all around me. Liked touching you like that. Gave me some ideas.” 

She nods below him, pulling him tighter. “I liked it, too.” 

“You’ve gotten so strong now, Elizabeth.” He kisses her at her temple. “Maybe next time you should do all the lifting.” 

She pinches him at the ribs. Then, “Next time?”

“I’ll tell you what.” He shifts back to make eye contact with her. “We get to do a whole lot of private practice.” He gives her a look to make it clear exactly what he means -- sex. “Then, we’re gonna go back and make sure Bryce is really sorry, ‘kay? Make sure he knows I’m still around.”

And Elizabeth beams that crooked little smile at him. 

“Okay, but the next time you have to give me your hoodie or something.”

He nods, a smidge but still manages to imbue it with sage, territorial wisdom. “That would help.” 

“Well, I meant more for me to...” She looks at him, eyes darting. “Claim you.”  

I mean he is living for that but he frowns at her. “But, everyone there was a couple.”

Oh. Oh yes. Now he remembers. 

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Elizabeth rolls her eyes. “And I don’t share.” 

Her hand drifts low on his back, then lower to curl a firm grip on his ass in the privacy of this home that they share.

Unfortunately, despite all this time, Elizabeth still doesn’t know when to quit when she’s ahead. 

“Though, honestly, I don’t know why they kept staring at your butt.” She murmurs, sassing him while he’s down. “There’s nothing here.” 

Esta pinche mujer. She’s lucky he loves her. 

Fuckin’ adores her, really.

Damn.  

[hag-lad]

Digging Deeper

Thank you to my radiant wonderful friend @alienfuckeronmain for sending me EXACTLY the type of self indulgent wind-down activity I wanted on this otherwise depressing weekend! If anyone else wants to answer FORTY-NINE QUESTIONS about themselves, I’m super nosy and will read it all! @fight-the-seether @ptolemyofchaos @butchwizard @metalbutch @nyndelion @comrade-ziltoid @leatherdear @kristalknobb Enjoy, friends!

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen? I prefer black, but I always feel like I write neater in blue??

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city? The city, but only if it has breathable air, green infrastructure, and decent public transit. So like... definitely no city in America lmao

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be? The ability to quickly become fluent in another language! I’ve been struggling with Spanish for literal YEARS and it’s honestly pathetic. My brain is so stuck on English.

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? Look pal. If I wanna drink sugar, I’m gonna have a soda, not herb water or bean juice.

5. What was your favorite book as a child? I was OBSESSED with The Wish List, by Eoin Colfer (of Artemis Fowl fame). I remember being so fascinated by how dark it was?? It’s an afterlife adventure, where the main character has to escape purgatory by atoning for her crimes of robbery and fraud and whatever. I had a crush on her, so basically this book made me want to pursue a life of crime, even though it explicitly condemns crime and depicts Hell as a very real and horrible place. I was in like fourth grade and was super morbidly curious about Hell and the possibility of going there! Lol

6. Do you prefer baths or showers? Baths... but only when I’m not actually dirty going in. A bath is leisure, not hygiene.

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would you be? 100% fae! I would build my dwelling within a sidhe mound, steal shiny things in the middle of the night, make bastardly little contracts for no reason, and cause harmless mayhem and mischief because mortals really are fools (go off, robin goodfellow!) Also I love mushroom circles and dancing in the moonlight.

8. Paper or electronic books? Paper all the way! I read much more content electronically, but it’s usually in the short story or article format. Books are much better in print, I think.

9. What is your favorite item of clothing? Probably my rust-brown overalls.

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it? I’ve always hated my name but no alternative has ever stuck, unfortunately. My name is Amy, and I don’t think it fits at all. If I knew I’d never have to correct anyone on it, I’d probably just change it to Amelia?

11. Who is a mentor to you? My little brother! He’s this genius musician, and he has taught me so much about song structure, polyrhythms, guitar technique, production tricks, all kinds of trivia that really deepen my appreciation for music and the LABOR that goes into it.

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for? No, never, not for anything. I cherish my anonimity so much, I don’t even put searchable tags on this blog cuz I get an adrenaline spike from anxiety if too many people interact with me. I also just think fame is a fucking hideous construct. I don’t think it’s even slightly cool or desirable.

13. Are you a restless sleeper? No, I’m a fucking log. I can easily sleep for 12 hours straight. Thanks, depression!

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person? No, actually. I’m very much in love, and it brings me lots of joy to do nice things with and for my partner! But romance feels very difficult for me to connect with. I’m super domestic, like, I love the idea of marriage but not necessarily a wedding, or a moonstruck romance or whatever. Those dramatic gestures feel very awkward for me.

15. Which element best represents you? EARTH. Specifically, like... dirt, or soil.

16. Who do you want to be closer to? I want to be geographically closer to my family. We’re thick as thieves, but we all live like 50 miles apart from each other. I miss my brothers and my parents so much, I feel so incomplete and depressed without them to hang out with, especially since quarantine.

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? See above! Lol

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory. When my little brother was a baby, he had this grey car seat with a folding mechanism which held his legs in place. It made a very satisfying clicking sound when the mechanism moved, AND when it was fully unfolded, it looked a lot like a Klingon battle cruiser. (Or so my five year old brain thought.) So! My older brother and I would take this seat out of the car CONSTANTLY so that we could unfold it and “sing” the Klingon theme music from Star Trek: The Motion Picture while we scooched our car seat battle cruiser across the living room floor, pretending to shoot phasers into the TV or the dining table or whatever else got in our way.

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? Gifilte fish, maybe?

20. What are you most thankful for? My family, including my wonderful partner and all the cats in our lives!

21. Do you like spicy food? Yes! But my tolerance for extreme spice decreases every year, unfortunately. So I can’t handle as much heat as I used to, but I do enjoy a good kick.

22. Have you ever met someone famous? Lmaooo I made the regretful decision to PAY FOR a meet&greet with Fall Out Boy in like 2006, which was so fucking awkward and painful, I vowed to never approach that level of lame again.

23. Do you keep a diary or a journal? TONS! I’m an obsessive record keeper. Some years I journal more than others, and I’ve found that it is super difficult to keep up with it while working full time. But it’s absolutely one of my favorite hobbies.

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or pencil? Pen for writing. Pencil for drawing, and math.

25. What is your star sign? Virgo sun, Aquarius moon, Scorpio rising 🙃

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy? Crunchy! A shallow bath in that milk is key.

27. What would you want your legacy to be? My artwork. I go through these aesthetic phases every year that I become super obsessed with/ focused on, and I’ve always meant to catalogue them in annual art journals, but I’ve NEVER FINISHED ONE! They always get pushed aside by the need to work, and I hate that so much. If I could just take a year off work and backfill all of my missed concepts into completed books, I would be so happy. But I literally have NO WAY to pay for that, absolutely none. I fucking hate capitalism.

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read? I love to read, but finishing a whole book has been A STRUGGLE lately! Right now I’m chipping away at Tending Brigid’s Flame, which is a quaint lil devotional for the Celtic fire goddess. Very new agey, like cheesy Wiccan vibes. I love that shit!

29. How do you show someone you love them? Quality time!

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? Only if I have a straw. Ice touching my teeth kinda makes me wince.

31. What are you afraid of? Incompetance, doing a bad job, letting someone down, taking up too much space, being a nussiance, etc

32. What is your favourite scent? Incense! Especially cinnamon, dragon’s blood, and amber.

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? I always call people, regardless of age, by the name they ask me to use. Sometimes it’s a surname or title, usually it’s a first name. I’ll ask their preference if I’m unsure. But I definitely don’t default toward a surname, that’s weird.

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? COMPLETELY DIFFERENTLY!!!!!! The need for money rules literally every single hour of my entire life, and I hate it so much. I’m naturally nocturnal, but my job requires me to get up super early and sit in a car for 11 hours a day. I wake up at 5am, come home front work at 5pm, spend an hour or two trying to unwind, then go to bed and do it all over again. I hate my life! Really! I never see the stars, I never exercise, I am completely exhausted and burnt out all the time, and I barely get any quality time with my partner. If money were no object, I would sleep til noon or 1, make art and hike all day, ride my bike and stargaze all night, stay up til 4am reading and playing with my cats, and sleep like a baby. My partner and I would cook dinner for each other and watch Star Trek and collaborate on art projects and I would be so happy.

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? Here’s my hierarchy: Private pool > ocean > public pool

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground? I’d look around to see if anyone obviously dropped it and try to give it back. If I couldn’t find anyone, I’d exchange it for dollars and deposit that shit into my account!

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? Of course!! Hundreds!

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children? America is evil and needs to be destroyed.

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? Lmao this is so cute. If you HAD TO HAVE a tattoo! I really wanna finish my damn sleeves, they’re literally 9 years in the making and barely half finished. But I’d also love more art on my legs! I DESPERATELY want Ziltoid in a lacy valentine heart on my thigh.

40. What can you hear now? Our fish tank water bubbling and my fan on full blast.

41. Where do you feel the safest? Home alone, doors locked, windows covered, lights low. I absolutely LOVE to not be seen or perceived in any way.

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer? My fear of discomfort

43. If you could time travel to another era, which one would you choose? I feel like I’d want to be a teen in the 80’s and an adult in the 90’s. Does time travel work that way?

44. What is your most used emoji? 😭 or 😎

45. Describe yourself using one word. Defeated

46. What do you regret the most? Convincing myself that math was too hard or boring (or something?) when I was in middle school. I feel like I’m actually a pretty intelligent person who could’ve totally overcome that difficulty and gone on to understand all kinds of patterns and concepts which have eluded me to this day! It’s so frustrating to try and fight that formative self-concept, which now comes naturally but ultimately sabotages me. 💀

47. Last movie you saw? I made my partner watch Troop Beverly Hills, one of my childhood faves. It’s so fun! I love chick flicks so much.

48. Last tv show you watched? Deep Space Nine. Getting through the first season has been harder than expected. It’s actually my favorite Star Trek show?? (Orrrr maybe that’s TNG, ahh! It’s so hard to choose!) But season one is so baffling and awful! Why is there so much space capitalism??! And racism? And war? And drinking alcoholic beverages? #notmystartrek

49. Invent a word and its meaning. I used to call a single strand of curly hair a “curly quink” when I was a child. Therefore, a “quink” is a section of hair, usually a particularly cute or iconic one.

[donnerpartyofone]

21 Questions

Tagged by @getoutofmyhouse who had oddly similar answers to mine

Nickname: only the one I use here, that I gave myself--Claire Donner, which has to do with my famous love of cannibalism. Claire is my real first name, though.

Zodiac: I am so very cuspy. I was born at about a quarter to midnight on April 20, so I tend to relate to, and feel insulted by, the suppositions about Aries and Taurus equally. I’m one of those jerks who will tell you astrology is a bunch of hoo ha...and then drone on with my Many Esoteric Ideas about it, so I’ll just stop myself right here.

Height: 5’ nuthin is what I prefer to say...because saying I’m 5 and 3/4′ sounds a little like saying I’m 10 and a half years old.

Amount of sleep: It’s all fucked up. Until I got into my 30s I could, and would prefer to, sleep endlessly. Now I go to bed around 10 (depression), get up around 5 or 6 (being old), and for extra fun, I’ve developed this insomnia that often keeps me up from about 2am-5am. I try make the most of it by getting up, getting high, watching a movie or two, writing...basically just having a secret private day by myself. I’d really rather go back to just sleeping constantly though.

Last movie I saw: I saw GRETA in theaters tonight, which was ok. I guess I thought any Neil Jordan film would be headier than this, but watching Isabel Huppert just running around acting like an absolute maniac is a rare treat! My last video experience was RAW, which I put on to bother my husband right when we got home from the theater. (I think he liked it more than I originally did, to my surprise)

Last thing I googled: The correct spelling of Sylvia Likens’ last name. I’m obsessed with this type of crime where a group of people (usually a family and/or some of their friends and neighbors) fall into some kind of shared hysteria where they protractedly torture to death an acquaintance for no particular reason. Some times there’s an element of mystery as to why the victim didn’t leave while they were still able to, which suggests to me that the murdered person was just as much a victim of the groupthink as the perpetrators. Other example victims include Suzanne Capper, Vera Jo Reigle, and I think to some degree Sophie Lionnet, James Bulger, and Junko Furuta. (Also a crime they briefly discuss in the book Lords of Chaos, where several people murder a friend in their trailer, but I can’t remember it specifically enough to look up the names--the other last thing i tried to google) I keep thinking there should be a psychiatric and/or legal term for this kind of crime, but I’ve never heard one, so let me know if you got one!

Favorite musician: I have trouble with questions that involve ranking anything, so I’ll just say that right now I’m listening to a lot of old White Zombie. I didn’t know anything about their origins as an East Village noise band, and I’m fascinated by the stories about how apocalyptically miserable it was to be in that group. I’m increasingly obsessed with people who work their asses off doing something they barely even enjoy, for what must be borderline spiritual reasons.

Song stuck in my head: Nothing right this second, for which I am very grateful. There’s something awful in my brain that causes me to wake up with some maddening, babyish tune stuck in my head more often than not. It is most frequently the Ten Little Indians nursery rhyme. This is literally killing me.

Other blogs: @anhed-nia, which started as a dumping ground for long posts about mental illness, and turned into almost only movie writing. at some point there was just so much movie shit that i started to feel awkward about posting anything personal there again. i also got @getoffyrass which is a group blog, and a repository for images that make great drawing references. everyone is encouraged to post their drawings, too, although it is seldom used. i still like having it around, for when i have time to draw. my “real” drawing blog is @neveratendermoment but i don’t draw often enough anymore...

Do I get asks: i used to get tons! i really enjoy them, even the trolls to some degree. i must have seemed like more of a regular tumblr geek girl back in the day. also tumblr has just changed a lot since then. my blog was definitely a casualty of Best Stuff First, i think my follower count stopped dead forever right when that happened, and now that practically every single fucking thing on this entire site is either fandom shit or *discourse*, i really have nothing to offer tumblr anymore, anyway.

Blogs following: 1,057. 

Lucky numbers: 2! Also 5.

What I’m wearing: black wool long john pants from Chrome, and a white v neck teeshirt with the words BLACK MAYONNAISE on it in black Rocky Horror font. i live near the notoriously toxic Gowanus Canal, and “black mayonnaise” is the actual term used to describe what’s on the bottom of it, by the scientists who are trying to figure out what to do with it.

Dream trip: i am really excited by travel, it’s hard to pick. i’m hopefully making a dream trip soon though: my father’s mysterious finno-swedish family is from the åland islands, and my husband and i will be planning part of our honeymoon there, whenever that happens.

Dream Job: i think about this a lot, because the older i get, the more i object to the entire concept of having to work to live. i’m into the whole universal basic income thing. i’m at this point where i can barely stand to think about capitalism in any way--like i think about how the need for money is so mortally serious that there’s a lot of physical stuff in the world that only exists because someone was scared of starving, tons of useless products and packaging and factory byproducts and all kinds of fucking straight up garbage that was only invented due to the lethality of poorness. i would rather be left totally alone forever if possible. however, if i HAD to do something and i COULD do anything, it would probably be film criticism. this fantasy takes place in a world where people care so much about what i have to say that i can make a career, not only out of movie writing, but out of only writing about the specific movies i want to write about, referring to nothing other than my personal reactions.

Favorite food: i wish the answer weren’t just “cheese”, but it probably is. also mushrooms. anything cinnamon. i’m a pretty adventurous eater though. the most important thing for me is a variety of flavors and textures.

Languages: english. i took several years of italian in junior high-high school, and did nothing with it. i taught myself to read french pretty fluently, but i would fold right up if someone tried to speak to me. i learned a bunch of swedish on duolingo, shoulda kept it up. i’ll get back to it! i really regret never learning spanish though, so i’m easily torn on what to do with my time.

Play any instruments: clarinet in junior high/high school, also alto sax which i did not enjoy at all, a little guitar. i bought a used electric bass last year that i have really been enjoying, but i feel a lot of guilt around not playing enough. so much of it is just strength training. that’s probably what i like about it, though. also i got a lot of electronic music software and midi controllers and stuff...and then i realized that it could take me months to sort through the thousands of samples i have to program this stuff, and i only got so far into it before i started to get discouraged. i need to get back to it, it’s ridiculous to let that stuff lie around. this is a rare example of me wishing i knew someone local to play with, who could speed me along on how everything works.

Favorite songs: another one of these impossible questions! anybody who is even reading this can probably guess the answers from the handful of music posts i reblog over and over and over. the other night i got all hyperactive and forced my husband to drop everything and listen to “buffalo stance” by nene cherry, which i never ever get sick of. real top contenders for favorite song might be “Stand By the Jamms” by the klf, and this recording, which has gotten me through many difficult hours:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8k1HsF3EvY

https://www.forcedexposure.com/Catalog/sunray-sonic-boom-music-for-the-dreamachine-cd/STRAWB.003CD.html

Random fact: i’m sure i’m missing out on something really funny and cool, but for now it’s just the well-known fact that i read palms.

Describe yourself as aesthetic thing: man, how do i answer this without being totally pretentious? maybe nobody can! i’m coming up with something really hard to describe but it will be worth it. the other day i watched this insane, completely unnecessary movie about lorca and salvador dali (played by robert pattinson) as gay lovers. there’s a scene in it where lorca does that “pick a hand” thing to dali, and dali picks an empty hand. of course, they’re both poor students who couldn’t be buying any gifts, so they do this obnoxious pantomime where dali pretends lorca actually gave him something--but then it turns out that lorca really DOES have something. he opens his other hand and gives dali...SOMETHING. i don’t know what! they make such a big deal out of it, but what the hell? you see it for a second in this closeup, but it’s shot from like, behind and slightly underneath, and it is just unrecognizable. it’s sort of an orange blob? it’s probably meant to be a sculpture. but, i love the idea of doing the “pick a hand” thing to somebody, and the other person is just like...hey wait a minute, what the fuck even IS this?? 

it reminded me of one of the most amazing things anyone ever did at my school, bard college. this genius art student who I WISH I COULD NAME TO CREDIT HER did her senior project as this like...made up product. i saw them at the senior show, hanging off a spinner rack, like you’d see next to the register in the drug store. they were called Toilet Buddies. they were these plastic, brightly colored objects that looked like toys, but they didn’t have a familiar earthly shape, and because of the title, it was IMPOSSIBLE to imagine what to do with them. so, she gets the lipstick cam from the film department, and shoots this video of herself sneaking some Toilet Buddies into Walmart. then she takes them to the register and BUYS THEM--the baffled cashier looks for them for a while, and eventually just rings them up as a general grocery or something. then in part 2, the artist TAKES THEM BACK TO THE STORE WITH THE RECEIPT AND GETS A REFUND.

so anyway, i see myself as like a fake product--something that looks just familiar enough to exit, and that appears to have a designated purpose, but it’s just kind of cheap and foreign and it becomes nightmarish to try to imagine what to do with it. 

I don’t know if anyone i know will want to do this, but i tag @negativepleasure @moviesludge @former-contender @dimestoreman @thefuzzydave @darkarfs @theoddsideofme @blueruins ...um, i don’t really know who would enjoy this. the ultimate would be @garbagenacht

[samdukewieland]

Stuck Inside Media Diary Week 4

On my birthday I made a 100 song playlist for myself with the criteria of choosing my Top 20 favorite bands/musicians, five songs from their catalog-preferably only one song per album-and that was it. This was part-exercise-part-how-do-I-celebrate-myself-and-my-excellently-unique-tastes-on-the-one-day-this-is-allowed. I had already gone through the painstakingly unasked for “challenge” of whittling down of a Top 5 for a project in college and it’s gone unchanged in the past four years, and being the way that I am, I am generally always considering what the Top 10 would be. Anything beyond Top 10 is egregious, but because I was deeply unsatisfied with a 25 song playlist, I just kept going until I settled on 20 and 100. 

It then dawned on me (I couldn’t sleep that night, BIRTHDAY JITTERS and all that) afterwards that this is technically a list of what I’d consider to be the top 100 songs and that was just all wrong. I love every song on that playlist; I chose obvious songs and I chose obscure deep cuts that would make yer average me chuckle and say “heh, that one huh?” But if I were asked to make a list of the 100 greatest songs ever recorded, I don’t think I could leave off something like “Hey Jude” (The Beatles) or “Wonderful World” (Sam Cooke) or “The Champ” (Ghostface Killah) and yet I did. What a dweeb.

Sunday, April 12

Starship Troopers, Verhoeven 1997

Listen, I love Paul Verhoeven. This is my least favorite Paul Verhoeven movie and it’s still incredible. And it’s a me issue too (though, I’m not taking all the blame here-this obvious issues here are that there’s no good actor here besides Michael Ironside, Jake Busey and Neil Patrick Harris), though I think that’s part of the point of it. Or at the very least there’s been enough revisionist history and nostalgia slapped onto this thing that Denise Richards gets a pass-“well yeh, she’s bad on purpose” they’ll say; this movie is lemonade.

Three Busy Debras, “Sleepover!”

Probably the biggest difference between Three Busy Debras and Stella (which is what Three Busy Debras reminds me of the most) is that Stella was so unconcerned about saying anything about anything. This is not a knock on Debras, not in the least bit, but that’s ultimately what I landed on when I was thinking about the two next to each other. Three Busy Debras is very good and very, very funny and reminds me of one of my favorite television comedies to ever exist.

Beef House, “Boro”

When I went and saw Tim And Eric’s live tour back in January they were going to show the first episode of Beef House after the main show, but then they surprised us by having John C. Reilly come out as Steve Brule and do a bit with an audience member for like 15 minutes, probably less time. Watch Beef House if you like Tim and Eric, but you already know that if you do.

Joe Pera Talks With You, “Joe Pera Lights Up The Night With You”, “Joe Pera Talks to You About the Rat Wars of Alberta, Canada (1950–Present Day)”

At this point you can tell that I probably just turned on Adult Swim after finishing Starship Troopers and just kept it on, because a Sunday night on Adult Swim is the only thing that could rival an HBO Sunday night. Alright, so I had only ever seen one episode of Joe Pera Talks With You before these two episodes and I liked it fine, but didn’t have great context for it and was probably just not in a great headspace for it. Sure, I liked it fine back when I had watched that episode, but I was not motivated to continue watching it and I didn’t. Until this particular night. I know for sure that I’ll be writing more about it next week, so I’m just going to say now that this makes for incredible “watch before bed” programming.

Mad Men, “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” [Series Premier]

And thus the great Mad Men re-watch has begun. I’ve only watched this all the way through once and that’s when I got caught up on the DVDs for season 4 back was when I was in high school. This pilot is one of the most pilot-y pilots I’ve seen/re-watched in a long while, and maybe it’s so glaring to me because of what I studied in college and how I just generally spend a lot of my time as a person. But it’s a very old fashioned pilot, maybe the last prestige TV classical pilot? You just don’t see very many shows now that have their first episode be as thirsty for another shot as this one is. Not bad, but more just very in your face.

Monday, April 13

Rashomon, Kurosawa 1950 [this might be available on Criterion-I just DVR’d it]

Baby’s first Kurosawa. This one has really stuck with me, just in its simplicity in telling a story and I’m going to stop talking about it here, one because like we really need another 26-year-old white dude talking about Akira Kurosawa movies and two, should I continue to talk about this movie, I will turn even more into what I hate and who I consider to be my arch-enemies: the film school kids.

Parks And Recreation, “Rock Show” [Season 1 finale]

Whenever I start a Parks re-watch, I always start with “Rock Show.” It’s now just in full fledged Simpsons territory that I wouldn’t be able to tell you how many times I’ve seen certain episodes and that it is incredibly comforting to watch where I can turn off brain while watching, but know exactly when to start re-paying attention because of jokes I like. I don’t know when it’ll be as recognized as The Simpsons (maybe it never will be?) or seen as the true predecessor, but it’ll feel good once it does. Though if there’s a show that demonstrated how irrelevant recognition for hard work was, it was Parks.

Tuesday, April 14

The Wicker Man, Hardy 1973 [as of now this is available on Netflix]

I feel confident that I’ve lied to friends of mine about having seen this movie. Pretty easy to do, considering it’s a pretty straight forward story and you can get by with saying stuff like “I mean yeh, it’s just like a pretty fucked up movie.” And it is! on both accounts. Though I guess not as unsettling as I figured it would be, but as soon as the animal masks come out I did get squirmy. That and choir singing folk music with vaguely disturbing lyrics juxtaposed over not totally right images-it’s like the opposite feeling when someone uses “Perfect Day” too ironically.

Better Call Saul, “Bad Choice Road”

Kim. Wexler. I guess what I love about Vince Gilligan is that he zags (though zagging in this case is kind of old fashioned) and saves his big thing to happen for a season’s finale and not the penultimate episode. But he doesn’t rob you of a wild penultimate episode either-just kind of nice and takes confidence.

Parks And Recreation, “Pawnee Zoo”

Wednesday, April 15

Obvious Child, Robespierre 2014 [as of now this is available on Netflix]

Got sick Wednesday night, ralphed twice!, and needed something I absolutely didn’t have to think about. I had started watching this probably like a year and a half ago in a waiting room while my mom was getting some kind of dental procedure done and had never picked it back up after putting 20 minutes down. It’s good, though I think it resonates better for other people than it did with me, but that’s no knock. Loved very dialed in Gaby Hoffmann and it feels like Max Silvestri mighta supposed to originally have the Jake Lacy part, but Jake Lacy is contractually obligated to play this sort of part whenever it is written into existence every year or so. Tough break.

Parks And Recreation, “The Stake Out”

Thursday, April 16

Targets, Bogdanovich 1968

I caught this recommendation from....I think Matt Singer on twitter and also @nextontcm​ (which is a first tier twitter follow) and man, this thing is great! I forgot that Bogdanovich comes from the Roger Corman school of directing, but ole Rog doesn’t let you forget with this one. It’s a movie I would imagine Steven Soderbergh really likes (and I say that, because The Limey is the only other movie that I know of that uses another movie’s footage in reference to one of the characters in the movie-like I’m sure there’s other, I haven’t seen every movie, leave me alone). TCM’s apparently doing a podcast series on Bogdanovich, which is kind of weird, but he did a short interview with Ben Mankiewicz afterwards and it was hilarious, because surprising no one, Peter Bogdanovich really doesn’t give a shit about what he says anymore.

Top Chef, Season 17 episode 5

This was the first time in Jen’s Top Chef career where she didn’t fall victim to the yips, which shows progress. But it’s also helping make the case that Jen Carroll might be the worst evaluated draftee in all of Top Chef? That sounds harsh, and I have no doubt that Jen Carroll is phenomenal, this just doesn’t seem to be her strength; there’s no rule that says competitive people have to always be good at what they get competitive about.

Mad Men, “Ladies Room”, “Marriage Of Figaro”

It’s weird seeing Don not as partner, but just a dude who’s really good at his job that people respect, but is also not in charge of everything and doesn’t aspire to be in charge of everything. Though not without trying to be in control of everything. I haven’t watched this since I was in high school, so I’ve both forgotten a lot of stuff and also just like know more about life and characters and didn’t realize how sad of a character Pete is. Man, Vincent Karheiser really doesn’t get enough credit for how good he is as Pete Campbell, a character who could’ve easily been just another Christopher Moltisanti (full disclosure: Christopher is in contention for favorite Sopranos character) and is so much sadder in a different way. 

However, I’m still just dumb guy, and maybe that’s not the complete reason, but there’s some Betty stuff that is just like not very interesting. I think if they had gone down an avenue of “let’s try and radicalize her with Kennedy” story, that would’ve worked better than other stuff, but I don’t know. Betty’s complicated! But that she has to be the character that bridges Glen’s story to the main one is incredibly detrimental.

Friday, April 17

Parks And Recreation, “Beauty Pagent”

Brooklyn Nine-Nine, “Ransom”

Every season needs at least one Cheddar episode. This is not at all a controversial opinion, but it’s worth saying out loud in case anyone thought differently.

Big Night, Scott & Tucci 1995 [as of now this is available on Amazon Prime]

When Ian Holm isn’t running away with this, Isabella Rossellini (Big Beef and Cheddar in hand) is and when Isabella Rossellini isn’t running away with this, Minnie Driver is and when Minnie Driver isn’t running away with this, Tucci and Sheloub just keep passing it back and forth to each other while Liev Schreiber just silently stares at them from afar. This is a fantastic way to spend a Friday evening.

Mad Men, “New Amsterdam”, “5G”

Saturday, April 18

Parks And Recreation, “Practice Date”, “Sister City”, “Kaboom”

“Practice Date” is the first “modern” episode of Parks. “Sister City” feels like one they had drafted for S1 and just couldn’t figure out how to get it in there (it’s definitely not a bad episode, but it feels way more like steps backward than forward). “Kaboom” is a wonderfully silly episode and a great debut for Aisha Muharrar (who is a Tier 1 Parks writer-please don’t ask me to rank them).

Defiance, Zwick 2008 [as of now this is available on Netflix]

I had never watched this movie, because in the back of my head I’ve always suspected it would be real dumb and bad, because a WWII movie with Daniel Craig and Liev Schreiber, on paper, should be something people talk about more, but nah, this thing’s real dumb and bad. But not even fun-bad, just forgettable bad. It’s dumb-guy-Munich. 

Mad Men, “Babylon”, “Red In The Face”, “The Hobo Code”, “Shoot”

The Dick Whitman childhood really suffers from Al Swearengen just having a much better “raised by whores” story and also you can tell that Matthew Weiner thinks he’s doing important work by writing this stuff. And not to sound like a blog from 2007-2015, but Rachel really was the perfect match for Draper, holy shit. It’s also this stretch of episodes where Peggy starts to shine and Elizabeth Moss is definitely someone I take for granted, because I don’t really have to think about how good she is, because I know she’s good, but man she is really good at playing Peggy Olson. What an MVP.

[randisnotonfire-blog]

I wish I could tell you Peter Parker X Reader

Summary: When Y/n and Peter fight over what is safe for him as Spider-Man events take a dark turn leading to a death, which Y/n suffers from not being able to tell Peter her special feelings for the soft boy.

Warnings: Fluff, Death, Depression, Some cursing, Anxiety, mentions of death and harm

Requested: Nope

Song/s: We don’t believe whats on tv, Glowing eyes by Twenty One Pilots

A/n: This is a very sad fan fiction so sorry m8 :( And i will try and remember my tag list this time lol also I think this is one of my LONGEST fan fics i have ever wrote in my half of a year writing

                                                   * * *

           You hated fighting with Peter over stuff about his daily job as your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, mainly because the fight would always end with you leaving his room while he is crying for feeling guilty about what happened. You really did like him. You always did, and always will. I remember meeting Peter on the schools’ playground during lunch time, he was stuck on the monkey bars yelling “I’m stuck! Send help!” you tried to hold back your laughter to save the blush for him. He fell for your personality and you fell for his curly fluffy looks, and this caused the unwanted friend-zone while being best friends. It was a good thing that he lived in a apartment 5 doors across from yours. When high school came you had met his other best friend Ned Leeds, Ned was nice but still heavily built. He would geek out with Peter about nerdy science stuff and build LEGO sets together after school with you. And now its crazy to think you’re friend group you had formed is now Seniors in high school, almost in college.

                         You, MJ, Ned and Peter were all sitting outside during lunch time in Midtown High eating, you were lying in the grass with Peter while MJ and Ned were eating the schools food. You had your legs on top of Peter’s, your body’s  making sort of a L shape, “You guys, Its official. I don’t want to go to college” You joked as you looked at the clouds fresh shapes. Peter smiled, “Why not?” “Well..Its just going to be another four more years of learning! And I think I’m done with the drama queens and stuck up wanna be’s” You said as you sat up gathering your trash. “true” Ned said as he took a bite of the sandwich they served, the bell rang for the last period of the day and you all cleaned up and left. When you saw Peter in the hallway you ran over to him, “I’m gonna be coming over to your apartment today, okay?” you said with a smile. He nodded then you all left for class. 

                                     When you walked into his apartment you expected to see him  but you couldn’t find him, as usual, “Great” you said to yourself when you threw your backpack on his bedroom floor. After a hour or two May left to go have dinner with a couple of friends which left you alone in their small apartment. You sat down on his bunk bed and inspected his room, you looked at his tiny collection of nerdy Funko Pop figurines to his science fair awards. You got up from his bunk bed when you saw a polaroid picture of you and him together, Next to the Polaroid photo there was one of you wearing a pair of oddly funny glasses failing to keep a straight face. You smiled when looking at the old photos, it brought back too many memories. 

           Flash Back: “Peter?” You asked him when you looked over at him sitting on the old pull out couch in your basement. He looked up at you, “Yes Y/n?” He asked as he put down the book he was reading. “H-have you ever kissed anyone?” You looked down at the white bedding from the pull out couch to avoid any awkward eye contact. “I mean we are only 13..” Peter said “Have you kissed anyone?” He said once again and this time you made serious eye contact. “N-no” You said quietly. It felt like the room was closing in on you when he crawled closer to where you were sitting at the corner. “Y/n” Peter said softly, he lifted your chin up so you would look up at him. You made moonlight eye contact perfectly, “C-can I kiss you?” He asked. You nodded bashfully, he cupped his hands around your cold cheeks. Your worlds met completely when his lips smashed up against yours. 

                    Suddenly the window bust open with a tumbling Peter falling on the floor. “Shit” You said as you jumped up from being startled from him, “Sorry” He mumbled when he got to his feet. “Its fine” You mumbled as you quickly moved away from the cork board above his desk, “What were you looking at?” “Nothing IjustrememberedwhenyoukissedmeandnowIfeelveryawkwardandweneedtostudyPeter” You said fastly, “What?” he said as he walked up to you. “Are you okay?”  You nodded, you sat down on the bottom of his bunk bed. Peter pressed the button on his suit causing it to create a pool of red and blue near his ankles, he put on a pair of grey sweatpants and a black shirt. “Are you sure your okay?” He asked once again, “Its just what they were saying on the news about you..” You said as you balled your hands into fists in your lap. “Oh, well I’m okay, trust me” He gave you a weak smile. “But how do I know you are Pete? You are always getting home later than you usually do. Later than you normally  do as Spider-boy..” He sighed and sat next to you, you rested your head on his shoulder. “But Y/n I am okay...” he spoke softly as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “You don’t understand Peter, what if one day you aren’t safe. What if I go crazy past my mind because your not safe and something bad happens Pete!” you said trying not to raise your voice from being scared. “Y-Y/n I will be fine” “But how do I know for sure that you will” you lowered your tone of the voice you were speaking at. He sighed and so did you, he knew about your anxiety and depression and how you worried way too much. You let a single tear fall from your face and this made Peter even more worried about you. You broke in front of him. Crying. You got up, grabbed everything you brought with you and left him crying feeling guilty for letting you be like this. 

                       Sometimes I wish I hadn’t tried so hard to be like this. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t listened to the ‘recommended’ stuff to do to be like this with Peter. But he is so out of reach and its hard to be like this. Knowing he likes Liz Allan makes you feel stupid for even having the hots for him, the third time she had a party you had found them dancing together which made you feel horrible. But I know I’m never going to get over him. Because I’m just a sucker for anything he does. This was the first night you had cried yourself to sleep because of thinking what could happen at any moment. 

                     Peter’s POV:

                  When Y/n left it was a open chance to go back outside and help out, I mean I had calmed down and its only 9pm anyways. Walking down the cold November nights of Queens it felt perfect, using the web shooters I swing up to one of the rooftops to look at the crystal moonlight view. Suddenly a man walks up to me. “Hey buddy” the dark voice says. I freak out and turn around to see who it is. He has a couple of other friends who tagged along with him. But too many to take down, ‘shit this is lovely’. “You know Y/L/N Y/F/N” One of the other guys say. He is covered in a black hoodie. “Y-yeah..Please don’t hurt her please I will give you anything just p-”  Peter got cut off by the rude leader “Jump off and she will stay safe” He said harshly. “We saw you with her the other day,  little Spider-Man knows a high school student” The guy snickers and pushes Peter up closer to the edge. “W-what?” Peter managed to stutter out, his heart sank. He knew Y/n was true but he didn’t want to feed into her anxiety and depression. And that was all that Peter remembers, being pushed off the 20/30′ building that night. The rest is known for history.

               Reader’s POV:

                You got a phone call from May, this freaked you out. Running towards the home phone that your mother was holding for you you quickly grabbed it from her and answered the call. “May? I-is everything okay? Whats wrong? Do I need to get to your apartment? Is Peter okay?” you rambled on with questions but you could feel the emptiness from May radiating off on to you. You already knew what was about to happen because you remember hearing ambulance and police sirens earlier outside. “J-just get to the hospital closest to the new office work space near our apartments, you said your good-byes quickly and left.

              When you arrived at the hospital you were greeted by one of the lady’s who works there. You told her the information and she gave you the room number but said “The room number is 209, but visiting hours end soon considering it is almost 11pm sweetie”. You nodded and went to Peter’s hospital room. You opened the door quietly and saw him sitting in a hospital bed with May sitting next to him. She gave you a weak smile and nodded letting you know to come inside, you closed the door and set your bookbag by the door. “Pete” You said softly as you looked at his pale body, he was vaguely breathing. Seeing him like this made you cry. You covered your face and tried to calm yourself down as you walked over to sit next to him and Aunt May. “H-how long ago did this happen” you choked out while she tried to comfort you. “It seemed like this had happened around 45 minutes ago” The sound of quiet sobs and the machines beeping filled the room the entire night. May left the room and waited in the waiting room for you to say whatever you had to, to Peter.

                You entire twined your’s and his hands together. “Peter, I didn’t say for you to let go yet” you whispered as you grasped his hand a little tighter. “Please don’t leave me yet” You tried to fight back the tears filling in your eyes. You looked down at his hand and kissed his cheek. “I will always love you more than a best friend Pete” You spoke softly. Then the machine stopped beeping along with his slow breathing. “B-bye Peter” You said as you let yourself break fully in front of him. 

    Stay Alive my friends I-/ 

   Tag list: @thatfemaleholland  @thatspiderbaby  @vanessalovesonedirection

[jendoesjapan]

My Mental Illness Story (LONG)

WARNING: POSSIBLE DEPRESSION & SUICIDE TRIGGERS, FOUL LANGUAGE. Last night I received news that a female JET in my community committed suicide. Though we had never met in person, we chatted through Facebook several times and of course I recognized her at various JET events. I remember that I saw her standing alone at an ALT conference last month and thought that it would be the perfect time to introduce myself. However, I did not because I was too shy. Now, I am filled with regret at my decision. I will write about my depression story tonight in her honor and just in case it helps even one person.

I have struggled with depression since I was 17 years old (I am 32 now) and have been on and off medication over the years. Growing up, I blamed my parents for a lot of things, mostly for their lack of attention towards me. I would say that my anger towards my parents was the biggest reason for my depression for many years. It was not until I got older that I realized that parents are not perfect - they are human beings. They did the best they could raising me and my brothers. They both had to work full time to support the family and I never gave them credit for that. Also, I did not acknowledge my own faults either. I was a bratty, entitled teenage girl with wild mood swings. I was no picnic. It’s a miracle they never threw me out. 

Once I started to forgive my parents, my life got better. However, there was a dark cloud that had been (and still is) hanging over my head since I was 19 years old. The cloud has a name: Student Loan Debt. I have been drowning in over $50,000 of student loan debt for more than 10 years. This debt controlled almost every aspect of my life: my job, where I lived, the car I drove, what I was able to buy and do on a daily basis, etc. 

So let’s fast forward to when I was 28 years old. There I was, stuck living at home with my parents because I couldn’t afford not to, working 40 hours a week at a job that was not a good fit for me, taking night classes and online classes at a community college trying to better myself, living paycheck to paycheck every month, barely able to pay my loans, not sure what the future held for me. I felt like a complete, worthless failure. Then something started happening. I started waking up every day completely dominated by one emotion: anger. 

I was angry at everything. Angry at what I felt was a shitty lot in life, angry at myself for allowing things to get this bad, angry at the crooks who run private student loan agencies, angry at slow drivers, angry at people who got in my way at the grocery store, angry at my customers for blaming me for their broken cars, angry that I left the house 10 minutes early to get Starbucks and sat in the drive-thru for 20 minutes, angry at literally fucking everything. And the worst part was, I couldn’t turn off the anger, no matter how hard I tried. 

I started to hate myself. I’ve never been the most self-confident person in the world, mostly because I’m too aware. I’m aware of all my faults and every little stupid thing that I do or say. But this was different - I was starting to think that there was something truly, irrevocably wrong with me. I was a defected human being and maybe the world would be better off if I wasn’t around.

I became interested in suicide. I started watching documentaries on it and reading articles. I watched a documentary about people who jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, just a two hour drive from where I lived. I started thinking about suicide a lot. Could I do it? If I was going to do it, what method would I choose? What would happen after I did it? Would my family and the friends I barely talked to mourn for me for a few weeks and then forget about me?

I can tell you now that there is no way I would have done it. This is because I do not know what happens after we die and the fear of the unknown is more than enough motivation for me to not take my own life. Many religions have beliefs on where we go after we die, but I have been skeptical of religions for a long time. Many people are blessed with a little something called faith and I simply do not have it. If I can’t see something with my own eyes, I have a very hard time believing it. 

Once I realized that I was spending way too much time thinking about the concept of suicide, I called the doctor’s office to make an appointment with a psychiatrist. The woman on the phone told me in a bored voice that the doctor was booked two months out. 

“Umm, I’m having...thoughts,” I told her. My voice broke on the last word. She instantly changed her tune and booked me an appointment for the next day. I met with a doctor and got back on antidepressants. However, the medication made me even MORE agitated at first. I took charge and went back to the doctor again. I fought him tooth and nail to change my prescription. 

“I hate people, I’m angry ALL the time. THIS IS NOT NORMAL!” I shrieked at him. 

This motherfucker actually told me that I was perfectly normal and just had a “writer’s disposition.” Umm? Ok? But I have a job and bills dude, I can’t just pack up a typewriter and move to a fucking island somewhere to write my memoirs (funny story, I’m actually in the middle of writing TWO novels now, lol). But after he made his little comment, he begrudgingly agreed to treat me as a “mood disorder” patient rather than a “depression” patient. The medicine he put me on was completely different, and guess what? It worked like a fucking charm. 

Once I found the right combination of medicine, I started to feel like myself again. I was no longer angry, shit - I didn’t have a damn care in the world. I stayed on that medication throughout my time in junior college and continued taking it when I went on to university. I lost weight (until I went off the medication while living in Japan in 2015 and gained it back double), made friends at school who I had a blast hanging out with, and finally, FINALLY accomplished my goal of graduating college and getting a job as an English teacher in Japan. 

My story doesn’t have a happy ending, because it’s still ongoing. I’m living in Japan now, been off medication for about 9 months, and am still figuring out who I am as a person. I am happy to do this without medication because although it can be a wonderful lifesaver, I feel a bit foggy when I use it. 

I learned something about myself: I am introverted to a fault. Introverted people respond more strongly to outside stimuli, such as other people’s noises, actions, etc. I used to scream at my mom whenever someone did something gross like, “Ew, that guy just spit!!” And she’d say “Well stop looking at him!” But it’s not that easy for me, like I said before - I’m too AWARE. I am far too aware of other people’s actions and they affect me more strongly than they should. So while you might not notice the person standing too close behind you in line, or the guy yakking away on his cell phone while paying the cashier, I’m over here like, “What the actual FUCK is wrong with people?!” Do not even get me started on the real issues that are happening in the world today - racism, homophobia and transphobia, police brutality, TRUMP. We will be here all. fucking. night. 

I’m starting to ramble now, so let me bring it back. As you can see, my depression/mood disorder didn’t get magically cured. Mental illness is a battle, one that you may have to fight for decades, maybe even for your entire life. But let me tell you why you should: the world needs people like us. Why? BECAUSE WE ARE WOKE AS FUCK. Let me show you a little quote that my fellow English teacher who left this world yesterday has as the cover photo on her Facebook page: “People with depression score higher on tests of realism. Intelligence is positively correlated with mental illness and suicide. What this indicates is that if the mind understands too much about reality, it wants to destroy itself. Human life is existential horror.” 

Yes, it’s a harsh quote to read. But with this realization, you are all the more equipped to help yourself survive. Let me tell you how I survive: 1. I know when things are taking a bad turn, and I know when to ask for help (aka, seeking medication, counseling, etc). 2. I have a list of things that make me happy, and when I’m sad, I do something from the list (if nothing makes you happy anymore, SEE #1!!!!). 3. When the pain of the world is too much for me, I retreat (I stop reading the news for a while and bury myself in a book or movie). Note: I am a white, cisgender, straight woman. I am aware that I have the privilege of turning my back on issues from time to time because many issues today do not directly affect me. I am LUCKY. Many people are not. This tactic does not help the world become a better place, but it helps me survive. 4. I recognize when I am in my own head too much, and I GET OUT Being in your own head too much can be a very dangerous thing. Racing thoughts can lead to depression and suicide, no question. Talking with someone else or going out and doing something with someone else will get you out of your own head. This can save your life. 5. I set goals and I accomplish them They don’t have to be huge. Maybe you have small goals on your list like - “Get out of bed and get dressed today” or “Talk with one person today.”  Maybe you have big ones like “Lose 25 pounds” or “Graduate college.” Maybe you’re like me and have a mixture of both. But I swear to you, accomplishing goals does WONDERS for your self esteem. And many of us with mental illness can use as many self esteem boosts as possible. 

I’m sorry this post was so long and I’m sorry that I don’t have all the answers. Most of all, I’m sorry if you’ve ever had to struggle with mental illness as I have. YOU. ARE. NOT. ALONE. And above all else, please, PLEASE remember: IT GETS BETTER. Maybe you’re in a bad situation and you feel that things won’t get better for you. To that I say this: it gets easier. You become stronger. You learn more about yourself - your limitations, your fears, your needs. You get better at taking care of yourself. You get better at surviving. You can do it. I swear to you, if I can, YOU can. 

[theliterateape]

Hope Idiotic | Part 36

By David Himmel

Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.

LOU PICKED MICHELLE UP FROM WORK ON HIS WAY BACK INTO THE CITY. It was Friday and they were going to try a few a of the neighborhood bars. When they arrived at the condo, they headed straight to the bedroom to change out of their work clothes. Lou could have worn hole-filled sweatpants to the shop; no one would have cared—it’s not like he met with clients on a regular basis. Most days he was the only one in the office with a handful of union workers out in the shop doing whatever union workers get paid to do when not on a job site. But wearing a nice pair of slacks and a tie made him feel a little more professional. His mother taught him long ago that what a person wears directly affects one’s attitude. It helped motivate him to look for other jobs if he was wearing a tie. It also made him feel like less of a degenerate drunk when he would have two scotches for lunch.

As he traded his button-down for a hooded sweatshirt, he told Michelle, “You know, I really missed Chuck today.”

She had stripped down to everything but her bra, pantyhose and panties. He used to love her in that outfit. “Oh, come on, Lou, it’s been two weeks. When are you going to get over it?”

The rage he felt surprised him. He didn’t think he had any left but, as it swelled from his gut, he began to sweat. His fists clenched. His face became red. A lump formed in his throat. It felt like he had swallowed a racquetball. He could barely get the words out.

“When will I get over what?” When will I get over my best friend dying? Is that what you’re wondering? Never. I’ll never get over it. As long as I’m stuck living, I’ll never get over it. I will always miss him.”

“Okay. Fine. Calm down.”

“No. Not ‘okay fine calm down.’ That’s not an okay thing to ask me. What’s wrong with you? What could possibly be wrong with your brain, with your heart, that would allow you to ask me a question like that? You have no empathy. No sympathy. No understanding of anything at all. Not outside of your own world, do you?”

“Sympathy? You want me to feel sorry for you? Or for Chuck? He was a drunk, Lou. He was a terrible friend.”

“You don’t know the first thing about any of it. You don’t know because you don’t know what it’s like to be a friend, much less a terrible one.”

“Excuse me?”

“Chuck wasn’t perfect. He was flawed in a million ways, and those were his undoing and, yeah, he put his friends in some shitty positions sometimes. But it was never out of selfish intentions. Never on purpose. And he felt remorse and always made it up to us somehow. He had empathy. He understood the plight of others. And he understood their joys, too. Chuck, even at his worst, was always there for me. Unlike you.”

“Oh, really? I haven’t been there for you these last three years as you’ve been unemployed and sad and drunk and miserable? You’ve been pulling me down all of this time, and all I’ve done is pull you back up.”

“You kept me alive just enough so that when this shit does pass and I’m back on my feet, you can take the credit. You’re a martyr. Thing is, when I do stand up on my own, you just knock me back down. It has to be you who pulls me up—and you alone. You’re a sadistic puppet master is what you are.”

“I’m this close to asking you to leave.” She held two fingers closely together and jutted her hand out so he could see the measurement.

“Fine.” He grabbed the hoodie off of the bed and threw it on. Then he grabbed his wallet and keys off of the nightstand. “Who needs this shit? I bust my ass and try to do the right thing, and all I get is dumped on. You give me shit about everything. Every job I’ve had you’ve dumped on. And you dump on me when I don’t have a job. I can’t win.”

“Just go.”

“Oh, I’m going alright!”

They made their way down the hallway toward the front door. Michelle managed to throw on T-shirt.

“I’m done,” she said.

“Done? You’re done? I’m done. I’ve been done. You broke my heart a long time ago.”

“What did you expect? You weren’t the man I thought you would be. You can’t give me what I want. I mean, Jesus Christ, Lou, you’ve been fired from every freelance job you’ve had.”

“You do understand what the nature of being freelance is, don’t you? It’s not being fired if the job is completed. Fuck, I swear, you are so out of touch with how the rest of the world actually works.”

“And what? I’m just supposed to wait around to start a family while you work at a sheet-metal factory? What about your writing?”

“First off, there’s nothing wrong with sheet-metal workers. It’s not the dream job I want, but don’t bag on it. And I am writing. I’m looking for work—like always. And I’ve got the show…”

“Oh, right! The show! All you care about is that stupid show that doesn’t pay you enough to live on. I don’t know about the world? Give me a break. Look who’s talking. I want to get married and have a family, and I can’t wait around forever. I want to have kids in two years.”

“Two years? Well then, now is the perfect time to break up. Better get started finding someone new—no time to waste. We all know how important getting married to the perfect guy is.”

“Just get out.”

“Gladly.”

They stood there a moment. Quiet. This was it. The moment they had dreaded. The absolute end. They looked into each other’s eyes, and all the events of the last decade replayed for them: their friendship, falling in love, the fun times and the bad, the hopes of the future and all of the shared blame. Michelle broke the silence.

“Getting over you will be the hardest thing I ever do.”

“Good. I hope you miss me.”

As Lou walked out of the door, Michelle said, “I loved you, you know.”

He stopped, but didn’t turn around and said, “You sure had a fucked-up way of showing it.”

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35

[allmymisters]

For the Love of China

I just woke up. That’s a lie. I woke up around 2 hours ago. I awoke from a dream I can’t remember and a peacefully sleeping Mister who does that snoring that sounds like he’s whispering “poo”. I used to do this thing in my head, when I was about to go to sleep. It was to calm me and clear my thoughts, but I would imagine this little Iggy like character in my head, climbing through my brain to the top of the stairs. He had a little room there and he would turn on the light and there would be a very large blackboard full of doodles and writing and he would literally erase my thoughts. When he cleared the board, he would turn the light off and I would go to sleep. When I was a child, I never sucked my thumb, nor did I sleep with my parents. Across the hall I slept in my crib and then that crib turned into a bed eventually, but I was not the type of child who was uncomfortable being alone and my parents were not the kind that would coddle me. When I was a kid, I’d play with my hangnails to get to sleep. Strange I know, but I’d start at a quick pace and as I would slow the pace down to go to sleep. Some people count sheep, I played with my hangnails.

I wasn’t a nervous child. I was shy, but not nervous. Anxiety was something that occurred the night before a trip or the night before the first day of school. I never was affected by it the way my friends say they are crippled by it. Something has happened to me recently and I don’t like it, actually I hate it. The older I’ve gotten the more stressful my life has become. Job stress, money stress, relationship stress, health stress…what was invisible before has now ravaged my nervous system like a freight train. Why has this happened? What did I do that my mind and my body have decided to betray how I compute.

When you scroll down Facebook posts you’ll notice a pattern with people. It goes from “My kid said/did this” to “I have an opinion about the current state of the world” to “My (insert family member) died” to “Look how much fun I’m having on said vacation”. We know every anniversary, birthday, death, birth, new job, new partner, etc etc. Look, I’ve read and listened to a lot of psychologists and experts talk about how social media affects us and I think it affects us in different ways. For me, it’s more of a strange place where you can’t disagree with anyone or I’m reading about some pretty personal stuff for the world to see or I’m realizing how sad I am that I don’t have a cute baby to show everyone or a cute dog for that matter. As of two days ago, it was acknowledging that the two guys I dated in high school were arrested for some pretty serious sexual misconducts.

I have emotional OCD. I can’t help it and noticed my mom is the same way. We lash out in two different ways. We get angry and tell the world to fuck off and then we cry in the shower at how hurt we are. My family was always big on the “suck it up and move on” or “don’t ever let anyone see you’re weak, be smarter”. I think I’ve lived a majority of my life like this. I care way too much about things. Being a natural empath can be rewarding, but can also turn on you in a most wretched way. I fixate on things bothering me. I will go through scenarios, the why, the what, the how. I will talk to that person in my head and say exactly what I want to to them and then see them as though I have no complaints. Please don’t misunderstand, I’m bold enough, I just don’t see what it would really do but become my problem.

I’m trying not to care. I’m actually trying not to notice what’s happening to me. My body is falling apart. I thought I’d be one of those cool ladies you see memes and documentaries about. The ones that are growing old gracefully with designer bifocals and purple hair. My mind has grown and continues to do so, but my body is being an asshole. When you start to see the transition it gets scary. The grey hairs, the aches and pains, the weight gain (for some), the lethargy and most of all the crushing anxiety. I’m having serious issues with anxiety recently and the only thing that has helped are my new acupuncture appointments. But as with all things I experience, I don’t want to have to be helped or ask for it for that matter. It’s challenging, but I’ve always seen myself as someone who can handle her shit. So, I thought.

“Iggy where are you!?”

My mind races in the middle of the night. I go to bed fine, but if I awaken, it’s a nightmare. I try to get Iggy to come out and he’s there but he either erases the board and it refills instantly, or he just stands there looking at it, as though he’s stuck in some video game prompting me for his next direction.

What do I have to work on tomorrow? Can I sell this woman’s house? Am I doing the right thing with my life? Why does he have to work tomorrow? Am I going to lose my hair? I need to go to the gym. What should I get my parents for Christmas? I’m so angry about my camera! Why haven’t I heard from her, do they just not like me anymore? I want to go somewhere. I miss my dad. I hope my dad is ok. I wish my brother would come visit me. I wish I could afford to go see them, i hope those fires aren’t too close to him. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh. Ok, relax, deep breaths. Why is my heart beating like this, am I dying…fuck…fuck…am i ever going to lose this weight. I need to just go to the gym. Oh my god, stop snoring! I need new glasses, shit I need to reschedule the dentist because I don’t have money right now, how am I going to pay for the window…..

And it goes on and on and on and on. From me thinking I have cancer to wondering when the next tragedy in my life will occur to am I going to have a job tomorrow. I get it, I’m not alone, there are other people who have this stuff going on, I just don’t like it. It’s physically tearing me apart. I’m about to turn 47 and I’m wondering where my womanhood has gone because let’s face it, I’m 22 forever. It’s disorienting and for me, very frightening. I don’t want to have a heart attack in my fifties you know?

I used to love being an empath, recently I hate it. There’s an emptiness I’ve been carrying around with me and what used to be a simple brush off the shoulder and has now become some colossal underlying stress ball of unimaginable proportions. My doctors have told me that they are quite surprised I’ve gone this long without completely losing it. When I look at them with “tha fuuuck?” look, they explain going through that much trauma in one sitting can put most people over the edge, but two therapy sessions in, after a suicide, an excruciating end to my marriage, the death of one of my best friends, the news that my ex boyfriend and friend had died while at mentioned best friend’s funeral, the loss of my close knit circle and the loss of my job due to all of the above was good enough for me. I moved forward. Moved forward in a very zig zaggy, drunken fashion making no stops for breath while being accused of being unforgiving, angry and abandoned. Yep, seems about right. It’s been nine years and I’m afraid it’s finally all caught up with me, like a tsunami from hell.

“Take a Xany”

I don’t do pills. I will fight to self heal before having to take something for it. No offense to you who have found resolve in it, I’m just not that person. I just wanna feel better! I want to sleep. I wanna enjoy my morning instead of walking straight to my computer. I want to figure out a workout routine. I want to tell people no. I want to not feel like my heart is in the Kentucky Derby. I want my body to slow down. I want time to slow down. Slow the fuck DOWN! Why am I so apt to be that overachiever? I think because for so long I’ve been overlooked in my duties, and now, I’m finally getting recognition and to be honest it feels fantastic. My therapy comes from helping others, that’s my selfish reason for doing the things I do. So, how do I make it stop? I don’t have an answer. Right now, being in a dark room for one hour every week with pins sticking in me seems to be the only thing that’s been working. It’s sad that, it is the only place, I can breathe and not think of all the things, even though the cost gives me its own anxiety.

It’s not greek to me

A few hours ago I couldn’t finish writing this piece. I wanted to write something because writing is my catharsis and to be honest, I was upset. It helps me work it out in my head. Instead, I started talking about it while my man comforted me and asked what he could do. I broke down. Blubbering like a fool, telling him how disappointed I am in my life right now, how I don’t know why I can motivate others and not myself and how alone I feel a lot of the times. I just want to shut it off sometimes. My brain that is, not my system. I don’t want to be fearful because that’s not who I am, yet I feel like I’m fearful everyday with everything I do and say. When did that happen?

I just want to sleep like the dead again so I can feel alive. Remember in our 20’s? Bed at dawn, sleep til work, repeat. I want to eat a piece of chocolate without feeling like I’ll need to buy new jeans next month. I want to tell people to eat a dick every time they tell me what I should feel and what I should say. I’m not feeling very punk rock these days and that’s what it comes down to. All these feelings I have about the world, the non-reciprocated relationships I have, the allowance of urgency everyone needs from me, and the disrespect I’ve received in certain situations are an implosion waiting to happen, all because the one emotion I owned, anger, has become some sort of disease. Are we no longer allowed to express our discontent for anything except what has been deemed acceptable and determined by some invisible sensitivity police? I think not. It’s not just about being consumed by anger, it’s more about being able to express and release. You know, throw some plates against the wall and then have a martini after. Maybe I’m reading into it too much, but for me, I think it is part of the reason why I feel so handicapped recently. I wanna mad. I want it to run through my veins and shout it out! It doesn’t make me crazy. It doesn’t make me unable to cope (fuck anyone who says I can’t cope with shit) and it surely doesn’t make me non-confrontational. I don’t like this new, “Don’t let them hear you” mentality. It’s my right to embrace my humanity and that includes being angry and having my own perspective. So, I’m getting my plates ready, because I’m tired, so very, very tired, and there’s nothing Greek about that.

[alllthingsme]

A note you'll probably never read.

I haven't posted on here in a while. Mainly because of so many changes happening with moving to nyc and starting grad school. But sometimes on nights like these, it feels nice to write out what I'm feeling. To certain people even. Knowing they will probably never read it but atleast knowing its out there should they one day stumble upon it...

It's been almost a year now since my ex left me. And it was a really rough breakup for me. Already dealing with and trying to find the best treatment for my anxiety and depression, I put a lot of strain on my ex that he didn't deserve. I'm not going to pretend he didn't have his faults in the relationship because he certainly did and I'm sure he would still agree to that. But even after the breakup I just fell apart. I lost control and had a total breakdown. I harassed him. Texted and called him incessantly because I was terrified of being abandoned.... Again. I know now had I just given him the time and respected the distance he needed, the outcome may have very well been different. But you know what they say. Hindsight is 20/20. And now there's nothing I can do to change the person I ruined. And though that person was myself I'm a lot of ways, the person I really destroyed was my ex. I, being the damaged and broken (still am, but you know shatter a plate a few times and you'll never put it all back together) person that I was (am) I brought down another human being. Someone I love and care immensely about. Someone who literally and I mean LITERALLY put their entire life on hold for me. And I am so ashamed of myself for everything that I did.

This past year I've been through a lot. And had to admit things and discover things about myself that I'm really not proud of. I fell into a major depressive episode. I had panic attacks daily. I wasn't eating. I didn't sleep for 8 nights straight. I missed several days of work.Had panic attacks at work and had to be relieved so that I could go home. I was literally on a very dangerous and terrifying path to a mental breakdown. One I ultimately ended up having the night I attempted to take my own life. Thankfully my roommate came home and found me, but I hardly remember that now. It took months to recover and I still haven't. (Clearly I'm writing in my blog at 3 in the morning almost a year after he dumped my sorry ass) I ended up seeing a counselor for a while before I moved and discovered a lot about my mental health. More precisely my diagnosis. I also had several visits to my primary care physician to trial and error about 6 different psychiatric drugs before finding the combination and cocktail if you will that has worked most effectively. (The one I'm on now... One mood stabilizer, one antidepressant, and one sedative later and here we are--- all better right?) that in itself was truly draining and exhausting. Switching and weaning off one med and on to another. Going from one side effect to others. I have never felt so emotionally drained as I did when I was trying to find the right medicine.

However, more importantly I began to really understand why I was feeling and acting and behaving the way that I was. I later came to find out that along with my anxiety and depression I have a borderline personality disorder. Which didn't surprise me because it's hereditary and my grandmother had it as well. Including the others. But with it I finally found the answer to the irrational and terrifying behaviors I hardly remember or have an recollection of doing. On the night I attempted suicide, I got off work and drove (hysterically crying and having a panic attack) to my exes house calling him on the way and begging him to talk to me and see me. And to this day I don't remember driving there or back. I don't remember getting home. I don't remember doing any of it. I remember parts of it as if I were watching someone else do it. But not as myself. I remember feeling like I was watching myself open the bottle of trazadone and throwing back a few thousand milligrams. I remember it as if I were watching a movie. a bystander screaming at me to stop. Like I had lost all control of my own body. I guess I heard myself screaming though because that's when I immediately stuck my finger down my throat to try and throw up every pill I had swallowed. I began to vomit and dropped the rest of the bottle in the toilet before passing out from hypervenalting in the bathroom floor.

To this day it remains one of the most hauntingly terrifying moments of my entire life and I don't even remember it as if it happened to me. I remember it as if I were watching it happen to someone else. Which I would later understand to be symptom of a dissociative personality disorder. Also a symptom of BPD which now all makes sense. Dissociation occurs when your mind separates itself from your physical being and detaches from reality. It's a coping mechanism used by people who undergo serious trauma in life. As a way to protect themselves by detaching from the moment and seeing the events unfold from a third person perspective so as to not be the direct victim. Given my childhood emotional, physical and sexual abuse... I guess that now all makes sense. It's something I later realized I experienced during my severe panic attacks. A loss of control. Impulsive and obsessive behavior free to inhabit my body while I was temporarily "out for lunch- be back when the trauma is over".

It's truly terrifying to experience and also quite shameful. It has caused a lot of havoc in my life and made me realize how much I am to blame for so many fights and arguments. And breakups. Abandonments. Which brings me to the real point of this post- acknowledging the role I played in tearing apart the relationship I lay here at 3:30 in the morning crying over despite the fact that it ended a year ago.

I was controlling. Manipulative and just all around a really shitty boyfriend. I have/had deep rooted insecurities that constantly made me feel as if I wasn't good enough or that I was going to be left or abandoned again (guess I was right). I constantly feared he would find someone better or realize that he already had it with his best friend and didn't need me anymore.

Because of that, I ruined everything. I ruined me. Us. And him... Him. I did that. This man put his life on hold for me. Put off his dream of moving to New York so that he could stay behind and be with me. Take care of me and start a relationship with me. He did all of that for me and I was too fucking blind to see it. Though I wanted to support and push him to move he wouldn't. He stayed for me and then when everything fell apart, I left. He slipped up and made stupid decisions to which he is now suffering from... He lost his security. His apartment in Manhattan. He lost his way and it was and is... All my fault. And I am so torn up about it because everyday I just want to drive down, throw his shit in the car and drive him up here where he belongs and I can't. There's nothing I can do now. He won't talk to me. He won't answer me. He wants absolutely nothing to do with me to the point that I can't even reach out to him without the fear of being charged with harassment. I failed him. And us and I dropped all the pieces of our relationship into his lap and expected him to fix it all without ever taking 2 seconds to think about him and what he needed.

He later confessed that he never felt like he could share anything with me because I always changed the subject to myself. I used to hate that he wouldn't open up to me because it made me feel like he didn't care enough to. I could feel him drifting apart in the final months. He got less intimate. He stopped caring as much. He wouldn't hold me in bed. He wouldn't kiss me as long or hug me as hard. I slowly felt him slipping through the cracks of my fingers like sand, without ever once trying to tighten my grip and take initiative to turn things around. Instead, I made them worse. And continued doing so after he left.

Now. I'm in grad school. I'm in way over my head with a double masters program at a prestigious world renowned university that I am terrified I'll fail out of. Living in a city I love without the one who made me fall in love with it. 500 miles away from a man I haven't seen in months but still find myself crying over at 3:30 in the morning on a Saturday night. And on top of that, he is stuck in the shit hole town I handcuffed him to and feeling like a complete failure because of my Bullshit.

I posted something a while back out of anger. That I never should have said. Let alone post. I called him out. On everything. The mistakes he'd made. The mistakes I had made but had blamed on him. I called him names I never meant. And worst of all. I called him a failure for not moving away and making it to the city. A dream he's had for years. A dream he put on hold, to be there and support me while I chased after mine. And I called him a failure for that.... Yeah. No wonder he doesn't want anything to do with me. I don't blame him. And while he didn't know it at the time, I posted it to my blog but not publicly. It was a private post I had written just to vent. Which was suppose to be the extent of it until I spiraled into a rage of anger and sadness that led to me sending him the post directly via email. I don't know why I did it. I don't know why I wanted to hurt him that way. Because he didn't and never deserved it.

He doesn't know it but every now and then I lose what little self control I've developed and scroll through his tumblr. Often times just to see how his mood is that day and if he seems to be okay. Because I worry about him so much. Even still today. Sometimes there will be a post with a hash tag or comment that I almost guarantee Is about me. Sometimes I wonder if he knows I do it and post certain things on purpose. Who knows?

I guess part of me secretly hopes he does the same. And that one day he'll stumble across this post and read it and see the apology I so badly want to give him in person. An apology for so many things that I'd never deserve forgiveness for but would love the opportunity to atleast tell him. For the way that I acted both during. And after our relationship. The way I handled it. The breakup. The way I failed to respect him afterwards and give him space and time. The way I didn't listen. The way I selfishly did what I wanted with out ever thinking about how it would affect him or what he specifically wanted. I've since tried to do those things. I've accepted and acknowledged the fact that I'll probably never hear or see from him again. And never get the chance to say I'm sorry the way he deserves. Not that any amount of apology can make up for the turmoil and emotional damage I have caused. And not that I even deserve the chance to apologize. But maybe one day? Right. Probably not but I can't help but hang on to a little part of me that hopes I'm wrong.

Tyler, If you ever read this I want you to know that I am sorry. Truly and gunienly sorry for everything. I had something extraordinary right in front of me and I took it for granted. I lost site of what I had and I let it get away from me. I was emotionally abusive and will never forgive myself for the pain that I caused. I want you to know that I blame myself every day for the fact that you aren't where you wanted to be In life right now. Had it not been for me, I know you'd be in New York right now. Probably with some man who would have made you twice as happy as I ever could have and chasing your dream and your career. I know it doesn't do any good to say these things now but I want you to know that I am sorry I derailed your train.

But I know you enough to know that despite your fears, your hesitations, you'll find a way. You will make it out of Radford. You will move To new York. You'll slowly but surely work your way towards every dream you've ever had. You'll meet some great guy along the way and he will be truly blessed to have you. I just hope he knows that and doesn't make the same mistakes that I did. I hope the road gets easier for you. I hope you start to realize the beauty and worth in yourself that so many other people do. Because you deserve it more than anyone. You are more than meets the surface and although our journey together didn't last, I'm so glad that I met you and that you took me on it. Meeting you was one of the best things to ever happen to me and is a big part of why I am where I am today. And I'll never be able to thank you or give that back to you like you deserve. But for now I'll continue to think of you every time I pass a "2 bros pizza". When I'm sitting at the bar and look out the window. I'll remember shivering in front of you when you took me outside and told me you loved me for the first time. When I go to boxers, I'll remember you taking me there. Everytime I past Amsterdam, I'll think of you. When I get off the Turnpike and see the toll lane for "ticket" customers, I'll remember how you accidentally drove into a booth that was closed and had no one to hand your ticket to. I'll remember all of those things as I live here to constantly remind myself that you are what drove me to chase my dreams here. And the Hopeless romantic in me will always hope that one day, after you've moved up here, we will run into each other on the subway or downtown somewhere and we can try to work through our past. The Hopeless Romantic in me hopes we can one day work through it all and rebuild a life together because nothing would make me happier than the chance to give you back what you deserve.

I know realistically that will probably never happen but for you it will with someone else and they will be truly blessed and lucky to have you. I hope you know that I never meant to hurt you. I know you don't want to hear from me so I'll continue to keep my distance but just know that even still today...

I love you.