#or if i’ve daydreamed myself into a state of nonexistence

[willowfey]

.

[egcdeath]

cabin fever

pairing: ransom x female!reader 

warnings: very cheesy and unrealistic. lots of fluff, your teeth might fall out. strangers to lovers

summary: when a nasty snow storm ruins your girls trip to a ski lodge, you have to... adapt to your interesting new roommate. 

word count: 2.7k

a/n: and there was only one bed…. oh my god there was only one bed…. 

Come on, they said. A girls trip would be fun, they said. You all needed a break from your routine and work, they said. Who doesn’t wanna kick off their New Year on vacation, they said. Of course, that was all before you arrived at a remote, overbooked resort in the middle of nowhere, hours after your friends’ flights had been cancelled due to an incoming horrendous snow storm.

Now, you stood near the counter in the lobby, biting back tears as you began to desperately rake your brain for solutions to the bizarre issue you were facing.

“God damnit, don’t you know who I am?” a deep voice at the desk thundered.

“Of course, Mr. Drysdale, but you know that we can’t just give this room up to you in conditions like this,” the poor hotel employee told him, trying to keep his composure. “We have way too many clients for you to get a room like this all by yourself!” After hearing this remark, this ‘Mr. Drysdale’ character, who didn’t seem much older than you were, grit his teeth, leaned his head back, and groaned exasperatedly.

You tried not to be too nosy, but it was nearly impossible not to look over at the dramatic scene that was playing out next to you. A grown man, throwing some sort of hissy fit about not getting a room. Luckily for you, he glanced in your direction at the perfect moment to make an uncomfortable eye contact, and suddenly, his annoyed look turned into a devilish smirk.

Oh no.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m not here all by myself. In fact, my girlfriend is right over there,” he tilted his head to gesture to you. Oh no. This was much worse than you anticipated. When you saw that smirk, you thought that maybe he’d hit on you, maybe even catch you at the bar and make some crude offer to you. You didn’t think he’d be using you in order to get a room.

“Oh, I-” you stuttered, not even knowing where to begin. What the hell was going on? You could barely process the last 5 hours of your life, let alone the scenario you’d just been tossed into.

“Alright, Mr. Drysdale. Sorry about the inconvenience.” The hotel employee didn’t even bother hiding his annoyance as he looked down and began to type on the computer. The man looked back over to you, gave you a little chuckle, then moved a bit closer to you so that he could wrap an arm around you.

You were honestly at a loss for words. What the fuck was happening? Maybe you were asleep. There was no way that this was all real. You were incapable of fighting this situation, or even arguing with this man. To be honest, he was pretty handsome. And it seemed like you two were getting one of the last rooms in the whole lodge, so at least you wouldn’t be sleeping on a couch in the lobby until the snow storms stopped.

“Alright, Hugh, Here’s your key. 2C.” The employee bit the inside of his cheek, enjoying the tiny win of calling the bothersome man a name he hated. Hugh? Really? You thought to yourself while rolling your suitcase away, and keeping up the act of being some stranger’s girlfriend until the pair of you reached the elevator.

As you two stood in silence, the weight of your actions began to sink in. What the hell did you just sign yourself up for? For all you know, this Hugh dude could be a murderer. Or a rapist. Or a crazy murderer rapist. You began to envision your name as the title of some True Crime podcast. ‘The Ski Lodge Slaughter of Y/N L/N.’ You began to feel yourself sweat under your winter coat.

“So, your name?” Hugh asked you casually, as if he hadn’t taken you more or less against your will. He basically kidnapped you. Oh god, ‘The Kidnapping and Killing of Y/N.’ Hugh looked down at you and quirked a brow. “My God, loosen up. You look like you’ve just seen a ghost!” He laughed. You debated whether or not to even tell this man your real name, but in a split irrational decision, you blurted it out.

“Y/N,” you said, then grimaced after. “Hey, don’t try anything funny on my guy,” you warned, trying to sound tough, but probably not sounding like it. “I have pepper spray on me, and I know your full name. No funny business, Hugh Drysdale.” You warned.

You watched as Hugh’s face went through a rollercoaster of emotions, but the general theme of which being amusement. You swore he stifled a laugh as the two of you exited the elevator and walked through the rather cozy halls. The pair of you stopped in front of a pine door labelled 2C.

“How about you call me Ransom,” he told you before opening the door to your home for at least the next week.

----

You spent the first few minutes in your suite looking around at all the luxuries it offered. It was essentially an apartment, and saying you were impressed was an understatement. The space was truly beautiful, with views like nothing you’d ever seen before. The master bedroom overlooked a mountain, the bathroom was massive and gorgeous, the balcony contained a hot tub, and the living room held a massive fireplace. There was only one problem.

There was just one bed.

Maybe you could sleep in the living room or something. It was definitely large enough. You were simmering deep in your thoughts while staring out the main window in the living room when you heard the words of your new roommate.

“It’s nice right?” He asked while coming to stand next to you.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“We used to come here every year, you know.”

“Oh really?” you replied, trying to sound intrigued in order to stay on his good side in the event that he actually was a murderer. “Like, you and your family? Or like, you and your friends..?”

“My family,” he looked away from the window and at you. “I can assure you, it’s always this nice.”

You looked up at him and tried to ignore the fact that you felt like you were a character in a Hallmark movie. “Why’d you stop?” you inquired, and he shrugged before turning away. You honestly felt kinda bad for the guy, even if he was just a random stranger. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I was supposed to be here with my friends. But their flights got cancelled because of some impending snow storm.”

You swore you heard a faint chuckle as Ransom began to walk into the bedroom. “That is pretty funny,” he confirmed before you heard the door close. Rude. You thought to yourself, before sitting down on the sofa in the middle of the room, and trying to find a show to hold you over.

----

The flight must’ve taken more out of you than you initially thought, because you woke up early in the morning with a blanket lazily draped over you, and a sharp pain in your back. You dug into your pocket and checked the time on your partially charged phone. Unsurprisingly, it was way-too-early-to-be-awake-o’clock. Damn jet lag. You tossed the blanket off yourself and figured that if you were awake, you may as well be eating something good. Shuffling into the kitchenette, you found a room service menu, and ordered enough for a small army. It wasn’t like you were paying for the food in the first place.

Sometime after your food arrived, Ransom walked into the room as well, and sat across from you at the table. “Morning babe, what’d you get us?” He asked playfully before popping a strip of bacon into his mouth.

You couldn’t help but to quirk your lips. You were kind of annoyed that he hadn’t even attempted to offer you the bedroom and left you to sleep on an uncomfortable couch, but his playful demeanor was infectious. “Basically everything, babe, hope you don’t mind the tab.” You gave him a little smirk as you lifted a mug of coffee to your lips.

“Not a problem, babe. How’d you know I’d wake up with an appetite this big?” He continued to banter with you.

“I just know my baby so well,” you giggled, then abruptly stopped when you noticed Ransom was not exactly laughing along with you. “Uhm, I’m gonna go take shower,” you said quickly before standing up, pushing your chair in, then escaping to the bathroom.

----

Your awkward interaction had been about a day ago, but luckily you hadn’t had any moments like that since. Some time in the afternoon, you sat back down on the sofa and cuddled into your own little corner. A bit later, Ransom joined you on the opposite end of the couch, and the two of you sat in a comfortable silence while watching reruns of classic Christmas movies ever since.

You were honestly shocked at how fast you and Ransom warmed up to each other, and how quickly you’d let down your (nearly nonexistent) guard. But to be fair, what girl had the willpower to resist the kinds of baby blues in his eyes? And his slightly overly confident, yet funny personality was quickly growing on you. Not to mention the way he was wearing the shit out of every sweater he put on. You couldn’t help but to daydream about the man while a pot in the kitchenette warmed up the milk for your hot chocolates.

“Hurry up, babe,” he whined from the sofa, to which you rolled your eyes. What a brat.

“On my way, dear,” you giggled, before finishing up the drinks and bringing him a mug. “You know, I really didn’t know what to expect when you basically kidnapped me,” you stated while sitting down.

“Haven’t you had fun? I mean, I know we can’t really go out in this kind of weather, but I like to think of myself as a fun guy.” he took a sip of the drink, then reeled at the heat’s assault on his tongue.

“I mean, I never really saw myself having as much fun with a stranger as I did when we played Uno last night,” you gave Ransom a shy smile.

“That was pretty great,” he nodded in agreement, and returned your smile with a lopsided grin.

“You know, I really expected you to be a dick. I’ve never seen someone make as big of a scene as you did in the lobby those days ago,” you snickered, then let your laugh die away when you saw Ransom press his lips together, furrow his brows, and stand. “What?” you asked with concern laced in your voice.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said dryly before walking off to the bedroom. This man and his Goddamn mood swings. You set down your mug, and cuddled into the quilt covering your body before attempting to go to sleep.

--

You awoke to a loud thud, and the sensation of goosebumps prickling all over your skin as a visceral reaction to the frigid cold that had suddenly taken over the suite.

“What the fuck,” you’d heard a groggy voice say from the bedroom. Ransom shuffled out of the room, and stood in the hall leading to the living room while pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Did you do this?” he slurred slightly, words heavy from sleep.

“No!” you pouted. “I just woke up in the same freezer as you!” You sat up, and stretched your arms while you tried to think of a reason why it was suddenly so cold in your suite. Maybe the employees were playing a prank on their least favorite tenant. Maybe the furnace was broken. Either way, you were both cold as hell, and couldn’t find a solution. You only had so many blankets. Suddenly, something came to you.

“Go back to your room, asshole,” you said quietly before wiping the sleep out of your eyes. Ransom obliged, and you began your search for as many toasty clothing articles you could manage. Luckily, you were smart when packing, and made sure to bring plenty of cable knit sweaters with you. In your tired haze, you clumsily threw the articles of clothing on, then began your trek to the bedroom.

“What are you doing here?” Ransom asked while pulling on another sweater, seemingly having the same idea as you.

“Get in the bed,” you demanded, before flopping in the bed next to him and yawning. You nearly moaned at the comfort of a real bed, rather than a sofa, but filtered yourself. “Cuddle me. We’ll be like little penguins.” You whispered sleepily, already feeling more relaxed at the heat radiating off your bed partner.

There was not one word of complaint coming from Ransom as he threw a strong arm around you, then buried his nose in your hair. “‘Night, Y/N,” he told you, his voice trailing off.

Even in your sleepy haze, your heart rate quickened when you realized that the two of you fit together like puzzle pieces.

----

In the morning, you woke up to a soft, yet empty bed. The heat was now clearly back on, and the heat was definitely back on in your face when you began to recall last night’s events.

----

That day was more of the same for you, watching shitty Rom Coms, over-indulging on room service, playing endless rounds of chess, and even more card games. Neither of you addressed the furnace sized elephant in the room of your late-night cuddle session, and you honestly hoped to keep it that way.

Sometime between a game of Solitaire and Crazy, Stupid, Love, you fell fast asleep, and were surprised when you woke up without the crick in your back, and deeply inhaling the scent of pine.

After you’d drifted off, Ransom had decided to carry you into his bedroom. You just looked way too peaceful to have to spend another night in your sofa hole. He set you down on the bed, pulled the comforter over your body, then gave you a quick peck on your forehead.

“What the fuck,” He wondered quietly out loud to himself.

----

Cabin fever was beginning to eat at you and Ransom, and apparently, there was no better way to battle that than to drink excessively. It started when you added a bit of Bailey’s to your hot chocolates, and only escalated as you spent the night raiding the minibar.

After a few too many shots, you grabbed your phone and hit shuffle on a random playlist on your phone. “Come dance with me,” you giggled, pushing his hand away from a bottle of Grey Goose, and grabbing it instead. The pair of you stumbled over each others’ feet for a few minutes, before waltzing into the bedroom together and plopping clumsily onto the bed as a unit, with you straddling Ransom’s thin waist.

“I can’t believe I’m spending New Year’s Eve with you,” you leaned down and spoke into his face. “Imagine if I wasn’t so dumb, and I didn’t go along with your stupid plan to get this room,” your nose was basically pressed into Ransom’s at this point. You looked deep into his eyes, and he was quiet for a moment.

“Y/N, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life,” he commented out of the blue, reaching up to rub his thumb on your flushed cheek.

“Shut up,” you averted your gaze. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Yeah?” He asked raspily.

“Yeah,” you agreed, setting your hand on top of his hand that sat on your cheek.

The sound of fireworks being shot off in the distance briefly caught both of your attention, leading you to look out the window for a moment, before looking back at each other.

“Happy New Year, Y/N,” you were quickly pulled into a sweet, passionate kiss.

And honestly, you couldn’t think of a better way to start the year.

[marvelousecology]

Archaic Genomics

Every hair on my arms stands to attention whenever I hear the haunting downward hum. Hrrmmmmm. The bagpipes drone until portions of the fleet transition to bleating as the battle song, Scotland the Brave, surges through the open field. The resonance of its echoing sound leaves me awestruck with a powerful sense of connection to my ancestors. My mother always said, “We’re German, Irish, English, Scottish, French, and Dutch, in that order,” but her knowledge wore thin the further back she went, while I longed to visit the old country and experience the cultural roots my family has long forgotten since coming to America.

An unfortunate byproduct of being a late generation American is that my inheritance of these ethnic backgrounds, which links me to my ancestors, is practically nonexistent in my life; yet, an integral part of myself is knowing where my family came from because it affects my identity. I’m German, Irish, English, Scottish, French, and Dutch, in that order.

Nonetheless, there is no family heraldry hanging on our walls or a cherished crest passed down from generation to generation. No symbolic colors, animals, or objects showcasing the values or convictions our family once embodied. What’s our tartan colors? Is there a schnitzel recipe? Whatever Pagan, Celtic, or Germanic customs and traditions would have been celebrated were either Anglicized or Americanized. So, attending events or festivals that celebrate our national heritages is as close to experiencing the motherland as we will get and by venerating cultural practices like music, dance, sports, feasts, wearing the attire, and sharing the vernacular tales, imbues us with a sense of pride, belonging, and appreciation for our ancient kinfolk. Otherwise, the closest familial ties to my cultural heritage have been deduced to the commodified four-leaf clover, death by green, Saint Patrick’s Day or Mel Gibson’s Braveheart.

One afternoon, my mother’s oldest sister, Ruth Putrus, calls to tell us we’re one fifth Viking. The chronicle of her genetic story unfolded after submitting her saliva sample to 23&Me, which revealed a shared mutation that occurred 6,500 years ago from an offshoot of the previous gene that’s mostly found in Iceland. Enthralled by the news, I proudly add Viking to the mix.

Daydreams of Norsemen traveling from Scandinavia, dominating the Baltic coast and the Dnieper and Volga trading routes sail across my imagination. Hurling myself into Viking history as they colonized, pillaged, and traded during the Viking Age (800-1000 AD), spreading throughout various regions of Europe and settling in Iceland and Newfoundland. Imagining the dark black clouds of smoke from burning monasteries ransacked of its gold and goods as brutal bearded raiders took what they wanted, painting a medieval tale of Vikings sailing up and down rivers, always attacking England and Scotland, then seizing the women for wives.

These results wildly intrigued me, but it isn’t until much later when I take a DNA test of my own that I realize how complicated genomics can be. According to Ancestry, I’m 50 percent English, 37 percent Scottish, 5 percent Welsh, 4 percent Irish, 2 percent Swedish, and 2 percent German. The results conflicted with the phrase I’ve known my entire life; I’m German, Irish, English, Scottish, French, and Dutch, in that order. Not an inkling of Dutch or French and just a smidge of Irish and German? Sweden is home to Scandinavians who are descendants of Vikings, but only 2 percent? What happened to the one fifth?

Online, Ancestry’s website states that they test individual autosomal DNA because it reveals more information compared to Y-chromosomal DNA and mitochondrial DNA tests, but their ambiguous explanation is devoid of digestible information relating to how exactly it was determined or the science behind the reasoning.

A plant genomics laboratory researcher at Oregon State University, Amanda Roelant, comments on Ancestry’s statement. “Vaguely talking about a complicated process is necessary otherwise everyone would need to be a geneticist,” she says.

Geneticists specialize in the interdisciplinary field of biology called genomics, which studies different living organism’s genome. The genome is the entirety of genetic code stored within that organism and the genetic code is comprised of DNA—the blueprint of our lives—and it’s found within our cells and within our cells it’s found in the nuclei. Try to envision DNA as the sacred written text on the pages of archaic scriptures occupying the many shelves of a library hidden deep within the city. A geneticist reads this intricately coded text, a language foreign to most, and transcribes it for us to see; mostly revealing ancestry or underlying medical diseases.

Genetic information is inherited from our parents at the time of conception when the sperm and the embryo meet. Simply, half of mom’s DNA and half of dad’s DNA. Humans have a total of 46 chromosomes that breakdown into 23 pairs and 22 of those pairs are autosomes 22, while remaining are the sex chromosomes, XX or XY. Inheriting the Y-chromosomal DNA directly links men to a paternal lineage of ancestors descending from all fathers to sons. Meanwhile, the maternal line is found within the mitochondria; an organelle of the cell, like the nucleus, that stores DNA, which is directly passed from mother to child. Since, the mitochondria is the site for energy production and the mother creates a child inside her body, with her body, the mitochondrial DNA (mtDNA) is passed onto them by her.

23&Me provided Ruth with more resourceful information on her test results and the science behind the answers. Providing citations from archaeological studies laying down the foundation for genetic comparison using archaic DNA extracted from ancient skeletal remains, Ruth is positive we share a female Celtic-Viking ancestor.

One of the founding women of Iceland was most likely taken from Scotland by the Vikings. Was she a wife, slave, or servant? We may never know but there’s speculation because the first mtDNA references, to a maternal haplogroup called I2, has the highest concentration in Iceland. Vaguely speaking, haplogroups refer to a sustained change or mutation in the DNA that sticks with a certain population through a period of time. Detecting these changes or mutations can help group different organisms to different lineation’s.

“Grandma is the one with the I2 haplogroup and that would’ve went to all her female descendants, so your mom and I had it from her and we passed it onto our descendants, which means you have this haplogroup too,” she says.

Icelandic scientist from the University of Oxford, Agnar Helgason, specializing in genetic anthropology, and analyzing new mtDNA control-region sequences, published, “mtDNA and the Islands of the North Atlantic: Estimating the Proportions of Norse and Gaelic Ancestry,” that’s evaluating the matrilineal ancestry in Iceland. Roughly 37.5 percent is Scandinavian. “More recent analyses of mtDNA and Y-chromosome variation in the Icelanders suggests that a majority of the female settlers may have originated from the British Isles, whereas 80 percent of male settlers were Scandinavian.”

This haplogroup doesn’t necessarily represent Viking DNA since it’s very rare in Denmark and other parts of Scandinavia. “Some of our ladies got up there but not to a dominant extent unlike Iceland where there was an early presence,” says Ruth. The theory is that haplogroup I may have been carried to Iceland by the Vikings when they took British, Scottish, and Irish women from their homes in the 8th, 9th and 10th centuries, which changed to I2 and continued descending.

Ancestry provides me an ethnicity estimate without verifying its origins, whereas 23&Me correlates their findings with scholarly reviews and related studies. Although, I’m 2 percent Viking, arguably the 37 percent Scot is interrelated to the Celtic woman taken by the Vikings centuries ago. Culture is not inherent to genetics.

Geneticists are trying to crack a code and what that means for us. Everything we know about genetics is based on something a modern-day human theorized. “It doesn’t mean it’s the only truth,” Amanda says, “And as a scientist, I believe in a lot of it, but on a human level, there’s such limitations on what we know. So, it’s something to keep in mind when you’re taking it seriously.”

[livefromhouseatlantic]

Chain Breaking - The Story So Far

This one is a summary. Lists! Mostly because my little series has spiralled into a huge thing that I couldn't reasonably expect anyone, other than folks that truly care (or have a morbid curiosity I suppose) to keep reading.

So to sum up for myself and a psychiatrist:

I suffer from depression. I am functional through most of it in terms of continuing to go about day to day tasks (staying clean, going to work, etc). It ranges from moderate to severe.

In severe moments, I suffer from bouts of extreme melancholy and get "stuck" with a lot of unbidden mental images and thought patterns.

I am compelled to compile as much information about a given situation as I possibly can. This ranges from a mostly normal thing (I'm just curious about a subject) to sort of debilitating (I need to see everything there is to see and know everything there is to know about what a person I care about and am worried for is thinking about.) This can lead to me getting "stuck", where I upset myself with unbidden thoughts, illogical conclusions, worst case scenarios, etc.

In addition to information, I am constantly in a state of hyper vigilance in just about any given situation I could encounter in a day. I've never been able to totally turn that off. This hyper vigilance, I believe, leads to the compulsion I listed above. Or it feeds into it? I don't know. They are both present. Hyper vigilance for me has led to an extreme attention to detail at almost all times. It helps in some situations, but can also lead to me getting "stuck" or convincing myself people are not interested in talking to me due to my focusing too much on social cues or facial expressions that may not have been present.

I struggle with a constant feeling of feeling like I am merely playing a role in my own life. This leads me to feel as though I am never being genuine with anyone despite knowing that I am.

The feeling listed above, in addition to others, leaves me with a feeling of being "split" - I'm not suffering from hallucinations of any sort, but I have built mental constructs over the years ("the guy upstairs") that I am now unable to shake and cannot reason with using CBT or other techniques that I know.

I am extreme in adherence to my own moral code. Deviations or failure to adhere to my own standards is unacceptable to me. Doing so leaves me feeling very dejected and disappointed in myself.

I will opt for being angry instead of being sad in order to continue to have energy to function. This can lead to self destructive behaviors, such as burning myself out through exercise.

My adherence to my own moral code can and has coloured my perception of how others treat each other and how they treat me. "He recognized his own willingness to use the rigor of his moral judgments as justification for his rage". While I do not fly into a rage characterised by screaming, yelling, acts of violence, or other things of that nature, I am definitely far more upset than just bring a little annoyed. This has led to snap decisions (see above, regarding self destruction) and has also led to me cutting off relationships with people in the past. (I'm getting better at that one on my own.)

In nine out of ten situations, the rage I describe will turn inwards and I will begin to focus on my own imperfections and flaws that I feel make me entirely worthless or undesirable to anyone and everyone. I get stuck, to use my own term. Many of my self destructive patterns are not physical. I bear no scars from self harm. My self abuse has almost always taken the form of mental exercises.

With that said: I am currently experiencing some impulses that could be termed physically self destructive. I will work out at the gym until barely able to walk. Sessions can range from 2-3 hours. The objective is less about physical fitness than it is to burn out any negative emotions I may be experiencing. The desire to work myself to death has occurred.

I have a number of deep seated insecurities about my place in the world, possibly related to my feeling of merely playing a part in my own life (and a bit one, at that). I frequently feel as though I am almost nonexistent to people except in the moments where they interact with me in person. I can recall feelings of this nature going back almost twenty years.

These insecurities cause me to irrationally fear Erasure from people's lives, as I do not believe I am possible of being so meaningful to someone that they would keep me around for longer than they might need. Anyone and everyone in my life is subject to this fear. The more important the person is, the more I may fear it. This partly drives my desire to check in on people. It leads to me getting stuck on numerous occasions.

I am not actively seeking to end my life. However, the desire to do so can and does manifest in my worst moments of getting "stuck". I feel helpless, and oftentimes the thought will arise unbidden that I could simply end my life and thus end the "stuck" feeling. This, combined with other unbidden, impulsive thoughts, furthers my feeling of being "split".

My feeling of nonexistence or unimportance can and does terrify me to the point of silence. I will dissemble, deflect, or simply opt not to talk about my mental or emotional state. Simply put, this is because I feel unworthy of the time of others and assume they feel the same on some level, and that therefore any additional burdens I place on them will upset them to the point of no longer wanting to associate with me. Writing these entries has been me testing myself and challenging myself to be more open by being as open as possible to anyone who is able to read these.

My feeling of being unimportant leads to me placing others first in any and every situation imaginable. While this is generally considered a good thing, if I'm being honest, I will do so to my own detriment as well. The idea of putting myself in harm's way does not actually bother me on any level if it could conceivably be of benefit to someone else.

I suffer migraines and insomnia when stressed. Currently, I am entering my second or third week of struggling with insomnia. I'll get between two to four hours of sleep at night at the most before waking up and being totally unable to get back to sleep. Sometimes I can grab a nap during the day. This is affecting my reasoning, my situational awareness, and my mood. I have been increasingly irritable and on edge and unable to deal with daily annoyances since I stopped sleeping.

I have an at times overpowering need for control over my environment. Noise and crowds are the fixation for my need. I've noticed that oftentimes if I'm in a bar or at work, the noise level usually isn't a problem for me. The crowds bother me in the sense that I'm unable to predict where people are going so they end up in my way or they bump into me. This is a minor annoyance, you might think. It can and does actively anger me, particularly lately. People getting in my way or just being in the way and loud noises make me unreasonably angry. I know I did just walk around someone. I do.

Related to noise, I can't handle arguments. If family members are arguing, or if I'm over at a house as a guest and there is an argument, I will leave the room. Not doing so makes me extremely anxious and/or angry. I just need it to stop.

With respect to noise, this is more a problem for me outside of work - at home, for instance or out at a friend's house. Noise that I'm not in control of us very debilitating for me. Loud children, pets, a radio or television that I might not be able to turn down due to circumstances, these all stress me out. I can't speak out understand people properly or even focus. I have taken to carrying ear phones with me to play my own music at a tolerable level in one ear at most times. I've actually found this helpful - despite it adding to the overall noise level, it's something I can control. I find this calming.

I often feel disposable in romantic and personal relationships. I feel as though I am only kept around for as long as I am useful to others and will be discarded, put aside, what have you, at the earliest convenience, or as soon as something more attractive/worthwhile comes along. I have referred to this in the past as feeling like "a way station in life" or "being placed back on the shelf".

Feeling disposable has left me with the belief that I will always be alone in life and that there is no one out there that is a suitable partner for me. In order to be suitable, after all, someone would have to find me worthwhile enough to love long term.

I have cultivated in myself a very high degree of self control. This helps to keep my worst desires and impulses in check. I have no fear of committing suicide or making a snap decision in a moment of anger or despair. I do not fly into rages wherein I punch things, or scream at people, or destroy property, for instance: and I very seldom even slam doors I do not believe myself to be capable of doing so. I simply will not allow it.

I have no real fear of death or physical harm. It is not a foreign concept or anything, I can conceive of it, it just does not bother me in any way. In the past, I have taken more care not to harm others than to avoid injury to myself. I was in a car accident a few years back - I lost control of the car. Instead of trying to get it into the road, I steered into a large snowbank more or less at speed, assuming that while I myself might be injured, it was not acceptable to take the arguably safer option for fear of harming another driver. There have been other moments in my life where I have very calmly and rationally placed myself into what I believed was a high degree of physical danger for the betterment of others. Instinct likely plays a role, but I have always been very conscious of the decision I am making.

I often daydream about being dead, or dying. I do not plan to do so, it just kind of enters my head. The fantasy (for lack of a better word) leaves me with a feeling of peace.

As mentioned above, these daydreams and countless others come unbidden, and I am rarely able to snap myself out of them. I have referred to these as "daymares".

These daymares, in addition to feelings of being disposable, undesirable, that I will never be enough for a partner, that I am undeserving of one, that I do not exist except in the moment, are thoughts that I am aware have no basis in logic. Knowing this does not help me. Instead, it exacerbates my feeling of being "split".

I'll add to this list as I think of things.

[studiobeebo]

Midterm Blues (College! Izuku Midoriya x Reader)

This is based off a thing from a college prompt list i found and then lost (pls if someone knows what im talking about send it to me). It’s fluffy and lame but hope you guys enjoy it!

This couldn’t be happening. The honestly, truly, could not be happening to him. Izuku had been working so damn hard on that gosh darn eight page research report in the past few hours, but in his physically and mentally drained stupor, he had ignored the little flashing notification letting him know his laptop was almost out of battery and before her knew it, his laptop had flickered off only to leave him staring at his own shocked face reflected in the now blank screen. For a second, he stared at his laptop that was resting atop his crossed legs in shock before letting out a loud yelp and pushing his laptop off of him and onto the library floor as gently as he could before scrambling to dig his charger out of his backpack. Unfortunately though, he was too late, and when his laptop had finally booted back up and he hastily re-opened the document page he was writing on, everything was gone.

So there he was, sitting on the floor of the main campus’s library with hot tears beginning to stream down his flushed cheeks while he frantically scrolled through his saved files to see if there was any remnants of all the work he had done, only to find nothing. His sniffles filled the secluded corner of the library he had settled into what felt like days ago, and while he had originally picked that spot because there was really never any other students around, this time he had been sadly mistaken.

You didn’t plan on going to the library that night, but when a friend of yours had texted you and asked you a question about your midterm paper for your English Composition class, you realized that it was, in fact, due tomorrow and you barely had a title page put together. Once you got to the library and got yourself settled though, you realized upon reading through the rubric for the paper that two of your references had to be from books, so you had to go off to search for some that would match your topic. It was during this search that you thought you heard someone crying and with your curiosity and will to procrastinate getting the best of you, you followed that noise until you found the source. A curly mop of green hair was what had first caught your attention and you had to let out an awkward “Oh..” upon realizing you recognized who that was. It wasn’t until the young man turned to look at whoever had stumbled upon him with puffy, red eyes still filled to the brim with tears, that you realized how stupid it was to be surprised that you found someone crying when that was sort of what you had been looking for.

“Oh, sorry..” You muttered out when you saw him anxiously begin to wipe away at the tears that were drenching his face. Poor thing..Obviously something bad had happened and here you were barging in on his..crying.

“You’re uh...Midoriya, right?” You asked softly, figuring the least you could do was try to help out somehow. Besides it would be kind of rude to just walk up, see someone you know crying, and the turn right back around and walk off.

“Ah sorry, maybe you don’t remember me? We had chem together last semester, and a few other classes too I think.” You continued on, scratching the back of your head awkwardly as your eyes looked upward while you tried to recount where you had known him from. You never really got the chance to talk to him much, but he always seemed like such a sweet and radiant person that you always wanted to try, you just never really got the chance.

He, on the other hand, didn’t need any help remembering you. With how much he had daydreamed about you before, you’d think that you were just some sort of figment of his imagination. Izuku technically couldn’t say he had a crush on you since he’d hardly ever even been able to stutter out a hello to you when you two had shared classes, but he definitely had something for you. He never even knew what it was, maybe it was just him thinking you were cute or maybe he had learned enough about you from awkwardly frequent glances and a lot of ‘accidental’ staring, but every time he saw you it was like you put some sort of spell on him. He wanted so badly to get to know you, hell, he’d give anything just to talk to you, but he could never bring himself to do so no matter how many times his friends encouraged him to.

That being said, the fact that the very first time he’d have the chance to talk to you was when he was crying his eyes out was pretty sad. He thought he had somewhat gotten better with holding in his emotions and not crying so much or being nervous all the time now that he was technically an adult, but of course you of all people had to find him during one of his weaker moments.

“N-No, I remember you..And yeah, that’s me..” He stuttered out, his voice wavering while he continued to rub at his eyes. God, couldn’t he get a break!? It was like the faucet in his eyes had gotten stuck at the worst of times and even the gift of your presence couldn’t fix it.

You didn’t find his current appearance as terrible as he did, though. Midterms could be hell and you had spent plenty of times yourself crying from stress or confusion over a project.

“So-Sorry, I’m...I lost a whole paper.” He whimpered out an explanation while jabbing a shaky thumb in the direction of his laptop.

Your features softened and you laughed softly, though it was at familiarity with the common situation and not at his crying.

“Ahh, man, that does suck! I’ve got something I’m working on too.” You spoke up with a bit more enthusiasm, trying your best to make the situation a bit more lighthearted. “Mind if I sit with you for a bit?” You continued on, taking a few steps closer to him. “Ah but if I’m being too pushy, just tell me to piss off.”

Izuku’s eyes widened at your last statement. You were actually asking if you could sit with him, he’d be absolutely insane to ask you to leave, even if it would save him from embarrassment. He shook his head and moved over a bit until his back was up against the wall so there was space for you to sit.

“You can sit! I mean, It’s not- you’re not being pushy.” He responded with a bit of hesitation in his voice.

The smile that lit up on your face was, however, was way more than enough to make his heart start racing and when you seated yourself down less than a foot away from him, he thought he might just start crying because of his unbelievable combination of bad and good luck.

For a moment, the two of you sat in a strange yet comfortable silence, Izuku doing everything he could to avert his eyes from your own and you just scanning the rows upon rows of books. You weren’t excellent at helping out people who were upset, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

“Sorry to hear about your paper Midoriya. When is it due?”

“..Tomorrow.” He sighed out, his little moment of bliss being interrupted by thoughts of his now nonexistent paper. His brain was absolutely fried and there was no way in hell he could redo the whole thing tonight. The best he could do would be to finish it over the weekend and take the bad grade…

“Why don’t you email your professor?” You asked, turning your head to look at him while you pulled your knees to your chest. When he finally looked up towards you with confusion in his eyes, you had to force yourself not to smile. He looked weirdly cute with tears in his eyes, maybe it’s because it made him seem so innocent, but either way you’d sound totally weird if you said that so you decided to keep it to yourself before furthering your explanation.

“Well I mean, from what I remember you’re a pretty hardworking guy. I’m sure your professor knows this, so maybe if you send an email explaining what happened, they’ll give you some extra time!”

In his exasperated and panicky state, he hadn’t even thought of doing that. He never thought of himself as a ‘hardworking guy’, but he still had a lot of doubts about different aspects of his personality so maybe that’s why.

“That’s a..good idea. I’ll have to do that.” He nodded, and for the first time since he lost his work, he cracked a bit of a smile. This made your own lips turn up into a satisfied grin. You had sort of been afraid you wouldn’t be able to do much to help him, but at least you had one good suggestion! Popping up from your seat, you stretched your arms up above your head before turning back to look at him again.

“Tell ya what, why don’t you do that and I’ll go get all my stuff and I’ll come work by you! Well, If you’re okay for staying a bit, I guess you probably want to go get some decent sleep..” You said, your words beginning with an excited tone and ending with a doubtful one. The guy was still crying a bit and you were asking him to sit and watch you work on your project. To him though, that was an incredible request. He thought you asking to sit with him was a miracle, but you asking him to sit with you? It was a dream come true.

“That would be nice! And I’d probably just worry myself too much to get any sleep right now anyways.” He replied, the smile on his face widening as his crying slowly halted to a stop.

Upon hearing his agreement, you gave him a thumbs up before turning on your heel and heading back over to the desk where you had left your bag and laptop. Instead of going right back to him though, you made a quick trip to the front lobby of the library to grab two sodas for the two of you to drink from one of the vending machines. When you finally made it back to him, you were happy to see that he had the remnants of a smile on his face despite his red eyes and cheeks. He had turned out to be as kind as you always thought him to be and you could only hope that he was as interested in gaining a new friend as you were.

Plopping down a few feet in front of him so you could talk face to face, you placed the soda you had gotten him on the floor in front of him before beginning to set up all your things.

“Figured you could use a pick-me-up. And no, you aren’t going to pay me back for it.”

The look on his face said that you had just stollen the words right from his thoughts and he was glad that he had only just stopped crying, otherwise he wouldn’t have much of an explanation for how hot his cheeks had gotten. Part of him wished he hadn’t waited so long to talk to you, even though technically you were the one who started the conversation, but at the same time he was happy that the two of you could officially meet in such a way.

With a flick of your fingers, you popped open the cap to your own drink before moving on to pop his open for him. After a moment, you held the drink up in front of you before your eyes met his own and you were blessed with that sparkling smile of his that you happily returned.

“Cheers to getting through our papers...And to new friends?” You asked, your brow raising to signify that you weren’t sure if that last bit was weird or okay to ask.

Luckily for you, he had never been happier to hear those words. With a grin still on his face, he raised his drink up with one hand and gave a confident thumbs up with the other, the positive idea of being friends with you making his night look a bit more promising.

“Yeah, to getting through papers, and making new friends!”

[what-even-is-thiss]

Fic, A Creative Problem

I’m combining several prompts I got into one fic. Princey going missing, nightmares, and Prince getting injured. And some things I just really like writing about. Angst ahead.

Warnings: Body horror, injury, nightmares. As usual let me know if more warnings are needed. 1,825 words.

Abstract: A darker vision of what Prince Roman’s problems might look like.

Thomas is sitting on the edge of something.

Something.

Now he’s falling. Now he’s not. Now he’s falling again. Now he’s standing.

It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream.

But it’s still frightening. Nothing is happening. And then something is happening. It’s a nightmare. It’s confusing. That’s what nightmares are.

Something’s coming.

Roman woke up with a jolt as soon as the REM cycle ended. If Logan were here he would probably be saying something about how they didn’t need to breathe and so there was no reason for Roman to be doing it so fast and hard.

He put his hand over his nonexistent heart and breathed. Calmed down. Slowed down. He has no place for this level of fear.

As usual, the others and Thomas wouldn’t remember that. Not since it ended during sleep.

His ears were pounding. They did that sometimes, even though there was technically nothing inside him. Meaning, no heart or circulatory system of any kind.

Roman stood up from where he was sleeping on the ground. His hair remained perfect and his outfit pressed. Doesn’t matter where he is. A prince must be proper.

Where was this now? A dark and spooky forest. How cliche. Yesterday it was a desert.

Well the ground is more stable here. Maybe if he...

He tried sinking out. Nothing. He tried jumping to break something. Still nothing. He tried stabbing a tree. He hadn’t expected that to do anything but it was good for getting the frustration out.

He yanked the samurai sword out of the tree trunk. Not broken. That’s good. He hasn’t been able to conjure anything new since this started. Roman started walking again.

Everything was eerily quiet. A faint buzzing could be heard. That would be the brain cleaning itself out. It was strangely like a cross between an ocean rush and a machine.

Strange. This entire thing was strange. The imaginary friends have disappeared. Thomas hasn’t been talking to them. He hasn’t been thinking of a lot of new things either.

A twig snapped.

Thomas continued to scroll through twitter, not really thinking. That post would make a good short video, but that would be stealing.

“That would be stealing, Logan!” Patton insisted. “Stealing ideas is wrong.”

“Okay, then what do you suggest that we do?” Logic asked. “Roman has been missing for two full days and Anxiety is beginning to speak up about the lack of content. Thomas has been solving small non obvious problems. Roman is obviously still connected but nothing is getting done. What should we do?”

“A... misleading compliment?” Morality suggested.

“Overdone” came a voice.

It was Virgil, who had appeared on the staircase and was now walking towards where the others and Thomas were sitting.

“We’re not on vine anymore. It’s too much like his old branding.” He said.

“But everyone loves misleading compliments.” Patton whined.

“Morality, can you even think of a misleading compliment at the moment?” Logan asked.

“Uh... no, actually.” Morality confessed.

“Roman is preoccupied.” Logan reminded him. “And stop making him scroll through twitter!”

He swatted Patton’s hand away and Thomas forced himself away from the internet and opened a word document.

“Video. Video...” he mumbled to himself.

Nothing came.

The prince was running now. He wasn’t thinking quite clearly enough to keep track of his appearance. Somewhere along the way a shifty looking branch had caught on his sash and torn it off. He couldn’t conjure up another one.

There was that sound again. That... scuttling. Walking. Truly, truly disturbing noise.

He stopped running. How long had Thomas been awake now? Four hours? Still time before he takes an afternoon nap. Still time to find a safe place.

The forest canopy was disturbing. Logan might know what type of trees these are. Or maybe they’re imaginary trees. They have black and dark brown bark. Their branches remind him of fingers. Or the forest from Snow White.

It’s the forest from Snow White, but more real.

He slowed down and hid behind a tree, careful not to breathe or let himself make any noises that resembled a heartbeat. Not to get caught up in any illusion of realism. Don’t need to breathe, don’t have a heart, don’t get caught by the...

No, don’t think about that. A prince shouldn’t be frightened.

Even if he wants help sometimes.

“I want a nap.” Patton whined.

“But we haven’t gotten anything done all day.” Virgil reminded him.

“Sleep can help with the creative process. Perhaps we could see if it brings Princey back.” Logic suggested.

“Fine. We are tired.” Anxiety admitted.

“No Thomas, don’t take a nap.” Roman said through gritted teeth.

The sound continued. It sounded like thousands of spiders, but Roman knew what it really was. It just sounded like spiders because that’s just how frightening it was.

“Apollo’s lyre. Why?” he asked. “Why me?”

He ran while he still could.

Thomas dreamed that his teeth were falling out and people kept throwing laptops at him.

The sky was black. And then black and orange.

A failure. Strange. Weird. Nobody likes you.

Roman didn’t care what Logic would think. He was going to hyperventilate if he wanted to. Anyone would if they woke up in a situation like this.

He was trapped inside a box too short to roll over in and too wide to be a coffin. It was smooth like glass but cold like concrete and restraining and dark like crying on the bathroom floor. And he couldn’t break out of it.

Roman pushed against the top with all his might. He tried to shimmy over to a corner but then the sides began closing in.

Not again. Don’t panic. This doesn’t have to happen again.

Roman could hear Thomas’ other thoughts fighting each other. It was impossible to tell for sure who was saying what, but could guess from context clues.

“Never going to think of anything original again.”

“Have deadlines,”

“An audience to keep watching”

“A business to run, have to contact your manager.”

“Nothing right now.”

“Can’t even think of a dad joke right now”

“But what would we put on snapchat?”

“Sounds like him”

They needed him. But he had let himself get caught again. By the creative block. By the words Virgil spun with what Logic called his “silver tongue” and sent to torment the ego.

Words Virgil had said to Thomas years ago that nobody else probably remembered echoed through Roman’s thoughts again and seemed to make the block he was stuck in even smaller.

“Are you really going to let your ego get that fragile?”

Fragile.

Fragile...

The familiar experience never became any less frightening. The unforgiving box closed in so tight that Roman couldn’t even move his arms or bend his knees. Burning hot tears.

Useless. If it’s not original it’s a copy. It’s not... good.

The box closed in even tighter. It began to push at his shoulders to the point where he couldn’t stand the pressure any longer. He stifled a cry as the first crack appeared at the top of where his spine would be.

“This is no good. This is no good. I am... I am having a rough day.” Thomas confessed.

“Yeah...” Patton admitted. “I haven’t been feeling that great, kiddo.”

“It’s Roman.” Virgil said.

“Yes, he’s been missing.” Logan said.

“And I’ve been...” Virgil began.

“If you keep talking bad about yourself...” Patton said.

“Pat, sometimes I cause actual problems. We all do. I’m working on not hating myself or the rest of you, but I think whatever damage is being done to Thomas’ ego right now is mostly my fault.” Anxiety said. “That’s the facts.”

“He’s not wrong.” Logic said.

“It’s my self esteem. And my creative block too, but mostly my self esteem, you guys.” Thomas said.

“Does this mean we have to go find him again?” Logan asked.

“I could go. This is my daydream after all.” Thomas said.

“Nah, it’s weird. Logan and I have to do it.” Anxiety grumbled.

“He’s always really hard to find and never tells us anything afterwards. He just goes on with his dramatics and complains about the state of his clothes.” Logan grumbled.

“Sounds like him.” Thomas said.

Every crack that appeared felt like a broken bone mixed with a stab from a knife. But much drier. There was no blood involved.

His nose broke off like he was a porcelain doll and a small child had just snapped it off. Cracks appeared around Prince Roman’s head, shoulders, and legs. With every new crack a fresh thought wormed away into his consciousness and mixed with the pain like a disturbing mind soup.

The lower part of his right arm broke off. Not the writing hand too.

“Not good enough”

Shut up. He’s the best. The very best.

He thought this to himself over and over. Thomas is great. Roman is the best part of the personality. His looks, his creativity, his singing voice, surely these were Thomas’ best qualities.

But what if they’re not?

Oh, shut up you telltale fart. Nobody cares what you think.

This thought made the block disappear. He was back in his room. He slowly sat up and felt parts of him chipping off. His arm was sitting next to him. He picked it up and looked inside. Then inside the part that was still attached to himself. Hollow, as expected.

He found his nose and held it on his face. The carpet seemed to be getting bits of royal fantasy stuck in it. Yes, it seemed one of his fingers had been ground into sand.

“Well that’s one of the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen.” came a familiar voice.

“Oh buzz off, Harley Sin, you know you’ve wished worse upon me.” Roman said, finally satisfied his nose had reattached itself.

Logan was there too. He picked up Roman’s right leg, which had apparently become detached without him noticing yet.

“Is this what happens when you go missing?” He asked.

“Usually. Now will you give that leg back? You’re breaking it more.”

“So I am.” said Logan, mildly disgusted as he put it back. “But we’ve been looking for hours. Where were you?”

“I’ve got an idea.” Roman said. “For a misleading compliment. I’m sure Patton will love it.”

Anxiety grabbed Roman’s arm from him.

“Stop changing the subject.” He insisted.

“Thomas has a fragile ego at times. What are you going to do about it?” Roman said. “I’d personally rather you did nothing. Now will you kindly leave so I can put myself back together and get the bits of finger out of the carpet? Hmmm? You know I can’t stand messes.”

The two reluctantly left. By that night it was as if none of it had ever happened. The misleading compliment was posted to social media, friends came over to hang out. Patton tried to baby Roman but was too late.

Some self confidence was back.

[lysitheaioandeuropa]

ALL THE MYTHOLOGY ASK BINCH

i can’t believe this is from a month ago lol

Anubis: How do you feel about death?- I’m not quite sure you know. i don’t think anything happens after, which makes being suicidal all the time a little easier. i just feel like everything stops. like you literally just go to sleep forever, at least one would hope. losing people though it really fucking sucks and is rly hard trauma to come to terms w.

Atum: What are your greatest imperfections?- I’m a fat obese binch w no fucking self control, next

Bastet: Do you have any cats?- no bc I’m deathly allergic, but i wish i could

Hathor: What brings you joy?- lmao at my old answer for this. sandy, I love her so so so much. she licked my tears away today which I know may seem gross but was p therapeutic and it helped and then i napped. i need to finish her emotional support registration bc i can’t imagine my life without her now

Horus: What is one thing you’ve had to fight for in your life?- every single fucking thing. i had to fight to go to college, fight to move out, fight to be treated like an equal to my peers, fight for simple material shit like a car and comfortable enough place. fight and work for love so so so hard. i wish i had just ONE (1)! thing come easy to me. i was kinda bright growing up but that’s about it?

Osiris: Do you believe in the underworld?- i do ship hades and persephone all the fucking way, have that pomegranate and get ya mans girl rule that underworld and be the best mom cerberus will ever know

Ra: Do you have any major responsibilities or importance?- just to pay my bills on time and not die or starve. show up to work every day, and take rly rly rly rly good care of my dog, i spoil her i know i do and i know it’s bad but i need it and you can tell she didn’t come from a god home before so she deserves it

Thoth: Do you like to read/write?- i love it, i really genuinely do. i just don’t have that kind of energy anymore THOUGH the few times i do it’s so fuckin therapeutic and i feel brand new

Arawn: What is the most terrifying thing you’ve ever done?- i guess pick up and move across the state on my own, TWICE. falling in love w my gf is a close second, as is my relationship before that bc i was fucking terrified both times. first was fear of the unknown and fear of something so new, and now was.. fear of the same, as well as.. fear of being uncomfortable, fear of starting over.. and not just my love life but every other aspect of my life as well. it felt like i picked up and threw out the whole (previous) relationship. not in an “idc” sense, but i couldn’t bear to be in same apt, the same job, the same spaces whatsoever. it was terrifying to keep living afterward. everything else ive done has just been shit i thought i had to do to get by. not confront abusers, work hard for literally ANYTHING i wanted, etc. sidenote, i also went through a rly bad reckless behavior bpd phase and some of the things i did were very unlike me and  slightly terrifying in retrospect. i feel like it was me trying to take control of something, ANYTHING, but still didn’t work.

Bran: How is your health?- physically, shit; mentally, shit. lmao. i can confidently say i am working on both though

Brighid: Tell us about your relationship with your father.- it has had its fair share of ups and downs. my father raised me as a single dad and he was great at it. i had birthday parties, i had the books, shoes, toys i wanted - even if it meant waiting a little more than everyone else bc my dad worked hard and only made so much for us both. my dad having to do all that came totally left field for him i imagine and he fucking rose to the occasion. somewhere down the line he did begin to resent my mother and i when she wandered back around, and i know he didn’t like that i chose her every time even though she paid me no mind and he was a doting parent. i went a couple years without talking to either of my parents, but we’re all actually pretty good now. my mom has made up for a lot and she’s not perfect bt she’s still trying and i can say the same for my dad as well

Cernunnos: What is your favorite animal?- pandas, otters, and puppies are god tier. koalas, giraffes, hedgehogs (no sonic), and chinchillas are also up there

Danu: What is your relationship with your mother?- i guess you can read above.. but basically it was shit before and now we get along but I don’t tell her anything you know. she still thinks I’m straight, a virgin, and have never had one (1) alcohol, deadass.  however, she’s still comforting? I wanted her to stay longer this weekend, I felt she’d help me hold it together even if I couldn’t tell her what was wrong

Morrigan: What do you think happens when we die?- first question. but basically you slip into a comfortable coma

Olwen: What is your favorite flower?- sunflowers

Rhiannon: Have you ever been betrayed?- I have felt betrayed before, yes. sidenote i hate that this is Rhiannon. 

Bragi: What kind of music do you listen to?- just about everything but fuck country music. maroon 5’s new album is rly good

Freya: Have you ever been in love?- yes i have and this shit has hurt every single fucking time, lol. and it always feels like it can never hurt more, but each time has been infinitely worse than the previous for me

Freyr: Do you have any children?- my daughter, sandy

Hœnir: Are you a silent or talkative person?- silent. I hardly talk, I’m not rly verbal, though when I have to front like I am I’m pretty good at it. but if it were up to me I wouldn’t talk at all. though there times (especially when manic) that i can go on and on and on. that was rly easy w my bf before and helped as far as better developing how to express myself verbally/communicating in general 

Iounn: How old are you?- can we not talk about my age and the existential crisis I have every time I think of it, thanks

Loki: What is the best trick you’ve ever pulled on someone?- i don’t really pull tricks and shit like that

Odin: What is your family like?- nonexistent

Thor: Would you consider yourself pretty powerful?- i am A WEAK BINCH!!!!!

Tree: What have you done with your life? What are you going to do with it?- I haven’t done much of anything. I just want to make money, pay off debts, own some pets, live comfortably.. be skinny

Aphrodite: What do you think of yourself?- I don’t think much of myself which has been identified as such a grande problem by others & by those who actively validate that so…

Ares: Are you an easy person to anger?- I wouldn’t think that I am, but it doesn’t take much for me to split on someone

Athena: Would you consider yourself an artist?- not much of one anymore

Apollo: Do you play any instruments?- piano, bassoon, sax, bass clarinet, french horn/mellophone

Dionysus: Do you drink?- I like red wine & henny

Hades: Do you have a bad reputation?- i sure fucking do now bitch

Hekate: Have you ever tried to communicate with the dead?- caucasian activities bruh

Hermes: Have you ever stolen anything?- walmart self checkout more like optional check out you feel me

Poseidon: Are you a moody person?- hi, i have bpd. (no this isn’t me justifying any behavior or whatever, but it quite literally is the reason why I’m “”””””””moody”””””””)

Zeus: Are you a confident person?- fuck no, next. i mean okay, i can be, fake confident, and i used to really have an air of confidence about me befroe but no longer do and it saddens me. petition to bring back 2k14 claudia tbh

Jupiter: Would people say that you are intimidating or fairly approachable?- I believe I’m approachable but I’ve been told I have chronic RBF and am incredibly intimidating and completely UNapproachable. my kids didn’t seem to think that when I taught though so that was cool

Pluto: Where do you think we go when we die?- i hope the underworld

Apollo & Dianna: Do you prefer to be up during the day or at night?day, i def wish i can get more done bc night is sleep time

Mars: Have you ever gotten into a fight?- both verbal and physical altercations

Minerva: Do you generally give good advice?- “dump him sis”

Proserpine: Have you ever felt trapped?- yes, mostly by my mental illness(es)

Plutus: Do you have a job?- yes, thank god

Venus: Have you ever had your heart broken?- of course, it’s broken right the fuck now binch!

Vesta: Do you like being home or do you try to get out whenever you can?- I’m a fucking SLUT for being home bitch omg. but at the same time i like traveling and getting our but i def prefer lowkey things. bookstores, wine tasting, shit like that

Morpheus: Do you daydream often? Of what?- of a lot more like having a sense of stability and whatnot. being loved completely and wholeheartedly 500% mutual healthy devotion. i want someone to invest in me

[pickyperkypenguin]

of mushrooms and recklessness

I ate a mushroom today.

You see, I’m from a mycophilic kind of country, so it’s a pretty normal thing, ingrained deeply in our cuisine, especially when it’s season for them and I like mushrooms. They taste great and they make a very good ingredient.

We have lots of kinds of mushrooms here, and lots of names for them. I always feel so emptyhanded, when I have to reiterate to Latin, when there is no equivalent common name for a particular mushroom in English. Oh, those mycophobes (please, imagine this said with Bobby Farell’s voice, the same way he speaks at the end of ‘Rasputin’)

But, back to the mushrooms eating – they’re a food not worth sparing a thought when they’re champignons. Grown (hah, and I’m already missing a word covering ‘the place where champignons are grown by people in a controlled environment’, pieczarkarnia) on a mushroom farm, they are as safe as they’re bland. I can eat them and not even think of Caesar or shamans of Syberia.

But then I’m sometimes offered handpicked mushrooms, and I usually stop to think. Do I know if the person who picked them knew their skill? Do I trust them and my fate today? Do I trust fate at all, because even the most experienced (and another word missing, grzybiarz, plural: grzybiarze) people who pick mushrooms are sometimes wrong, and sometimes it’s just bad luck, or the mimicry and similitude especially intense that day? You never know. And so you sometimes trust, like me, or don’t trust at all, like my mother (funny thing that it’s the only thing we’re completely reversed in the putting trust matter).

Sometimes, though, it’s not really your friend or family who offer you this autumnal gift – sometimes it’s just you who saw giant caps of parasol mushroom (kania, a homophone of milvus milvus or milvus migrans, apparently called red kite and black kite. Funny it’s also a homophone in English too) in your favourite greengrocer, and, unfortunately, forgot to ask where did they come from.

Were they picked in the forest? Were they grown on a mushroom farm? Do you even grow a parasol mushroom on a farm?

A note on a margin – how nice that parasol mushroom does have a name here. Also, the answer to the question above is: no, there are only two kinds of farms, for champignons and pleurotus, or boczniak as we call it. Boczniaki are super tasty and I love them especially.

Yesterday I was so full of energy that I made a soup, a batch of ginger ale, and baked a pie – all in a span of one afternoon, right after coming from my internship hours full of sending emails, running to the post and doing an exhibition inventory in a dark basement, and after that eating some brief meal at home and grocery shopping. So, after that, things couldn’t go to waste, ‘cause some vegetables are just not made for laying around too long, also I would like to eat sometimes, so cooking it was. I was a bit tired after all that, and I didn’t really spare much thought on how I did not ask the lady at the greengrocer where the hell those mushrooms came from.

So, that day went around without me caring about a single mushroom (also because it came out I didn’t have yeast nor sourdough starter, so I had to cease my plans that involved making some savoury pastries with champignons, onion and meat inside them, on top of all the cooking I done that day). The next day, though, which is today, to be precise, my eyes spotted two big caps of parasol mushrooms that were laying on the kitchen counter since yesterday, and I was immediately enlightened with a vision of them fried like cutlets. It’s a traditional way of preparing kanie here. Well, here as regional here, I’m pretty sure Czechs and Slovaks would prepare them the same way.

I did as I thought, and I took a first couple of bites of my deliciously looking mushroom posing as a cutlet – and I felt it tasted bitter.

Now, after all that, I read somewhere that it can happen after frying, particularly if it was an older mushroom – but then I was aware of two things: that either I prepared it wrong (which isn’t exactly correct, but I was indeed not aware that the preparation can make it bitter and that the cap I tasted was probably older, so, this assumption is much more correct) and that the lore passed by XIX century polish villagers states that bitter mushrooms are poisonous.

Now hold on a second, while I will explain: there are two kinds of my reactions to basically everything, one when I have sufficient knowledge or information, and the one when I don’t. It was the second version this time, I have never handpicked a mushroom in my life except for some puffballs growing in my backyard when I was a kid. My practical knowledge of mushrooms is exceptionally scarce. I have no idea if I would be able to identify correctly a fungus in the wild, or in the less–wild of my kitchen. I had also been blissfully submerged in thoughts and daydreams when I was preparing my parasols for cooking and my observation  of their appearance was perfunctory at best.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a pretty good photographic memory, and I can usually recall a pretty detailed visual image of things I’ve seen, even if not focused on remembering them. But when you’re trying to identify anything by its looks, it’s pretty important to catch every detail. Especially when it’s so easy to mistake between species and end up eating the very wrong one.

Why had I panicked so fast? Well, as I said, I had no experience nor sufficient data to extrapolate and reach any valid conclusion on whether or not the thing I was eating was any good, and all I had in my head were scraps of oral tradition. And as reliable and rich with experience of generations as it is, it has its moments of rapid clashing with modern knowledge. And medicine.

Of course, I immediately googled what kania can visually resemble and what can it be mistaken with, and I was just about punched in the face, because it can be – by some – mistaken with not only amanita pantherina (panther cap), chlorophyllum rhacodes/macroleptiota rhacodes (shaggy parasol), but also lepiota especially helveola and chlorophyllum molybdites (green spored parasol), and if you’re unobservant enough, with amanita phalloides (death cap).

The only one among them that is mostly just diarrhoea inducing is the shaggy parasol, and even this one is not entirely safe. The rest...? Let’s say, there was a reason why a dish made of amanita caesarea with some addition of its less friendly cousins sneaked in was a good way for ancient Romans to, ahem, get rid of their chosen fellows that hindered their businesses. And why Henry Winter was so bent on having a mushroom stew for dinner with Bunny Corcoran.

Seriously, I went from happily chewing on a mushroom cutlet to panicking about possible poisoning in about three and a quarter seconds.

After I looked and compared carefully the mental image of not yet coated in egg and breadcrumbs cap of my supposed parasol mushroom with the ominous images from the Internet, I came to a conclusion, that it is, most likely, a goddamn honest and innocent kania.

But I was not about to eat any more of it. I was too scared, that perhaps I’m wrong. As much as I hate, literally hate, to throw out any food (again, a culture thing and an uprising thing, I guess. When I compare how much more some western nations are throwing out food, I feel like I’m getting hives, cold and a rash all at once just from looking at it. One does not throw out food, unless it’s spoiled. Then you can. And better don’t let it spoil, do something with it before. Sorry, rant over) I just had to throw out on a compost pile my perfectly fine two fried parasol mushrooms. I couldn’t let my father eat it, just in case, my mother wouldn’t anyway, so, safe from that angle, and I went through too much nerves over those stupid caps. At least they weren’t overly pricey.

I have also preventively made some steps to be sure I won’t get a poisoning from all this, and let me just say, it really wasn’t pleasant. I vomit very rarely, even after excessive drinking – there were literally three of those occasions in my life and I remember every single one in a painful detail – so it’s not the favourite way for my body of getting rid of toxins, and as it comes out, despite having an upchuck reflex, it is not so easy for me to provoke actual results. Also, I tend to feel like I already died after.

But I did what I had to, and went on with my day, promising myself to stick to black tea till tomorrow. Well, maybe I will eat something for supper, I’ll see.

Why am I even talking about this?

Well, except for the want of sharing a NEar dEAth EXPERIENcE!!!11! and talking about mushrooms, which I wanted to talk about for some time, it was one of the situations when I remembered again, that I kind of want to live.

Sometimes I’m in such a floaty thinking places, where all borders and world itself doesn’t even seem real, everything is fluid and kind of bad, and kind of boring, kind of not worth anything and especially not suffering, and I can’t really remember what I was even doing here, on this earth? Was I having fun? Was I enjoying something? Was I living, really? What were my interests? Did I had any goals? Was I just drifting through space? Am I an entity with a meaning or am I a speckle that nobody would notice, if not for obvious consequences of my existing?

I don’t think of suicide. Never did, never want to. I was just thinking of not existing, and not as a thing that I would want to actually happen to me. Those are very abstract thoughts for me, those of nonexistence, more of concepts, and they occur only when I’m not sure if I am, well, whatever I am, and when I’m letting my thoughts loose and free to roam. They’re more academical in nature.

What is more personal in them, is this – I never wanted to live a ‘meaningful’ life. I can fully accept, that life might not have have any meaning (or it can, I don’t particularly care). Or that it might be incomprehensible for me. Or that everybody makes the meaning of their life, and that meaning belongs to us, the entirety of us, our identities with all our bindings and horizons that allow us constructing our visions – and that this is the way we can give the meaning to our life.

All those concepts I find sound and valid. All possible, and more of them. I just don’t really have the universal or objective truth as a valid concept in my world view. So I don’t have to believe in any of them, and I don’t have to choose. They’re all tales we spin for ourselves, or that are spun for us. Co–spinning would be a more correct term for this, I think.

The older I’m getting, the more choices I’m having – or the more responsible for them I become – I’m starting to get, not intellectually, but in my heart, the fact, that I can literally do anything I want in and with my life. With some limitations and consequences, of course, but you get the gist.

I wasn’t so sure of that before. Theoretically, I knew, but having less responsibility for myself (It was a different kind of burden, when I was trying more to appeal or appease someone who held my responsibility for me than to actually bear that responsibility) I had less choices to make. That’s the correlation, that’s the thing I’m discovering now.

So, I felt like that, even before, that I wasn’t sure if I was living. I didn’t really had a lot of situations to feel it, living the privileged and, let’s not be afraid of that word, sheltered life I did, that was reinforced with my tendency to take as little risk as it is always possible. I just didn’t, and still I don’t, make rash choices. I think all things through and through. I plan, I analyse, I extrapolate. I beware all potential dangers, I hate surprises.

I’m not spontaneous. The last spontaneous thing I did was buying a bunch of radishes on sale, even though I didn’t plan to. What a wild life.

When I had my mandatory field practices back in the first and second year of my studies, I was putting myself in a different mode – open to everything, not planning much, simply because I wasn’t able to, mostly. It was not depending on me. It was all dictated by my surroundings, opportunities and situations. I had to deal with it, there was no other way around.

And I managed. Quite well, I’d say.

I remember one of those field practices: it was an abhorrently hot July, with weather enhanced additionally by the proximity of power station, notabene influencing the whole ecosystem it was built into. The asphalt was a pan, and I was walking on it, thinking if it was possible for the soles of my shoes to be melted by the contact with the almost liquid black.

I was marching on the side of the road to the next village – there were no other methods of transportation, unless one had a bike or a car. I had neither. I was in this out–of–touch state, when my mind bored to the bone with the long walk and uneventful landscape was doing whatever it wanted, and my emotional state back then was leaving much to desire, too. I was thinking of not existing again, of all its possible outcomes and consequences, in a remote, abstract way – when I suddenly noticed I was walking a viaduct without any sort of pavement, not really even a footpath. I think I missed the road sign of ‘no pedestrians allowed’, because I was so disengaged and distracted.

There were a lot of cars. Thankfully no police, though.

Then, after the string of quite fast moving cars came a string of about three or four trucks.

You don’t really think about how big a truck is in your daily life, or just how monstrous is the idea of a puny human piloting a beast made of metal and capable of killing you by accident.

I think life was on my side that day, and I was not even honked at, but I was awfully close to more–than–five ton trucks and the sheer wind, the movement of air induced by them that sort of, well, not pushed, but encouraged my body to get closer to the railing, was enough to make me vividly aware how fragile my life is, and how easily would it be not exist by pure chance.

In that same moment, I’ve had another thought.

I wanted to live, definitely. I wanted to keep my existence on this earth, as I was most certainly not done.

I didn’t really know what I wasn’t done with, or when I would supposed to be accomplished and if after that it would be acceptable to go – I just knew I needed more time to do stuff here.

Right now I’m on the path, hopefully, of figuring out what is that I actually want to do. Maybe it will somehow happen. I don’t know, I’m just so happy to know that I want to accomplish something. That I want to do something. I wasn’t really sure before, and I’m sometimes not sure now, but most of the time I feel like it would actually change me somehow – which is actually what this whole thing is about, a proof that I exist.

I hope, too, that I will find the will, the power, the willpower for it, for finding and pursuing and carrying on, and for the results – or a graceful acceptance of re-evaluation of my goals during the way, if I find it necessary.

I got yelled at by my friend at Monday, and I think he wanted to tell me about some of those things too. That it’s not about some kind of worthiness, that you can just do things. And that they have an outcome and an impact. That it can be felt.

Speaking of feeling, I felt very cared for, by the way, thanks to that yelling, because that’s how my friend shows he cares – if he finds a person worth being annoyed with, it is because he wants the person to not fucking suck and self-sabotage, as he sees their inherent value as much more. Aggressive caring sometimes really works on me, here mostly because his yelling was very constructive and I could draw useful conclusions from it.

So, concluding all that I said here: if my hitherto way of careful living did not bring me much, perhaps a change would be good, even though it won’t be easy at all, and pretty sure it’ll be painful in some ways, and that I will have to overcome a lot of my habits and maybe even things that lay deep in my personality. Basically, that some recklessness, spontaneity and adrenaline high tasks would be healthy for me, probably. Oh dear.

Maybe if I find the courage for the openness, for not being ashamed of who I am as a person, and instead I will hold my ground and make my own mistakes, decide on some things, I will feel better. This way, I will be able to own those things, and make myself –– an author.

[whining-ego]

Update: about schizophrenia

as i stated before, i believe i have schizophrenia

not a full-blown psychosis, just symptomatically. it will only get worse in future. but i guess the best tactic is to wait a few years until i actually develop disorder and let it take over my life, bc then it will be just in time to get treated

so where do we begin. ah yes longpost under cut

1. language problems.

to be clear, i’m using three languages in my daily life, so it is pretty common for me to make mistakes in vocabulary and grammar in all three of them. but but but. this one goes past just mixing up languages. i experience several symptoms that could be a part of thought disorder. note: currently i’m in my better state of mind, it goes better and worse from day to day, as well as i’m using laptop so it marks mistakes

symptoms: thought blocking, clanging, phonetic and semantic paraphasia, neologisms, preservation. i shall not explain each in here, maybe will one day provide example in english

another thing is that it’s hard to find words. imagine speaking in foreign language you’ve only started learning a week ago. that’s the struggle i have even in my native language.

due to this i started recently believe somebody is taking and putting thoughts and words in my head. i kid you not i feel like the head just goes on on its own. another reason is

2. loud thoughts and music.

imagine you had radio in your head. you’ve got no control over it. it switches to podcasts, then to music from ‘80, then some news, and so on. this is how i feel. though this is more of a new symptom, bc i can’t tell if i had it prior to attending specialists

it’s not too bad, i find it interesting to hear tunes i’ve forgotten or even hear my head generate new melodies just fluently. but it really tides my head, as well as i sometimes am too immersed into speech and music to perceive reality. fun fact: i hear it as inside-my-head only, so it is not hallucination. however my thoughts are getting increasingly loud, and i keep hearing loud narrations while reading and remembering stuff, like natural voices with full personality and intonation

one thing i actually physically hear is ringing in my ears. sometimes it’s louder and sometimes it’s only dominant in one ear. but like i’ve definitely had this since last summer. the ringing is loud and troubles me when falling asleep. however i’m not sure about this one because i remember having noise in ears from early childhood, so not sure about it.

more reasons to feel used by some other force:

3. erratic thoughts behavior

i’ve always been the weird kid. i guess it happened due to being abused and therefore not socially educated enough, but there are some patterns i started to notice in the last half a year

i do shit that i have to motivation to. like poking people around me. sounds dumb but it’s as basic as it gets. it scares people even. but i just do it? literally no underlying meaning. the other day i felt like my body is nonexistent. that’s why guess what? let’s bite your hand. i still have deep marks. all of this goes on, like cutting pieces of skin with scissors just for the sake of it. not self-harming. doing it because that’s what’s in my head. i guess i have an explanation now

as from previous posts, i have maladaptive daydreaming. well actually i’ve been doing it less recently, not so maladaptive huh. but one thing i did was talk to myself and portray characters’ emotions. another thing similar to this was talking to invisible audience. giving my opinions, describing daily life. guess those are the ones that learned a lot about me and now have got their way into my head. not that i mind a lot tho

so now i have a brilliant idea of trying to overdose on quetiapine once i get a hand on it. i feel no underlying reason as to why. i don’t wanna get admitted to hospital. i don’t wanna make my parents sad. i don’t wanna get attention. i don’t wanna die. i just have this recurring idea. same thought fixation happens on daily basis too, like just getting stuck with word ‘alleviate’ in head and repeating it to myself just because

and with this i think i conclude major symptoms. others are categorized into these three i guess. but now after writing it down i feel like i exaggerate and just want attention. which of course i do but shit happening above is actually happening

at the moment i have some paranoid beliefs as well, that’s why i started cleaning and sorting everything and everything. i plan on completely leaving my friends, because they know me and i’m afraid they can find me. i’m cleaning all social and not-so media, though leaving the accounts be because they contain valuable information i cannot export. hoarding tendencies have been relieved, just as i said it february - i will drop my obsessions. perhaps i will drop the schizophrenia one too. as to why i’m writing this on tumblr if i feel paranoidal - well i write this stuff specifically for attention, so i try to not leak any information that i do not want to be on the web. thought now i think i’ve exposed too much of my contacts. oh fuck-

tryna end this school year like a decent human being. that’s why i’m writing this post instead of assignment that is due tomorrow oopsie

stay healthy and get help

also worth mentioning i never told about any of these to psychiatrist bc i went there with my stepmom and i don’t want her to worry or expose me as i liar

also worth mentioning 2 i didn’t mention any of the negative symptoms because most are described in the previous post

[96thdayofrage]

When the temp agency called to tell me that there was a full-time custodial position open over at a 24-hour facility in San Marcos, Texas, I was both relieved and, to be honest, a little bit indignant. I was going to be able to eat this week, but after having spent the past 14 years of my life getting a bachelor’s degree in English, getting a master’s degree in creative writing, and starting my own entertainment company, I was going to be a janitor.

Amazon workers call the taped-off walking paths that wrap around the building “the Green Mile.” I thought it was a joke at first.

I must have missed the memo: A 2014 study from the Center for Economic and Policy Research revealed that an incredible 55.9 percent of black recent college graduates were “underemployed” and working in a position that didn’t require a four-year college degree. Hence my new position pushing Gaylord boxes back-and-forth in an Amazon warehouse for $10 an hour, 10 hours a day, three days a week. But thanks to this job, I was going to be able to cover my portion of the rent and buy four whole rolls of toilet tissue.

The reality is that in April of this year, I was so far behind on rent that I had to host a 12-hour poetry reading to raise money on GoFundMe. I was embarrassed. After I’d eagerly shared posts on social media about the work I’d been doing with my business, I was now admitting publicly that if I couldn’t raise the money, I would be homeless.

I had pushed for a college education, believing that with it came job security and the freedom to pursue my writing without the burden of poverty. Without familial wealth or a serendipitous set of circumstances, I would need at least a degree to be competitive if I wanted to move up and over the poverty line. But here I was teetering on it.

Amazon workers call the taped-off and safe walking paths that wrap around the building “the Green Mile.” I thought it was a joke at first, comparing the facility to a prison like the one in the movie made famous by Tom Hanks and Michael Clarke Duncan. But I had to admit that the joke was in some ways disturbingly close to the truth about the working conditions I found there. The space, which stretches out across several football fields and up four flights of stairs, does give the illusion of forced servitude. Hundreds of women and men work the line, stowing or picking products and flirting through the metal windows of their stations, checking out all the new hires and the staff personnel who strut back-and-forth, running the floor.

My roommate was hired as a “picker,” someone who pulls items purchased on Amazon.com and dumps them in a container for packaging. He also has a master’s degree in creative writing but was unable to find a job in his field after graduation. Always the funny guy, he lives for memes and regularly refers to me by my pet name, Rent. When I told him I’d be working in the warehouse with the cleanup crew, he told me that I’d work with the people who are commonly referred to as the laziest and most unnecessary in the building. “You guys just don’t do anything,” he cracked.

I picked up discarded plastic wraps, pulled Gaylords from one side of the floor to the other, emptied the 6-foot-tall boxes, and cleaned out the yellow bins the packers used ceaselessly. We cleaned toilets, wiped down rails, swept, and moved anything that would slow down the employees with “real jobs” out of the way. Every day I had the same thought: I have no idea how I got here.

I grew up in a military family, moving from state to state until my parents divorced and my mom moved us kids to Austin, Texas. I spent my high school years in at-risk programs for low-income families, living in Section 8 housing and waiting on our monthly food-stamps deposit. I promised my family, my teachers, and myself that I would find a way to be more than just another black statistic, and that an education was going to help me do that.

I had pushed for a college education, believing that with it came job security and the freedom to pursue my writing without the burden of poverty.

Today, black women are among the most-educated groups in the country. We’re the only demographic of women who own more businesses than our male peers. But of course that does not always mean we are more successful. A 2016 survey from Consumer Financesshows that degrees for black women are not translating into wealth within our communities. Too many factors outside of higher education are leaving black women jobless and in debt. Upward mobility, a common desire among millennials, is still often thwarted by discrimination in the labor market.

When I left my full-time sales job at a call center last year, several months before graduating from my master’s program, I felt invincible. I thought to myself, I’ll just finish up my master’s degree and start my own company doing what I love: writing and creating opportunities for other artists. I wanted to create a space where emerging visual and performing artists could receive professional development and education, network with local companies and potential clients, and expand their portfolios with themed exhibitions and performance opportunities.

I threw myself into a business plan, applied to art grants and startup-accelerator programs, and even joined an innovative female-owned co-working space, Splash Coworking. I created an artist-in-residence program, facilitating the artist-development initiative through a monthly event series I curated. Those first three months were a crash course in organization, self-care, branding, paperwork filing, and functioning on minimal sleep. I took all the knowledge I had gained throughout my college career and threw it into my business. But while the U.S. Census Bureau states that black-owned businesses like mine are on the rise—an estimated 34.5 percent increase from 2007–12—the rate of success overall for black-owned small businesses in their first two years is still debilitatingly low. It felt like I was losing before I even got started.

In October of 2017, the stress and calls from unpaid creditors forced me to finally give in and file for personal bankruptcy. By January, I had lost my car and cleared my nonacademic debts. I defended my thesis the same month and graduated—happy to have finally attained my life jacket of a degree.

I searched for teaching opportunities that would give me the income and flexibility needed to keep my business going. I applied for jobs in every market in my area. Teaching jobs, specifically for creative writing or English, were virtually nonexistent in my city, and the other positions required Ph.D.s and prior teaching experience. Awesome, I thought. Teaching was out of the question for now. I decided to look for acting jobs or writing jobs in the area. The closest one was in Austin, 30 miles away from me. Without a car, that didn’t seem possible.

“Oh! I see you have a degree!” the interviewer proclaimed.

“Yes, I do.” He nodded slowly.

“Oh. I see you have two degrees.” He peered up over his steamed-up glasses and briefly glanced down at my carefully constructed cleavage. I nodded. I knew that tone. I struggled to keep my face relaxed. It was important that this meeting went well. Rent. Phone. Electricity. Food.

“So, tell me why you want to be a team member here instead of writing or getting a job teaching?” I smiled. Of course I didn’t want to work at the local chicken shack. He knew that. How do I explain this?

The chairs are sticky, the air conditioner is always broken, and the same music plays 24/7 here, but at least there’s food and I don’t have to wait for a paycheck now. If the people I serve like me, they just drop a $5 bill on my table before they drive off to do whatever it is people who can afford restaurants like this do. Buy fancy teacups. I don’t know. If they don’t like me, they rip open their sugar packets and dump them on the table for me to wipe up once they’re gone. And I will wipe it up. Because I’m still hoping the next customer will like me just a little bit better and the rules say I can’t tell customers when they’re being rude.

It’s been three months since Amazon’s “need for temp employees changed,” and I’ve found a job working at a restaurant as a server for $2.13 an hour plus tips. I average anywhere from $250 to $375 a week. The uniform is stiff but the other employees at least try to keep the mood light with gossip about their children or new boyfriends.

Their conversations remind me that real people are working the jobs no one else wants to work. Real people with real bills and medical issues, real hopes and desires. I listen in and try not to think about my degree or my company too much. I’ve worked more doubles in the past few months than I ever have in my life and I’m starting to think I may have busted some important vein in my left foot hustling back-and-forth between the many, many tables of the main room. But despite everything, I’ve found that I actually like my new job. It’s simple and straightforward and I’m surrounded by windows that let me see the sun all I want.

After I got over the physical exhaustion from working at Amazon and got the hang of my new job, I started having more time to pick up my creative work again. The book of poetry I’ve been working on for over 10 years finally found a home with a publisher. I’ve started editing it in between guests and daydreaming about my next book, a memoir about giving my daughter up for adoption. I’ve even started reimagining how my small business could work in a different city when I move after my lease is up.

I’m humbled by the job. It reminds me that no one who has ever accomplished anything of significant value accomplished it easily. Some of my favorite artists were servers. If anything, I’m just following in their footsteps. They were construction workers and truck drivers; they worked at fast-food restaurants and were telemarketers. A few were even janitors. Maybe I’ve been looking at this all wrong. Maybe I’m just getting started.