#or just my quixotic desire to live in a fantasy world and not...here

[mothbiite]

Ya girl went to see Barbie and came out questioning gender 😎

[your-dietician]

Giving Birth During the Pandemic, Calif. Wildfire Evacuation

New Post has been published on https://depression-md.com/giving-birth-during-the-pandemic-calif-wildfire-evacuation/

Giving Birth During the Pandemic, Calif. Wildfire Evacuation

Illustration: by Lucy Jones

Smoke plumes over the parched hillside as we load up our two cars for our first wildfire evacuation: passports and a few bags, one neurotic pit bull and six very disgruntled barn cats. At the last minute, we toss in some baby essentials (car seat, co-sleeper) — but surely, surely we’ll be back home before we need them. Nearby, two wild turkeys peck at the new fire break, unperturbed by the human frenzy, the gathering of domestic animals, the churning of fields.

It’s August 2020. And I am 36 weeks pregnant.

A week earlier, we’d been counting our blessings — the sort of feel-good California nonsense that ran contrary to every fiber of my jaded New Yorker soul. But on that deceptively bright afternoon, I’d indulged. First on the list was our home: my husband’s family ranch in the Santa Cruz mountains where we’d moved from Brooklyn three years before.

Like so many “classic” journeys West, ours had begun in a quixotic vein. On paper, it was a job offer for my then-boyfriend, now-husband, but the impulse ran deeper than that. We were both fed up with New York for the reasons 30-something artists often are: a growing disillusionment with our respective industries; the churn of yuppification driving our friends from the neighborhoods they themselves had gentrified not long ago; the pervasive sense that there’s always someone younger than you dying to do the same thing for less. And so, we wanted to embark on a new adventure together, something utterly different — and what could be more different than trading cramped city living for bucolic rolling hills? The ranch itself held an almost mythic status for my husband. It was the childhood kingdom where he once visited his uncle and grandmother and played out his Tolkien fantasies; the steady rock of home after his parents got divorced.

But, it turns out, we’d come to California in the end times. The apocalypse grew starker the farther west we drove. When we passed through Montana, the big sky clogged with smoke as fields burned alongside the highway. As we wound down the Oregon coast, the heat sizzled. We reached the ranch on the hottest day in San Francisco history. We drove down to the beach to escape the heat—only to find a small brush fire blocking our path. The Bay Area of my husband’s childhood was in its death throes. Destroyed by tech bros and venture capitalists and, most irrevocably, by climate change. Since our arrival, the Golden State has seen its population decline for the first time on record.

Living out in all that damn nature — a 25-minute drive from just about anything — felt claustrophobic. I missed home. I yearned to hop on the subway. Trade gossip with the self-proclaimed mayor of my block. Stumble home and stop, shame-faced, at the corner bodega for a bag of expired Goldfish crackers. Engage with that pulsing, beating, bleating hum of humanity that is New York City.

But there’s nothing like a global pandemic to make you see the value of wide-open spaces. To find the beauty in sunburnt grasses. To see the hills dotted with live oaks not as yellow but as gold. To watch the fog unfurl like dragon smoke and think — this, perhaps this can be enough.

The second blessing we’d been fool enough to name was my “easy” pregnancy. I’d been 15 weeks pregnant when COVID-19 shut down the state. My in-person appointments migrated to video. I purchased a scale and a blood-pressure cuff; I dutifully reported the results every month. By and large, I felt pretty good. Healthy. But this fiction, too, was about to go up in flames. The temperatures soared, the barn cats’ fur crackled, my feet ballooned.

The morning of our evacuation, I have my first in-person OB/GYN appointment in months. By this point, I’m accustomed to the realities of a pandemic pregnancy. The strange disconnect when I talk to anyone who gave birth before COVID-19, who never worried if their partner would be allowed into the delivery room, or Googled “will the hospital separate me from my newborn if I test positive for COVID?” In the empty waiting room, the “don’t sit here” printouts have vanished along with the chairs that accompanied them. The pandemic has dragged on for five months, and the furniture has adjusted itself accordingly.

The doctor gives me bad news — the baby is in breech. The hard, round protrusion jutting beneath my rib cage is, indeed, the baby’s head, not his rump as I’ve been trying to convince myself for weeks. We schedule a version— a procedure where a doctor tries to turn the baby right-side down — for the following Friday.

Who was I to think that my body wouldn’t betray me?

There’s something else, too. My blood pressure clocks in at 151 over 97. The chatty nurse grows quiet. She looks at me, then back at the reading. She asks if I was rushing to get here. If I suffer from white-coat syndrome. With the cocky self-assurance of a person young enough and lucky enough to believe that their body won’t betray them, I tell the nurse I’m stressed. We’re under evacuation warning. By the time she straps the cuff back on after the appointment, my blood pressure has returned to normal.

Preeclampsia, the dangerous and maddeningly enigmatic condition that my high blood pressure augurs, has plagued (wo)mankind since the dawn of history. Back in the fifth century B.C.E., Hippocrates blamed it, along with so many other lady ailments, on the wandering womb. In the intervening two and a half millennia, doctors haven’t figured out the cause. The prevailing theory is that the problem starts in the placenta, the organ that nurtures the fetus in the womb: In women with preeclampsia, the blood vessels that form to deliver oxygen to the placenta are too narrow. In its efforts to feed the growing baby, the body kicks into overdrive. Your blood pressure skyrockets; your kidneys falter; your liver might fail. In the worst cases, the “pre” vanishes and you “progress” to eclampsia — seizures which can be deadly to both mom and baby.

Preeclampsia is characterized by a list of associations that often border on patient-shaming: risk factors include poor diet, obesity, diabetes, and chronic hypertension. For complex reasons that likely involve structural racism, unconscious bias, and biological weathering, Black women in America develop and die from preeclampsia at significantly higher rates than white women do.

Returning, then, to my certainty that I am perfectly well, high blood pressure or no, thankyouverymuch. We could call it denial. We could also call it a particular cocktail of white, able-bodied, and socioeconomic privilege. After all, none of those risk factors applied to me.

Days later, as another nurse lines my hospital bed with bumper pads to protect me in case of seizure, I’ll wonder at my arrogance. Just two years earlier, my older sister dropped dead at 35. Who was I to think that my body wouldn’t betray me?

Almost exactly nine months after we first arrived in California, my sister Julia died, both suddenly and predictably. She was 35 and, by most outward metrics, in good health. But, as hard as she fought, she’d been gripped by both depression and alcoholism for over a decade.

In the months after Julia dies, wildfires flame up and down the state. Eight-five people perish as Paradise is razed to the ground. I try to work on my new novel, a cli-fi dystopia that offers little escape. I spend a lot of time sitting in a large wooden crate, socializing a litter of barn kittens. Sometimes, I meet Julia’s college roommate, Casey, in San Francisco. We go to coffee shops that are both like and unlike the ones I missed in Brooklyn. Places where using the bathroom requires an app and a QR code. The world is literally on fire, and this is what Silicon Valley innovation has to offer: the monetization of what should be public goods. Over burritos and tears, Casey tells me stories about her toddler son. Funny words that he’d string together, and how when she says they can’t go outside, he knows to respond: “Too smoky?”

The decision to have children has always struck me as an essentially selfish one: You choose, out of a desire for fulfillment or self-betterment or curiosity or boredom or baby-mania or peer pressure, to bring a new human into this world. And it has never seemed more selfish than today. From a global perspective, having a child in a developed nation is among the most environmentally unsound decisions you can make — a baby born in the United States adds another 58.6 tons of carbon to the atmosphere per year. (That wipes out the net positives of my 25 years of vegetarianism in roughly three months). On the individual level, as fires rage and hurricanes form, as water grows scarce and fields lie fallow, it’s hard not to wonder: What kind of future can we offer a child?

And yet. On some level we still believe that a baby, our baby, will bring the world, our world, so much more than his carbon footprint. On another, we believe, like so many before us, that a baby can be the only balm after a loss. That it will transform me from a bereaved sister to something new and alien: a mother.

The day we evacuate, in that now-annual tradition among Western states, Gavin Newsom declares a state of emergency. The fire that we’re fleeing is the smaller of two mammoth blazes threatening the state. A CalFire spokeswoman on TV advises that all citizens should be “ready to go” in case of wildfires. “Residents have to have their bags packed up with your nose facing out your driveway so you can leave quickly.”

We joke about how absurd it is that every single Californian should be living in a perpetual state of emergency preparedness. It isn’t funny.

The truth is that we’re the lucky ones. We won’t be sleeping in our cars outside Half Moon Bay High School, hoping that the Red Cross can find us a hotel room. We have a safe place to go that will accept us and our veritable menagerie in the middle of a pandemic. My in-laws live an hour’s drive away. And for once we’re grateful they’re on the far side of Santa Cruz.

On the individual level, as fires rage and hurricanes form, as water grows scarce and fields lie fallow, it’s hard not to wonder: What kind of future can we offer a child?

So we settle into our cushy evacuation digs. I check Twitter for updates on the fire lines. I lie upside down on a propped-up ironing board to encourage the baby to flip. I dutifully record my blood pressure twice a day. When I go into a local lab on Monday, I pass a woman around my age. Her hair mussed; her clothes rumpled. I overhear her tell the security guard that she is evacuated from Boulder Creek. Her house has already burned down.

The call comes late that afternoon. We’ve gone for a walk on the beach to distract ourselves. A brisk ocean breeze keeps the smoke at bay.

The OB tells me that I need to go to the hospital in two days and that I should be prepared to deliver. Depending on whether they can flip the baby, they will either induce labor or perform a C-section.

I press my hand against my stomach, cupping what I now know is my son’s head. I dig my heels into the sand. I know with every fiber of my being that this child is not ready to be born. He has literally put his foot down. Wildfire evacuations? Smoke-clogged skies over the Bay? A global pandemic? Nah, thanks, Ma. I’ll stay inside.

Something primal stirs. A desperate need to protect this child — from the world, from the climate, from the overreach of litigation-fearing American doctors. This baby, I am convinced, does not want to come out. He needs a few more weeks inside. My lab work hasn’t even come back yet. Two high blood pressure readings? From a person evacuated from wildfires during a pandemic? And I feel fine.

So, for the first time in my life, I argue with a doctor, first patiently, then furiously. I tell her that I cannot possibly give birth in two days. That we’re evacuated. That we might not have a home to return to. That, as freelancers, we both lost a lot of work during the pandemic. That my husband, whose industry has been completely upended, has an enormous gig with a new client. That I can’t imagine waiting until Friday can make any difference. The doctor takes out the cudgel: “You need to stop worrying about money and start worrying about your baby.”

It is the first time anyone has pulled the “bad mother” card on me, though I’m sure it won’t be the last. I sputter. I am livid. I tell her we’ll be there.

Things at the hospital go well until they don’t. The baby flips; the cheerful dry-erase board is decorated with a beaming sun, the names of the on-duty nurse and physician, and the words “Preeclampsia: Mild.” The next morning, my blood pressure soars, and “mild” is replaced with “severe.” The blood-pressure cuff is now accompanied by a catheter and an IV that pumps me up with magnesium to reduce the risk of seizure. The bumper pads are up now, too.

The hospital, the beeping machines monitoring my vital signs, the proliferating IVs, it all reminds me too much of Julia. The three days I sat at her hospital bed — holding her hand, reading Redwall to her, so sure that she could hear me, that the stories we shared in childhood might somehow draw her back. So sure that she would pull out of her coma, that one day we would make macabre jokes about her hospital stay. That she wouldn’t die. That our story couldn’t end that way.

But here, in this hospital, the wool has lifted from my eyes. I now know how these stories end. And I am sure that one of us isn’t going to survive. It takes the last bit of my resolve not to tell my husband, in a fit of melodrama, to save the baby if the doctors have to choose. (In later, clearer moments, I realize that medicine doesn’t work that way. But in the throes of magnesium-laced labor, the brain latches to the cinematic.)

So much of what could go wrong does: The baby crowns but every time I push his heart rate drops. We try three more times with a suction cup fused to his head, the pediatrician’s eyes glued to the heart monitor, periodically shouting for me to stop pushing so a nurse can press the baby back inside and massage his heart rate up again. At some point, a switch is flipped, alarms blare: an emergency C-section. I’m rushed down the corridors amid flashing lights to the operating table. My husband abandoned in a delivery room awash in blood. Someone shouts back, “We’ll come back for you if we can.”

My son is wrenched from my seizing uterus — weak from the magnesium and letting out only the smallest cry. He is rushed to the NICU for oxygen and observation. But he lives. We live. And, in the end, we get to go home.

The night that Jude is born, our evacuation order is lifted. The fires that burn parts of Bonny Doon and Boulder Creek never reach the ranch. We are so very lucky. Even though I doubt that luck can last.

Although that future still terrifies me and part of me wants to disengage, to say “Let it burn” and “Fuck you” to all that, I can’t. I don’t have that luxury.

After the dust has settled, my father — my somehow still optimistic, boomer father — keeps talking about how crazy it will be for Jude to learn about the day he was born, in a pandemic while evacuated for wildfires. And all I can think is how much I wish Jude might grow up in a world where the summer of 2020 sounds aberrational. I suspect he won’t. As I write this, fires descend on Lake Tahoe, defying all efforts of containment, and Hurricane Ida has devastated the Gulf Coast. Headlines blare about “extreme” weather, and I wonder when the newspapers will lose the word “extreme.”

I know that the world in which Jude grows up will be plagued by more and more environmental disasters. That cataclysmic changes to the climate will exacerbate the other inequities we face as a nation and a planet. That we are living in a real way on borrowed time, under the shadow of carbon that’s already been released as more fossil fuel continues to burn and burn and burn.

Although that future still terrifies me and part of me wants to disengage, to say “Let it burn” and “Fuck you” to all that, I can’t. I don’t have that luxury. I have no choice but to believe that the future — troubled as it will be, stripped as it will be of my biting, brilliant sister — is still worth living in and fighting for. To believe not just in destruction, not just in accruing loss after loss after loss, but in counting blessings. Finding those small moments of joy. The smile on Jude’s face as he bashes his mouth into my cheek. “Boop,” I say as I tap his nose. The same sound Julia used to make when I tapped hers.

This isn’t the ending that I’m looking for. And it isn’t just an ending either. It’s a beginning, too. An often frightening one. And, for now, that has to be good enough.

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[arielle0808]

Jumin MC week. Day 3- Secrets.

As promised, here comes the story for day 3 of @juminmcweek! I chose the prompt secrets. I really hope you like it :)

You can also read it on AO3

Thank you for reading <3

MC has a quixotic complex. Jumin had learnt this after several attempts from MC to become the heroine of the stories she created in her head and tried to bring to real life. Her desire to be the protagonist of a mysterious novel had been what had prompted her to enter Rika’s apartment after a stranger asked her to, so Jumin was not really bothered about it. In fact, he rather enjoyed indulging her in her fantasies and seeing her smile when she thought she had ‘discovered a key to find another secret.’

As a result, that weekend Jumin-excessive-Han had decided to take MC to an old hotel outside of the city: a gloomy mansion he had booked for only themselves in which he had prepared the most gothic and mysterious scenery with the help of the rest of the RFA members. With Luciel’s help he had installed some electronic devices to get some doors to open on their own, had hired some actors to take the part of the gloomy staff of the hotel and ghosts, and had hidden messages all over the building for her to discover them.

MC was chatting enthusiastically, smiling, pleased, at the prospect of spending a romantic weekend with Jumin. Jumin grinned back, excited in anticipation at her reaction when she got immersed in the story he had prepared for her.

Her expression changed when they arrived at the hotel, her smile turning from one of genuine and innocent happiness to one of excitement, already willing to face a mystery in the mansion. Jumin let out a small smile, leading her to the reception as she looked around her, fascinated at the spooky pictures on the walls that seemed to follow them with their look.

They got the key to their room and went there right away, Jumin unable to hold back a chuckle as MC jumped around him.

“This is amazing, Jumin!” she exclaimed. “Have you seen the receptionist? I wonder what kind of secrets this place hides! Do you think he murdered someone? Of course, I wouldn’t like anyone to have died, but... What if a guest died here and they hid it not to alert the press and now their ghost wants us to discover it to reveal the truth to the world?!” she took her arm, making him chuckle.

“Those things are unlikely to happen,” he opened the door to their room, trying to maintain the aura of mystery.

“One can never know,” MC insisted, following him into their room. “One day, when you least expect it, you may be facing a mystery, so you have to keep your eyes wide open and... Oh, God, Jumin, look at this!!”

Jumin let out a small smile, knowing she must have found the letter the ‘ghosts’ had left there for her. He turned to face her, expecting her to be in front of the desk where the letter was, but found her kneeling next to the door instead.

“Look at this stain on the wall!!” she exclaimed, pointing at the mark of a footprint, probably Seven’s, on the wall. “Isn’t it suspicious?!”

He sighed and decided to point at the letter himself.

“MC, why don’t you take a look at this?” Jumin took it. She turned with a curious look and her cheeks became of a deep red as her mouth curled in a big grin, taking the letter.

“What is this?” she asked, opening it.

“I haven’t got the slightest idea,” Jumin smiled, sitting on the bed next to her. “I just happened to find it on the desk.”

She started to read it, her countenance changing from excited to focused on the content of the letter, to excited again.

“It says something fishy happened here,” she told him. “The sender asks us to discover the secrrets!” she said, emphasising the ‘r’ in a high-pitched and amusing way due to her excitement. “And it all starts in a place where meals are prepared!” she exclaimed.

Jumin smiled. At the kitchens, she should ‘discover’ that a murder took place in this hotel. That would lead her to the garden where the ‘corpse’ was buried and after several clues more she would find out who the ghost was, the killer, and the reason of the murder.

“Do you have any idea where is that place?” he asked her, caressing her hair.

“Of course, silly!” she smiled, proud. “It’s the restaurant of the nearby village,” she purred. “I’m sure the mystery extends to the whole area. Probably the villager where allied with the owners of the hotel and there was this journalist who wanted to write a bad report about the hotel and they killed them!”

Jumin let out a sigh. Her imagination was running wilder than he had expected.

“Do you think the villagers would care if the hotel received a bad review?” Jumin asked her, making her hesitate.

“Maybe the owner forced them!”

“Why don’t you try going to the kitchens of the hotel first?” he encouraged her. “You might find further clues to solve the mystery there, and if I happen to be wrong, I could ask Driver Kim to take us to the village.”

MC nodded in agreement and they rushed to the kitchen. Luciel saw them approaching through the security cameras and he pushed the button to make the door of the kitchen open on its own, startling MC and making Jumin let out a small smile.

She rushed into the room and started to look for another clue.

“We should hurry!” she said. “Or else they’ll discover we are here,” she stopped and thought for a while. “Why don’t you keep watch out of the kitchen?” she asked him.

“That seems convenient,” he indulged her, closing the door behind him and going out.

After a while, MC found another letter. She grinned, taking it, and grabbed the door knob to open it and read it next to Jumin, but for some reason the door didn’t open.

“Is everything alright, MC?” Jumin asked her.

“I can’t open the door,” she replied, growing worried. “Oh, I’ll probably be able to open it after reading the letter,” she realised, opening it and reading it. According to the letter, her suspicions were right. A murder had taken place in that hotel! She held back a small yell of excitement and tried to open the door again, but it was useless. “Jumin, I can’t open it!” she exclaimed, worried.

At the other side of the door, Jumin sighed. There must have been a problem with Luciel’s device and now the door was stuck.

“The door must be stuck,” he informed her, taking his phone to call Luciel to fix the problem. “Just wait a second, MC,” he dialled his number.

“O-ok,” MC hesitated, becoming nervous. She was trapped, alone, in a place where a murder had happened! Jumin and she were in great danger!! What if the owner had used black magic to lock her in the kitchen and now he would appear and kill her too?! Or hurt Jumin?!

She started sobbing, thinking about all those possibilities, when she heard a familiar voice talking to Jumin at the other side of the door.

“I’m sorry, Jumin,” she heard Seven’s voice playfully apologising. “I hope you’ll still let me play with Elly.”

“I don’t recall giving you leave to even breathe near Elizabeth 3rd, less so play with her.”

Finally, the door opened and MC jumped on Jumin’s arms, a sobbing mess, ignoring Seven.

“Jumin!! I thought I was going to be trapped in there forever,” she cried as Jumin rubbed soothing circles on her back, sighing.

“It’s alright now, MC, I’m here,” he kissed her head. “I apologise you had to go through such a hard time. Do you want to solve the mystery of this place?” he tried to cheer her up.

“No, no more mysteries or secrets, or anything!” she moved back to look at him, pouting. “I just want to go back home with you and Elizabeth!”

“As you wish, my darling,” he smiled, kissing her softly.

They spend that night cuddling on the comfortable bed of the penthouse, watching a romance free-of-mysteries film and drinking wine.

The next day, Jumin woke up to an empty bed. He stood up, looking for MC and Elizabeth, only to find both of them at the living room as MC looked closely to a piece of paper.

“Good morning, MC,” he kissed her forehead and caressed Elizabeth’s fur.

“Look at what I found in a book of the library!!” she exclaimed, showing him the piece of paper. “Do you think there are secrets hidden in the library?” she asked him, her eyes sparkling.

Jumin chuckled. Some things would never change.

[jimdroberts]

  We’re at a point in human history when civilisation is changing faster and in ways that will leave it different forever. It only follows that the people must be changing too. During the long soulless hours of isolation I’ve found myself asking:

  Am I changing for the better or worse?

There’s no other way to describe these times other than terrifying. Societally and as individuals we’re being forced into making decisions, and ways of living, that we’ve not been prepared for. The structure and order of our societies had to be rebuilt out of the wastelands of World War II, this structure and order is being threatened. If you’re unable to see the pachyderm at your drinks party hitting on your spouse, let me make this easier for you; we are looking into the  abyss.

Pandemic, collapse of the global economy, unemployment leading to an inevitable global depression; reduced manufacturing, oil scarcity, reduction in the capacity of food production resulting in famines that the Bible would consider hyperbole; civil disorder, racial tensions, the continuation of eternal religious conflicts, environmental collapse, and energy crises. If just some of these happen as a result of COVID-19, we’re in trouble. If most of them happen, as I am compelled to believe the may well, we’re on for a global reset.

  According to the ancient Chinese Book of Change, The I Ching, the symbol of the Tao, dates back to at least 200 BCE. A circle divided in two halves, yin and yang. The symbol intends to represent the oneness of man and the surrounding cosmos. The two halves representing the complimentary pairs of male and female. The I Ching, as it’s name infers, The Book of Change, tells us that mankind has been attuned to fluctuations between moments of chaos and order for thousands of years. Taoism is a religion based on the impermanence of the cosmos and that limitless shifts between hope and despair, life and death are the norm. It proves that such events are an immutable part of the cosmic order. And it’s reasonable to say, that one such event is happening now.

Current circumstances tell us that in our area of the cosmos chaos has taken dominion over structure and order. It is inevitable that under such an existential, and environmental uncertainty, that many of us feel heightened levels of anxiety. (I’m freaking terrified right now, and it’s the reason I’m writing this.)

Even though it might feel as if we have wandered into a metaphorical, valley of darkness, my purpose in writing these two posts, is to help reduce some of your suffering and put some love back into that sad, scared, and lonely heart.

It’s nothing new for suffering to play a part in everyone’s lives, the world’s major religions use this foundational message at the core of their beliefs. But what feels unprecedented is the universality of the suffering in the world. As a person who doesn’t subscribe to any faith, I’m uncertain of this being the actual apocalypse, but I’m keen on it being so. Some Christians might refer to their mythology and believe these times are the apocalypse. Christianity anthropomorphises the apoclypse through the symbolic Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

    Right now, maybe you’re thinking that this is nothing more than another blog promoting fear-mongering. Such a thought is understandable, even inevitable for many of us. Fear porn, along with actual pornography are the most prominent genres of material to appear on the internet. It’s my purpose to help you understand the gravity of the current situation. But it remains you’re choice, whether you ignore the warnings I’m about to set out. You always keep the right to ignore the elephant in the room.

  COVID-19 and Religions

  The spiritual texts of the Abrahamic religions have achieved an unprecedented level of success in their ability to remain valid. Even after two thousand years, they continue to influence and retain cultural relavence. It is the paragon of ignorance to deny this fact. I’m agnostic, but I’m very comfortable acknowledging  the profound hold these faiths have had, and continue to have on our world. But how have they achieved this?

  They achieved this because of one simple but profound reason, they contain ineluctable elements of wisdom that are fundamental truths of nature of the human condition. That might not sound so simple, basically these books tell us: who we are; why we behave the way we do; how it’s desirable for us to behave; what we desire; virtues (good habits); and sins (bad habits). As well as generally encouraging us not to behave like complete dicks. They’ve provided the rules and laws that enabled humans to start living in ever bigger communities. And ever bigger communities generated greater wealth.

  Earlier I listed the types of upheval and chaos that I expect COVID-19 to have and cause. And I genuinely see the potential for each of them occuring to a variety of degrees. But there is one area of society that upon which all other areas of our societies depend.

  Economic failure will result in the systemmmic failure of our societies as we know them. Should our economies fail, the rule of law, public order, claims to property, food, healthcare, sanitation, medicene, the list is endless, but each of these will to some extent lessen, or cease to exist.

  Economic Collapse Post COVID-19

  Whilst I am certain that the consequences of COVID-19 will be far reaching in both their space and time. At the moment, COVID-19 is affecting almost every industry and community around the world, and it’s likely to continue doing so for many, many, years to come. I’m thinking more in the terms of a generations ‘ball park’. Denying a generation the hope of upward mobility and prosperity, and replacing it with decades of poverty is going to profoundly affect the lives Once the hope of upward mobility, and prosperity is denied to a generation of people.

  Modern society is one that was built around the combustion engine and the burning of fosil fuels. The Baby Boomers grewp following World War II in the most prosperous generation, for the masses, in history. The world needed rebuilding, there was a population explosion there to build it. More people than ever before were in employment, producing more goods, buying more things and paying more tax. Land was affordable, they bought houses, the value of which they saw ascend on a never ending escalator. Baby Boomers worked hard, but the conditions for their economic prosperity were optimal.

  Thre’s nearly always a correlation in the relationship between the potential prosperity of an individual and the actual prosperity of their society. It’s now become obvious that anyone aged betweeen 15 and 30, the younger Millennials and start of of Generation Z, that their prospects are going to be worse than both their parents, and their granparents, Genrations X and the Baby Boommers. Generation Z will become the second consecutive generation to inherit a period generational economic decline. The question that needs to be asked is: how do we expect these people to live lives of diminished hope?

  This is important because it flouts a rule that is embedded in our evolutionary psyche. Nature determines whether species live or die, flourish or struggle. Because humanity’s prospects are so tightly bound to their economy, it’s becomming abundantly obvious to anyone aged betweeen 15 and 30, the younger Millennials and start of of Generation Z, that their prospects are going to be worse than both their parents, and their grandparents, Genrations X and the Baby Boommer generation to . Indeed, Generation Z will become the second consecutive generation to inherit a period generational economic decline. They are two generations for whom it’s realistic that they will endure significant periods of unemployment. Will be employed in a number of jobs that have unrelated skills. Two generations that will in all likelihood see reductions in worker’s rights. When unemployment is high people don’t tend to care how they’re treated, as long as they have a little bit of money to show for their effort. Temporary contracts, limited healthcare, maternity and paternity rights are realistic scenarios when unemployment s high.

  Today’s quality of life is almost a reflection of societal systems underwritten by an economy which is man’s greatest work of fiction.

  Why Economic Collapse Is Inevitable

This is an area I’ll actually cover in more detail at a later date, it deserves a more thorough explanation than I have the room for here. Here I’ll give an overview of the collapse, leaving the finer details in part II.

  Understanding Definitions is paramount if we’re to understand the severity of this current situation. When I refer to economic collapse I am referring to the end of our fiat based economies. Fiat economies are ones in which the government prints currency. It is then believed that this currency has a value that can be used in exchange for goods and services. I believe this to be quixotic fantasy, no less foolish than building castles on the sand. For further, more in depth information, I recommend reading the work of Dmitry Orlov.

  New Yorker, reporter, John Cassidy wrote in a recent article:

In January of 2019, Mark Carney, the governor of the Bank of England, appeared before a House of Commons committee to discuss global threats to financial stability. At that time, the U.S. unemployment rate was below four per cent, the gross domestic product was growing steadily, and Donald Trump was busy boasting about “the greatest economy ever.” But, despite these favorable statistics, staffers at the bank had identified a potentially serious problem on the horizon:

Cassidy suggests that, Carney, and the Bank of England became aware of high risk economic practices on Wall Street that haven’t undergone the changes necessary to prevent the exact same thing happening as in 2008. The essence of his article implies that the Bank of England was aware, and concerned about a decline in the lending standards in corporate debt markets, is almost the exact equal of the sub-prime debacle

If you’re still reading this I assume that you’re in agreement that the economic fall out of COVID-19 is going to be signifiicant, but may be reluctant to agree with my prediction of a complete collapse of the fiat system, bringing an end to currency as we know it.

Okay, what does your more optimistic scenario look like? We know that there’s going to be enormous recession/depression fueled by unemployment. In turn, this triggers a reduction in taxes received, resulting in sub optimal funding of public services. The unemployed will have to find money by fair means or foul, so an increase in crime is inevitable. The reduction in public funding means the police needed to deal with the increase in crime, will not exist. Poverty, results in poorer diets leading to obesity, diabetes, or other health complications. It causes stress which is known to heighten the risk of developing cancer. And if you’ve been lucky enough to survive all that, you have a proclivity to fall into drug and alcohol addiction, be at a greater risk of depression and according to a, 2003 study by a team of New Zealand doctors,  proved that people between the ages of 18 and 64, who are unemployed are between two and three times more likely to commit suicide. If history’s taught us one thing, it’s that poverty sucks.

  Ploughing the Fields of Hopelessness

And when one of these people do get a job, they’re so grateful that they’ll work till they drop to make enough to feed themselves. They can’t afford aspirations to improve their lot, for fear of appearing ungrateful. Read, Steinbeck’s, Grapes of Wrath. Mass unemployment and a depressed employment market erodes hope. And hope isn’t just a word you expect to see appearing in the inscriptions of Hallmark cards. Hope can be is also a noun, and a verb. The noun names the feeling, whilst the verb is the feeling. To be robbed of the ability to feel hope is a desperate state of affairs. Hope is an emotion that has survived millions of years of natural selection. Hope and evolution has interested psychologists. What purpose does hope play in maximising our abilities to survive, procreate and pass on our genes?

  Rats, Religion and the Power of Hope

  Let me warn you that psychology experiments conducted soon after World War II are notorious for their ignorance of ethics.

In the 1950’s Professor Curt Richter performed an experiment drowning wild and domesticated rats. At least when this is your line of work the neighbours never ask you to look after their dog.

The purpose of Richter’s morbid interest, to compare how long domesticated rats survived compared to their wild counterparts. Richter discovered that the domesticated rats, despit not needing to swim in their day to day environments, far out performed the wild rats.

  The explanation given is that the domesticated rats were used to being helped by handlers and were writing to be saved. While being far superior swimmers, the wild rats drowned sooner as once they had understood that there was no escape they gave up.

It’s been recorded that individuals who survive disasters are disproportionately made up of those that practice faiths.This was discovered by scientists, they’re not likely to put this down to divine intervention. What they concluded was that people with faith hold onto the belief of survival, of divine intervention. This hope is the edge that differentiates the victims from the survivors. Don’t underestimate the power of hope.

If you’ve read all and been left to feel that has lingered in each and every sentence, you have started to understand what’s about to happen. To have any chance of making good decisions over the next twelve months, it’s imperative to understand the scale of the events that are resulting from COVID-19. Hope is essential in the challenges that lay ahead.

in Part II I promise hope, chicken soup for your soul.

  It’s in Part II. I Promise.

                Chicken Soup for the Soul (Part I) – Surviving COVID-19, Isolation, Race Wars, Rioting, and the Inevitable Economic Collapse We're at a point in human history when civilisation is changing faster and in ways that will leave it different forever.

[vlkwsouthpens]

I hope this post finds you all well and taking care of each other and just as importantly-taking care of yourself. This week we see signs of re-awakening as some restrictions are beginning to be relaxed. It feels like spring is arriving after a long hard winter.  But remember to be cautious, and take it a bit at a time. And that will still give you plenty of time to read. Which brings us to our guest author…

.    r. e. joyce writes Epic Fantasy and all books can be found through Draft2Digital worldwide

Stories by r.e.joyce I write to express the joys and adventures I have found in this world.  Most come from the grace of being chosen to guide two beautiful souls through the adventure of growing up.  It is my children, Stephanie and Bill, who make this life worth living.  The grandbabies are a marvelous recreation of the joys I experienced without the diaper changes – such a fabulous gift!  Do you want to have a taste of the worlds my mind creates?  Come and Join in the fun: https://books2read.com/ap/KnAMpn/R-E-Joyce

Why Write? They say that reading fosters the urge to write and experience chooses the genre.

As to the first, I can attest.  My world in the 1970s and 1980s consisted of work-centered travel.  My last job in New York was a one-hour-forty-minute commute into the Big Apple if all connections were properly made.  It gave me time to read and I ordered the Franklin Library Book of the Month Club Classics for the train ride, promising to read each one before I picked up a dime store novel.  Month after month I would struggle through Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain or Homer’s Iliad awaiting the day I could call it read and pick up Stephen R. Donaldson, Ursula K. LeGuin, David Eddings, Terry Brooks and of course C.S. Lewis and JRR Tolkien.  It was in the fantasy worlds of these great writers that I found a place for my mind to take flight.  For four-and-one-half years I clickety-clacked down the tracks and let these fantastic worlds open within my mind allowing me to become part of so many epic adventures. Then the urge took hold.  I could write one of these epic fantasies!  The scolding of my English teachers and the wanton grades they scratched into my report cards could not deter the building desire to put words together and go on my own adventure.   The writing bug bit and I was destined for the torment and elation I never expected in life.  We will get back to the swings of emotion later.  For now, with pen in hand (soon turned to computer keyboard) I used the spare minutes of my life to write—catapulting me into the wonderful world of epic fantasty

Meanings The explanation of my life is Grand Poobah-dum.  I have no timeless words of wisdom beyond those that guide my life.  Live to serve and serve until it feels good.  The world will be better for it.

I, like Tevye, wish for a little wealth. I promise to pray more if…

I, like Joseph, find strength in quiet support of family.

I, like Don Quixote, always seek the windmill over the easy path.

It started as an urge and took root in the rich soil of familial love.  The experiential writings made spirituality all the more real for me and touched a life of one or two along the way.  The honing of skills hardened my resolve until I allowed myself to stand before all as I am.  The wayward critics seek to mold me in their image.  I choose the one that is God-given and life affirmed. I am a story teller and if you have a moment I will share with you worlds that can enchant and even make you dream.  If you need proper grammar I have some teachers I can recommend.  If you want to touch life, I believe I have some ready for you.

Where do you get your inspiration? There are experiences directly related to my feeble first attempts.  Stephanie came to me with skinned knee and turtle tears, clutching her pink unicorn.  Holding her, I whispered if she would allow me to clean her boo-boo, I would write her a story about a unicorn. Oh, did I fail to mention that God graced me with two of the most beautiful gifts a man could ask for.  To give this justice, we would need to consider a longer story format.  For now, I will affirm their epic effect on my life. Stephanie came into the world pink and beautiful and when the nurse placed her in my hands a fear, beyond anything ever imagined came over me.  How could a lumbering old fool like me ever care for such a precious princess?  She seemed to fit within the palm of my hands, and my trembling left others to wonder about my joy.  Nothing can ever exceed the gift I held that day and that I continue to embrace as she explores her own world. Now Bill, having arrived three years later almost to the day, bounced out and the now trained hands of a father gathered him up, placing my hereditary standard on the boy with the quiet soul.  He has been more than and continues to amaze me with the deep-seated love he shows the world around him. We will have an epitaph written or imagined at the end of our stay here on earth.  Mine will contain the blessing from God of these two souls.  If nothing else graces the journey of my life, I am fulfilled.

Back to the story…  The boo-boo healed and the little girl grew up and the scratching of a novice writer found its way to the page.

My mission in life:

To write is to place love in the hands of generations to come. The rest of my day is giving to helping others…

Seven Stars of Midnight                         The Finding

  You can connect with r.e. joyce at Vision Management Publishing and find his books at books2read.  

I leave you tonight with r.e.joyce’s beautiful covers to look at and be inspired…

Meet r.e.joyce I hope this post finds you all well and taking care of each other and just as importantly-taking care of yourself.

[bestmovies0]

Space capes, a royal wedding, and 25 other pop culture things to look forward to in 2018

Sense8, Avengers: Infinity War, Veep, and 24 more things to look forward to in 2018

Image: Mashable Composite/ Netflix/ Disney/ HBO

At the end of 2016, we naively hoped 2017 would be better. Instead, 2017 turned out to be so bad that we’re basically dreading 2018. Because if there’s one thing we learned this year, it’s that no matter how nasty things get, they can still get worse.

And yet.

SEE ALSO: 10 TV presents we can’t wait to see in 2018

The other big lesson we got this year was that even at the worst of days, there’s always gonna be stuff to adoration, and still more stuff to look forward to caring.

So, sure, 2018 is likely gonna suck. But it won’t be all bad, and we know that because there are at least 27 things we expect to be freakin’ awesome over the next 12 months.

In no particular order TAGEND

1. Cap’s beard in Avengers: Infinity War

Yes, we already got a glimpse of it in the trailer. But imagine how much better it’ll look in action: ruffle as Cap flies through the air to punch a bad guy, rustling as Cap strokes it thoughtfully, standing stiffly at attention while Cap delivers an inspirational speech. Honestly, Cap’s beard might already be our new favorite Avenger.

2. Rihanna hosting the Met Gala

Just weeks before “shes trying to” pull off a robbery at the Met Gala in Ocean’s 8 !

3. Lin-Manuel Miranda’s press tour for Mary Poppins Returns

See a delightful new image from the upcoming #MaryPoppinsReturns: https :// t.co/ bT7ErH7iF1 pic.twitter.com/ aRo8IHaSKm

— Oh My Disney (@ OhMyDisney) December 28, 2017

The Hamilton mastermind is one of of the most likable celebrities we have right now, and no one is better than Disney at deploying starring charisma.

4. Find out what the hell the next Cloverfield movie is about

We have no earthly notion what’s going on with this film, formerly titled God Particle , but that’s part of the fun.

5. Eating all our moods in Donut County

If 2017 made you want to take everything in the whole world and hurl it in a big hole, Donut County is here to realize that dream. You play as a pit, and as you swallow more and more things, the hole grows and changes to help you ingest absolutely everything. Perfect.- Kellen Beck

6. Westworld ‘s Samurai World

Remember when Westworld Season 1 ended in 2016, and we mourned because 2018 felt so far away? Well, it’s virtually here now- and with any luck, the new running of episodes should take us into some new corners of the universe, including Samurai World.

7. Eleanor and Chidi’s romance( probably) in The Good Place

It seems inevitable that these two will be back in each other’s arms, even if the hows and whys aren’t quite clear.

8. Beyonce at Coachella

Even those of us who can’t afford tickets will be scouring the web for clips and pics from this momentous occasion. And since Eminem will be there too, dare we hope for a live performance of “Walk on Water”?

9. Paddington’s stay in prison

Do you think they’ll let us bring marmalade sandwiches into the visitor room?

10. The What We Do in the Shadows em> spinoff

If you haven’t realized Taika Waititi’s laugh-out-loud funny vampire mockumentary yet, do that- and then keep your eyes peeled for news on Wellington Paranormal , a Tv spinoff about the oblivious cops.

11. Chance the Rapper becoming Chance the Actor

That SNL hosting gig was no fluke- Opportunity the Rapper is ready to show off his chops as relevant actors. His first feature film performance will be in Slice , an indie fright flick about the murder of a pizza delivery guy. It’s from A24, so you know it’ll be idiosyncratic and likely brilliant.

12. Something something Winter Olympics

We never truly plan to watch the Winter Olympics. It merely kind of happens, and then we find ourselves getting behavior more invested than we expected, and by the end of it all we’re armchair experts in a bunch of athletics we never knew we ever desired.( Ditto the World Cup .)

13. Henry Cavill’s Mission: Impossible 6 mustache

Aside from my fashionable nipple attachments this didn’t feel so bad. Becomes out that behind me is a 1980 ft virtually sheer drop. I say “turns out” but my adrenaline was highly aware of it at the time! Seriously though, I am so appreciative of all the unbelievable places that this movie has taken me and all of the wild and wonderful things that it has asked me to do. #MI6 #MoustacheImpossible #Norway

A post shared by Henry Cavill (@ henrycavill) on Nov 9, 2017 at 3:09 am PST

This contractually obligated mustache is the reason Henry Cavill’s upper lip seemed so funny through much of Justice League . Time to find out if it was worth it.

14. Trans talents get the spotlight in Pose

Everyone in Hollywood love paying lip service to LGBTQ inclusion; far fewer people in Hollywood are actually doing something about it. Ryan Murphy is one of those few. With over 50 LGBTQ characters- including, according to FX, “the most trans series regulars ever” on American TV- and trans writers and administrators behind the camera, Pose is a show that actually walks the walk.

15. Harry and Meghan’s royal wedding

Prince Harry and Ms. Meghan Markle, December 2017. pic.twitter.com/ HrAc9FeN 51

— Kensington Palace (@ KensingtonRoyal) December 21, 2017

A few weeks after the due date for Will and Kate’s third child. It’s a big year for the Windsors!

Speaking of which …

16. Olivia Colman as Queen Elizabeth II in The Crown

Alas, Claire Foy’s time as Queen Elizabeth II has come to an end. But we expect Olivia Colman will do a brilliant job of stepping into her sensible, low-heeled pumps in Season 3.( Presuming The Crown Season 3 actually arrives in 2018, that is- Netflix has yet to announce a release date .)

17. Jonah Ryan’s presidential campaign in Veep

Should Jonah Ryan actually win the White House, Veep ‘s reality might ultimately become as darknes and depressing as ours.

18. The liberate of Terry Gilliam’s The Man Who Killed Don Quixote

This film’s famously troubled 20 -year development process is itself the stuff of legend( and the subject of a 2002 documentary ). Which is why it blows our heads to recognize we are able to actually get to see it next year. No, seriously- Gilliam’s ultimately finished killing it and everything.

19. Sense8 getting the finale it deserves

Netflix cancelled the sci-fi drama in June 2017, but the subsequent outpouring of heartbreak and adoration was so overwhelming that they were inspired to greenlight a two-hour finale episode. Savor it, sensates – you’ve earned it.

20. Jessica Jones get a new jacket in Season 2

We enjoyed the leather jacket, but it’s about time our favorite don’t-say-superhero expanded her wardrobe.

21. The first girl Doctor

Peter Capaldi will be affectionately missed, but we cannot wait to see what Jodie Whittaker will do as the 13 th Doctor- and the first one in a female body.

22. Mahershala Ali and Carmen Ejogo in True Detective Season 3

Sure, True Detective has had its ups and downs. But if Ali and Ejogo are in, so are we.

23. The long-awaited return of Kingdom Hearts

Kingdom Hearts II came out more than 12 years ago, and as the years dragged on the possibility of setting up the series turning into a trilogy seemed less and less likely. But Kingdom Hearts III is actually, ultimately coming in 2018 with all of the Disney and Final Fantasy characters we’ve come to desire. And now that Disney owns half of the amusement world, maybe we’ll get to run into some new characters in the series, like the Avengers or some porgs.- Kellen Beck

24. Joe Cornish’s next movie

If you watched Attack the Block ( starring future stormtrooper John Boyega and future Doctor Jodie Whittaker ), you know exactly why we’re eager to read director Joe Cornish’s sophomore try, The Kid Who Would Be King .

25. Regina George’s Broadway debut

It’s time to see Mean Girls in a whole new light- by which we mean stage lighting, since the musical adaptation hits the Great White Way this year.

26. Lando Calrissian’s space capes in Solo: A Star Wars Story

can you guess whose wardrobe this is? #UntitledHanSoloMovie pic.twitter.com/ 1gB17Rt1vN

— Ron Howard (@ RealRonHoward) July 11, 2017

Donald Glover is one of those dudes who can pull off a brown velvet tux and make it appear easy. Lando Calrissian is one of those dudes who has an entire closet full of sweet space capes just waiting to be worn. This casting could not be more perfect.

27. Jason Statham combating a prehistoric shark in The Meg

Sometimes you simply want to watch a movie about a ridiculously muscular humankind fighting a ridiculously giant animal.( See also: Dwayne Johnson’s Rampage .)

WATCH: Apparently, this is the coloring you will see everywhere in 2018

Read more: http :// mashable.com/ 2017/12/ 30/ pop-culture-2 018 /

from https://bestmovies.fun/2018/01/03/space-capes-a-royal-wedding-and-25-other-pop-culture-things-to-look-forward-to-in-2018/