#the next tuesday fell on the 11th

[fruitcage]

[ros3ybabe]

Daily Check-in September 11th and 12th, 2023 🎀

Did not have the time to make one yesterday as I didn't get home til almost 11 pm and was so tired that i immediately passed out. I had a really good day today(Tuesday), tho! I ordered a bunch of stationery off of Stationery Pal and Kawaii pen shop, and ahhhh, I love all of it, and they BOTH came in less than a week after I placed my order. The quality of everything is *chefs kiss* and I am so excited to start using all this stuff in my university academics as well as my self study goals! I might even switch back to paper notes because of all the stuff I bought, who knows.

Will not include What I Ate as I honestly don't remember, I am very tired at the moment(Tuesday night), having run most of today with 3 hours of sleep. This check in is going to be a bit more on the self care self compassion side as I had a rough two days honestly.

🩷 Personal Achievements -

Washed my hair

Made it to both classes on time

Organized my new stationery in my desk

Cooked steak *actually* good in my food fundamentals class

🩷 Academic Achievements -

Completed a PSYC writing assignment

Completed NUTR assignment

Completed pre lab quiz for my Anatomy Lab

Completed Osmosis lab report

Earned my Human Subjects Research Training certificate for my PSYC class

(I’m certified to use human subjects in research studies at my university for the next 3 years now, how cool!?)

Should I make a post about the stationery I got? Like a haul/review post? Let me know what you think! It’s all pretty aesthetic so I would love to share my opinions on the quality of the stuff I bought….and I bought a lot of stuff without realizing it!

🩷 As of today, Wednesday September 13th, here’s a little academic todo list for today:

Weekly Writing for my Food Fundamentals class

Take my Exam 1 for my NUTR class

Read Chapter 11 for my Personal Finance class + take notes on IPad

Complete my Nutrition Log for my Fitness for Health and Sport class

Study Japanese for 20+ minutes

🩷 And here’s a little personal to do list for today:

Change current fitted bed sheet to new one I just bought and washed, throw away old one

Take my bedroom trash out, throw out package box

Clean bathroom completely

Sweep bedroom

Organize desk more efficiently

Wash my current dirty laundry

Put away previous clean laundry

Change clear shower liner to my new one

Throw out old carpets and replace with new ones

Follow my skincare routine (my face is begging to be taken care of again)

Possibly hang up my string lights with clips behind my desk and attach BTS photos to clips 💜

Budget for paycheck tomorrow

This check in was definitely a little different than the others, especially cause I started it last night but had to save it as a draft cause I nearly fell asleep while typing it up. I will definitely post an update tonight to see how much of my to do lists I accomplished! Looking forward to having today to myself, as I didn’t go to class due to the extreme rain we’re having (I walk to my campus as I do not drive…at all) and I’m completely home alone today! Let the productivity begin!

Til next time, lovelies 🩷🤍

[predoom]

ohoneohone

Friday, November 11th, 2005 12:35 pm i won't tell a soul if you dont want me to. hearts between our knees sticking to summer sheets. Saturday, November 5th, 2005 4:59 pm keep me fast the way he runs his mouth its a wonder that i havent caught a flight home just for a second alone the way he runs my mouth makes me hate you just as much as him thank god i spend most of the daylight dreaming in wine colored beads the sun never caught me right when i was little i splash water on my face in sinks in green rooms like pinching yourself or trying to wash the miles off down a dark hotel hallway the finger prints in pink and blue like skin and veins i try to jump from the doorway to the bed so i dont leave footprints so i dont disturb the carpet like sand you want shyer eyes you want bigger "im sorry"s and regrets for things that i.Yo.u. did you want survivors in the wreckage you want flashlights in the cave you want second chances for second chances i loved everything about you that hurts your scars, your flaws, your not so subtle attempts at wit and irony that always fell a bit short and felt forced your insincerity, your imitation that you passed off as exploration your morning smile 3 year stand (off) her breathing is shallow she shakes whenever i get near- i guess its an occupational hazard its okay we dont have to talk. youre just a body. heaven sent and percoset. even though we're fading fast.... im sorry "pretty"- you were just a canary in a coal mine. Tuesday, November 1st, 2005 7:57 pm there are many things that i would like to say to you but i don't know how im not even too sure what goes on, especially in my own head. one second its one way and the next its another. i have a funny way of showing i care. but i do. i have to say it- halloween wasn't the same this year with out you. i i had the best time ever in southern california. but it wasn't really halloween with out you. and new years won't either. my calls go out today but they'renot picked up. i get what i get. i got some friends who are wearing their egos on their sleeves. its ok. i'll play dumb. you are a shadow of who you once were. "can we start agains" ive had my share. for the past month my mood has been however our phone calls ended. it felt like i was dying inside when i hung up the phone on you. but i have to make a point. you can only act like dirt for so long before you become it. but theres nobody like me and you. i feel like veins and ligatures when you aren't around. and breathing in isnt the same when you're not breathing out. percoset revolutionary. "look mom, no breathing". fucking fading. fucked up, but not cool fucked up. maybe we rip the map in half and someday we meet up in the middle. by accident or just because. everything and everyone ends up faced down on the floor in the end.

you are my wonderwall. Wednesday, October 26th, 2005 6:51 pm my mom said 'make sure you go to sleep smiling tonight baby cause you'll wake up feeling better" i just re-read everything you wrote over the past two months.

i miss my friends.

there is life after this. i promise myself. Tuesday, October 25th, 2005 10:51 pm everything they say about us is true im watching scary movies like every afternoon. i got some new slipper and pants. i look ridiculous. dreamboat. the inside of my head is always changing. even right this second. when i go back over all the details it makes me so glad im not in that town anymore. all of a sudden we're always in the crosshairs. it kinda feels normal now. we used to goof around about killing ourselves off. but sometimes it wasn't a joke. i can't sleep when the bus isn't moving. went to the fender offices today, they are gonna make me some basses. pretty exciting. the only thing ive ever learned is that its pretty easy to say "i love you" its alot harder to mean it. my friends are dropping like flies. everyone looks good when they are the one with their fingers on the keyboards. history is written by the conquerer. we're headlining an amphitheater tommorrow. thats retarded. fistfightking. makeoutqueen. past midnights. get amazed.

Current Music: 2sweet Sunday, October 23rd, 2005 9:42 am you see that kid... its not me, its you. blow out the candles on caring. encounters yesterday: went to paul walls jewelry shop. pretty insane. then when we played jared leto came over and watched. radio shows are wack. encounters today: the gold medal gymnast from the 2004 olympics is coming to hang out with me. pretty insane. why would you ever want to meet a boy like me. i am boring. you make it easier to make the decisions that i do. i turned off the switch that cares. i watch lots of movies and take lots of naps. cause i am a baby. i am gonna be in the academy video for black mamba. i can't tell you how excited that makes me. Wednesday, October 19th, 2005 11:48 pm ill be on time for that, i cant think of a line that rhymes with that blue looks better than jealousy. im awake but not up. you know what i mean. blew the speakers out like a candle. drowned out my sorrows in a wet dream. i miss you but only in flashing moments. new stuff over at buzznet. people been asking about the prices. honestly we charge what it costs us to make. alot of the stuff lately has been cut and sew or requires hand stitching which is expensive. so we try to keep the stuff really limited, so that it stays special. the bags sold out in a day. we won't be making anymore of that particular bag. but we will be making more limited bags and other items. Tuesday, October 18th, 2005 4:48 pm i, peter lewis kingston wentz, solemnly swear... im trying to figure it out. my head moves way faster than my mouth. i went to a party at chris from nsnyc's house for a party. it was about as good/bad as you would think. except dirty was there. so factor that one in. always up or down, never down and out.

the new nightmare of you record is fantastic. it makes me think of winters at home. love it or leave me. Sunday, October 16th, 2005 12:45 pm baby, im just bad news i don't know if it feels real been watching halloween movies lately to get me in the mood taking lots of naps its easier this way she wont ever love you the way she loves me youre not pretty enough and you dont make her heart beat been hiding messages in morse code and anagrams banging my wrist against the edge of the keyboard until it turns black and blue we're all settling all the time panic! at the disco makes me want to start this all over again coversations with you make me want it to never have begun at all nick plan and william beckett are on the list in one form or another always if you dont have your friends than you dont got shit and my friends are gold halloween is gonna be the best this year i think ive never been in california on halloween- it once was, but it hasnt been for a really long time spent most of the morning on the phone with my mommy cause she can always slow my breathing down you can get used to anything after a while even this, pete pretty boys for secret girls later skater Wednesday, October 12th, 2005 12:02 pm ill make you shake so hard you might not make it through the night new york city is fucking insane. get me. bruisa. fall makes me remember and want love.

okay okay cause i should:

1. you say crazy shit in your sleep, like about us living in old milwaukee. 2. right this second "wonderwall" sometimes star wars. 3. i dunno cherry coke flavored. 4. sugar tail, freckles in your eyes, basement windows, braces 5. new years on the windowsill. 6. uh kind of in a weird way the retriever head on the beagle body. just the nicest dog ever. 7. that one bane lyric, im pretty sure its a question. but mostly lately- what happened to my best friend?

nick york city. the clan party last night was rightious. im kinda going other places. feeling it. quit sleeping on it cause im the life. from the back of my legs to the back of my neck- im so glad there are people out there who won't let me fall off the face of the planet.

young.

panic at the disco at the knitting factory in new york tonight- 5pm. Tuesday, October 11th, 2005 12:57 am you remind me of this one movie. it makes me smile. but not with my mouth and way too many teeth. but with my eyes. trouble loves me. but you do way more. im dreaming on highway lines and phone hang-ups. just happy to be me. for one second.

i got a sweet vest and some teddy bear shoes. im good for cuddling. youre gonna have to trust me on that one.

[eyeopeningarchivist]

Statement of Anon (tw: Death & Depression)

Concerning their depressive self isolation.

Statement given Tuesday, July 11th, 2023

Transcript and editing by Tim Stoker, archival assistant at The Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins...

I don’t remember a time I was scared of the dark, not really. Maybe one time but it’s been so long and I was so young that I don’t know why I was even scared. My older sister was definitely scared by it though. For quite a while, in fact...

We used to share a room, for basically the majority of our lives. At night she’d have her nightlight and the tv on, watching a dvd of one of her favourite shows. Since I was younger, I naturally disliked the shows (since that’s how siblings are sometimes) but I was mainly irritated by her having so much light and noise to sleep. I loved the complete silence and darkness of our room and almost needed it to sleep. Almost.

We eventually stopped sharing a room, mostly because we were getting older and needed our own privacy and space from each other. The last time we’d tried to have separate rooms, we’d been way younger and had missed each other a lot so we went back to sharing. I miss those days...

This time was different.

On a Monday at the beginning of June, my sister and I were sat down in the living room by our parents and told that our grandmother had died. She had been sick for a few months and had been admitted to the hospital about a month before. I didn’t know how to react. Our parents asked if we wanted the day off from school and we both agreed. I remember going out with Mum and my sister to get funeral clothes. It was the first funeral I’d been to in my life and currently the only one. I doubt it’ll be my last.

I still didn’t react. I didn’t even cry. I think I was in shock and it took a long time for me to process it. Sometime after the funeral, during summer holidays, I moved into my own room. It was smaller than the old one, the reasoning being that I never put my things away properly so there was less room for mess.

I guess my body processed what had happened faster than I did as I began subconsciously isolating myself, my brain eventually catching up. It happened at the worst time though, right as I was starting high school.

It might have been the stress and all the change that was going on that caused me to realize my gran was dead. I knew her my entire life as she and my grandpa lived in our house with us. She was there for everything and then, suddenly, she wasn’t and never would be again.

Then I truly began to isolate myself, mainly staying in my room, and I started keeping the curtains closed almost all the time to leave me in complete darkness. I liked it, the dark was comforting and I felt safe in it.

Over the next three or four years it stayed like that, me in complete darkness in my room. At some point I stopped isolating myself and made some friends in my year at school. I had a girlfriend for a bit too but we broke up and that led to me isolating again for a time.

Due to the extensive amount of time I spent in the dark, some changes started to take place. I grew paler, my hair darkened from light brown to dark brown, and I could see pretty clearly through the dark. I developed a sensitivity to light though and can barely go out on non-cloudy days without blinking in pain the whole time. Sunny days are the worst.

Then, 2020 happened and self isolation. I had joined Discord two years before and, when I saw a Tiktok of a Twitch streamer I checked them out, then joined their Discord server. I made friends and connected with people, feeling happier.

I eventually stopped being friends with those people as our friendship wasn’t truly healthy and naturally fell apart. Having friends that actually felt like friends helped though. I connected more with people in my year at school and, when I dropped out to go to uni, I connected quickly there too. Now I have friends on Discord where the relationships are healthy.

I’m happier now. I don’t have to rely on the darkness and isolation to feel comfort... Still, I sometimes keep my curtains shut.

Statement ends...

Not sure if this is really a supernatural event but if it helped them then I guess it works. Anon is possibly being monitored by the Lonely or the Dark but, as this is an anonymous statement, there’s no way we can do followup to see if they’re okay... I hope they are...

[razorsadness]

The past couple weeks have been pretty intense, emotionally. Good, bad, weird, all three, but intense all ‘round.

The Monday before last, E. shared a post of J.L.’s on Facebook & I had to go thru the thing I’ve gone thru so many times already: Do I tell her he abused me & risk her disbelief & the loss of our friendship? Or do I say nothing & just feel super super gross forever & probably lose the friendship anyway because I’ll feel too uncomfortable hanging out with her while knowing she’s friendly with him? I decided to tell her, and ultimately she responded the way I’d hoped she would, but I was up half the night feeling nauseous & panicky. This is like the fourth or fifth time I’ve had to go through this re: J.L. Which, I guess, is not shocking; he’s a well-known guy in the Milwaukee DIY/arts scene. So yeah, not shocking, but it still sucks that I have to keep going thru this.

In the wee hours of that Monday night/Tuesday morning, just before I finally fell asleep, was the blood moon/eclipse. & when I woke a few hours later I was bleeding. That day was the midterm elections & I wanted to make a joke about I’ve got your red wave right here or something. Speaking of—boy, am I glad that the promised red wave did not happen.

That day, and for a few days after, I went thru a bout of mania the likes of which I haven’t seen in a while. There’s still a part of me that wants to fall back into the old self-destructive tendencies. Y’know, they get manic & wanna get stupid drunk about it, or fuck a stranger about it, & they get a little ornery that they can’t. But it is fortunate that, these days, I can sometimes harness my manic energy in more positive ways. I used this bout to get a bunch of housecleaning done, & work on my novella, & then... I was listening to Endless Possibility, the tribute to Jack Terricloth, & there were all these clips of him talking, & in one of them he said: It’s hard to live in the past, it’s hard to live in the future—we live absolutely in the moment. Now is the only time. Do not ever wait. The only answer is yes. & hearing that spurred me into beginning to put the finishing touches on the revised & updated edition of What We Talk About When We Talk About Punk.

Saturday the 12th we celebrated D.’s 11th birthday. His actual birthday was the 13th, but we decided to celebrate with my parents that night, at my mom’s studio, so we could watch the holiday parade. My mom saw my new haircut for the first time. She’d seen me a couple times already since I cut it, but I’d hidden it with a scarf or hat because I knew she’d make a comment & I wasn’t ready to deal with that yet. Sure enough, when she saw it, she visibly winced, then said: “Oh, Jess, really? I keep thinking you’ll grow out of doing that kind of thing.” My response was: “I keep thinking you’ll get used to me doing this kind of thing.” Then she said: “I mean, it’s your hair, you can do whatever you want, but you look so pretty with normal hair.” I just shrugged, cuz we’ve had this ‘discussion’ (& other, similar ones) approximately 5000 times in the past 28 years & she doesn’t get that I’m not trying to be pretty. I mean, yes, I like to feel pretty sometimes, but a. I certainly don’t want to be pretty in a conventional way, and b. overall, I am not going for pretty. I’m going for jolie-laide. I don’t want to be merely pretty, I want to be hot & a little intimidating.

I don’t know. She & I have been having some problems lately, in general, & they’re all the same troublesome dynamic we’ve always had. I love her but sometimes her comments & passive-aggressiveness just exhaust me.

The next day, between cooking, reading, & playing with the kiddos, I had several moments of professional jealousy/envy. I got really down about the trajectory of my career vs. other people’s careers & felt too sad about it to work on my novella that day (though I did work on a prose poem about why I wasn’t working on my novella).

But, the very next evening, I attended Library of America’s (virtual) lecture & Q&A with Todd Tietchen & Jean-Christophe Cloutier, the editor & translator, respectively, of LOA’s book The Unknown Kerouac. It helped me get past feeling sorry for myself. For many reasons, not the least of which was their mention of Jack writing: I hope it’s true that a man can die, and not only live in others, but give them life. Which in turn made me think of Sarah Manguso’s essay about the true purpose of being a serious writer: If people read your work and, as a result, choose life, then you are doing your job. It made my envy of others’ successes seem petty, made me remember— My purpose is not to receive accolades, my purpose is to write & to get my work out there so that the people who need it can find it, & it can give them life.

So, after the Q&A ended, I got back to work on my memory project. (Kerouac considered his entire oeuvre a memory project, a la Proust, & I see myself/my work in that same lineage.)

Thursday, I went to the Racine Art Museum with my mom. We did that last year near her birthday, too, and it was so nice that it has become our new tradition. I always love going to RAM; I feel so blessed that we have such a great art museum in this mid-sized midwest town. The new exhibits that have been added since I went there back in August are phenomenal. & the zodiac-themed virtual community art show my piece is part of? They had an iPad mounted on the wall, scrolling thru all the pieces in the show, & it was really fucking cool to see mine there. I know it was only on a small screen, but still. To see my art in a real fucking art museum? Kinda mind-blowing.

In other news:

Some of my nearest & dearest have been going thru some health scares. (Thankfully, I now know for sure that one of them was just that—a scare.) Little C. has been relentlessly moody, & I guess I’ve been pretty moody, too. I’ve been horny a lot & also sad a lot.

I’ve got a new crush. I know nothing can, or will, ever come of it, but I don’t mind so much. Crush energy, much like mania, is something I’ve learned to harness in more positive ways, most of the time. I don’t need to pursue my crush, I don’t need to pine, I can make them my muse & channel the energy into writing & art. & I’ve been deep in nostalgia—what else is new—longing for a hundred thousand people, places, moments from my past. Currently, I’m missing the winter I worked in a flower shop in Chicago, & the winter I ice skated once a week in downtown Milwaukee. But, at least nostalgia is another energy I can channel into art. My whole life is a memory project.

[munsonxmayhem]

I have a special request it's kinda personal. With the anniversary of the September 11th attack in just 2 days it's hard for me each year that day because I was personally impacted by what happened that day 21 years ago so it's emotional time of year for me. I won't go into many details just that I lost someone in NYC that day and I was only 10 at the time so a confused little girl dealing with all this. But I remember the smoke and seeing the towers fall. I don't know how much you know about that day or if you even remember it but I could use a comfort with Joe being there for the reader in the anniversary while they are visiting the trade center site *I do it every year*. Something where she is trying to be strong for her mom and then breaks down once they get back to their hotel and she tells him about that day and he comforts her. If you don't it's OK I understand this is a touchy subject.

You don’t need to be strong all the time.

Joseph Quinn x Reader

Warnings; Descriptions of 9/11, Angst, Fluff. Joe comforting reader during a hard time.

———————————————————

It’s been 21 years since tragedy struck in NYC, the collapse of the twin towers, the loss of many loved ones. You still remember when it happened, at 8:14 a.m on a Tuesday morning; people at home, people at school, people at work.

You remember the smoke, you remember the panic that broke out amongst the people as the towers fell. You remember the moment you’d found out you’d lost someone in this horrific incident.

Even after 21 years, you still remember like it was yesterday. Every year you’d go to the site with your mother, in remembrance of the lives that were lost. This year was different, you’d be bringing your boyfriend, Joseph. He’s very sympathetic, making sure you’re okay every step through the day.

As you stand at the site, Joseph standing patiently behind you as you held your mother’s hand. You kept your tears at bay, deciding you must be strong for her. She squeezes your hand tight, the sadness in her eyes tearing you to pieces inside. She pulls you close, telling you how much she loves you and you hold her tight, telling her you love her, too.

As you guys are walking, Joseph notices how you’re struggling; hands shaky, and voice unsteady as you say goodbye to your mother; parting ways.

It’s a silent ride back to your hotel, but he holds your hand to let you know he’s still there.

When you get into the room, you take off your shoes, sighing deeply as you sit on the bed. He takes a seat next to you, holding your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. You send him a weak smile, before looking down at your lap.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, gently. Your heart swells with sadness, not being able to hold the tears back anymore. You feel a few drop to your cheeks, and he immediately pulls you to him. “Hey, hey.. we don’t have to talk about it..” He coos, gently stroking your hair. “It’s just hard.. It never gets any easier.” You start, voice breaking.

“I remember it like it was yesterday, even after 21 years. I remember seeing all the smoke, and hearing the yelling and the screams of panic, and I remember seeing the towers just.. collapsing.. It was so awful. I lost someone that day, someone I loved very much..” He holds you tighter, his head resting on yours.

“Every year my mom and I go visit, and every year I pretend to be strong.. for her. I force myself to put on a brave face because I don’t want her to see me break..” Your voice is weak, as the tears drop consistently down your cheeks.

He takes your shoulders, pushing you away just a bit to look into your eyes. “Hey, look at me.” You glance up, watery eyed. “You’re the bravest person I know.. Okay? You don’t need to be strong all the time.. It’s okay to let yourself cry, let yourself feel what you’re feeling. It doesn’t mean you’re weak, it means you’re human.. It means you went through something terrible, and it still affects you.” He finishes, brushing the tears from your cheeks.

“Thank you.. I just.. I don’t know.” He nods, “That’s okay, darling. I’ll be here no matter what.” He presses a quick kiss to your lips before pulling you back against him, holding you for as long as you need him to. He lets you cry to him; no judgment, no telling you to stop, just comfort, care, and love. He’d always be there.

—————————

Brief Author’s Note: I am so sorry that you went through this, anon. I’m also sorry to all those who may read this that have been affected by this event. My inbox is open to whoever needs someone to talk to.

x

- A

[redbeardace]

I was asleep.

Everyone remembers where they were. I was sleeping.

I was in college then. Summer quarter had ended a few weeks ago, and Fall quarter was a few weeks away, so I had nothing to do that Tuesday. I was sleeping.

My mother would get up to help get my father ready for work. He'd leave a little after 6 AM. Then she'd stay up and turn on the KTLA Morning News. We weren't in Southern California, but we'd lived there and had family connections there, so it felt like a "local" newscast, even though it was a thousand miles away. So most weekdays, I'd fade into consciousness, hearing the rhythm of the broadcast.

Carlos to Mark, Mark to Jennifer, Jennifer to Sam, Commercial, Repeat.

That morning, none of that.

I couldn't really hear what was going on, but it wasn't normal. There were no jokes, no music, no commercials, no changes. Just a steady drone.

I started to listen, to try to hear what was happening.

I heard something about the Pentagon and a bomb at the State Department.

Well. That's not good.

I roll out of bed and into the living room. It was a little after 7:30.

There's a helicopter shot of giant cloud of dust on the TV. Dust. A few buildings. here and there. But dust. Everywhere. It looked like Mt. St. Helens had moved to the city and erupted.

It wasn't the Pentagon. It wasn't the State Department. Was that New York?

"Planes hit the World Trade Center towers." My mother's voice is shaky.

Okay, then, somewhere in that dust are the towers. They build those things to survive plane strikes. It survived the bomb in '93. The Empire State Building got hit by a plane and it's still standing. She told me that they'd fallen, but I didn't believe her. I couldn't believe her. They're just hidden by the dust and the dust will clear.

The dust will clear. The towers can't just fall. You'll see.

The dust will clear.

There was nothing there.

---

We watched what was unfolding on the other side of the continent all day long. I think my father got sent home early and joined us.

Watching a day like that unfold live is an experience that's hard to describe. You look back now, and there's a clear timeline, there are clear events. But on that day, nothing was clear. The news was an unbroken stream of numbing repetition and confusion. The anchors narrating what's going on have a worse view of it than you do, because they're squinting at small monitors halfway across the studio. You can flip between CNN, ABC, NBC, CBS, and pick up little tidbits here and there, but they can't. They only have what comes through their earpiece, what ends up on their TelePrompTer, what's handed to them on paper. No one knows what's going on, not even the people telling you what's going on.

That day was full of rumors and confusion. There were attacks at the State Department and the FBI, there was a plane that had crashed in rural Pennsylvania, there was a plane that had been hijacked in Alaska. We didn't know what was real, and what was a phantom of fear. But mostly, it was just the numbing repetition. There was nothing new to add. Nothing more to say at 1 PM that hadn't been said at noon. What got repeated is what had happened, what didn't get repeated hadn't. The plane crash in Pennsylvania got repeated. The attack at the State Department didn't.

All day long, it was the same video from earlier in the day. Maybe a new angle as reporters and survivors got their footage to a TV station. But we watched it again and again. Maybe there'd be a new detail to see, something to fill in another piece of the What The Fuck Just Happened puzzle we were now living in.

In a weird way, that day didn't seem as bad as it went on and the rumors subsided and the scope became clear. My morning started with a dust cloud that covered all of Lower Manhattan and obscured what had happened. Had the towers toppled sideways and crushed dozens of buildings for blocks around? It was 9 AM on a Tuesday, a work day, those buildings were full, and the area was a major commuter hub. 10000 people in each building, maybe tens of thousands passing through, hundreds of thousands in that cloud of dust. There's no one alive down there. The initial estimates they gave were 20-30 thousand in the collapsed towers alone, to say nothing of the people suffocated by that cloud of dust and smoke. And then Washington DC is under attack and they're even hijacking planes in Alaska. What are they going to do to us next? But the death toll steadily dropped, other rumored attacks were found to be false alarms, they didn't come back for a second round. But that "good" news didn't make us feel any better. What would've made us feel better would've been word that they had been rescuing dozens of people from the rubble, stories of survivors being found days later, but that news never came.

---

Where's the President? Why haven't we seen the President? Why hasn't he said anything?

"He's safe and in an undisclosed location."

On September 10th, George W. Bush was just a bumbling dumbass who'd stolen the election from Gore. He wasn't yet a warmonger, although he'd surrounded himself with them.

On September 11th, Bush was still a bumbling dumbass, but he was our President. I was actually glad that he was invisible and hidden most of that day. We didn't know what in the hell was going on. If I knew where the President was, then the assholes who did this to us would know where he was, and no matter how much I didn't like the guy, I certainly didn't want to see a terrorist attack on Air Force One or the White House.

But I was worried that he'd send in the missiles and bombers and turn everything from Morocco to Pakistan to ash, which is what some people were calling for before we even knew who was responsible. And that's not what happened. All that happened that day was... nothing. I respected that, and I still respect that. Rushing headlong into revenge isn't what we needed that day.

---

We ended that day, not with Dan Rather or Peter Jennings or Tom Brokaw, but with Hal Fishman, legendary anchor on the KTLA News at Ten. He was a plane guy. He'd know what happened. He was comfortable to us, familiar, and we needed to know there was still something out there comfortable and familiar.

---

The next day, my mother wanted a break from it all, so we went shopping. I don't think we needed to, and Wednesday wasn't the normal shopping day, but we just had to get out, so we went to Wal-Mart.

Throughout the store, there were TVs hanging from the ceiling. Normally, they'd show ads and music videos and things. Not that day. They were all tuned to CNN. People stopped in the middle of the aisle, watching Condoleezza Rice or Donald Rumsfeld or Colin Powell or whoever giving a press conference.

There was no break from it.

---

Does everyone else know it was a Tuesday? I mean, just know. Like somehow that is an important, integral part of what happened that day. Because I know it was a Tuesday with that same fierceness as I know that the towers fell. I don't remember all the flight numbers or which tower was hit first or which one fell first or even a single word of what the President said that night, but I know it was a Tuesday. And I don't understand why.

---

I've cried over it. I just did while writing all this. It's one of the few things I have cried about. But it's never sustained weeping. One tear. Maybe two. It feels like it should be more, but then it's like the scale becomes incomprehensible and unreal and it stops. What good will my tears do? They won't fix it. They won't change it.

---

"Never Forget", they say, but twenty years on, many of you have no memory of that day, maybe even weren't born yet. You've only seen the packaged videos from the perfect camera angles. You know what happened, the full story told from beginning to end across three acts in a two hour movie. You know the death toll, you know about the box cutters, you know how Osama Bin Laden ends, you know where the undisclosed location is, you know about the plane that said "Let's Roll". We didn't know any of that, sometimes for days or weeks or years. We only knew shock and confusion and sadness and anger and numbness and a giant cloud of dust that has not cleared and will never clear and still coats everything in our lives, even if we were thousands of miles away.

For those of us who saw that day...

Never forget?

How could we?

[anogete]

Watch me vomit up my thoughts

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?  I’m sorry I’ve disappeared on everyone.  It’s been... a year.  I think that probably goes for everyone, not just me.  If you’re interested in a personal life update, then read on.  If you’re looking for an update on my writing then I regret to inform you that I haven’t written a single thing this year.  Maybe next year, though.  There is always next year, right?  I think I saw a blurb that we’re getting Sam and Bucky back in March.  And Loki shortly after.  Maybe that will be my inspiration.

I’m fortunate enough to have a job that lets me comfortably work from home.  I’m also fortunate enough to own a home.  And my last blessing is that I don’t have kids, so I didn’t have to figure out the nightmare of childcare and home schooling like some of you.  My library on the second floor of the house has been my office since mid-March.  I’ve been transitioning into the Associate Financial Advisor roll this year and that has been going well.  I’m supporting the clients I’ve worked with as an assistant for the past nine years, so it’s been easy-going.  I’m able to order my groceries for pick up to avoid going in the stores and I live in an neighborhood where it is easy to get delivery from restaurants.  I’m incredibly lucky to have all these things going for me and I am thankful every damn day.

I fell into a bit of a funk this spring and early summer, but managed to pull myself out of it in August.  I started planning my meals, walking 2-5 miles every day, and exercising on the Peloton bike I bought a year ago.  I also started reading again and zipped through almost 50 books between June and now.  By November, I was feeling strong and healthy.  I felt like I had found a balance between work and activity and self-care.  I was still coming to terms with my grandma passing in March of last year and with Ferguson (my sweet doggo) passing in September of last year.  But I was trying and things were getting better.  I felt like I had my feet underneath me.

Lemme stop you here if you don’t want to read about death and some general medical stuff.  Because that’s mostly what you’re getting from here on out.

On November 21st, my mom texted me at 5:30am.  I got it right away because I usually wake up around that time, alarm or not.  She said she had dropped my dad off at the hospital because he was having difficulty breathing.  Apparently, he’d been feeling bad for a week, but insisted to everyone that it was just his sinuses draining.  I called her and began questioning her like I was cross-examining a star witness.  I was able to piece together a really fucking shitty story.

My dad always went to a friend’s house on Friday evenings to have a couple beers and hang out.  We’d all warned him since March that he needed to stop, but he insisted it was fine.  He bought into a lot of the cavalier attitude that the Trump fans have over this virus. Plus, he was 64-years-old and didn’t take any medication so he probably thought it was no big deal.  He spent a few hours at his friend’s house on November 6th.  Unbeknownst to anyone at the time, he received a call from that friend on November 11th that the friend and the friend’s wife had tested positive for COVID.  He didn’t share this info with my mother, my brothers, or my uncle, all of whom had been near him.  By November 15th, he was coughing but insisted it was drainage when my mom suggested he take something for it and go to the doctor.  By November 18th, he was worse and admitted to my mom that his friend had tested positive but that he hadn’t seen him for almost two weeks so his problems were just sinus-related and not COVID.  My mom hates confrontation, so she accepted this and didn’t tell anyone, including me and my brothers.  By November 19th, he had a fever and was having trouble breathing along with a persistent cough.  He finally agreed to take some cold medicine, but refused to call his doctor’s office despite my mom asking him many, many times.  At 4:30am on November 21st, he woke my mom and asked her to take him to the hospital because he couldn’t breathe well.  She dropped him off and returned home to text me since they wouldn’t allow her in the building.  She also texted my brothers, who admitted that they felt like they’d had a cold for several days.  I live 4 hours away and haven’t traveled since March, so I hadn’t seen any of them.

A nurse called my mom a couple hours after she dropped my dad off to tell her that he was positive for COVID and pneumonia and they were admitting him to put him on a bipap.  From what I understand, that’s the oxygen mask that pushes air into your lungs.  Later that day, the health department called my mom and told her to quarantine for two weeks.  My mom cooperated and gave them my brothers’ phone number (they live together), my uncle’s phone number, and the name and number of the person we suspected my dad was infected by (his friend).  My brothers opted to get tested and were positive.  They quarantined for two weeks and had mild to moderate symptoms (brief fever, very tired, cough, drainage).  My mom had virtually no symptoms with the exception of some drainage that she took Mucinex for.  She didn’t get tested, but she lived and slept in the same bed with my dad for a week while he was symptomatic.  If my brothers got it from 30 minutes in the same room as him, surely she got it as well.  My uncle and his son got tested, but they were negative.

My dad was cooperative with the doctor and nurses at first, but as the first day wore on he became irritated.  He’d been without his chewing tobacco (yes, I know: eww) for several hours and was going through nicotine withdrawal, but wouldn’t admit that to the nurses or doctor.  The next day he was put in ICU, still on the bipap, and even more unruly and rude to the staff taking care of him.  They called my mom to ask her to talk to him and convince him to cooperate.  They said if he couldn’t recover on the bipap and required a ventilator then “things would be very bad.”  My mom tried to talk to him by text and he just continued to insist that he was well enough to come home.

I used to be close to my dad when I was a kid, but we’d grown apart over my adulthood.  Over the past 20 years, my dad morphed into someone different.  Everyone around him, especially my grandmother, told me they saw this happen the same as I did.  The result was that my dad became someone I didn’t like and didn’t want to spend time with.  He also didn’t seem to know how to talk to me anymore.  To be fair, I didn’t give him much help in that regard.  I texted him to see how he was doing and the conversation quickly devolved into him complaining about the care and insisting he was well enough to come home.  I tried to reason with him and appeal to his love for my mom by saying that my fear was him coming home and giving her the virus.  He told me that he’d decided he was no longer contagious and this was just a bunch of bullshit.  This conversation via text continued through Monday and Tuesday (November 23rd and 24th), but it took a turn for the delusional.  The doctor can only assume that the virus and the lack of oxygen had resulted in hallucinations and delusions.  My dad told my mother and I that he was in an office building owned by a man named Mr. Pritt.  He said he was the only patient and that this man was having his workers experiment on him and that they would eventually kill him.  He demanded that we come get him immediately so he could recover at home.  When we told him he’d die if he came home because he was too sick, he insisted he wasn’t sick at all and became very angry with us.  He accused both my mom and I of conspiring to kill him because we wouldn’t help him.  One day he told me that I’d confirmed what he’d known all along.  I asked him what that was and he said, “That I always loved you more than you loved me.”  This really hurt because even though I knew he was loopy, I also knew that he’d probably actually had that though before.

He began refusing treatment on those days and wouldn’t accept the steroids they were trying to give him and raised hell when they tried to take him for a chest x-ray.  He also told them he didn’t want to be placed on a ventilator even though he had agreed to one when he was admitted.  He was texting all of his friends and telling them he needed a ride home.  He attempted to get up and leave the hospital twice, falling in the floor both times because he was so weak from lack of oxygen once he took the mask off.  He also told my mom and I that he was secretly removing the mask when the nurses couldn’t see to prove to them that he wasn’t sick.  He was taking and sending blurry pictures to us of the room as “evidence.”  He told my mom to forward the pictures to “the feds.”  The pictures were of his hospital bed, the whiteboard with his nurses’ and doctor’s names on it, his IVs, etc.  By the morning of Wednesday, the 25th, I was getting some off-the-wall texts from him.  He was begging us to come check him out of the hospital at that point and we were trying to play along and tell him we were getting everything in order for him to come home soon.  Eventually, he told me that he wasn’t getting out of there alive and that he loved me.  I told him I loved him too and begged him to do whatever the doctor said because the doctor wanted to help him get better.

A few minutes later, the nurse called my mom and asked if she’d been on the phone with my dad.  My mom said she and I hadn’t spoken to him by any way other than text since he arrived at the hospital.  The nurse said he had been on the phone with a woman, trying to convince her to come get him.  The nurse made him put the call on speaker so she could tell the woman that he wasn’t well enough to leave.  Because she was concerned that her message didn’t get through before my dad hung up, she called my mom to make sure he hadn’t convinced my mom to check him out against medical advice.  My mom assured her that we had no intention of breaking him out of the hospital, but she didn’t know who the woman was.  It wasn’t her or me.  We called a long-time former co-worker of my dad’s that I’ve known since I was a kid and she said she hadn’t talked to him.  We called his best friend and asked if he’d called and spoken to the man’s wife.  Not her either.  More on this later.  I’m sure you know where it’s going.

We were stumped, but didn’t have time to deal with it because the nurse practitioner called and told my mom that my dad was delusional and could no longer make his own decisions.  They said he had no chance of survival if they didn’t put him on a ventilator immediately.  My mom called me.  I told her to agree to it.  The nurse called her back and gave the phone to my dad.  He had agreed to the ventilator as well and wanted to tell my mom that he loved her and me and my brothers and his dog.  His speech was slurred and muffled from the bipap mask, but she at least heard that.  They intubated him right after the call.  He was on a paralytic for a week.  When they backed off on the paralytic, they had to increase his oxygen.  A week later, the nurse tried to kindly tell us that he wasn’t getting better and his chances of survival were low.  She suggested we start to talk about turning off the ventilator and letting him go.  We did talk about that, which was very upsetting for everyone, but the doctor said he’d been on the ventilator for two weeks and we’d give him one more week to see what happens.  By this point, he no longer had pneumonia. But the damage COVID did to his lungs couldn’t be repaired.

The ventilator was on full blast (highest pressure, highest oxygen) just to keep him somewhat stable.  The days were ticking by and he still wasn’t making progress.  Any step forward was followed by a bigger step back. My mom would call and get the update from the nurse most days, but I did call myself a few days.  When I’d call and talk to the nurse, I’d get a grim picture that my mom didn’t seem to get or understand. I talked to her on December 12th and asked her if she was trying to protect my brothers and I or if she really thought he was going to get better.  She admitted that she’d had a feeling for days that he wasn’t going to get better.  We decided to just wait for the doctor to call.  The nurse called my mom on Monday, December 14th and told her that my dad’s blood pressure was all over the place and they were struggling to keep him stable, that the ventilator was turned up to the highest settings and it was barely enough to keep him going.  My mom texted me and told me she asked them to call me.  The doctor called me within about 20 minutes and basically told me that my dad wasn’t going to make it.  They’d had him on a ventilator for 19 days and within a couple days his throat tissue would likely become necrotic from the pressure of the cuff keeping the tube in place.  They could only continue the ventilator if they could put in a trach and he wasn’t stable enough for that.  In addition, he needed more support than the ventilator could provide.  I was told he was either going to go into cardiac arrest while on the ventilator and die or they’d be forced to take him off the ventilator because of the damage to his throat.  The most damning thing he told me was that he’d removed the sedation but my dad didn’t wake.  He wasn’t responsive, wouldn’t squeeze their hands, wouldn’t flinch when they tested his reflexes, nothing.

I was told we could come sit with him and say goodbye when the ventilator was removed.  I asked when and the doctor said soon.  I live 4 hours from my parents, so I told him I’d leave right away and have my mom call to make arrangements for me to come to the hospital.  I called my mom and told her all this and asked her to let the hospital know.  I packed a bag and rushed out the door.  On my way out of town, the doctor called me back and asked if I was on my way.  My mom had told them that we’d come by the next morning and he was worried my dad wouldn’t make it through the night.  So, I had to have a shitty conversation with my mom about how we couldn’t schedule my dad’s death for 7am on Tuesday, that it needed to happen at 8pm on Monday.  I do not recommend these types of calls.

I got into town around 7pm and picked my mom up because she’d decided she wanted to come with me.  My brothers said they couldn’t handle it and decided to stay at my mom’s house.  My mom and I were taken to the COVID floor, given gowns, and gloves, told he was COVID positive so we’d need to continue to wear our cloth masks (no medical mask, is that safe?!), and escorted to his room in the ICU.  Guys, he looked so fucking tired and so sad.  It was heartbreaking.  The nurse said their ICU was full and most of the patients were in the same shape as my dad.  We talked to him for a few minutes, held his hand and all that shit.  He didn’t respond in any way, so I don’t know if he was even there.  We stepped out of the room while they removed the tube and gave him some medicine.  When we went back in, his breaths were labored and it looked like he was gasping for air. My mom almost lost it because she wasn’t expecting that.  I told her she could go wait in the hall and I’d stay with him until he passed.  The nurse was kind enough to give him a little more medicine to make it less dramatic, but it was still difficult watching him breathe in that way.  My mom sat so she couldn’t see his head to make things easier on herself.  We sat there with him for about 40 minutes before he passed away at 8:32pm on Monday, the 14th.

I stayed with my mom last week and helped her arrange a private graveside service and the burial.  She wanted to do a funeral and I thought that was the worst idea, so we agreed on doing a celebration of life next year when things are a little better (hopefully).  To my knowledge, I haven’t had the virus.  I operated under the assumption that my mom and brothers had it and were immune for now and wouldn’t transmit it.  So, I was able to be with them without mask, but I did wear a mask when anyone else was around.  I can’t say the same for the fucking funeral director and the locksmith’s employee who opened my dad’s safe for us, though.  I live in a bigger city and mask wearing is pretty wide-spread here, but I saw so many people in my hometown (a more rural area) who didn’t bother with them.

Anyway, while all these graveside preparations are going on my mom goes through the bag of personal items from my dad that the hospital gave us.  She tossed his clothes in the washer and placed his two rings into a bag to give to the funeral home so he could be buried in them.  She also pulled out his wallet and his cell phone.  His wallet has a picture that was obviously cut from an old driver’s license of a woman named Deb.  Apparently, this woman lives in Florida and had attended junior high school with my dad.  About two years ago, my parents took a trip to Florida and visited with her for several days.  She even friended my mom on Facebook.  So, the old driver’s license picture of her was very weird.  What was even more disturbing?  His wallet also contained a plastic bag of hair that very obviously is not my mom’s.  And there was a piece of paper with three phone numbers on it.  His phone was locked with a PIN and was set to wipe itself after 20 incorrect tries.  I did tried to break into it, but wasn’t successful.  My mom admitted that she suspected he’d been talking to someone on his phone for years, but she never directly confronted him about it.  She’d just make comments about him always texting on his phone and being secretive.  Two Christmases ago he bought her a ring at a store that she has an online login to.  This particular store posts the receipts for all purchases linked to the customer’s account to the website.  She saw that my dad had purchased two pieces of jewelry even though she only received one.  My dad has never in his life bought me a Christmas present without my mom assisting, so she knew it wasn’t for me.  She still didn’t confront him, though.  She just told him that she could see the itemized receipts online.

I sympathized with my mom because I’ve experienced the infidelity of a partner in a relationship and if I were her then I’d want to know.  But I also told her that I don’t know digging into it will make things any better and may not even give her the truth.  He’s gone and there is nothing that can be done about that or anything else.  While I was running errands for her the day before the graveside service, she messaged Deb in Florida and asked if she wanted her picture back.  She also called the three phone numbers in his wallet.  One went to Deb.  The other two were the cell phone and work phone of my dad’s best friend’s wife, Anne.  The same friend and wife who likely gave the virus to my dad.  My mom told me when I got back that she’d done this and admitted she’d always felt like my dad was talking to Anne and might have an inappropriate relationship with her.  I suspect my mom is right.  Gut instinct is usually accurate.  She said she didn’t think anything physical was going on with Deb, but she did think my dad was carrying on a flirtatious relationship with her via text.  In both cases, he tried to hide it.  And if you hide it, then you know it’s wrong.  That night Deb messaged my mom back and said she had heard about what happened to my dad and was very sorry.  She said that my dad was always clear that he was married and nothing went on that was inappropriate, but that he gave her someone to talk to when her husband was sick and dying five years earlier and they’d always kept in contact.  Again, I don’t think my mom can count on anyone to give her the full story without spin or deceit.  A couple days ago, she texted me a picture of a receipt from my dad’s truck.  It was from last Christmas from a department store.  It had two pieces of jewelry on it.  She looked them both up using the UPCs listed and found the necklace he gave her last year and a ring she doesn’t recognize.  We don’t know if he was giving this jewelry to Deb in Florida or Anne, his friend’s wife.  Or someone else we don’t even know about.  And we’re probably never going to know.  Do I want to call Deb and Anne and tell them I want to full story?  Fuck yeah.  Do I think it will fix anything?  Fuck no.

TL;DR?  I finally found some balance in my life late this summer.  This balance was destroyed when my dad got COVID and died after three weeks in the hospital.  And when you’ve already got a not-so-great relationship with your dad, you get all kinds of feels when he dies in a traumatic way and then you find out he’s been screwing around on your mom.  I also have lots of anger toward him for knowingly exposing my other family members to the virus simply because he didn’t want to own up to getting it after doing something we’d all told him to stop doing.

Health-wise?  I think I’m okay.  It’s been almost ten days since I was with him in the hospital and seven days since his graveside service.  I haven’t had any symptoms yet and I think most people show symptoms by now.  Regardless, I’ve been at home since I returned last Thursday evening and I intend to stay home until January 2nd.  My boyfriend is also home and will be here until January 2nd as well.  Just to be safe.  My brothers are mostly recovered, but both still have a bit of a cough.  My mom never had much in the way of symptoms and seems fine.  My dad was 64 and overweight.  We found out once he was admitted to the hospital that his regular doctor had told him he was a diabetic and my dad insisted on “treating” that with cinnamon instead of actual medicine.  Other than those things, he didn’t have any health concerns.  Be careful, ya’ll.

[duggardata]

New / Newly Confirmed Data on Jinger’s Miscarriage

TW:  Pregnancy Loss

Multiple readers contacted me with tips about this.  Thank you all!

TL;DR—Duggar Data is now using the following data for Jinger’s Loss...

Date Announced   November 25, 2019  (Confirmed)  (Note—Since this wasn’t a public announcement, it isn’t counted in the Vuolo, Duggar, or Overall Data for Pregnancy Announcement Timing.)

Due Date   June 19, 2020  (Approximate)

Theoretical DOB   June 18, 2020  (Jinger was 1 Day Early w/ Felicity.)   

Theoretical Spacing  ~700 Days  (Projected DOB – Felicity’s DOB) 

Date of Loss   November 26, 2019  (Confirmed)

Additionally, Vuolo #2*’s Projected Spacing, which is #2*’s Projected DOB – the Date of Jinger’s Miscarriage, shifted to 358 Days.  

Details within.

What We Knew Before—

Recently, Counting On provided additional data about Jinger (Duggar) Vuolo’s Miscarriage.  Before we get into the new data, here is a quick summary—with citations—of everything we knew, prior to Counting On...

On May 28, 2020, Jinger + Jeremy Vuolo revealed that they had suffered a miscarriage “last fall.”  On May 29, 2020, the Vuolos clarified that their loss happened “last November”—i.e., November 2019.  (See Also.)

The Vuolos privately revealed their pregnancy to the Duggar Family prior to the loss.  They shared the news “on a Monday evening” in November 2019, during the Duggars’ “Family Night.”  (Family Night is a tradition at the TTH occurring every Monday.)  There were 4 Mondays in November 2019—the 4th, 11th, 18th, and 25th.

Sadly, Jinger miscarried “the next morning,” after sharing the news.  We know the Announcement Date was a Monday, so the Date of Loss must be the immediately–following Tuesday—i.e., November 5, 12, 19, or 26.

According to the Vuolos, Jinger’s miscarriage just happened to coincide with a pre–planned visit by Jeremy’s Sister, Valerie.  (Instagram Live, 5–28–20, 4:00 Pacific.)  Valerie apparently visited for Thanksgiving.  Since Thanksgiving fell on November 29th in 2019, this strongly suggests that the Date of Loss was November 26, 2019.  Out of the possible Dates of Loss, above, the 26th is the only one that logically coincides with a visit planned around the Thanksgiving holiday.

We didn’t know anything about how far along Jinger was, at the time of the miscarriage.  (But now we do!  More on that later.)

Based on this evidence, Duggar Data previously settled on November 26, 2019 as the Date of Loss, but didn’t consider it 100% confirmed.  Additionally, the Gestational Age at Loss was totally unknown, so—consistent with the usual rule—Duggar Data assumed it occurred at 6 Weeks Along.  Doing the math...  That yields a Due Date of July 21, 2020, a Theoretical Child Spacing of 732 Days.

New Information From Counting On—

Now, for the new data:  First, in Counting On (8–11–20), “A Beautiful Miracle,” we learned two critical things:  Apparently, when Jinger + Jeremy announced the pregnancy...

Bella Duggar was ~3 Weeks Old, and

Jinger was 10 Weeks Along (i.e., 70–76 Days).

Bella Milagro was born (to Josiah + Lauren) on November 8, 2019.  Adding ~3 Weeks puts us in the Last Week of November 2019.  Obviously, there was only one Monday that week—Monday, November 25, 2019—and, it happens to be the Monday Duggar Data already suspected as the Announcement Date.  So, at this point, Duggar Data considers that date “confirmed.”  (None of the other dates make sense with all the evidence.)

Based on the Announcement Date, we can also “confirm” the Date of Loss as Tuesday, November 26, 2019, since we know it happened the next day.  (See Also Counting On (8–18–20), “Highs and Lows.”)

Finally, Counting On told us that Jinger was 10 Weeks Along on November 25, 2019 (the Announcement Date).  Specifically, Jinger said (at ~28:57)—

“I’m 10 Weeks Along and I’ve been feeling pretty good.”

Doing the math, this implies that Jinger’s Due Date was the week of June 16–22, 2020.  Consistent with the typical practice, Duggar Data will use the mid–point—i.e., June 19, 2020—as an Approximate Due Date.  We can then use Jinger’s Delivery (vs. Due Date) Average to figure out a Theoretical DOB of June 18, 2020, and a Theoretical Spacing (Felicity to Theoretical DOB) of 700 Days.

Again...  So many Anons sent in tips about this.  Thanks so much!

[skgway]

1823 July, Tues. 22

7

12

1/2 hour in in the stable talking to the plasterer, and afterwards in the cow-house – Letter from M– [Mariana] (Lawton) dated yesterday,

“last Tuesday in coming downstairs my foot slipped and I fell down and sprained my right shoulder, till Saturday I was unable to use my arm at all, and even today I feel writing painful. xxxx has been my amanuensis but I am fearful of her, acting that part to you, lest you should fancy me worse than I really am” –

She thinks I “have exaggerated” her “feelings” on the subject of my last letter, “more than” her “letter warranted” – She seems to keep to her old opinions, yet so modifies them, that as she observes “to enter more upon the subject could do no good, therefore we had better drop it” –

She adds ‘I have never doubted your faith tho I have your prudence’ Wishes me to be circumspect. ‘I have a feeling on the subject which no earthly power can remove, and great as the misery which it would entail upon myself might be, I would endure it all rather than the nature of our connection should be known to any human being’ 

She had before observed that when she complained of my attentions to Miss Maclean I had owned they were foolish. I really don't remember this  – Both Isabella and Charlotte told her last summer I did Mrs. M[ilne] harm –

Letter also from Miss Henrietta C– [Crompton] (Esholt hall) Disappointed at my not going – The Gilbert C– [Crompton]s still there – To stay till tomorrow – 4 pages the ends, under the seal, and the top of page 1 crossed – Miss Fawkes of Farnley speedily to be married to Sir Edward Barnes, governor general of Ceylon – She is to go out with him almost immediately –  

“young Kaye is soon to marry Miss Arbuthnot with £60,000 – Accomplished and pretty, but I should hope weak for accepting him” –  “Pray read ‘Quintin Durward’ it is charmingly interesting, I think superior to Peveril”

The C– [Crompton]s are going to woodend – They are to be at Leeds as today to see the exhibition –  “Dr. Camidge has had a serious dispute with Mr. Greatorex where or how he is to stand” at the approaching musical festival –

Wrote the above of today, and went down to breakfast at 9 1/2 – At 10 3/4 in spite the perpetual showers (very rainy all last night) set off to H–x [Halifax] – A heavy shower at the top of the cunnery lane lasted till I stopt at Mrs. Wilcock’s door – Went in for 2 or 3 minutes to ask Miss Pickford if she would allow me to drive her to Haughend – (George rode Percy) – The Priestleys and Astleys, 2 Miss Butlers staying in the house, and Mr. John Edwards of Pyenest, all assembled in the drawing room soon after our arrival –

Sir John gave me 3 franks, for Mrs. Norcliffe tomorrow and for Miss Henrietta C– [Crompton] and Mr. Marsh on Thursday – Gave Mrs. H[enry] P– [Priestley] Mr. Marsh’s letter to read, and she instantly and handsomely gave me her name as a subscriber to Miss King’s poems – Lady A[stley] would have done the same, but Sir John, on reading the letter thought there was a particular etiquette to be attended to in these sort of applications – That he, as member for the county of Wiltshire, ought to have been applied to at home (at Everley) –

The printed names of the subscribers he knew well – Knew many of the people mentioned intimately – If Mr. Marsh applied to him, he would be happy to put his name down – Would be happy to do anything to oblige him – I might hint this when I wrote – Sir John had said I might hint this, before I asked his permission (it was granted) to tell Mr. M– [Marsh] that, if the thing was named to Sir John) I knew he would be a subscriber – The recent but worthy baronet took some pains to assure me, there was a certain etiquette in these matters, as member for the county, necessary to be attended to – He knew I was aware of this etc. etc. –

At this moment (5 p.m.) I am quietly smiling at all this importance – It might be a subscription for raising a Wilshire corps of volunteers, or for some great concern of vital consequence to the interests of the county and its members; instead of a 5-shilling subscription to a small volume of poems, published for the benefit of a poor girl and her family, reduced to indigence by agricultural speculations! ‘Tis but a little trait, but yet how biograph of Sir John! 

On coming away, it was more than I expected to hear lady A– [Astley] invite me to Everley with seeming cordiality – I might visit Mr. Marsh – Winterslow was only (16 or 20 miles I forgot which) distant from them (the A– [Astley]s) and they would be very happy to see me – They are not to have Haughend till the 11th of next month; of course, therefore, I expressed my hope of seeing them again –

The 2 Miss B– [Butlers] are vulgar looking girls – Miss A– [Astley] seemed much at home with them – Appearances made no very individual distinctions between them – I suppose his contested election cost Sir John £70,000; and he has 12 or 14 thousands a year – Lady A– [Astley] said to me when I dined there, “Sir John is of a very old family – They were barons in the time of tilts and tournaments” – Does not the present importance of the house of Everley restless upon the manners than the money of the family? Perhaps their county is yet but young – But they are very civil to me, and little ween this ink shed of my pen –

From Haughend drove to Mill-house – Gave Mrs. W[illiam] H[enry] R– [Rawson] the letter to read she said something about hoping I was not begging for a subscription – There were so many subscriptions – With their family . . . . . . . but, seeing it was only 5 /. [shillings] said she never thought of my asking for anything less than a guinea, and handsomely enough gave me her name – Wanted to give me the money but this, of course, must be paid when the book is received – Saw 8 of the children (there are 10), and drove off to Thorpe –

Gave Mrs. J[ohn] Priestley the letter to read – She hummed and ahed, asked what Miss King – If she was related to the Kings of Wakefield – It was a long way off – Many charities at home – Of course, I agreed – Said it was quite enough if she had taken the trouble to read the letter, and instantly turned the subject – Which must have been a relief to her, as she had turned red, and might have hammered and stammered a little longer but for my ready consideration –

I guessed their dinner was waiting – and after staying a few minutes drove off – Made no remark on the subject to Miss P– [Pickford] marvelling, however then, as now, that she never once named the thing, or made the least offer to subscribe – How can this be? They say, or I fancy Miss P– [Pickford] has seven-hundred a year – She must be poor – Perhaps all she can spare is given to her friend Miss Threlfall – Yet not 5 /. [shillings] for an occasion like this! Many people can do what I think I could not – I know the value of money as well as most; but ‘tis the dross of gold, and may it never draw its dirty line along my spirit! –

Talked a little of Miss Threlfall as connected with beauty, flirting sentimentality, etc. Real refinement of sentiment perhaps almost peculiar to the lettered mind – At all events I could not concede it to a flirt – Wondered Miss Threlfall had never married. ‘She must have had some good offers’. Miss P[ickford] made no answer. I did not like to look full in her face but soon after said, ‘Forgive me, it is a very odd thing to say, but you are the last person in the world I should ever have thought of marrying. Tho you are very agreeable and I like your society I cannot fancy you making anyone happy in married life.’ ‘I forgive you,’ said she. 

‘Have you’, I asked, ‘any objection to my making such a speech?’ She answered ‘no’. ‘I thought so’, said I. Convinced by her manner it was the thing to suit her, and persuaded that the connection between her and Miss Threlfall is most probably what I have all along suspected. The persuasion struck me. I laughed and said, ‘I can outwit you. I have more worldly nous than you.’ Said she, ‘I often think so.’ We smiled and parted. She must guess to what I alluded –

She had told me Doctor Macbride was not happy he married because he was young and his wife coquetted. In fact, he is a lettered man of fine and warm feelings which his wife cannot emulate or return. His good principles make him try to be happy, but he cannot. His wife is odd like a gentlewoman but not stylish not talenty. Her oddity is not of the gentle feminine king [kind] – 

Got home at 3 after setting down Miss P– [Pickford] at Mrs. Wilcock’s door – Talking to my uncle and aunt – With the latter in the stable for a little while – Came upstairs at 4 3/4 – Wrote all the last page and so far of this which took me till 6 –

Did nothing in the evening – Came upstairs at 9 at which hour Barometer 1 1/2 degree below changeable Fahrenheit 57 1/2º – Rainy day – Fair and tolerably fine in the evening (vide the last line of page 74) –

At 9 1/2 sat down to write – Filled 1/2 a sheet to Mrs. N– [Norcliffe] to ask if she would have 1/2 a bed to spare for me in her house in Petergate, during the festival, and told her the news I had this morning from Miss Henrietta C– [Crompton]. Then wrote 3/4 of a 1/2 sheet to Mr. Marsh – the following is what I have written about the subscription 

“Shibden Thursday 24 July 1823 

My dear Mr. Marsh – I received your letter on Sunday, and an only assure you, it is one of the most unlikely things in the world, that I should think any application you write can or will make, “impertinent” in any sense of the word. It will always give me real pleasure to do anything that can at all oblige you; more particularly when an obligation is, in fact, conferred on myself, thro’ the satisfaction that one always feels in doing the good, however small, which may be in our power – 

As far as I am individually concerned, your simple request would have been enough; but I can say this much for myself alone, and am sorry to add, that my intercourse with my neighbors is too limited, – too infrequent, – to give me any claim upon them in behalf even of so meritorious a young person while she is so distant and unknown –

I had a letter from Miss Marsh the other day, in which she mentioned having got you 48 subscribers – The paltry addition I can make, might not be named even with the widow's mite – But will you put down my uncle’s name and my aunt’s for one copy each, and my own for two copies?” –––– 

Unless my mind changes, I shall not trouble my neighbors much about subscriptions, however small – I shall explain the thing to Mrs. Henry Priestley – To Mrs. W[illiam] H[enry] Rawson, I shall probably never name it – It will be forgotten or if thought of at all, Mrs. R– [Rawson] with all her family may be well enough pleased to save her 5 /. [shillings] so easily –

[hereidinathoreauwrites]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV), Come From Away - Sankoff & Hein Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Zoey Clarke/Joan Characters: Zoey Clarke, Joan (Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist), Annette (Come From Away), Beulah Davis, Beverley Bass, Claude Elliott Additional Tags: Crossover, Angst and Tragedy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, two people end up stuck together somewhere and oops they're in love, Developing Relationship, mentions of 9/11, the author is clearly just mashing together two things they very much enjoy and seeing what happens, Zoey and Joan are closer in age, college!Zoey, Gander (Come From Away), References to Come From Away Summary:

For Zoey, it was a return home from a study abroad program, back for her final semester at San Francisco State. For Joan, it was a business trip meant to fix her marriage from imminent destruction.

But when history crashed across the world on that fateful day, their lives were thrown together as they took refuge in Newfoundland and tried to cope with tragedies personal and global.

ZEP and Come From Away crossover. Because I said so.

She just wanted to get home.

Zoey Clarke tripped on her way to her seat, nearly smacking an angry-looking dark-haired first-class woman in the face. Mumbling an apology for the near-mishap, Zoey darted towards Economy, face burning.

It had been six months. Six glorious months of baguettes, and croissants, and the view across the Seine, and coding with her French classmates in two languages until the early hours of the morning. But she was finally going back home to California.

Zoey finally settled into her seat (an aisle seat) and threw her backpack into the overhead. She carefully tucked her computer case under the seat in front of her.

She’d barely settled herself before the cabin address began.

 “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome aboard this American Airlines flight 846 nonstop service from Paris to Los Angeles. My name is Captain Bass. We have an estimated flight time today of roughly 11 and a half hours and we are due to arrive in LA at 2pm local time on Tuesday, September 11th. Please sit back and enjoy your flight.”

Zoey closed her eyes as they taxied; nervous but a small part of her relieved.

She’d be home soon.

***

Meet you in LA.

Joan Bennett scowled at the SMS on her phone screen. That’s it. That was all he’d been able to muster up. Skipping out on their anniversary in Paris entirely for some stupid reason. He hadn’t even called.

She sat back in her seat as the cabin address came on, eyes already closing as the standard pre-flight information was given.

LA was his last chance. If Charlie couldn’t buck up and actually give a damn about their marriage this time she was going to…

Joan pursed her lips, resolve faltering. You’d be all alone. Despite his many, many shortcomings, Charlie was still a warm body alongside hers (on the nights he was actually home). He was still a partner in this unfriendly world. And the thought of being without him…

She drifted into an uneasy sleep as they took off towards America. Towards the man she didn’t know how to love.

 “L…ladies and g…gentlemen…p..please, please fasten your seatbelts and put your tray tables up…we are preparing to land.”

Zoey blinked awake, confused. Were they in LA already?

Glancing around, she saw several others looking just as confused as she was. Zoey glanced at her watch. It had barely been five hours since they’d left Paris.

“What’s happening?” She asked the man next to her.

He just shook his head.

Zoey tightened her seatbelt and sat back, heart racing as the plane began a slow descent. She glanced over her neighbors and saw a tiny strip of land surrounded by vast ocean.

They weren’t falling. But something about this just didn’t quite feel right.

***

The plane touched down and Joan stared out the window. This wasn’t LAX. It was some rundown airport surrounded by trees.

“Where the hell are we?” She demanded.

“Newfoundland.” The flight attendant informed her, seeming distracted. “Nothing to worry about madam.”

“Any idea when we’ll be on our way?”

But the woman didn’t answer her. She vanished into the cockpit.

Joan heard hushed voices and some kind of chatter on the pilot’s radio.

She frowned and pulled out her cell phone.

As she dialed a number, she glanced out the window again.

It was then that she registered the dozens of other planes lined up in haphazard rows. And the long line of cars beyond the airport, stretching out along the winding country road.

What was going on?

***

Seven hours later, Zoey felt like she was losing her mind. She’d tried to ask the flight attendants questions or chat with her neighbor but no one seemed to know anything or be willing to share if they did. No one around her had a phone so she couldn’t even call her parents to let them know about the delay.

Her unease had only grown when the captain announced that complimentary drinks were going to be provided. Alcoholic drinks.

In Zoey’s limited experience, businesses only gave alcohol away on holidays and during the shittiest of circumstances. She doubted it was a holiday in…wherever-they-were Newfoundland.

As her fellow passengers got drunker, they got louder. And the plane only got hotter and more stifling.

An hour after the drinks, someone finally cracked open the airplane door. It did little overall but something was better than nothing at this rate.

Zoey couldn’t take it anymore. She needed to move. She needed to plug herself into her code and block out all this madness.

Her neighbor had joined the drunken revelry at the back a half hour ago. Scooping up her computer, Zoey wriggled out of her seat and made her way towards first class. There might be more leg room up there at least. And it was further from the drunk singing.

***

Joan wanted to kill somebody. They’d been sitting on the ground for over seven hours by this point, not including the five hour flight beforehand. And still, no one was telling them what was going on.

At least the free vodka was taking some of the edge off. But if she didn’t get off this plane soon, she was going to lose her mind. Or strangle a flight attendant.

“Excuse me…?”

Joan turned and saw the klutzy redhead from earlier pointing at the empty seat beside her. “Do…do you mind if I sit here? I need to get some work done and the back of the plane is filled with a lot of singing drunk people.”

Joan eyed the stranger, seizing her up. She was younger than Joan by maybe a decade and looked even younger in her bright shirt. An even brighter cardigan was tied around her waist. Her smile was soft and hesitant, like she was afraid to offend or even exist.

Joan shrugged. “No, of course not.” She was way past the point of caring. They were stuck in a plane in the middle of nowhere. Not like things could get much worse.

The woman took Charlie’s empty seat, giving Joan a soft smile.

“I’m Zoey.” She was clutching a laptop like it was a lifeline. That was the only reason Joan engaged with her.

“Joan.” She replied.

“H…how are you doing?” Zoey asked, her face pinching in concern.

Joan sighed. “Wish I knew what was happening.” She bit her lip and swigged the rest of her vodka miniature. “And worried about someone who was flying today…I wish I could tell him I’m in…Iceland!”

“Newfoundland.” Zoey’s face immediately fell as Joan rounded on her at the correction. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to correct you!” The young woman gave a sheepish smile. “I’m hoping you’re one of those people who laugh when awkward people say stupid things.”

Joan couldn’t help but smile. “It’s fine. Don’t mind me, I’m just frustrated.”

Zoey nodded and Joan had to admire her empathy, especially under these circumstances. “Where were you coming from?” Zoey inquired.

“London.”

Zoey tilted her head, interest apparently piqued. “Really? You dont have an accent!”

Joan laughed. “I’m not from there…I’m…just working there. I haven’t developed the accent yet.” She gestured at the laptop. “How about you? What are you working on?” She normally wasn’t one for small talk, especially with strangers. But there was literally nothing else to do at this point so why not? Besides, Zoey wasn’t the worst option on the plane. Not by a long shot.

Zoey blushed and placed her laptop on the tray-table. It was a fairly expensive model but a few years old and clearly well-loved. “I’m actually a student.” She admitted. “Senior at San Fran State. I was coming back from a semester abroad in Paris. I’m studying computer science with a minor in languages.”

“Really?” Joan found herself turning towards the young woman, actually interested. What were the odds? “What are you going to do with that?”

Zoey gestured at the computer. “I’m working on my thesis: a piece of software for instant translations on emails and instant messages. I’m starting with English to French but hopefully I’ll be able to expand it.”

Joan was intrigued. “Well…this may be your lucky day…” She smiled. “I work for Google.”

Zoey’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

The next two hours flew by. They talked about everything: job prospects at Google, the finer coding points of Zoey’s software, life in London, and dog breeds. For a time, they were both able to put aside the trepidation and frustration of the long wait inside the plane.

They only stopped when the captain turned on the intercom and the voice of the president filtered through the plane.

 “My fellow Americans…”

They listened in confusion at his words: talk of victims and brave Americans rescuing their fellow citizens. Joan bit her lip, worry starting to creep in. What had happened? From the sound of it, some kind of natural disaster or explosion. But there was no way to get information while they were stuck here. Her phone was dead and anyway, there was…no one to call.

Joan turned to Zoey and was startled to see the younger woman trembling.

“Hey…” She gently touched Zoey’s shoulder, unsure if the action was welcome. “Hey, you okay?”

The younger woman smiled in gratitude but it seemed forced. “Joan…I know we just met…but…” She swallowed hard, seeming like she was looking for words. “I just…I’m all alone and I dont know what’s happening and…”

Joan touched her shoulder once more. “It’s fine.” She assured her. “I’m…alone too. You can stick with me until we figure things out.”

Zoey seemed relieved.

***

Joan briefly lost track of Zoey during the madness of disembarkation. The younger woman had slipped back to her seat as they heard they were leaving, needing to grab her bag. For all the long hours they’d been stuck, once word came down that they were finally getting off, leaving took very little time.

Joan was ushered down the aisle before Zoey reappeared. They finally left their plane and were herded through the darkness into the airport.

Joan swore it was older than she was - probably a relic from the Cold War…or World War II. Thankfully, they didn’t spend long inside.

The local soldiers guided them towards a line of school buses; keeping some flights together and splitting others up indiscriminately.

Joan glanced around as she shuffled along, wondering where Zoey had gotten to. Wondering if the vibrant young coder had fallen out of her life already. It was a shame if she had…Joan had rather liked her.

She followed other passengers from her flight onto a bus and claimed a seat about halfway down. It was cramped and squeaky. But at least it wasn’t a plane. She sat there for 20 minutes, one hand on the other half of the seat in a halfhearted attempt to save it.

But just as every other seat on the bus filled up, a familiar redhead climbed aboard. Joan’s heart jumped.

“Zoey!” She stood and waved to her, guiding her towards the empty seat. “I thought we’d lost you.” She was very glad she hadn’t.

Zoey shook her head, clutching her bag in one hand and her laptop case in the other. “No…No I just needed to get an emergency prescription filled….” Her eyes widened and she shook her hands. “N…nothing serious! It’s not like…I’m going to go crazy because I…I’m off my meds…” The younger woman deflated slightly. “I…I’ll stop talking now…”

Joan chuckled. “It’s fine.” It was…kind of endearing actually.

Zoey settled next to her. “Did you find out about your husband?” She asked. “Was he flying today?”

Joan stiffened. “Do you mind if we just dont talk about that?” She had called Charlie moments after they first landed. The conversation had barely lasted a minute before her battery died. He was safe. And he didn’t seem to care about…whatever had happened or wherever she was. But Joan was more concerned with her utter lack of relief about that revelation. Maybe once she knew just what the hell was going on, she would actually feel glad that he was safe. But right now…

“How about you?” She asked Zoey, finding she was genuinely interested in her companion’s state. “Did you manage to get through to your family? In San Francisco?”

Zoey’s face fell. “No. The pay phones were all out of order…and no one had a cell phone…I just…I just wish we knew what was happening!”

Joan was filled with a resolve so intense that it erased all thoughts of her husband. “I know. I’m sorry.” She squeezed Zoey’s shoulder, utterly unconcerned at how quickly that action had become commonplace for them. “I’ll help you find a phone as soon as we get…” She glanced up, out the bus windows and into the darkness surrounding them. “Wherever we’re going…”

Zoey smiled in thanks. They didn’t say much for the rest of the bus ride. But neither did anyone else.

***

The bus took them to a school gymnasium. Hundreds of gym mats, air mattresses, and army cots had been laid out in long rows along the floor. Some had pillows or blankets but most did not. Joan was glad she’d grabbed her airplane blanket but this still looked terrible. Were they really going to be staying here overnight? Surely they could find a better hotel. She’d gladly share with Zoey if it got them both out of here.

A woman greeted them as they ambled in, identifying herself in a thick accent as Beulah, a staff member of the school. She directed them to grab a spot for themselves and that once they were settled, they could come back into the cafeteria and watch the news on several old television sets.

As eager as she was to know just why the hell they were here, Joan decided she’d rather have first pick of the beds.

Through it all, Zoey clung to Joan’s side. She took the air mattress next to Joan’s, tucking her computer between their beds. Joan waited for her while she carefully covered the case with her blanket.

Then they went into the cafeteria.

It seemed like everyone from their flight and beyond was there, crammed into the space, trying to get a glimpse.

Joan managed to push her way through to the front, Zoey trailing behind her.

Then they finally saw.

They all stood there in front of the TVs, taking it all in in stunned silence.

Smoke, steel, dust. A plane appearing out of nowhere and…

Joan couldn’t look away. She felt…lost, untethered. Any sense of safety she’d had the privilege of ignorance about was shattered forever.

The same footage was on an endless loop, like some kind of cruel flipbook. It should have been a movie. But it wasn’t.

When the first tower fell, a collective gasp went up around the room.

Without thinking, Joan reached for Zoey’s hand. The younger woman was pale and trembling but she gripped Joan’s hand so tightly she felt her tendons re-arrange. In that moment, Joan was so glad the coder had chosen to take Charlie’s seat.

This was a history-defining moment. And all they could do was assure the other that in this moment when they could do nothing, when they were stranded thousands of miles away from all the chaos and death, they were not alone.

Some time later, after someone had turned the news off in frustration, Zoey finally let go of Joan’s hand. She turned away and pushed her way out of the crowd, towards the hallway.

“Zoey?” Joan followed her, unwilling to let her out of her sight again.

She found her collapsed against the wall. The young woman looked shaken, like her world was crumbling.

Joan kneeled beside her and placed her hands on her shoulders. “Zoey, what is it?” She asked, as gently as she could.

Zoey shook her head and swallowed. “My…my brother, David…is in law school in Manhattan…” She looked up, face pale. “What…what if he was there?”

Joan didn’t have an answer for her.

Zoey looked down. She wasn’t crying, it was more like…helplessness. Or a despair so deep it had rendered her unable to move.

Watching her, Joan felt the true weight of their situation settle heavily on her shoulders. They were stuck here in wherever Newfoundland, while there…people were dead, people were dying, the wreckage was burning.

It could have been any of them.

She could have been in the towers, visiting on business like she had been a year ago. The terrorists could have hijacked their flight and flown it off-course. Zoey could have been in Manhattan, visiting her brother. Zoey’s brother could have been on the ground.

They couldn’t do anything…couldn’t call people, couldn’t go home, couldn’t seek revenge, or help the wounded.

Zoey gave a tiny sound, something like a gasp but fainter, more vulnerable.

Joan fixated on it. It was something. Something she could do.

Maybe if she could just help this poor girl find out about her brother, everything would somehow be okay.

***

Zoey barely slept.

It felt like every time she closed her eyes, she was seeing smoke engulfing New York City streets she had walked a mere year before. The sounds of people screaming and sirens blaring echoed in her head. The creaking of her air mattress sounded too similar to the crunch of concrete.

Finally, she gave up. Wrapping herself in Joan’s airplane blanket, she staggered towards the gym doors and forced one open. A blast of cool Canadian air whipped past her, bringing her body back here, back to this strange place. Far away from there. Far away from David.

Wherever he was.

Her lip trembled as she thought of him. When was the last time she’d called? The last time she’d said she loved him? When had she last heard him laugh? Why hadn’t she cherished those moments?

The cold had stopped helping.

Now it was inside her. It was consuming her.

***

As dawn broke, a woman named Annette brought Zoey a cup of coffee. She was sitting in a chair by the edge of the room, exhausted and still lost in horrible thoughts about David. Joan was nowhere in sight, having slipped out early in the morning for unknown reasons. Zoey missed her.

“Mornin’ hun.” Annette greeted, “you hungry? We got breakfast down in the cafeteria.”

Zoey shook her head. Her stomach was empty but the thought of food nauseated her. And the televisions were still on in the cafeteria.

“Well then, do you need to change?” Annette asked, “I can get you some clean clothes if you want.”

Zoey almost refused but then she realized that these were the same clothes she’d put on the day before yesterday, underwear and all. Suddenly, it felt like they were melding into her skin. She nodded and Annette patted her on the hand before getting up to grab her a change of clothes.

It was a relief she hadn’t known she needed. But at the same time, the strangeness of it just made her miss home even more. And think about how far away she was from David and from San Francisco.

Zoey had just finished putting on the fresh underwear, slightly too big jeans, and was pulling on a plaid shirt that clashed horribly with her hair when Joan finally returned.

The older woman cocked her head at the outfit but all she said was: “Is your hair different? You look good.”

Zoey chuckled, fingering the hasty ponytail. “Thanks. It’s just super unwashed…” She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling like a different person. “Are we leaving?”

Joan shrugged. “No one seems to know.” She was still wearing the same clothes from the plane and she was fiddling with something in her pocket. Her hair was also pulled back but into a severe bun that Zoey immediately envied. Zoey opened her mouth to tell her about the free clothes but Joan seemed preoccupied. She jerked her head towards the door Zoey had stood in front of the night before. “Zoey, come with me…”

Joan led her outside the building, one hand in her pocket, the other clutching Zoey’s tightly. Zoey followed, silent but alert.

As they stood in the chilly air, Joan finally pulled out her other hand.

A cell phone. A fancy, expensive, international phone.

Zoey gasped, eyes sliding from the device to Joan’s face.

“I finally got a chance to charge it.” Joan said, sounding apologetic. “I…I wanted to make sure you got to use it first, before I offer it to the others.” She held it out to Zoey. “Go on, check on your family. I’ll be just inside if you need me.”

Hands shaking, Zoey took the phone. Her stomach was in knots.

“Wait,” She called as Joan turned to go inside. “Stay? Please?”

Joan nodded. She took a few steps back, far enough to give Zoey some privacy but never letting her out of her sight.

Her heart thrumming, Zoey dialed the number.

***

Joan watched intently as the coder used her phone. Her eyes traced Zoey’s path as she spoke rapidly with someone on the other end. She folded her arms tightly as Zoey stopped pacing and her face pinched with sympathy as she saw the young woman place a hand over her chest.

After a few moments, Zoey hung up and made her way back to Joan.

She braced herself.

“He’s…he’s okay…” Zoey let out a shaky breath. “David he…he’s with my parents in San Francisco…he wasn’t in New York when it…” Her lip trembled, a single tear dripping down her face.

Unsure what else to do, Joan only held out her arms.

Zoey fell into her embrace, her small form shaking with relief as she sobbed.

***

The next two days were torturous.

There was nothing to do. Nothing but wait. Wait for a phone to be available in the hallway. Wait for the news to show the clips again. Wait for the word that they were leaving.

While knowing that her family was safe had taken some of the edge off, Zoey still found herself anxious, jumpy and unable to sleep. She stuck by Joan like a barnacle.

Joan seemed to notice and would try to distract her. On the second morning, after finally managing to stomach some food, they risked going outside for a walk and explored the town together. Joan had finally caved and accepted a gift of clothing from Annette. She was bundled up in a sweater that was far too large for her and jeans she constantly complained about. They talked more about Zoey’s thesis, about Joan’s favorite parts of London. Anything but the dark cloud hanging over the world.

For a brief moment, Zoey convinced her to open up about her husband and learned the sad truth: after 6 years of marriage, Joan was getting divorced.

Joan didn’t seem sad about it.

Some of the local kids invited them into a yard they passed and spent an hour playing with Zoey’s hair, putting her messy locks into braids and plaits. The youngest of them eventually convinced Joan to sit and receive a single sloppy braid. Zoey had to laugh at the ridiculous hairstyle. Joan did not take the braid out.

As they walked back to the school in the quickly dwindling sunlight, Zoey reached for Joan’s hand again. Joan took it without a second thought, her thumb rubbing Zoey’s hand soothingly.

It was a simple gesture. But to Zoey, it grounded her here.

She barely knew this woman. But she was here. And she was amazing. She’d spent all day just talking to her, distracting her from the horrible state of the world and the remote location they were stranded in.

Zoey hated to think that Joan would tire of her and leave her all alone again. She desperately tried to think of ways to pay the woman back for her attention and came up blank.

She didn’t want to be alone. And she didn’t want Joan to be alone.

But was that enough?

***

The following night, (after another day spent walking with Zoey, this time along the coast) Beulah invited them all down to the local Legion building for “some drinking and some fun.” Which was probably a good call: there had been several loud arguments over phones that day and even a brief fight between several of the passengers. Everyone was on edge and stuck in place. A little drinking could only help at this rate.

Joan wasn’t going to go; it didn’t feel right with everything that was happening. She didn’t want to celebrate: she’d finally decided that her marriage (it it had ever really been that) was over. She’d be going back to London alone if all this ever ended - to an empty flat and a demanding job and a cold bed. It felt wrong to be upset or even happy over such a thing when the world was still reeling from Tuesday.

But then Zoey piped up and said: “I’m only going if Joan is going!” and just like that, she was slipping on her borrowed shoes (heels only got a woman so far in this place) and following the crowd down towards the Legion building. As soon as she stepped inside, Joan knew it had been the right choice.

The night was insanity in the best way. Over 400 people from all over the world were celebrating together: drinking, dancing, even swimming in the river! And then the instruments came out.

Joan had never particularly cared for fiddles or accordions. But after two beers, she forgot that.

Lost with Zoey among the strangers from around the world, Joan forgot all about her aversion to dancing and her image: she tore up the dance floor with jig after mindless jig. Of course, the fact that Zoey was pulling her along and laughing and holding her hands certainly helped with that.

It was a new feeling for Joan: enjoying spending time with someone. And having someone enjoy spending time with her. Charlie had never seemed to care for their date nights, he more put up with them for the promise of sex.

But Zoey clearly enjoyed being here. And more importantly, she enjoyed being her with her. So Joan let loose.

As the night went on, the locals decided it was time for a ceremony.

“We needs a couple of volunteers!” Mayor Claude declared, “Who wants to be Newfoundlanders?”

Zoey snatched Joan’s arm and dragged her forward, not giving Joan enough time to bring her drink along. “Us!” Zoey cried, “we wanna be Newfoundlanders!!”

Joan, already a little tipsy and way too engaged in Zoey’s enthusiasm could only nod along.

Claude beamed at them. “Where are you two from?” He asked.

“California!” Zoey shouted, drowning out Joan’s murmured answer.

“What part of California are you from, ma’am?” Claude asked Joan.

“No! No!” Zoey waved her hands. “I’m from California.” She pointed at Joan. “She’s in England!”

Claude chuckled, “wait…now how does that work?”

“How does…what work?” Joan asked.

“Well how does your marriage work?” Claude inquired, “with one of you in California and the other in England?”

Zoey and Joan exchanged a quick glance, both of their faces red. Joan only just realized how close together they were standing. And in borrowed clothes and no makeup, the age difference between them seemed invisible to onlooking strangers.

“Uhhh...we’re, we’re not married…” Zoey told him. Joan was having trouble forming words.

Claude laughed again. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I thought you were…” He regarded them, seeming to read something in their embarrassed silence. “Well…” He raised an eyebrow at them, “would you like to be?”

Zoey’s face lit up. “Well why not?!” She cried. She seized Joan’s hand and lifted it up into the air. “Whoooooo!!!”

Logically, Joan knew it was the alcohol talking. Zoey herself had said earlier that she’d never had more than one beer at a time before and yet she’d watched the woman down two beers in quick succession that night.

Nevertheless, Joan, her face on fire and a stupid grin that she couldn’t justify on her face, went and got the woman two more beers.

The actual ceremony of becoming a Newfoundlander was a bizarre mix of local culture and sorority hazing.

Joan stuck by Zoey’s side as they sang a long upbeat song, tasted local food, and knocked back a horrific rum that burned her sinuses clean off.

But then came the cod.

It was a large, slimy thing that stared at them with big, dead eyes. Two local men were needed to hold it up.

And to Joan’s horror, the final part of becoming a Newfoundlander was kissing this dead fish.

“I’m not kissing a fish!” She declared.

“I will if you will!” Zoey promised, her face a pleasant shade of red from the alcohol. It was hard to dismiss that face. Joan eyed the thing distastefully as another volunteer puckered their lips and kissed the scales.

But they’d come this far…and it couldn’t be worse than kissing Charlie after sushi night, could it?

“Oh my god…” Closing her eyes, Joan pursed her lips and leaned forward. She pecked as soon as she felt something cool and slimy and darted back, retching.

It was worse. But only barely.

But when her turn came, Zoey balked. “I can’t do it!” She exclaimed, covering her face with her hands.

“Come on, I did it!” Joan protested, elbowing her forward. “Pucker up!”

“You gotta kiss a cod, it’s a vital part of the ceremony!” Claude insisted.

But Zoey backed off again, shaking her head and giggling. “I can’t do it!”

Claude chuckled. “Okay, I tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.” He pointed to the cod. “Either you kiss this fish…” His finger slid to Joan. “Or you kiss this English-woman that you’re ‘not married to’.”

Zoey didn’t even hesitate. In a single motion, she launched herself at the taller woman and wrapped an arm around her waist.

Startled, Joan could only catch her. Since she wasn’t wearing heels, their faces were mere inches apart. Zoey pressed forward. Their lips met and held in a glorious kiss. All around them, the room erupted in yips and cheers.

Zoey broke away after a second, grinning stupidly and completely red in the face. Then, as if nothing had happened, she grabbed Joan’s hand and pulled her back into the crowd of dancers.

Joan couldn’t stop looking at her the rest of the night.

***

The word finally came down early on Saturday: the FAA was going to open the airspace back up.

Captain Bass got in contact with their flight and informed them that they’d be leaving as soon as it was possible so they shouldn’t travel too far from their shelters.

Zoey managed to convince Joan to take one last walk with her. She’d heard about a nearby geologic marvel called the Dover Fault from Annette and thought it might be the perfect last hurrah.

They clambered up what felt like several thousand stairs carved into the cliff, panting and assuring the other that they were okay.

Finally, they crested the edge and gazed out from the overlook. The ocean crashed into the rocky inlet, scouring the ancient rocks.

“This is incredible!” Zoey called. She beckoned Joan forward. “Look! I can’t believe we’re here!” But as she stared at the gorgeous view, Zoey felt her smile start to slip away.

“I can’t believe we’re leaving…” She lamented. It all felt like a dream that was drawing to a close.

“…I don’t want to go…” Joan murmured.

Zoey turned back to her, “What did you say?”

Joan shook her head, smiling. “Oh nothing…I’m going to uh…” she held up her disposable camera that she’d purchased in town. “…to take some pictures.”

Zoey nodded. “O…okay.” She stood aside to give Joan a better shot.

She was a bit of a light-weight but Zoey remembered the night at the Legion in snatches: lively dances, delicious rum, and shouting that she wanted to be married to Joan. She remembered launching herself at Joan out of desperation to not kiss a slimy sea creature. She remembered her stomach and chest filling with fire as their lips met.

But Joan hadn’t said a word about it. Hadn’t even indicated that she remembered any of it. They continued with their walks and their discussions of technology and little things.

They didn’t talk about the kiss.

Zoey realized Joan was still pointing the camera towards her and took another step back. “No…stay where you are!” Joan called, eye still in her camera.

“Really? I’m blocking your shot!”

Joan smiled at her. “It’s perfect.”

The shutter clicked, capturing the moment in time.

Zoey felt like she should say something; tease Joan about her taking her photo or ask her if she had really meant what she’d said.

Staying here…it was a ridiculous idea. They were only here because of…because of the tragedy. They had lives of their own to get back to. But the more she thought about it, standing there on the chilly edge of a cliff on the edge of the Atlantic, going back to her life in California felt…empty.

Logically, she knew that once she was back she wouldn’t feel that way. Her family was there, and her friends, and her thesis that needed completion. There were things she loved and fulfilling work to occupy her time.

But Joan wouldn’t be there.

Zoey stared as Joan slowly lowered her camera, the device whirring to indicate it was out of film.

Joan would return to her incredible job in London, working long hours and finalizing her divorce. As the days returned to normal, she’d forget all about the redheaded college coder she’d briefly known in this place. Zoey knew she was unremarkable; a mere blip in Joan’s life. A chance encounter.

They stared at each other, standing on the edge of this chasm that marked a time when tectonic plates had unexpectedly crashed together and then separated forever.

Zoey never wanted this moment to end. If the world had stopped spinning right then and there, she would be happy.

***

They barely made it out before the hurricane made landfall. Pack-up was hasty and haphazard, with no one sure if they should keep the borrowed clothes and no one knowing how to thank the people of Gander for their incredible compassion and hospitality.

Joan and Zoey scribbled a hasty thank you across the wall closest to where their air mattresses had been. They wrote it in three languages: English, French, and binary code. Then it was back onto the buses and back to the ancient airport.

The winds were picking up and it had begun to rain as Captain Bass taxied the plane down the runway.

No one had cared about assigned seats for the flight back. Joan’s feet had followed Zoey into the Economy class and they had taken two seats in a row near the back. No one joined them in their row. Despite the utter lack of anything resembling personal space, Joan couldn’t have cared less. It was where Zoey was. And that was the only place she wanted to be.

As they picked up speed, Joan reached for Zoey’s hand but recoiled a second before she grabbed it. What was she doing? Trying to hold onto this moment? Trying to stop them from leaving?

It was too late now.

They were leaving. And she was going to return to a newly-empty life a continent and an ocean away from Zoey’s warmth and light.

The first hour of the flight was silent. Zoey kept opening her mouth like she wanted to say something but she never did. Joan didn’t know what to say. Or if she should say anything at all. Every possible thing she could say felt inadequate.

But as Captain Bass gleefully announced over the intercom that they had crossed back into US airspace, Joan glanced over at her companion. Zoey was crying, silently and intensely, as if she just couldn’t stop.

Joan immediately wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She leaned in, aiming for Zoey’s forehead to give her a comforting kiss.

But the plane jostled at the exact moment Zoey turned towards her.

Joan’s lips grazed the corner of Zoey’s mouth instead of her forehead.

Zoey gazed up at her, eyes wide and hopeful.

Her heart leaping, Joan shifted the angle of her mouth.

Their lips met again. And this time, they simply didn’t stop.

They kissed and canoodled for hours at the back of the plane. All around them, Joan was aware of cabin addresses and their fellow passengers drinking and sharing stories of their stay. But all she cared about was Zoey. Wrapping her arms around Zoey, playing with Zoey’s hair, kissing Zoey as often as she could. Zoey was real. These feelings were real. And like the Dover Fault, she would remain real no matter how long it was after they parted ways.

At one point, not long after Captain Bass had announced that they were now flying over California, a flight attendant paused alongside their seats, tongs ready to hand out hot towels.

“Cold towel?” She asked, smirking.

Blushing, Zoey hid her face in Joan’s neck. Joan couldn’t stop smiling.

***

But of course, they had to part ways.

There was a measure of relief among all of them as they safely touched down in LAX. If she was being honest, Zoey had been carrying a tiny knot of fear in her chest the whole flight home, a small part of her convinced their journey would end the same way as all that footage on the news.

But as soon as they were safely on the ground, that knot of fear became a hard ball of dread.

“So…” She faced Joan at the baggage claim, laptop clutched in one hand, the other hand clasped tightly in Joan’s. Zoey knew her family was anxiously waiting outside and that Joan had a connection to send her back across the Atlantic to London leaving soon.

But neither of them wanted to move.

“So…” Joan echoed, trying to smile but failing.

“So, you’ll call?” Zoey asked.

Joan squeezed her hand. “As soon as I get back.”

She leaned forward and pecked Zoey on the lips. Despite the hours of frantic making out they’d done on the plane and the drunken kiss at the Legion, it felt like their first kiss.

Joan smiled one last time and let go of Zoey’s hand.

And then Zoey was all alone.

***

Joan’s flight back to London passed like a dream. Since she’d been hastily rescheduled onto this flight (having missed her original days ago), she was stuck in Economy. And despite the fact that there were literally only six other people on the plane, she still was not permitted to move up to first class. But she hardly cared.

When she finally opened the door to her flat, she swore it had all been a dream.

Her belongings were still exactly as she’d left them, barely any dust to mark the passage of time.

So far away from New York, London bustled about as normal below her window, the fear still internal and existential for now.

But as she unpacked, Joan found the camera.

She dropped everything and ran out to find a 24-hour photo developer.

Within two hours, she held living proof that it wasn’t a dream.

Zoey, standing on the edge of the Dover Fault, her red hair flying in the ocean wind, her smile soft but fondly directed towards the lens.

Joan stroked the print, tears forming in the corner of her eyes.

The flat was so empty.

***

“Hi.”

“Hey”

“How are you?”

“Good…my advisor says if I can finish my report by the end of November, I can graduate as planned.”

“That’s great!”

Zoey paused, unsure what else to say. She would call just before bed, knowing that it was about the time Joan woke up. But life got in the way and the calls had dwindled from a few per week to one per week when they were lucky. And even then, their conversations, which had flowed so effortlessly in person, barely lasted an hour before one of them had to go.

Zoey had found it increasingly difficult to remain optimistic the past few months. Everyone was just so afraid all the time. David had transferred from Manhattan to a California law school, not wanting to be so far away anymore. He’d refused to fly and instead carpooled across the country with his girlfriend Emily. Her parents spoke in hushed voices when they thought she couldn’t hear and her father increasingly watched the news over anything else.

Zoey found herself crying more often and thinking increasingly about how lucky she’d been. But that was always quickly followed by guilt. How dare she celebrate finding Joan and a small bit of happiness in the chaos when so many people were dead?

And while she didn’t feel alone, Zoey still felt unsettled. She’d told her parents about Joan but they still didn’t seem to get it. They hadn’t been in Gander. They hadn’t known the feeling of being stranded and yet feeling at peace amid all the horrors.

“Zoey?” She hadn’t spoken in awhile.

“I…I miss you.” Zoey admitted, her voice small. “I miss Newfoundland. And I know…I know we cant go back but…”

She couldn’t finish her sentence. She couldn’t tell Joan how some nights she slipped out of her dorm room and walked to the pier just so she could close her eyes and imagine she was back in Gander, Joan’s hand in hers as they looked out over the ocean. She couldn’t say just how much she needed Joan here - as she had been at the beginning of this terrifying new world - to be at her side and talk to her, hold her hand and provide comfort in the darkness.

Joan listened intently, unsure if Zoey was crying or just at a loss for words. She wanted so badly to be there. Her life since Gander had been nothing but work. Endless hours at Google and a few spare hours with her lawyer. Her flat was starting to feel stifling.

She dreamed of Gander, of long walks with Zoey, of crashing continents and salty air. She longed for a warm embrace, for soft lips on hers. Her thoughts formed dangerous plans that had her terrified. Suddenly nothing of her old life made sense…and she cared nothing for it.

“J…Joan?”

Joan sighed down the line.

They couldn’t do this. It wasn’t going to work if they were a continent apart.

“Zoey…I’m going to move to San Francisco.” She said it softly, giving those dangerous plans more leverage.

Zoey’s breath caught. “Joan…”

She barreled on. “I applied for a transfer to the main Google office…don’t try to change my mind.” Joan beseeched her, knowing Zoey was about to protest. “The divorce papers are signed, my bags can be packed in a week. I’m coming to you. If you’ll have me.” Her voice was heavy with meaning. The kind of meaning that expected an answer.

Zoey let out a shaky exhale, clutching the phone cord tightly in her hand. “Yes. Yes Joan.”

***

 One year later

Joan gazed out over the bands of ancient rock. Now that she was really looking, she could see the bits and pieces that stood out: parts of another that had been left behind during an intimate collision.

“Remember the last time we were here?”

Joan turned to the voice, smiling. “Of course…” She wrapped her arm around the shorter woman, pulling her close as they stared over the Dover Fault. “I never wanted that moment to end.”

Zoey took her hand, finger rubbing the smooth plane of the brand new golden band around Joan’s finger.

“It didn’t.”

Because like the continents, when the world had crashed together in a moment of upheaval, they had found some small, beautiful thing to cherish from the chaos.

[hellandhighhorror]

Richard Cottingham: The Times Square Ripper

The following is the most complete account of Richard Cottingham’s life and crimes as of February, 2020. It was written and researched by Austyn Castelli for Hell and High Horror Podcast.

Richard Francis Cottingham was born on November 25th, 1946 in the Bronx. He was the eldest of three children. At age 12, the Cottingham family relocated to River Vale, New Jersey, and Cottingham started 7th grade at St. Andrews parochial school. Cottingham had trouble adjusting to the move and many who knew him report that he was a loner with very few social connections. In 1958 he developed an interest in homing pigeons and helping his mother with gardening and housework. During his adolescence, Cottingham spent most of his free time alone in his bedroom, though he was more accepted by his peers when he entered Pascack Valley High School in Hillside, NJ. During his high school years, Cottingham cultivated an obsession with pornography, specifically pornographic images of bondage. He joined the track team and competed as a long-distance runner until he graduated in 1964. Cottingham was very interested in emerging technologies of the time period and began working as a computer operator right out of high school. He got a job working for his father at Metropolitan Life Insurance Company and he took computer courses at night. 

    In 1966 he got a job at Blue Cross Blue Shield in New York also working as a computer operator. Four years later in 1970, he married his girlfriend, Janet, at Our Lady of Lourdes Church in Queens Village, NY. The couple settled in Little Ferry, New Jersey and went on to have three children. Coming from a Catholic family, it seemed that Cottingham had done everything right; he finished his education, got a respectable job, married well, and was a good provider for his wife and children. Cottingham was 5 foot, 10 inches tall with fair skin, sandy brown hair, and hazel eyes. He had distinctive bushy eyebrows and several colorless moles on his face. 

However, just two years before his marriage, 21-year-old Cottingham had secretly committed his first murder. In 1967, 29-year-old Nancy Schiava Vogel disappeared. Three days after she was last seen leaving a Bingo game at her church her nude body was discovered in her car in Ridgefield Park. The mother of two had been strangled and her body was still bound with rope when she was found. Investigators came to the conclusion that she had been murdered inside of the vehicle. Cottingham apparently knew Vogel, they both lived in Little Ferry, NJ, but it is unknown how well they knew each other. For decades, the murder of Nancy Vogel remained cold.

    On October 10th, 1969, Cottingham was arrested for drunk driving in New York and served 10 days in jail and paid a fine of $50. His petty criminal record also included a shoplifting incident in 1972. He was convicted of stealing from Stern’s department store in Paramus, NJ and paid a $50 fine. The next year, Cottingham was arrested and charged with robbery, sodomy, and sexual assault in New York City, but the case was dismissed. His first child, Blair, was born on October 15th, 1973 and just four months later Cottingham was charged with unlawful imprisonment and robbery in New York City, but again the case was dismissed. Between the years of 1970 and 1974, Cottingham and his family lived in the Ledgewood Terrace apartments in Little Ferry, NJ. They moved into a rented three-bedroom home at 29 Vreeland Street in Lodi, NJ in February of 1975. Janet and Cottingham’s second child, Scott, was born just one month later. Janet gave birth to their last child, Jenny, On October 13th, 1976. In the years the followed, Cottingham’s crimes escalated to drastic levels of sadism and violence. 

On December 16th, 1977 at 7:00 in the morning, the body of 26-year-old Maryann Carr was discovered in Little Ferry. Carr, an X-Ray technician, was still wearing her uniform and was wedged between a chain-link fence and a parked van. The pants of her uniform had been cut to expose her left leg and a clump of her own hair was placed on her right leg and she was missing her shoes. She had lacerations to her chest and feet and showed signs of having been bound at the wrists and ankles. Traces of adhesive tape were present around her mouth and there was an imprint of a ligature around her neck. An autopsy revealed that she had a hemorrhage on her left occipital bone, indicating that a blunt instrument was used. Carr was approximately 5 foot 5 inches tall, 115lbs, and had dyed blonde hair. 

    Carr, a nurse, had been seen last in the parking lot of her apartment building, the Ledgewood Terrance Apartment, which was visible from the crime scene. A neighbor had seen her talking to a white male, about 32 years old with brown hair. Investigators suspected that Carr had been taken shortly after she arrived home from work. Cottingham had abducted her and taken her to a nearby hotel. Inside, he had raped, cut, beaten, and bit her for hours. He tied her up and strangled her before dumping the body where it was later found. Just like Nancy Vogel, Maryann Carr’s case would grow cold for several years. Meanwhile, Cottingham began a three-year-long affair with a woman named Barbara Lucas. 

On March 22nd, 1978, Richard Cottingham was drinking at the Third Avenue Tavern in New York. He noticed a woman who was also drinking at the bar, 22-year-old Karen Schilt. Schilt, like Carr, was 5 foot 5 inches tall with artificially colored blonde hair. She weighed about 140lbs and had blue eyes. She had just finished a shift waiting tables at Tuesday’s restaurant on Third Avenue. She had gone home to have dinner with her boyfriend, and the father of her unborn child, at 6:00 pm. She had left work just after 8:00 pm and went straight to the tavern. Cottingham approached Schilt and introduced himself as John Schaefer. The two had a couple of drinks together and at one point in the conversation Cottingham asked Schilt if she was a “working girl”. She told him that she was not, but Cottingham kept hinting that he thought she was a sex worker. Cottingham told her that he lived in New Jersey, but liked to drink in the city.    

After about an hour at the bar, Schilt left and started walking back to her apartment at 94 Third Avenue, which was a little under one mile away (14 blocks, near big daddy’s). She began to feel dizzy and ill and suspected that someone had drugged her drink. Cottingham had followed her out of the bar and offered to drive her home. Because of her physical state, Schilt agreed. They started driving and Schilt soon realized that they were not heading toward her apartment, but were instead en route out of Manhattan toward New Jersey. 

Cottingham offered Schilt a pill to make her feel better. The drug was Tuinal, a barbiturate that depresses the nervous system. Schilt took the pill and fell asleep. Luckily, she would stay unconscious for the majority of her assault at the hands of Cottingham. He drove to a parking lot across from the Ledgewood Terrace Apartments. There, he sexually assaulted Schilt. At one point, she briefly woke up to a searing pain on her breast. She remembered hearing Cottingham say that he had once lived where they currently were. Schilt quickly slipped back into unconsciousness. 

She was found lying with her breasts and genitals exposed by Little Ferry patrolman Raymond Auger. Auger checked Schilt’s pulse and discovered that she was close to death. She was missing her coat, scarf, purse, and a silver ring. Her pulse was weak and her breathing was shallow. Auger called for an ambulance and Schilt was transported to Hackensack Hospital. Paramedics had to administer oxygen and cardiac massage to bring her heartbeat back before taking her to the hospital. Karen Schilt survived the horrific attack and blood testing confirmed that she had amobarbital and secobarbital in her system when she was attacked. Doctors noted extensive injuries on the young woman including bruises on her legs, cigarette burns on her left breast, trauma to her elbow, scratch marks on both breasts, and bite trauma to her chest. 

Seven months later on October 10th, 1978 Cottingham set out on 8th avenue looking for his next victim. He found Susan Geiger, a sex worker who, like Karen Schilt, was pregnant at the time. Cottingham approached the 5 foot tall, 96 pound Geiger and asked if she was available. She told him that she was committed for the evening and he offered $200 for an appointment with her that night. She declined but gave Cottingham her telephone number and told him to call for a date. He called her the next day and arranged an appointment for that night, October 11th. Geiger met Cottingham in front of the Alpine Hotel at around midnight. Cottingham took her to Flanagan’s Tavern between 65th and 66th streets. He told Geiger that his name was Jim and that he was married with young children and lived in New Jersey. He also told her that he worked with computers in Manhattan. During their conversation, he boasted that he had recently won a substantial amount of money from gambling and produced a wad of cash, likely containing a few thousand dollars, to back up this story. At one point Geiger got up and when she returned Cottingham gave her a screwdriver cocktail that he had ordered for her. He told her to keep stirring it with a straw. She did so and soon after she took a few sips of the drink she began feeling dizzy and detached. Like Schilt, her memory of what happened that night was incomplete. 

First, Cottingham put her in his car, which she remembered was a “light-colored, older thunderbird with a soiled interior”. She passed out in the vehicle and awoke only a few times before morning. She remembered snippets of Cottingham sexually assaulting her, but she was physically unable to fight back. She also remembered Cottingham using a length of green garden hose to whip her. She finally regained full consciousness in the early afternoon of October 12th. She awoke on the floor of a motel room. She later found out that she had spent the night in Room 28 of the Airport Motel in South Hackensack, NJ. She had been robbed by Cottingham, who had taken her handbag and everything in it as well as her gold earrings, which had been ripped downward from her ears, causing them to tear. She was severely injured and was bleeding from her vagina, rectum, face, mouth, and breasts. She had scratches on her swollen face and her lip was bleeding. Some of her fake nails were missing. Despite her horrific physical state, she got dressed in her torn blouse and left the motel room. She could barely walk and made it as far as the motel parking lot, where South Hackensack Police Captain John Agar noticed her. He pulled his patrol car into the parking lot of the motel and asked Geiger, who was wandering around frantically, to tell him her name. She was still impaired by the drugs she had been slipped and appeared confused. She told Captain Agar that her name was Susan Geiger and recounted as much of the last 24 hours as she could remember. 

Captain Agar went to examine the motel room and found several articles of Geiger’s clothing that she was unable to put on, some of her broken fake fingernails, an unmade bed, and two discarded motel towels. Agar made sure that these items were recovered for examination. Agar drove Geiger to the Hackensack Hospital, where Karen Schilt had also been treated. They tested Geiger’s blood and the same drugs that were in Schilt’s system were found in Geiger’s. Doctors took note of all of her injuries, which included lacerations over her right eye, on her lips, abdomen, thorax, and in her mouth. She had bruises on her left thigh and buttocks, as well as abrasions on her right thigh. Her breasts had been violently bitten and had contusions and abrasions. Geiger, like Schilt, was treated and her case was opened but remained inactive. The towels from the motel room were tested and forensic scientists found seminal fluid on the fabric. They tested the secretion and were able to determine that the offender had type O blood. 

On November 29tt, 1979, Richard Cottingham checked in to the Travel Inn Motor Lodge at 515 West 42nd Street in Manhattan. He booked room 417 under the name Carl Wilson. He said he lived on Anderson Place in Merlin, NJ (Merlin NJ doesn’t exist). After arriving at his room, Cottingham hung a “do not disturb” sign on his door. Staff reported that he rarely left his room after checking in. Then, on December 2nd, 1979, at 9:00 in the morning smoke and ash started drifting through the hallway on the fourth floor of the Travel Inn Motor Lodge. The fire department was called and the firefighters found that the smoke was coming from Room 417. Mere minutes before the emergency call was made, a man with bushy brown eyebrows, a clean-shaven face, and sandy hair parted to the right rushed out of the hotel lobby. He was carrying a large bag. 

After Cottingham left the hotel, he got in his car and began driving away. He was pulled over by police, who asked him what he was doing out at 3:30 in the morning. He told them that he was staying at a nearby hotel and was driving to get something to eat. The officers never asked to see inside of the bag and took Cottingham at his word. He then disposed of the contents of the bag. 

Meanwhile, the firefighters entered Room 417, they identified two figures through the thick smoke. One fireman, who had been with the New York Fire Department for 15 years, was able to drag one of the unconscious people out of the room and into the hallway. He got on his knees to perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but when he lowered his face toward the person he discovered that there was no head. When he could finally make out the person’s body, he was horrified to see that the body was also missing its hands. That firefighter was so traumatized that he sought out trauma counseling after this incident. 

Another body was removed from the room, also missing its head and hands. Firefighters were able to put out the flames and the police were called to investigate the crime scene. The room had been cleaned of fingerprints and most evidence, although blood remained on the mattress. The victims’ clothing was found folded in the bathtub. Each woman’s outfit was folded with her shoes on top. The heads and hands of the victims were not recovered from the room, nor was the dismemberment tool, although Cottingham later revealed that he used a hacksaw to sever the six body parts before stashing them in his bag and leaving the building. It was later determined that the woman had been sexually assaulted and beaten while still alive. The bodies had cigarette burn marks, bruises, and bite marks around the breasts. Each woman had been placed on a twin bed and Cottingham had attempted to destroy the bodies by setting the bedsheets on fire. The bodies were charred where the flames had touched them, but the trauma inflicted by the killer was visually evident. The amount of blood left on the mattresses indicated that the decapitations occurred on the beds. Hotel staff told authorities that the man staying in that room was around 35 years old, with light hair and pale skin.

Autopsies determined that the women had been killed at different times, though the identities of the victims were unknown. One victim was thought to be in her late teens. The other was eventually identified as 23-year-old Deedeh Goodarzi. Goodarzi was an immigrant from Kuwait. She was a sex worker and had been living in Trenton, NJ and commuted to Manhattan by train. Goodarzi was known to be a “high-class” sex worker who did business in much fancier hotels than the one she was killed in. The other victim is still a Jane Doe. 

On May 5th, 1980 the body of 19-year-old Valerie Ann Street was found by Maryann Sancanelli, a housekeeper at the Hasbrouck Heights Quality Inn in NJ. Sancanelli was cleaning Room 132 and found it unusual that one bed had not been slept in by the previous night’s guest. The bedspread was slightly askew, though, and the other bed had been slept in. She began vacuuming the room and when she went to clean under the unmade bed, the vacuum hit something behind the hanging bedspread. She lifted the fabric and found Street’s corpse. Sancanelli called the police. Like the previous victims, Street had suffered a brutal death. She had been handcuffed behind her back and the handcuffs had cut into the flesh of her wrists. She had been gagged with adhesive tape, which left residue around her moth. Two deep ligature marks were found on her neck. She had bite marks, bruises, and scratches on her breasts and had been hit in the shins of both legs. No clothing or personal items were found in the room. Street was 5 foot 4 inches tall, weighed 135 pounds, had blue eyes, and had dyed strawberry blonde hair. 

Police were able to isolate a fingerprint from the ratchet side of the handcuffs. An autopsy was performed and the Bergen County Medical Examiner stated that Street’s injuries were “bizarre and startling”. She had been hit with a blunt instrument so hard that she had contusions to her brain. The murder weapon was likely a thin cord that had been tied around her neck and pulled upward from the right side. Street had checked into the hotel under the false name Shelly Dudley. She had listed Florida as her home state, which was partially true. Valerie Street had arrived in New York just 6 days earlier. On May 4th between 4 and 4:30 pm, Street had checked in to the hotel. She was heard from at 10:00 the next morning when she called the front desk to tell them she wanted to keep the room for one more day. She was likely murdered immediately after making that phone call.

Fingerprints finally revealed Street’s real identity. She had been convicted of prostitution in Florida and the fingerprints on the arrest record matched the body. Another sex worker told police that she had last seen Street on May 3rd at 1 am on the corner of 32nd Street and Madison Avenue. Although authorities now knew her identity, Valerie Street’s murder would go unsolved for over a month, but would eventually be linked to the murder of Maryann Carr, who had been found near the same hotel. 

On May 12th, Cottingham picked up sex worker Pamela Weisenfeld in New York City. Cottingham likely drugged Weisenfeld as he had Schilt and Geiger. He drove her to Teaneck, NJ where he beat, tortured, and raped her. She was left in a parking lot where police found her the next morning, covered in bruises and bite marks on her chest. Weisenfeld was treated at a local hospital and survived. 

On May 15th, 1980, just 10 days after Valerie Street’s body was found, the FDNY was called to the Hotel Seville located at 22 East 29th Street off of 5th avenue. A fire had been set in one of the hotel rooms. Firefighters were able to put out the flames and found the severely mutilated remains of 25-year-old Jean Reyner. Reyner, like Goodarzi, was a sex worker who catered to upper-class clients. It was unusual for her to be working in a hotel as seedy as the Seville. Unlike the other victims found at the Travel Lodge, Reyner still had her head and hands intact. However, Cottingham had dissected both of Reyner’s breasts and had placed them next to one another on the headboard for police to find. Signs of bondage and torture were found in the room and on the body. Police almost immediately linked this murder with the Midtown Torso Cases, as they had been dubbed. 

One week later on May 22nd, 1980 Cottingham solicited the services of 18-year-old Leslie Ann O’Dell. O’Dell stood at 5 feet 4 inches tall and had blonde hair. She had arrived in New York from Washington State just four days prior and had quickly been trafficked by bus station pimps. Cottingham told O’Dell that his name was Tommy and took her to a bar, where the two drank for a couple of hours. He told O’Dell that he was going to drive them to New Jersey where they could get a hotel room and have sex. On the way, they stopped to have dinner at the New Star Diner in South Hackensack, NJ. The diner is located half a mile from the Ledgewood Terrace Apartments. From there, Cottingham and O’Dell went to the Quality Inn where Valerie Street had been murdered 17 days earlier. 

Cottingham made O’Dell wait in the car while he checked in at the front entrance. He then came out to get her and their belongings from the trunk of his car. They entered Room 117 and Cottingham briefly left to move the car. O’Dell waited for him to return, completely unaware that she was about to be tortured in unimaginable ways. When Cottingham returned, he was brandishing a knife and told her to undress and lay face down on the bed. He got on top of her and used the knife to threaten her. He told her that he would slit her throat if she made any sound. He swiftly handcuffed her wrists behind her back, as he had done to Valerie Street. He told O’Dell that he was sexually aroused by torturing and beating women and that he had done this to other women before her. He ranted at her about how she was a “whore” and had to be punished. He reportedly scraped her Pre-sacral region with the knife (internal or external?) before raping her. He lacerated her sternum and scraped, bit, stabbed, and cut her breasts. He then forced her to perform oral sex on him. Throughout the entire ordeal, Cottingham verbally threatened and abused O’Dell. 

Cottingham later used another pair of handcuffs to shackle O’Dell’s ankles before removing the handcuffs around her wrists. He then ordered her to perform a variety of nauseating acts, including licking his entire body, kissing and licking his feet, and enduring sodomy. At one point, O’Dell instinctively screamed and Cottingham immediately threw her on the bed and started strangling her. O’Dell was convinced that she was about to die. Luckily, motel staff had heard her scream and called the police, not wanting to take any chances after Valerie Street’s murder. Before police arrived, staff members attempted to enter the room. Cottingham told O’Dell what to say to make them go away and held her at knifepoint while she spoke through the slightly open door. The hotel employee asked O’Dell if everything was alright and she responded “yes”, but moved her eyes side-to-side in an attempt to communicate that she was in danger. Cottingham fled, but police intercepted him and took him into custody. He had an opened roll of adhesive tape, two leather slave collars, a leather gag, a fake gun a knife, liquor, handcuffs, and Tunial capsules in his possession when he was arrested. According to the officers who interrogated Cottingham, he uttered only one sentence, “I have a problem with women”. He then asked for an attorney and the interview ended. 

Authorities searched his home and discovered a private room that he did not allow his wife or children to go into. In that basement room, investigators found various trophies from Cottingham’s murders. Deedeh Goodarzi’s earrings, Maryann Carr’s keys, and dozens of pieces of clothing jewelry from victims. News of Cottingham’s crimes and court proceedings were plastered across newspapers all over the tri-state area. The media dubbed him “The Torso Killer”, “The Times Square Ripper”, “The Butcher of Times Square”, “The New York Ripper”, and “The Times Square Torso Ripper”. In April of 1978, Janet Cottingham had filed for divorce from Cottingham, citing “extreme cruelty” and noting that Cottingham had refused to have sex with her since 1976. Throughout early 1980, Cottingham had another affair with Jean Connelly until his arrest. After Cottingham’s arrest in 1980, Janet withdrew her petition for divorce and moved to upstate New York with the couple’s three children. 

On August 15th, Cottingham was charged with triple homicide in New York City for the murders of Jean Reyner, Deedeh Goodarzi, and the Jane Doe. In September, Karen Schilt and Susan Geiger identified Cottingham in a police lineup. Two days later the Bergen County Prosecutor's office in NJ indicted Cottingham on 21 counts. Cottingham’s trial in New Jersey began in June of 1981. Throughout the trial, Cottingham took copious notes. The District Attorney, Dennis Calo, remembers him as a very intelligent man who was extremely involved in his own defense. He was often seen passing notes to his attorneys with suggestions for them. Cottingham never confessed to the murders, instead opting to drag jury members and the loved ones of his victims through a trial. Several family members of the victims were called to the stand to identify the victims from the crime scene photos. 

On June 6th Cottingham testified at his trial. He told the court that he had a predilection toward bondage pornography but that he did not enjoy hurting others. He denied knowing any of the living victims besides Leslie O’Dell since he was caught with her in the hotel. On June 11th he was convicted of 15 out of 20 counts. 3 days later Cottingham attempted suicide by drinking six ounces of liquid antidepressant medication in his Bergen County jail cell. The next month Cottingham was sentenced to 173-197 years in state prison for his crimes. He was also fined $2,350. 

On February 25th, 1982 Cottingham collapsed while being escorted back to his cell while waiting for the Maryann Carr trial to begin. He was taken to a hospital and was diagnosed with a duodenal ulcer. Because of Cottingham’s illness, a mistrial was declared. When the trial for the murder of Maryann Carr began again in the fall of 1982, Cottingham attempted to escape but was captured quickly. On October 10th, he was convicted of second-degree murder in a nonjury trial and was sentenced to 25 years to life with a minimum of 30 years to be served concurrently with his previous sentence. In March of 1983, Cottingham was transferred to a men’s detention center in Manhattan to await his trial for the murders of Deedeh Goodarzi, “Jane Doe”, and Jean Reyner. On July 5th, 1984, Cottingham smashed his eyeglasses and attempted to cut his wrists with the shards in front of the jury. 4 days later he was convicted for all three murders and was sentenced to 75 years to life. 

Cottingham was incarcerated in the New Jersey State Prison in Trenton. In 2010, Cottingham confessed to the 1967 murder of Nancy Shiava Vogel. Cottingham was tried for Vogel’s murder and received a new concurrent life sentence. 

In the first week of January 2020, Cottingham broke his decades-long silence and confessed to three murders committed in the 1960s. Cottingham claims that he murdered Jacalyn Harp on July 17th, 1968. 13-year-old Harp was walking home from band practice in Midland Park when Cottingham pulled his car up next to her. He asked her if she wanted a ride and she declined. She began walking forward, but Cottingham drove ahead of her and got out of the car. Harp began running and Cottingham caught up to her. He dragged her to an area of bushes and sexually assaulted her before strangling the young teen to death. Jacqueline Harp’s murder remained unsolved until Cottingham confessed in 2020.

On April 7th, 1969, Cottingham claims that he observed 18-year-old Irene Blase shopping in Hackensack, NJ. He approached her and asked her if she wanted to get a drink with him. Blase and Cottingham took a bus to a bar. After a couple of hours, Cottingham offered to drive Blase back to the bus station and she accepted. Blase was found the next day laying face down in four feet of water in Saddle River. She had been strangled with a thin cord, possibly a length of wire or the chain of her crucifix necklace. 

On July 14th, 1969, at around 9:00 pm 15-year-old Denise Falasca was walking on Old Hook Road in Emerson, NJ. She was on her way to meet friends in Westwood, NJ and was expected to be home at 11:00 pm. Cottingham pulled his car up beside her and offered to drive her to her destination. Falasca accepted the ride. The next day, Tuesday, July 15th, Denise Falasca’s body was found near a cemetery on Westminster Place in Saddle Brook, NJ. All three of his newly named victims were High School students in Bergen County, NJ. 

Cottingham has nine confirmed murders to his name as of February 2020. It is estimated that he could have many more. His early murders were all committed via strangulation of the victim, and all of his victims were white women between the ages of 13 and 29. His later victims were typically between 5 foot and 5’5” tall, weighed between 95 and 140lbs, and had dyed or naturally blonde hair. 

Richard Cottingham is classified as a power-assertive killer. His actions indicate a need to dominate and control his victims. Unlike the vast majority of serial killers, Cottingham experienced no abuse as a child. He had no history of head trauma or brain damage nor did he have physical of mental deficiencies. He had an average IQ, no history of mental health issues or drug abuse in his immediate family, and had no psychological issues surrounding his sexuality. In 2011, journalist Nadia Fezzani interviewed Cottingham for a French documentary. Cottingham had not agreed to an interview before accepting Fezzani’s request after two years of negotiation and correspondence. In his letters, Cottingham claimed to have begun killing 12 years before the murder of Maryann Carr, placing his first murder in 1965, before Nancy Vogel’s slaying. He claimed to have over 85, but under 100 victims, total. In the interview, Cottingham appears in his tan prison uniform with a full, white beard and mustache, his signature bushy eyebrows, and now lightened hair in the same style it had been upon his arrest. He walks with a cane on his right side and although he was always a stocky man, he appears to weight around 300 pounds. 

Cottingham told Fezzani “I wanted to be the best at whatever I did. And I wanted to be the best serial killer”. He chuckled and continued on “I’ve probably done anything a man would want to do with a woman. Obviously, I must be sick somehow, normal people don’t do what I did.” When asked why he had cut off Jean Reyner’s breasts, he responded: “to do something different...to create some sensationalism”. He told her that he had no feelings when he committed his crimes. He said that he could put himself into a mental state that was like “remote control”. Cottingham admitted that the “power of holding someone’s fate in your hands” sexually aroused him. He told Fezzani that he enjoyed torturing his victims and inciting fear in them and that he would go only one or two weeks in between murders over a span of 10-15 years. However, this figure would place his victim count at around 390 victims, which is far out of his estimation. (An average of one victim every 10 weeks would align more with Cottingham’s estimation.)

Richard Francis Cottingham is now 73 years old and is eligible for parole in August 2025, although it is unknown how his latest confessions will affect that date. Investigators are still trying to elicit additional confessions from Cottingham, as they have been since 2004.

Sources:

Serial Violence: Analysis of Modus Operandi and Signature Characteristics of Killers by Robert D. Keppel and William J. Birnes.

Serial Killers: The Method and Madness of Monsters by Peter Vronsky

Richard Francis Cottingham “The Torso Killer”: Information researched and summarized by Jacklyn Cowin, Jenna Leonette, and The Phan of Radford University

Serial Killers: Richard Cottingham by Patrick Spica Productions. 

Profile of Serial Killer Richard Cottingham by Charles Montaldo on ThoughtCo

N.J. serial killer now linked to 9 victims, but will his murder toll rise? The timeline of the ‘Torso Killer’ by Rodrigo Torrejon for NJ.com

Cold cases solved: Bergen serial killer confesses to three more deaths by Joshua Jongsma for NorthJersey.com

Infamous New Jersey ‘Torso Killer’ confesses to 3 cold case murders by Gabrielle Fonrouge and Natalie Musumeci for New York Post.

[its-3am-sadness]

getting lost up in the past— this is what I found

Friday February 1st, 2013:

ugh..im sitting in third hour..i wanna cry, but i cant theres to many people..

can anyone really save me? ..no.. noone ever can.. i just wanna be happy, truely always happy.. )': ughhhhhhhhhhhh! i gotta go..

Monday February 4th, 2013:

holy shit that was a longg weekend.. i almost cut saturday.. i got a new razor & everythingg.. Jake told me to go chuck itt in the snow, soo i did, but then on sunday i went & found itt.. soo i have itt in my ipod case like my other one.

I stayed up till 3 saturday nightt watching 'Enchanted' i love that movie now (: and i sent Jake a 7 and a 9 page text.. he was asleep though..but his best friend is a girl & i have nothing at all against that, i don't have a reason to hate her at all, i havent even met her, but i still am so super jealous.. i hate that they hang out and slepover together and i dont know, i trust him.. but look what happend with the last guy, i trusted him with all my heart, i never thought he would cheat on me and he ended up fucking his ex-girlfriend and lying about it.. im so scared.. i dont wanna be here.. i was thinking saturday & yesterday how i wish i was single just so i don't have to be so paranoid..but i love being around Jake that i wouldnt dream of ending it..

Shawntay said i should tell him about how i feel with him & his besty, but i idont wanna be the dumb bitchy girlfriend who is all 'you cant talk to girls-blahh blahh blahhk' shitt, ya know?? So ima just leave it to myself because i don't care..

im really trying not to cut.. Tabby (my ex's girlfriend) told me that it takes 21 days to break a habbit & we both last cut on the 22nd, soooo we'll see how that goes..

on wednesday it'll be me & jake's 4 months.. & next thursday is valenitines (how ever you spell itt) day and i wanna get him something.. hmm..

my tits now have names.. right one is Adam & the left is Ryder (:

I love him, my baby. <3 soo much.. </3

Wednesday February 6th, 2013:

today is 4 months with my baby!! i love him sooo much. dude. <3 he is so amazingg. i just want to push him in the snow and kiss him and be crazy. i am crazy about him.. like super crazy aboutt him. <3 i dont wantt him to be taken awayyy! ):

Hunter said he was going to ask me out last week on friday on the bus.. god he's a douche.. he broke my heart so many countless times and just left.. and my ex. my good lord, he is such a dick. im sick of them both fucking with my head and heart. ive moved on and it Shawntay's words 'have a new life with a better guy'.. god i love her. i dont know where i would be right now if it werent for her.. <3 i love you shawny'z forever <3

Friday February 8th, 2013:

well..i almost cut last nightt, i didnt but i was aboutt to.. im not taking my meds, im just throwing them in a bag & ima sell them.. they weren't working anyway soo..

Im seriously so sccared that Jake's going to leave me.. even though he says he's not going to an yada yada yada, but still.. im paranoid.. it's just who i am... i love him with all my heart though.. ya know??

im diguesting..im a whore..a damn slut.. in love with a guy who prolly cant stand me.. im fucking pathetic.. why..why..why would, HOW could anyone like me, or put up with me.. i mean, what the hell..im a little ugly bitch. a fat, pathetic, stupid, idiotic, loud, sluty little damn bitch...fuckkkkkkkk.

fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.

fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuckfuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.

fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.

fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.

fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.

fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuckfuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.

fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.

fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.

fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.

fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuckfuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.

fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.

fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.

fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.

fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuckfuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.

fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.

fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.fuck.

Monday February 11th,2013:

well..i hate myself. terribly. fucking. little. cunt. thats what i am. a fucking bitch. a pussy, more like a pair of balls.. pussy's are actually quite strong.. so im a pair of balls. GROSS!.. i like pussy better.. whatever. so anyway.. i hate how much of a bitch i am. im so mean to everyone. im not good enough for shawntay. i dont deserve jake and i feel like i treat both of them like shit.. i dont mean to. they're both my whole world..damn.. i couldnt live with out both of them.. i really couldnt.

Conversation on Saturday Night:

me: how isn't it? if you go then you wont have to worry about me.

Jake: ill worry more

me:no

Jake: yeah i will

Me:no

Jake: why cant i?

me: Because..you just cant. you shouldnt. its not worth it.Never. You should leave before you get hurt.

Jake: this isnt about right now anymore is it?

me: i guess not..

Jake: cause ive told you before im not leaving unless you stop loving me ima be here for you until you dont want me to and ima be with you till you break up with me, i love you and im gonna stay through thick and thin. you wont hurt me. You wont.

Baby i friken love you and i wanna be with you no matter what im yous i dont want anyone else but you and im gonna stay okay?

Me: i hurt everyone. i want to be with you. i am in love with you. but i am so hard and difficult. i push every single person away because i just tear people down. i dont want to do that. You are so amazing and that cant die.

how can i call that mine? that is a way to good for me kindda guy.. ive fallen in love with him. but he is way to good for me.

Tuesday February 12, 2013:

i almost cut last night.. i lost it and i started crying terribly. my mother is such a damn bitch. i cant handle her anymore.. she's having surgary on the 25th of this month.. but shes forcing me to appologise for being 'rude' to my brothers wife.. fuck that.. she told me i didnt appriciate anyone.. you dont tell someone who hates themself, who seriously cant stand to look at herself or hear herself, you DONT TELL THEM THAT THEYRE NOT FUCKING APPRICATIVE! what the hell.. so i have anger issues so i flipped out, not to her, just annonmusly over facebook & shes not even my friend on there so fuck her. seriously. and my mother is sticking up for HER, an not ME. bitch.. i have enough shit i dont need to deal with this, its from over a month ago.. i hate my mother.. she fucking came running downstairs screaming at me for taking something that i really didnt.. i didnt even know what she was talking about.. why... im always to blame. FUCK HER! god... she makes me want to kill myself. she thinks that i look up to her and that she's this perfect little angel and does everything for me.. but all she does is make me feel like shit.. i mean we have our moments that we get along an laugh an are friends. when we're friends we're totally fine, but than she turns in to over protective bitch mode.. i hate itt.. i dont wanna stay after school to get extra help.. and shes fucking making me. i hate it. i hate her. i want to get the fuck away. HELP ME! i need to be saved.

Wednesday February 13th, 2013:

theres not a lot of time to write here today...i only got about 3 minutes.. but damn.. i wanna die.. im not going to stopo myself tonight if i wanna cut. i gotta do it.. its to hard. my parents and my one brother are douches..they fucking dont know when to stop making me feel like shit.. i hate it. goddamn.. i cried so much last night.. i wish i were alone.. it'd be easier not to worry about hurting someone.. i hate myself. im absolutly disguesting. fat, ugly and just so gross.. i hate what ive become.. i cant stop myself. it's who i am now..

my razors fell out of my case this morning, it was scary i thought that someone was going to ask me what they were when i bent to pick them up.. i was so shakey.. i hate myself. ughhh. fuck. i hate everyone, my self the absolute most though.. good bye..

Thursday Febraury 14th, 2013:

well.. i stopped the 21 days last night.. 16.. 2 on my thigh, they're small. and the rest between my two arms. im such a fail..

Jake did the cutest thing ever.. he put a bunch of choclate kisses in my locker & taped it saying 'i <3 u' i keep blushing today.. i just told someone i like they're hat & he said he liked my face, i blush to much, i dont like him even, but it was kindda a compliment, soo.. *sigh* i hope shawntay doesnt get mad at me.. i told her i cut in our notebook, i havent told jake & im nott gunna unless he asks.. i cant tell him.. i HATE THAT THEY CARE!!!!!!!!! ugh... i just hurt eveyrone.. i make everyone want to kill themselves.......... FUCK.

ive been handing outt 'my little pony' valentines today.. only 4 gurls, and like 15 or more guys.. the girls are Shawntay, my friend Kenzie, Tabby & Heather. God.. all of them are so FUCKING gorgeous..ugh.. i seriously wish i could be even half as pretty as them.. Shawntay, everything about her is perfect, i wouldnt change a thing. Perfect long hair, flawless skin, perfect body.. McKenzie, she's in love, happy, so beautiful. Tabby, SO gorgeous, i find her easy to talk to and i think we could be pretty good friends. i love her hair.. i want it terribly. and Heather, her makeup, my lord is it always so damn perfect. no flaws to it, always perfect all the damn day long. She may be a bitch sometimes, but she's also hillarious as fuck. i could see me an her being better friends then we are, but not anything long-best friend. but damn.. i wish i were them..

Friday February 15th, 2013:

last night i broke down terribly and cried for hours.. i could stop. my douche fuck parents.. goddamn.. i wish i could just love them and call it good. but my mom comes down and bitches about facebook.. so now i have to delete it.. god. she controls every damn thing of my life.. she doesnt even know what tumblr is or instagram & she fucking wants me to delete them. HELL TO THE FUCK NO! dumbass. i hate her.. she ruins my life..

Tuesday February 19th, 2013:

okay..well this is reallly really stupid.. but on friday, i realized that with my ex boyfriend, he fucked her while we were together & i had sex with him countless times after.. so now i obviously did something wrong. it showed me how worthless i am & how much i seriously fuck people up..it's all my fault. i loved him wrong. i treated him like shit and look where that's gotten me.. im such a pathetic fucking fail of life. i hate myself.. im used and worthless. im the damn slut of the fucking family for fuck's sake!! my oldest brother just got married & the other just got engaged.. ugh..

ive been starving myself latley too.. it's kinda hard because i love eating, but ive been not eating lunch for about a week & i rarley eat at home soo..

[mwagneto]

1, 30 & 36

1: Talk about the first time you watched your favorite movie.

oh god you're braver than any us marine ok so instead of what everyone expects I'll do a detour and start with the honourable mention that is rdj sherlock, i was super depressed (and I mean like. incredibly so) after sherlock s4 because it just sucked so bad, like i was deadass in ruins and i was trying to find ANYTHING to take my mind off it and by the end of February I watched and read pretty much all Sherlock media there is except for rdj because for some reason I thought it was bad?? but then I noticed the first movie was downloaded on my laptop so I went ok fuck it and watched it on the 26th of February and HOLY SHIT I fell in love with RDJude's dynamic literally immediately their chemistry was so fucking good and the plot and the script and the setting and the music and- point is I fucking loved it so I watched the second movie on the same day and Mother of FUCK it was somehow even better and gayer and sweet Jesus I've been obsessed with them since

NOW onto the real deal, light of my life and my reason for living....Rocketman

Jesus Christ I don't think I've ever been this hyped for a movie in my life

I saw the first trailer on November 11th but I wasn't into it at all mainly because I saw it in theaters and they played the censored version and made it look like some het movie about an imaginary person

But then I saw it trending when the second trailer came out and I scrolled through the trending tag and watched the trailer and boy I was HOOKED

And holy fuck the wait was Agonising especially since the fandom on here consisted of like. Me and 3 or 4 other people and then some ppl who didn't post but reblogged stuff - point is the fandom just. Didn't Exist

By the time carpool came out there were a bit more but still basically nothing, hell in my desperation I even looked at stan tw*tter a few times but I regretted it each time and thankfully I don't remember anything specific

But anywayS so the movie is supposed to come out on the 31st of May but for some reason they release it on the 18th in the UK and then turns out it won't come out until the 5th of June here???

I was so fucking mad my friend and I literally almost went to Wien to watch it

Worst of all, the big cinema chain that's in my city didn't even put the tickets out

And when they did they only put them out for Thursday and only the dubbed version

Which, ew, but I was like I don't care I'll take what I can get

But THEN I went into the city one Saturday and I was just riding the tram listening to the soundtrack when in passing I saw a theater that had a big ass Rocketman sign on the front

It was literally like a 0.1 second glimpse because the tram was going fast but I immediately went rabid and found it online and turns out not only were they showing Rocketman on the 5th of June, they also have the original English version

So I booked two tickets immediately and waited because I still wasn't sure the usual cinema wouldn't put their tickets out

So I stayed up every night until midnight to see if there were tickets but No

Finally they put them out on Tuesday midnight so a day before it's supposed to be released but only for Thursday so I was like ok fuck you I'm going to the other one

Oh yeah by this point I've been logged off Tumblr for weeks because i didn't want spoilers so I didn't have Any Rocketman content at all, I didn't even dare to look at YouTube videos or anything because I was scared the recommended section would spoil me

So yeah I was absolutely content deprived

Fucking FINALLY the 5th of June rolls around and we get to the theater and wait for it to start and jesus fukingn

I'm gonna be honest I literally don't even remember much because I was so high on "oh my fucking god I'm finally watching it" but holy SHIT IT WAS JUST. SO GOOD.

I do remember a few things

I know I screamed out loud when Richard first appeared during crocodile rock (even tho I knew he was gonna be there at some point but it was still so sudden I fuckin lost it)

Also I held my friend's hands during tiny dancer like my life depended on it skdnd

And I've told this story a million times but tmttp shocked the soul out of me coz I knew what it meant scene wise and I didn't think they'd play it so fuckign early skmfsk I had like a full body convulsion and drew my hands back and my calf muscle cramped so hard it hurt for a whole week afterwards

anyway I didn't cry

somehow

I thought I'd be sobbing like mad but I didn't and I still haven't

Idk for some reason I just can't cry over this even tho I SHOULD and I want to

my friend did sjsnfjd

we were fucking. spent dude I don't think I stopped smiling until I fell asleep

Anyway after she somewhat finished crying and we exchanged a few words we somehow got up from our seats and left

She had to print a few things so we walked to a photocopier and talked about the movie but it wasn't anything more coherent than just verbal keysmashes

Literally it was so smfjsjjdsjdn i felt high

I was so fucking HAPPY bro it was so fucking good and everything I expected and way more like we were over the fucking moon

I brought food coz I like to eat during movies but I didn't even dare to look away from the screen during this one

While she got her printing sorted I logged back into Tumblr and checked the tags (they were still disappointingly empty😔)

We then went to a park near the tram and ate the food I brought and talked abt the movie till it got dark at which point we headed for the train and talked there some more before she had to get off at her stop

I spent the rest of the ride smiling like an idiot listening to the soundtrack and texting her & other people

I went for a bit of a walk on the mountain I live on to clear my head but I was literally so happy and giddy I couldn't stop smiling hhh I'm losing it just thinking about all the stuff I felt

By that point I was super low and empty coz of school stuff and irl stuff so to feel so many emotions after months of feeling absolutely nothing was a LOT

Anyway I got home by...idk, late, and blasted the soundtrack on full volume for a while before booking her and myself tickets for Thursday so we could watch it again

And we did

And it was just as amazing as the first time

And then on impulse I watched it again on Friday

And then I went to watch it again on Saturday and as soon as it ended I ran to a nearby theater and watched it again immediately

Then again on Wednesday

After watching it on the 5th I lost my appetite both for food and for water, and also my need for sleep, so until I gained it back after watching it next Wednesday I basically didn't eat, drink or sleep for an entire week but it didn't take a toll on me, somehow

The Rocketman power

Anyway we watched it again on Saturday and Sunday (the girl I mentioned came with me both times then and on Saturday so did another girl)

And then I had exams, a class trip and a family vacation so I couldn't watch it for an agonizing two weeks

but then finally watched it again on the 3rd of July with another friend (a 3rd one)

And then on the 6th of July with the original girl

And then on the 7th and the 9th at home alone and them on the 12th with yet another friend (4th one)

Then I went to watch it in theaters alone again on the 18th

And then one more time with the first girl on the 24th

Then on the 3rd of August alone

And then the first girl came over on the 9th of August and we watched the deleted scenes and the extras and then the extended movie

Then I was once again busy so I couldn't watch it until the 25th

And I took my laptop to the hotel I'm staying at for two weeks rn so I watched it here on the 30th

And now here we are

Jesus fucking Christ I'm so sorry for making you read all this

This took me like an hour to type

Anyway! Peace and thanks for asking skdmsmcmsmmd

30: Talk about what turns you off.

I don't have any turnons or turnoffs tbh skdndn I'm. not about that sorta stuff

36: Talk about your guilty pleasures.

sometimes I hateread awful old fanfics on Wattpad because they make me wanna die but like in a good way

[aroyalfuckup]

Dear Diary...

This was a satire assignment for my AP class and I personally loved it. 

TW for mentions of Suicide, Homophobia, Death and Radical Christianity.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thursday, Jun 11th, 2020

Hey there, diary. It’s been a while since I wrote in here. I’ve been going to therapy more and she told me to start writing in here a lot more. So, Here goes nothing..

Things with mom has gotten more complicated. She thinks that there is something wrong with me. I don’t think that kissing a girl and liking it is wrong. She has been forcing me to write out Bible passages and go to church with her on Sundays. It’s really suffocating. I hate all of this crap.

Dad leaving hasn’t helped much. I don’t have anyone to back me up. He understood me. I wish he was still around. 

Mom is calling so, I’m gonna finish this entry here. 

-Rebecca Free

Monday, Jun 15th, 2020

Hey there, diary. It’s been a few days since I was last here. Mom was at my throat for the incident that happened at school on Friday so I didn’t couldn’t find a good time to write. That incident was blown so far out of proportion.

So, I was on the bus with my girlfriend, Evelyn, and we were holding hands on the seat, talking quietly about our date on Saturday (I was so excited!!) and this stupid guy leaned over the seat to say something and saw us holding hands. He started shouting about how we were going to hell and how we were gross and it started to get blown so out of order that soon, everyone was yelling at us. We got off a stop early because it was horrible. Stupid Arizona. I hate this stupid state. But anyways, Mom freaked and I had to go to confession and confess a sin that shouldn’t have even been one. Screw this, I’m going to bed.

-Rebecca Free

Saturday, Jun 20th, 2020

Hey diary. Mom is finally letting me go to a summer camp this year! I leave to go on the last day of school. It’s a month long camp so I’m excited. Sure, it’s Bible Camp and it’s governmental funded by President Pence but I’m getting out of Arizona for a month and away for my mom! This is gonna be so much fun!  Apparently, Evelyn is going too and this girl from school. I hope that this is going to be the best summer of my highschool career. 

Mom has been laying off on the Bible passages and going to Sunday church. I like that I’m finally getting all this freedom. I’m so excited for this summer. Anyways, I’ve gotta go. 

-Rebecca Free.

Monday, Jun 22nd, 2020

Hey diary… So, I looked up the summer camp that Mom is having me go to and I can’t find it. It was kinda weird but I guess it’s not the end of the world. Maybe they just haven’t advertised it online yet. I mean, Mom did say that the pastor only gave her a brochure. It’s whatever. 

Evelyn seems a bit scared to go to this camp but I reassured her that nothing bad was going to happen. I’m going to be there to protect her. I would never let anything bad happen to her. This is gonna be a good summer. I swear.

-Rebecca Free

Friday, Jun 26th, 2020

Hey diary! Today is the day that we head to the summer camp. I was told that I shouldn’t bring a lot of clothes since they are giving us ‘camp clothes.’ I’m only bringing my books and my camera as well as you! I thought that writing at camp will be good for me!

Evelyn is traveling with her mom. I’m jealous. My mom put me on a bus with other kids heading to this camp. Everyone looks so scared and sad. I wonder why? Isn’t camp supposed to be exciting? 

It’s cool though to meet other people like me! Almost everyone I’ve talked to are gay, bisexual, pansexual, etc! Maybe this is a camp for gays to meet and enjoy each others company? Well, I’m gonna go for now.

-Rebecca Free

Sunday, Jun 28th, 2020

They burned our stuff. I watched them burn my books and pictures, my camera. They gave me grey scrubs and burned my clothes. Why was I sent here? The only reason I have you is because I managed to hide it in the bushes when I changed.  My roommate is Reuben. They want us to fall in love but we’re gay. Nothing makes sense. Why did my mom send me here?

I saw Evelyn for a few minutes this morning in the church… I hate church. They preached that being gay is a sin and that changing yourself from how God made you is a sin. 

I hate this. I have to go to bed now, They have things tomorrow.

-Rebecca

Tuesday, Jun 30th, 2020

I want to go home. The shock chair has been a big favourite to the guards. I can’t stop shaking. Why are they doing this…? I caught a glimpse of Evelyn at dinner. We are being kept apart to ‘stop our sinful desires from growing.’ I hate this. I need Dad. Mom hates me. She sent me here because she hates me. She has to.

I watched a kid get whipped in the yard for claiming that their name was Felix and not Fiona. I was forced to watch because if I looked away, I was next. I hate this place.

-Rebecca

Thursday, July 2nd, 2020

I saw Evelyn last night. I was going out for a walk with Reuben (to just get out of the cabin) and i managed to bump into her with Matthew, her roommate. I cried and hugged her tighter than I ever did before. The boys kept watch as we quickly spoke. I told her that I would get her out of here. I promised her. 

They said that if we fell in love with our roommates and confessed to never fall in love with the same sex ever again, we could leave. I  know I could get out of here but I just can’t without Evelyn.

Friday, July 3rd, 2020

They killed her… I watched her fucking die! They demanded that she gives up her ‘sinful desires’ and her being so stubborn, she kept saying no, even when she couldn’t lift her head up! I watched her get shocked to death. How could this happen? I told her that we were getting out of here. I told her that I would protect her! How could this happen…

Sunday, July 26th, 2020

I’m going home. I confessed. I’m never going to love again.

Saturday, August 1st, 2020

It’s been a week. I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry, Dad. I have to be with her. I’m so done…. Don’t miss me too much. Go to hell, Janet. I hope you realize what you did. You’re not my mother and you never will be.

[ttcaftermiscarriage]

Our little jelly bean ❤👼🏻 short version of my story

I found out after almost after a year and a half of trying that I was pregnant! On fathers day too!

I had no symptoms at all, I got worried at times. But everything was okay. I paid for a private scan when I was 7 weeks and they was in the right place and a healthy heart beat. Almost 5 weeks later I had my dating scan, looks like there waving 💕

4 days after I felt strange, but I got told to just take it easy and not worry unless I had bad pains and bleeding. It stopped. Sunday 11th august, I had spots of blood and slight period like pains, I just got told to sleep it off and wait till morning. I made an appointment straight away and I got one for tuesday 13th. Monday 12th I was 12 weeks and 6 days pregnant, u was working when my fluid was gushing from me, still no one would do anything for me. I knew my baby had gone.

I had my scan tuesday morning, but they saw nothing, I knew my baby had gone but I never saw them, they would be big enough to see.... i got told to empty my bladder for an internal scan. I did. But something didnt feel right, I put my hand between my legs and my baby. My baby was in my hand 💔💔 I could of screamed but nothing came. I sat on the toilet and cried and cried. Ibremever how they looked, it haunts me 😭 I wish they was still here

I had to stay in hospital because the placenta was stuck. The next day 14th august my body went into shock because of the placenta.

I received medical management and surgical management for the placenta.

2 months on and I've just had my first period since I fell pregnant, were getting ready to try again and hope for the best. I'm scared as it took so long the first time round and I'm scared especially with everything I've been through.