#this is how my brain copes with being cooped up apparently

[sensitiveheartless]

Ok, so Muppet AU! Every ability user in canon is a muppet, except for Dazai, who nullifies both abilities and the physical state of being a muppet!

Now that that’s established:

Bram is already kind of a muppet, right?

(Whenever Bram spreads the vampirism, the newly infected muppet just gains a pair of glued-in fangs)

Corruption is just muppet-Chuuya on a string, being swung wildly about like the killer rabbit from Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Imagine you are a muppet for as long as you can remember, and then one weird human pokes you, and suddenly you are also human for the first time alsksjdjf

Oh and the best part of this AU is Ranpo!!! Because if Fukuzawa convinced Ranpo that he had an ability when he was fifteen, then that means that Fukuzawa simultaneously had to convince a human boy that he was a muppet.

And Ranpo believes this for years.

Ranpo, a human man: “Haha, I have the best ability in the agency! >:D”

Atsushi, a tiger-muppet who has just learned how all this works:

[fruitcoops]

Hi Eve! Could you maybe write something like Sirius having a majorly stressful week and he's been on edge all day and he finally decides to go talk to Heather if only to just let it all out. By the time he comes home he's exhausted but Remus is all ready for him, and he's greeted with the sight of Remus in a nice little heap of blankets and pillows piled up on their sofa with a Disney movie ready to play and all his favourite snacks lined up on the coffee table. And Sirius of course just about dissolves into a puddle of affection and gratitude because Loops 🥰🥰🥰

It's honestly concerning how much fluff I write. Oh, well! This is such a cute idea and I'll never pass up an opportunity to write soft Coops <3 SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

“So, you’ve started baking?” Heather looked up as Sirius nodded, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. It still smelled a little like Remus from the last time he stole it, but not nearly enough to drown him in comfort. “That’s awesome. If you don’t mind, can I ask why you chose that as a hobby?”

“It’s—” Stupid. He bit the words back at the last second; Heather never liked self-deprecation, and they had been working on positive self-talk for…as long as Sirius could remember, really. “Uh, I helped Re’s mom make a pie over the holidays and I just have good memories associated with it, I guess.”

Heather jotted something down, her soft smile never faltering. She was wearing a sweater the same color as her name—it was distilled comfort, and Sirius felt some of the tension release from his back. “You said you do it when you’re stressed, right?”

“Sometimes.”

“Does the rhythm help, or is it something else?”

He stared at his hands, rubbing his thumb over the callus from his favorite spatula that was beginning to form. “I think…” he trailed off and bit his lower lip. Honesty always wins. Why do you like it so much? “The rhythm helps quiet my head down, yeah. And it smells like home. And—and if I do it right, I can’t screw it up.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“If I follow the recipe, it works. Every time. I can read the instructions as many times as I need to, and I can focus on that until everything up here—” He gestured vaguely toward his head. “—shuts up for a bit.”

Heather nodded; the room was quiet for a moment while she wrote before she settled into her chair and let out a slow breath. “I’m really happy you started doing this, Sirius.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. We’ve talked about finding healthy amounts of control and tethers in your daily life, and from what you’ve said, this makes you happy in addition to helping you calm down. What do you do with everything you make?”

He shrugged. “Give it away, mostly. It’s healthier than store-bought stuff, and the guys like it. Re and I can’t eat it all ourselves.”

“How often do you stress bake?”

“Oh, probably three or four times a week.”

Shit, shit, shit. Heather’s eyebrows crept upward. “Oh?”

“…yes.” Can’t take it back now.

“Okay.” She made a quick mark on her clipboard—for the hundredth time, Sirius wished he could snatch it and run. “Interesting. Why are you so stressed?”

“It’s not like that all the time,” he said quickly. “Just over the past couple weeks.”

“What’s been going on?”

“Everything?” he said. It sounded more like a question. Heather made another note. “It’s—well, Jules got the flu two months ago and Re wasn’t sleeping because he was worried, so I got nervous and started staying up later so I’d be tired, but then I got bored and worried about both of them so I texted Hope about her pie recipe—"

“Sirius,” Heather interrupted gently. He closed his mouth and tucked his hands into his sleeves, palms itching. “Deep breaths, then tell me what’s been going on these past couple weeks specifically that was stressing you out.”

He obliged, counting ten before speaking again as his brain stopped feeling like someone poured pop rocks into it. “Right. So, this whole habit thing started two months ago, and we’re getting closer to you-know-what—”

“The playoffs?”

He made a quiet noise of distress and tapped the wood of the chair. “Oui, that. There’s a lot of pressure from last year, and when my friends are stressed, I get stressed, and baking is easy and fun so I just…didn’t stop. A lot of things are happening right now, and this feels like the only one I can control.”

“There you go,” she said with a proud smile. “Thank you.”

“What did I do?”

“You’re being more open and honest with yourself. It’s good to see.” She crossed one leg over the other and leaned slightly forward. “You’re a really, really good captain, Sirius. You are so in-tune with the other people in your life, but you’ve got to remember to step back and do things for yourself sometimes. Right now, baking is your stress relief because you can’t control your friends’ lives or emotional states. Try to find more things like that.”

He stared at her for a moment. “Are you diagnosing me with ‘needs a hobby’?”

“In a sense, yes. You have done an incredible job over the past few months of letting your world revolve around things other than hockey. Branching out to baking was an excellent choice. Now it’s time to find other things that give you similar comfort, okay?”

“Alright.”

“Fantastic. Let’s brainstorm.”

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

Sirius dropped his bag next to the shoe rack and immediately leaned back against the door, closing his eyes with a sigh. Therapy was always exhausting, but usually in a good way. Already, he could feel the weight of the last three weeks lifting off his shoulders. “I’m home!” he called.

Remus materialized from the living room and padded over in his fuzzy socks, planting a kiss on each of Sirius’ cheeks. “You look tired. Good or bad?”

“Good,” he assured him. “We worked on finding a hobby.”

“Oh?”

“Apparently, baking every other day isn’t a great long-term coping mechanism.”

Remus kissed him lightly on the lips. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.”

Sirius pulled back with a frown. “I thought you liked my baking.”

“I do. I also worry about how much space we have in our kitchen, and how much you sleep.” He gave Sirius a squeeze around the waist and patted his hip. “Now c’mere, I have a surprise.”

“What kind of surprise?” Sirius asked warily as he allowed himself to be pulled toward the living room. “Do we have company?”

“Does Hattie count?”

The dog in question barked when they entered the room, though she was buried beneath a mountain of blankets and only her nose and tail stuck out. In the hour and a half Sirius had been gone, the living room had transformed into a massive fort—the couch cushions were propped up around a nest of pillows and blankets, and low amber light fell over everything from the side table lamp. It radiated coziness and warmth; he felt the last bits of his exhaustion settle into contentment. “Wow.”

Remus beamed at him. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” He cupped his face in his hands and nudged their noses together. “And I love you. So much. I’m going to go rinse off and change, but can we cuddle afterward?”

“What do you think this is for?” Remus teased. “You took my sweatshirt.”

“It’s too big for you anyway.”

“How long until I find it in my laundry pile because it doesn’t smell like me anymore?”

Sirius pretended to think for a moment, though he couldn’t keep his smile down as happiness bubbled through every vein. “Tomorrow.”

“Go take your shower,” Remus laughed, then kissed him once again. “I’ll see if I have anything else that’ll fit you.”

[timetravelingheart]

Consequences Chapter Four: A.M. Imagine

“T, would you please put that poor boy out of his misery already?” Lydia asked, reaching for Tessa’s phone that had been lighting up like crazy over the past four hours that the girls had been cooped up in the school library. 

They were supposed to be working on their lit reviews, and while Tessa could seemingly ignore the incessant attempts at communication coming her way, Lydia was struggling. Tessa reached out to snatch the phone before Lydia could get to it, but she was too late. She sighed as she watched Lydia scroll through the various notifications on her lock screen. 

“Wow, he’s really something,” she alluded, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t realize you were into that kind of kinky shit, but to each their own.”

“What?!” Tessa struck an arm out and snatched the phone from her pleased friend’s grip. 

“Shh!” came from the surrounding people, unhappy with her little outburst. 

Tessa scrolled through the notifications, not finding anything worthy of being deemed kinky, to say the least. 

“Hilarious,” she deadpanned, not even rewarding Lydia with a look. Lydia simply smiled proudly and returned to her paper. 

Tessa scrolled through her phone. She had more missed notifications than she was used to. Missed calls, voicemails, and texts from Auston. She also had Instagram DMs from him, since he had tracked down her private account and she made him wait over a week before accepting his follow request - only to then not follow him back yet. To Auston’s annoyance, she had not only accepted Mitch, William, and Kasperi’s follow requests instantly, she also followed them back. They of course loved to point that out whenever she liked a post of theirs. 

Those notifications didn’t surprise her. He had definitely made good use of having her contact information over the past couple of weeks and had sent her at least one message a day, usually a ‘good morning Tess’ and/or a ‘good night Tess’ text that she now looked forward to - though she didn’t think she’d ever admit that to anyone, least of all him. 

What surprised her were the new notifications from other Leafs members and even some of their significant others. She had unread texts from Mitch, William, and Kapanen, as well as Instagram follow requests from Zach, Morgan, Andreas, Travis, Freddie, Tyler, and Mitch’s girlfriend Stephanie. 

Apparently, her constant reminders to Auston that whatever was happening between them would have to move slowly had not quite gotten through to him. Even though he had refrained from specifically asking her out on a date since he got her number, he hadn’t let up on being ridiculously nosy and asking her tons of questions about herself. And unlike her, who waited a few minutes or sometimes even an hour before replying to him, he answered her the instant she replied to him unless he was in a game or practice. It was like he was waiting on her response, watching his phone for any sign that she was open to him. 

Despite her best efforts, it felt like they were getting to know each other better and she couldn’t help but feel a little flutter in her chest every time she saw a message from him. Unfortunately for Auston however, his public life can be a little too public sometimes. Just as she was feeling like she could trust him, she overheard a volunteer at work the other day talking about a friend of hers who Auston had been chatting up all night at the bar the previous weekend. While Tessa wasn’t naïve enough to believe that all stories about athletes and hook-ups were true, she also wasn’t naïve enough to believe that none of them were. 

And so, just like that, her guard came back up just slightly. 

Hence why Auston and his friends had been sitting with unread messages for the past four hours. Auston had actually been sitting with read messages since the previous night, but Tessa decided to stop reading anything from him once she got to the library. 

“T?” Lydia’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “Are you okay? Those messages looked pretty harmless.”

Tessa nodded, turning off her phone and tossing it in her bag on the ground. 

“Let’s just get back to it, eh?” she tried to smile at Lydia, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She turned back to her open laptop, trying to remember what she had been typing before the interruption.

“Actually, I think I’ve done all that my brain can handle today. Nine unedited pages down, but I think I need to edit with a clear brain. Let’s go get some dinner? My treat?” 

Tessa nodded, gathering up her books and laptop. She knew that she was using school and work as a coping mechanism and an avoidant tool, and she also knew that with Lydia, those choices could only go unchallenged for so long. 

__

Once the girls had grabbed their take-out, they started on the short walk back to their shared apartment. It was nearing the beginning of October, but the weather was still holding on to that last little bit of summer with a warm night. 

“So what’s the deal, T? What did that poor boy do to get himself ignored this time?” Lydia linked her arm through Tessa’s, knowing she liked physical contact and proximity with loved ones when she was stressed or worried. 

Tessa let out a deep sigh and rested her heavy head on her best friend’s shoulder. 

“You know Andrea, one of the volunteers at work?” 

“Mhm,” Lydia nodded, even though she wasn’t 100% sure who Tessa was talking about. She knew that it didn’t really matter though. Who the girl was wasn’t the point of the story. 

“So yesterday the team and I were all stuffing envelopes and getting all of our event flyers together when she starts telling Erica a story about their night at the bar. I guess they were at the same bar as Auston and the guys, and Andrea’s friend was hanging out with him. According to Andrea, he was ‘smitten’ with her and kept buying her drinks and flirting with her all night.”

Lydia didn’t say anything, knowing more was coming if she just waited. 

“Which is fine! Obviously. I mean, he’s single and he’s a star in this town and he’s young and why shouldn’t he be flirting with girls?”

“Mhm.”

“And it’s not like him sending me flowers means anything or means that he has to stop doing those things. I’m the one who turned him down, for crying out loud! So of course he’s free to do whatever and whomever he wants.” 

“T-”

Tessa lifted her head from Lydia’s shoulder, still powering through her pent-up rant.

“So who am I to be bothered by this? But then, who the hell is he to keep messaging me and sending me ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ texts if he’s doing the exact same thing to twenty other random girls. Because that’s probably all I am to him, right? That’s why I’m upset. Not because I like him or own him or anything, but at least have the fucking decency to not lead me on!”

Lydia bit her lip to hide her smile, giving Tessa’s arm a little squeeze. 

“Do you feel better now?”

Tessa let out a little laugh. Fuck him. 

“No.”

“T, do you really think you would be this upset with him for ‘leading you on’ if that’s even what he’s doing if you didn’t at least like him a little bit?”

“I don’t know.”

“T.”

“I guess not,” Tessa shrugged. She hated when other people told her how she felt before she admitted it to herself. 

“Right now, we don’t even know if what that Andrea girl was saying was true. You’ve been around athletes long enough to know that sometimes it’s more about clout than it is about truth. Why don’t you just ask him?”

“I can’t do that! If I ask him, then it looks like I’m jealous.”

“But you are.”

“Yes, but he can’t know that! Lydia, really,” Tessa admonished as they reached their apartment building. “And it’s not even just about jealousy. It’s about trust. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that I don’t know if I can trust him.”

“You haven’t even given the guy a chance, T. Not really,” she shook her head as she dropped her bags in the foyer before moving into the living room to place down their food. “Sure, you text him, but you haven’t agreed to any of his offers to get together. You haven’t really asked him anything about himself, you mostly just answer his questions.”

Lydia was right. Tessa’s way of keeping herself at bay was by not asking him anything. The less she knew about him, the less likely she was to fall for him. She thought it was working for her. Apparently she was wrong.

“So what are you suggesting? That I just ignore what Andrea said and keep responding to him?”

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting, at least if you’re unwilling to ask about the other night at the bar. But don’t shut him out because of that unless you’re willing to hear his side too,” Lydia shrugged, retreating to her room to change into comfy clothes. 

After dinner and an episode of Queer Eye, Tessa got ready for bed before plopping face down on her bed with a bounce. She rested her head on her hands, mulling over Lydia’s words and thinking over the past few weeks of conversations with Auston. Was Lydia right? Had she not given him a chance to prove that he was trustworthy? But the risks that came with giving someone the chance to prove their trustworthiness felt too great to bear sometimes - what if she gave him the chance and all it did was confirm her initial suspicions and hesitation? Was that risk worth it? 

It was time to find out.

She reached down to her bag and pulled out her phone. Ignoring all of the notifications except for Auston’s, she started reading through his texts starting from the previous day. They consisted of their usual greetings and some random thoughts he had throughout the day or funny stories about the guys. She reached the end of his messages, and felt a little twinge of guilt. 

Auston: I hope you’re okay. Let me know if you need anything. 

Auston: Is this about everyone following you on Instagram? I’m so sorry about that. I told them not to. I think Steph was just excited to potentially have another girl to complain about us with. 

Auston: Call me if you need anything. xo

Finally, she listened to his voicemail. It didn’t do anything to help her guilt. 

Auston: Hey Tess, it’s me, Auston. I, uh, I know we don’t usually call but I was starting to get worried. I know you read my messages yesterday, but I don’t think you’ve read any from today. I’m sorry if the guys are doing too much. They’re just having a bit of fun giving me shit for how much I like you. I think they really like you too, otherwise they wouldn’t even bother. But, uh, yeah. I don’t really know what to say other than I’m sorry if that’s why you’re ignoring me. I can ask them to stop. I know we can all be a bit overwhelming, but that’s part of our charm too, right? *awkward laugh* Uhm, so yeah, please just send me a text or call me back when you get this. I’m starting to get a little worried that you’ve fallen into a ditch somewhere or something. And I guess I just miss talking to you. Anyway, I, uh, I hope you’re well and not too stressed with work or school. And again, I’m really sorry. Talk to you soon I hope.

Your move, Tess, she thought. 

She started typing a message only to erase it and start over. And over. And over. 

Finally, she clicked on his name and waited for the rings to start. 

One, two, three. 

“Tess! Hey!” Auston answered loudly, obviously out of breath. 

“Hi,” she started softly. “Sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, no, not at all,” he rushed out. “I just got out of the shower. I left my phone on so I could hear if you - uh, if anyone called.” 

Tessa bit back a small smile. He was waiting for her call. 

“Are you okay? Did you get my message?”

“I did,” she laughed lightly. “All 20 of them.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. You had me going crazy.”

“I could see that. I’m sorry for not responding.”

“It’s okay,” he waited, hoping she would elaborate. When she didn’t, he pressed forward. “Is everything okay? Are, uh, are we okay?”

Tessa hesitated. Did she ask about the bar? Did she carry on like nothing happened? What was the right move here?

“Yeah, we’re okay now. I think maybe I was getting in my head a bit about everything. It’s not easy when you’re so famous around here, you know? I’ve never really known anyone I could Google,” she tried to tease. 

“Oh, God. Please don’t Google me. And please don’t believe everything you read.”

“But if I didn’t Google you, how would I have ever come across those videos of you being terrified by an egg or Carlton?” 

She laughed when she heard a massive groan from the other end and knew he was probably turning beat red. 

“Those videos will be the death of me,” he sighed. “But getting back to it, did something happen to make you worry about me being known here?”

Out with it, Tess. 

“Okay, I don’t play games so I’m going to be as honest with you as possible right now,” she stated firmly. She’d been blunt with him so far, why not now?

“Uh, yeah of course. Give me a sec, I’m going to sit down for this one.”

When he gave her the okay, she went into the same story she had recounted for Lydia earlier in the evening. She was impressed when he didn’t try to interrupt her, but just let her tell her side. When she was done, she heard his deep breathing on the other side. 

“So, I don’t know. I guess just after the past few weeks of you messaging me, and then hearing this, I thought maybe you really were the guy I was worried you would be.”

Auston wanted nothing more than to be excited as the prospect of Tessa being jealous over him with another girl, a small indication that she was into him, but he knew that wasn’t the point here. The point was that she felt like he wasn’t trustworthy, that he was going to be that asshole who used her and hurt her. 

“Tess, I don’t know what I can do to make you believe me, but that story’s not true. I didn’t buy anyone but the guys drinks that night. And I did talk to people, but I didn’t flirt with anyone. And I didn’t leave with anyone. That was the night we had been texting about Endgame because you had just watched it with your friends and you were teasing me with spoilers. I was texting you most of the night, and then I texted you when I got home.

I know that might not mean anything to you, but I swear, I wasn’t trying to get with anyone else. I haven’t since I met you. I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t going to hurt you. I’ve been so happy lately because I’ve been learning so much about you and I love hearing from you every day. Those are some of my favourite moments. I’m not going to ruin that for some random girl at a bar.”

The silence lingered for a few minutes while Tessa mulled over his words. She knew he couldn’t prove anything, so it was up to her whether or not she chose to believe him. But what if she made the wrong choice? 

“Thank you for explaining,” she said softly, not knowing what more to say when she was still so unsure of herself and of him. 

“Thank you for letting me.”

“I’m sorry for ignoring you. Sometimes I just need some space to think things through on my own,” she rolled over in her bed, cradling her phone under her chin and hugging her blanket to her chest. 

“That’s okay. I was just worried I had done something wrong,” he paused, moving to his bedroom and rolling himself into the blankets. “But you know what I learned tonight?”

“What did you learn, Auston?”

“Two things. 1) I love hearing your voice over the phone. It’s not quite as good as in person, but it’s definitely better than texting.”

Tessa laughed, hating herself for the blush she felt creeping up her cheeks. 

“What. A. Line.” 

“It’s not a line! It’s the truth. You have no idea how happy seeing your name pop up on my phone made me.”

“Mhm. Okay. And the second thing you learned?”

“And 2) You like me,” he sing-songed smugly. 

Tessa froze. What. 

“What? Why would you think that?” she thought back to if she had unknowingly admitted that anywhere in her explanation to him. She was significantly calmer when she explained it to him than she was with her rant to Lydia earlier. She was so careful. 

“Why would you get so worried about me with another girl if you didn’t like me?”

“Maybe because you have been texting me and acting like you’re into me, only for me to hear you might be doing the same with another girl?”

“Right, which I’m definitely not doing, by the way. But you wouldn’t reeeally care that much if you didn’t like me. It’s okay, Tess. I’m a catch. You can admit it!”

“I think all of those hits on the ice have gone straight to your head.”

“You liiiiike me. You really, really liiiiike me.”

“Whatever you need to believe to get you through the night, Auston.”

“I know something else that could help get me through the night,” he smirked. 

“Auston Matthews! On that note, good night, jerk.”

“You know you like it. Thanks for calling, Tess. I hope you do it again sometime.”

“Maybe I will.”

“I’m counting on it. Sleep well, Tess.”

“You too, Auston.”

Tessa ended the call and placed her phone on her nightstand, letting out a contented sigh. 

Fuck him for being so cute. She did like him. She really, really liiiiiked him. Dammit. 

[angeltriestoblog]

I’ve been thinking and writing and thinking about writing

This time last year, I spent my free time cooped up in my university’s study hall. There, I would drink from smuggled cups of vending machine coffee, in the hopes of converting my lethargy into caffeine, and the caffeine into words. My dream publication at the time had opened up internship applications, and though they set no deadline, I pressured myself to finish all the requirements as fast as I could. Every impulse decision I had was always coupled with this need to execute at the soonest possible time, like my brain knew if I took a second longer, my common sense would kick in and pull the brakes. I guess my failure to think everything through reflected in my cover letter template (lazy), resume (unremarkable), sample works (in retrospect, bland and uninspiring), and the absence of an acceptance letter in my inbox.

I have lost respect for said publication since then, though not because I harbored bitterness in my heart: their failure to compensate hardworking interns as well as the steep decline in the quality of their content should be enough reason. (Looks like I dodged a bullet back there.) Though it can’t be denied that at the time, I was heartbroken. The feeling lingered with me longer than I cared to admit. Despite getting featured on a national broadsheet and accepted into my school’s student paper less than a month later, I still couldn’t bring myself to be fully confident in my skill set because of that one specific, indirect rejection.

Which is why, being where I am now and having achieved as much as I have in a span of five short months feels like the highest form of vindication. Quarantine boredom compelled me to submit an article pitch to the then newly-launched Underdog, an online platform dedicated to the digital native’s latest preoccupation. It was a piece about the boybands I loved and lost (read: the dissolution of One Direction, and every other group I adored with the same degree of intensity), one I was actually planning to post on the blog. But in a span of a few weeks, my idea was accepted, refined, revised, and turned into a full-fledged essay that landed me my first ever paycheck.  

I was still on some euphoric high, emboldened beyond belief, when I chose to take it a notch higher and apply as a staff writer for one of my all-time favorite magazines. During the summer before college, I was paralyzed by a legitimate existential crisis that left me aimless and afraid. I turned to the Internet for solace, and in my search for a voice of reason, I found Lithium Magazine, and their collection of articles which viewed life in the authentic, critical, occasionally self-deprecating way only Gen Z teens know how. I was aware being turned down by them would easily mean a one-way ticket to retirement for me; thank God my inner critic was taking a power nap or else it would have talked me out of it for sure. The day after I submitted my accomplished application form and a far more impressive portfolio of sample articles (by my standards, at least), I woke up to an acceptance letter and just knew life was not going to be the same.

The past four months I’ve spent as a contributor for Lithium have been some of my most fulfilling as a writer. I am constantly being pushed to the limits of my imagination and creativity when it comes to the content I produce. I can’t find it in me to half-ass pitches or beat around the bush in paragraphs: I owe it to the effortlessly talented people I work with, and the impressive body of work they have managed to accumulate over the years. My first pieces for the month of July were about the effectivity of online therapy in a Filipino context, and the irony of being a low-maintenance friend during a time when the need for human connection is higher than ever. This was followed by my personal essay in defense of basic girls: my favorite one so far, and probably my boss’ too, considering that it’s an Editor’s Pick for the month of August. Though I am infinitely proud of them, as they are my first forays into the international publishing world, I know I can (and thus am determined to) do better.

Since then, I’ve churned out articles on an almost-daily basis for an array of online and print zines. I scout for inspiration in the morning and once struck by lightning, I type away until roosters start to crow once again. Most days, I only took a time out for the daily two-hour movie. It seemed like I was working a part-time job instead of nurturing a hobby. But it never felt like a chore to me. I simply love what I do and I feel like the fact that it shows is the reason why sites are kind enough to publish my work. 

You can view my portfolio if you want to see everything I’ve put out so far but here are five of my most recommended, in case you’re too lazy for that!

The story of my coming-of-age based on the usernames I had on social media platforms, for Uniquely Aligned;

An expose on all-girls Catholic high schools in the Philippines and their inaction towards sexual harassment cases, for Ashamed Magazine;

A part-review of Patron Saints of Nothing by Randy Ribay, part-rant on the evident lack in Western media that accurately portrays Filipino life, for Reclamation Magazine;

A piece on why talking about mental health should never be a one-way street, for Gen Rise Media;

A love letter to one of my favorite movies of all time, and its flawed eponymous protagonist, for Mid-Heaven Magazine

On a rather tangential note, I also started expanding my network on LinkedIn, though I wasn’t exactly sure what I was hoping to get out of this exercise. I simply enjoyed the process of generating new variations of the same job descriptions. One day, I was sent an email by Riya, the Executive Director of The Young Writers Initiative, a nonprofit that provides resources for aspiring authors to improve their craft and advance their career. They wanted to recruit me to be a mentor for freelancing for their upcoming summer internship program. I had just woken up then and had to rub the sleep from my eyes to read it properly. Apparently, I was recommended by a connection (hi, Srilekha!) who took my sample works as an obvious display of my credibility in the field. Given that this sounded like an exciting opportunity, I immediately agreed. Everything happened at a pretty fast pace after that, as I got swept up in the process of selecting a mentee and figuring out what I could possibly teach them. I guess I didn’t find the time to process what exactly was going on, and what it meant for me as a writer.

It didn’t take long for the impostor syndrome to hit. And quite hard, if I may add. I was due for an interview with Madison, one of my fellow TYWI mentors and I had scanned the questions she sent me. Though I clearly knew what advice I would give to aspiring freelance writers, or had a routine in mind that allowed me to balance all my existing priorities, my hands felt like they were loaded with cement. I could barely type on the document before me. I must have had a staring contest with my taunting cursor for an hour.

I mean, maybe I couldn’t say anything because I didn’t have the right to say them. After all, whatever I knew, I borrowed from someone else - perhaps an actual authority in the field. Wasn’t I just some girl who got lucky during the quarantine? While the current state of the world forced everyone into stagnancy, I coped best with the help of the written word. Had everyone else been under the same circumstances, I wouldn’t be in my current situation. Needless to say, when the actual feature came out, I spiraled. 

I wish I could claim that I only had to do x and y for the storm cloud above my head to go away. But as controversial as it sounds, I maintain that no writer fully gets rid of impostor syndrome. In fact, let me widen the scope of my statement: no creative can do it. I have never known anybody with both an inclination toward the arts and a strong sense of confidence. It’s like our limitless imagination only raises the already impossibly high standards we hold ourselves against. We never really think highly of ourselves to begin with, so when we meet a goal, achieve something we’ve only ever dreamt of, we bring ourselves down. We invalidate our hard work and dismiss it as an act of charity by the karmic forces of the universe.

Thankfully, I have an amazing support system: my immediate family members and closest friends, always ready to offer reassurance when it’s scarce (hold on, I got these intense Economics war flashbacks GOD). I seriously don’t know where I’d be without them. Actually, I do know. Probably wallowing in pools of self-deprecation. I think I would’ve ended up chickening out of new opportunities on the sole basis of my self-imposed inexperience. My loved ones were the quickest to remind me that I was only a beginner in freelancing but I had been writing since I learned how to grip a pen in my hand. I have prepared for this all my life and I was finally reaping the fruits of my labor. Who was I to shy away from the blessings that were so generously being lavished upon me?

In fact, just a few hours ago, I bagged two very exciting contributor roles for organizations that I admire very deeply. I have several pitches in the pipeline as of now, which I absolutely cannot wait to bring to life and share with you guys. As far-fetched as this sounds, this is only the beginning for me. I am so grateful to everyone who has believed in me, read my work (or even a mere paragraph of it because I know how underappreciated the written word can be these days), and left encouraging comments. 

WIshing you nothing but love and light always, always, always,

Angel

[your-rose-highness]

Cherry Blossoms ( ch.7)

Pairing :Baekhyun & Reader.

Chapter 7

“Go in.” he waved.

“Thanks for today.”, I said with a bright smile, “ you have no idea how much it meant to me.”

He was blushing, “sheesh. So cheesy.”

“Oh, and you’re not?” I laughed.

“Y/N!!!! Bitch where were… oh! Hello Baekhyun sunbae!”, Hye Jin bowed as she ran down the stairs.

“ Hi Hye Jin.”, he bent to whisper in my ear, “I’m leaving, have an early class tomorrow. I’ll see you later then. Take care of your roommate Hye Jin, she sits on the pavements and cries.”,he said as he was walking away.

He had to say that to her.

“What? Why did you cry?” She asked surprise and worry evident on her face, “ did you miss me too much? Or does Yong Hwa have a girlfriend?”

“I’m fine. And no, Yong Hwa doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

“Ooooh. That’s nice.” She winked at me.

I rolled my eyes at her.

The rest of the week was so hectic, I barely had anytime to breathe. When was weekend going to come? I’d see him at the music club. Couldn’t he text me or something? The idiot has my number. Pfft.

I was glad I had Yong Hwa to help me out with things. The guy really knew his stuff. We ended up together in the library or on the field cooped up, finishing assignments and making presentations. Thanks to him, I was never worried of going back to the dorm late at night. And he was always happy to drop me off.

“I’m home!” I called out as I entered the dorm.

“Y/N! Awesome timing. Oppa just told me that I’ll be part of the piano lessons. Yay!” She clapped her hands in excitement.

“ That’s great!”, I yelled. Wait. Hold that. Piano? Was she going to practice with..? Why? “Who’ll be coaching you?” I asked curiously but with a straight face or else Hye Jin would get way too much for me to handle.

“Kyungsoo oppa said I’d be with Yixing & Baekhyun. Baekhyun mostly. Because Yixing would have other arrangements.”

Baekhyun? Baekhyun mostly? Why was this happening? Am I jealous?

“Oye.” Hye Jin shook me. “Why you staring off into space with your eyebrows all scrunched up?”

Lie. Lie now! “Um, I was thinking about this thing Yong Hwa told me about this afternoon about an assignment.”

“ Hehe. Of course. Take a lot of time thinking about Yong Hwa and the ’ assignments.’” she giggled, “ so when are you guys going on a date?”

“What date?”

“He didn’t ask you out yet?”

“Hye Jin! It’s not like that! I like him as a friend!”

She rolled her eyes at me, “ yeah right. “FRIEND.” That’s why you keep talking about him so much.”

“ Because that’s all we do. I only connect well with him right now. And he’s paired with me for our partner projects.”

“It’s the start of something new baby.” She said touching my cheek lightly.

“Sheesh Hye Jin.” I couldn’t help but smile.

It was our first class at the club that day. I decided to wear the shoes we bought that day. I’m really excited. I never got to learn how to sing, at least not professionally. Or was it because I would get to see him? I don’t know. Either ways, I was glad I enrolled.

Hye Jin and I went to the club at 5 in the evening.

Chanyeol guided us to show the rooms the practices would be held. Piano and singing classes were in different rooms. I wouldn’t see him then… sigh.

We reached Hye Jin’s room first. He wasn’t there. Chanyeol then led me to the vocal room, where Jongdae and Suho were already seated. As I entered I bowed to them and they politely bowed back.

It was still a little awkward to talk, so we just sat in silence for sometime. Then finally Suho spoke up, “Y/N, did you wish to learn anything else?”

Should I tell him? Or would it be too weird? I decided to dodge it.

“Maybe guitar. Always had a thing for guitar.”

“Ah then, no one better than Chanyeol.” Said Jongdae smiling.

Chanyeol. Why not Baekhyun? Okay. Focus. You’re going off track, learn what you wanted to learn.

“Really? Can I?” I replied eagerly.

“I will ask Chanyeol, he’s a good teacher. He taught another hoobae in no time last year. If you practice well, he’d be able to teach you faster.”

“I will! I will practice. It’d help with the singing too.” I said gleefully.

“ Yes it would” nodded Suho.

After Kyungsoo arrived, they tested my vocal strength. I was bad. Jongdae was too good. I couldn’t hit the lows and the highs well. After an hour, we ended our practice for the day.

Jongdae then poked Kyungsoo, “Y/N wanted to learn guitar too.”

Kyungsoo looked at me and asked, “guitar too?”

“What else did she want to learn?” Suho intervened curiously.

“She was here with Baek last weekend, learning the piano.” He replied flatly.

“Y/N decide one and let us know, you can’t cope with both instruments at the same time. You don’t have the time to do justice to both instruments. Take it slow.” Jongdae replied.

I looked at Kyungsoo. He seemed hurt somehow. Before I knew it, my brain blurted, “ Guitar then.”

“ Okay I’ll let Chanyeol know.” Kyungsoo said closing his sheet music and left the room.

We left the room and I peeked into the piano room Hye Jin was in. Hye Jin was seated beside him. They both were laughing at something, way too much. Well, didn’t he seem to be having fun?

I left the building and headed over to the dorm. I had too many things to work on to let Baekhyun invade my mind.

Hye Jin came back after  an hour.

“Oye, where did you go?”, She asked with hands on her waist, “ I kept looking for you. Then Kyungsoo oppa said you left. Bad girl.” She sat beside my table.

“ I had some more assignments. So how was your class?”

“ Oh so hilarious. Baekhyun sunbae is so funny, I kept laughing the whole time. He asked me to meet him tomorrow too. Apparently I need some more practice before going into the next level.”

My mind began racing forward. He was meeting her again. Of Course, he could. Maybe I was getting a little to ahead of myself. He just helped me, he was being polite. And Hye Jin is way prettier than me. She’s more fun to be with and you can have great conversations with her.

Her voice cut through my stream of consciousness, “oye. Dreamer girl. I’ll have to go in the morning at around 9. Do you want to come too?”

I didn’t want to disturb them, “ umm no. I can’t actually, it’s good it turned out this way. I need to head out with Yong Hwa anyway.”

“Ah with Yong Hwa again?” She made eyes at me.

Next morning I called Yong Hwa to ask him if he was free. We went to the library to do our presentations. We had lunch at the cafeteria and were heading to the field to go over some eachother’s assignments before turning it in tomorrow. We sat on the benches when I heard Hye Jin.

“ Y/N!”

I waved back and signalled to ask her come sit with us.

“ What you guys been doing?” Asked Hye Jin.

“ Studied. All day.” I replied.

I felt Yong Hwa shift uneasily by me due to sudden intervention.

“ Oh this is Yong Hwa. He’s my classmate. Yong, this is my roommate,Hye Jin.”

Hye Jin was going to the cafeteria to eat. Baekhyun would meet her there after closing the club room. Good that we already ate.

I hadn’t met him at all the next week either. Hye Jin did, she had a couple of practice sessions. She would come back and tell me how good Baekhyun was and how well he taught her. He was a patient teacher.

On the day of the official meeting at the club that weekend, I got ready quickly and left the dorm. I was late, 10 minutes. As I walked to the building, multiple things ran through my mind. Would I see him today? I met Yong Hwa at the entrance to the music club ( as it turned out that he was extremely interested in music and was a musical prodigy. Enrolling in the club was his happiest moment.) and we went in. He stopped to discuss his enrollment with Chanyeol and I headed over to the vocal department. Peeping into the piano practice room, what I saw made me stop in my steps. Hye Jin was there, but Baekhyun wasn’t teaching her, Yixing was. “That’s odd”, I thought.

We finished practice and Jongdae suggested that we all go to a barbeque place to celebrate and welcome the juniors who joined this year.

Hye Jin and I linked our arms together and sang songs as we walked. Yong Hwa calmly walked by me. He would occasionally look at us and laugh at our silliness.

I asked her quietly then, “ Yixing sunbae was teaching you today?”

She looked over my shoulder at Yixing and said, “yes. He’s so cute oh my God. He always smiles when I make a mistake and then his dimples take over my heart. I think I won’t get better at playing that way. I’ll keep making mistakes so that he can keep smiling at me and looking at me as though I’m a little bunny with my ears down.” she squeezed my arm giggling.

I laughed with her. Hye Jin and her expressions. Yong Hwa curiously asked why we were laughing. Before I could say anything, Hye Jin chirped in between, “Nothing about you. She never says anything bad about you. Always good things.”

I warned her with my eyes. Goodness, what would he think?

Yong Hwa obviously didn’t understand what she meant. He looked blankly at her, “Huh?”

“ Nothing. She’s crazy. We were talking about a boy in her class. He’s cute. So…” I trailed off.

“ Oh. Okay.”

I could see he wasn’t satisfied with the answer.

I poked Hye Jin in the ribs.

“ Okay anyway, why was it Yixing today?” I asked, still curious.

“ I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I would have any other day. But I guess I imprinted on Yixing.” She said looking far away.

I bursted out laughing. Hye Jin. Lord! How could she come up with such sentences?

“Yong Hwa! She has imprinted apparently.” I passed on to the lonely and awkward Yong Hwa.

He laughed too, “is it now? Really? Hahaha.”

We reached the Korean barbecue place and sat down. Jongdae, Hye Jin, Yong Hwa and I sat on one bench and opposite to us, Suho, Yixing, Kyungsoo and Chanyeol.

It was really yummy. I had told Hye Jin and Kyungsoo sunbae beforehand that I couldn’t drink, so they kept the others from forcing me. Chanyeol was way too tipsy. We were having a gala time when Chanyeol called someone.

“Yes. Baekhyun is coming.”,he said smiling widely.

“Yay! C'mon, pour me another one then. I’m too happy he’s coming.”,said Jongdae.

“Behave everyone. He’s bringing his date.”, Chanyeol warned as he picked up another piece of meat.

Hold it. Date?

And then they walked in. Baekhyun and a girl.

[sanguine-fairy]

Here’s To You

Pairing: Graytear

Word Count: 2102

Characters: Gray, Ultear, mention of Silver and Ur

A/N: Here is a little something I wrote up for the Graytear exchange for @crazyblueowl :) they had asked for a platonic, Harry Potter AU and this is what my crazy brain of mine came up with! I’m sorry there isn’t a lot of cool magic scenes in this, I just couldn’t shake this idea out of my head. It got a little angsty (I hope you don’t mind but their whole relationship revolves around angst tbh) I hope you enjoy it!

It was raining again. It was always raining this time of year, only adding to the melancholy mood that seemed to follow him wherever he goes. It had been present through today’s training, proving to make the act of being stealthy quite difficult, much to the chagrin of his instructors. It even followed him while he walked to the pub down the street from his apartment.

On any other night, Gray would have kept walking as he passed the tiny pub. He wasn’t much of a drinker, he hated the way the alcohol burned as though pouring pure gasoline down his throat, but tonight that burn was the only thing he was interested in.

Musty smoke greeted him as he entered the decrepit building and made his way to the bar. The old bartender nodded at him, a silent greeting, as he began to fill a glass with an amber liquid. This wasn’t the first time Gray had done this.

Sliding the glass his way, the bartender dismissed Gray’s attempts to pay him for the drink. With a quick thank you, Gray took the glass in his hands and closed his eyes. Once the moment of silence passed, Gray raised the whiskey neat.

“Here’s to you, mom and dad.” And with that, he swiftly swallowed the liquid.

The sun had set hours ago, leaving Gray to make the trek home in darkness. The dim street lamps barely provided enough light so with a whispered lumos, Gray lit the way with his wand. There was something about the soft glow of white light coming from the tip of his wand that comforted him, that made him forget about the emptiness this time of year brought.

The walk home was long and cold, the rain coming down in a constant stream. Gray couldn’t be bothered to accio his umbrella, he didn’t mind the rain. He felt as though the rain would somehow wash away the desolate mood that accompanied him, he hoped it would anyways. As he approached the apartment building, he was surprised to find the light on in the living room. His roommate, Ultear, wasn’t much of a night owl like he was. For as long as he could remember, even during their Hogwarts years, she’d go to bed early.

Gray took the steps in twos as he hurried to get inside. Thoughts dwelling on the worst, he rushed to make sure Ultear was okay. He burst through the front door to find the living room empty but impeccably clean, unlike the mess he left it in this afternoon. A soft scratching sound came from the kitchen so he followed the noise until he saw Ultear. She was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor with a brush he didn’t even know they had.

The kitchen was sparkling clean and smelled of chemicals and lemons that caused his nose to wrinkle. Florescent colored bottles littered the counters, cleaners that Gray rarely sees. He had never used actual muggle cleaners before, why would he if he could clean a whole room with the flick of his wand?

“You know what time it is, don’t you?” Gray asked Ultear when she didn’t acknowledge his presence in the kitchen.

Ultear stopped scrubbing and blinked owlishly up at Gray like she was trying to blink herself out of a daze. She looked around the room as if she only just realized where she was.

“It’s late.” Was all she replied before she went back to scrubbing.

It pained Gray to see her like this. It happened every year, on the anniversary of their parents’ deaths. Ultear spends the day in an ultra-cleaning mode, preferring to clean by hand than by magic. Gray never questioned it, the same way Ultear never questioned where he went on the night of the anniversary. She cleaned as though she was trying to clean herself of the memories. Just like Gray tried to take the edge off of the memories using alcohol.

“You should go to bed, you’ll be tired in the morning.” They both knew she wouldn’t sleep much tonight, neither of them would, but she listened anyway.

Gray watched as she stood slowly, tossing the brush into the sink as she passed by it. She met his gaze and held it for a moment, mutual understanding passing between them before she gave him a curt nod and stalked off towards her bedroom. Through the years, they learned to give each other the space they needed to cope. If Ultear needed him, he’d know.

Gray filled a glass with water before retreating to his own bedroom. A sleepless night awaited him. Even ten years later he couldn’t get a restful night’s sleep on this night. He knew Ultear struggled as well. She didn’t like to show it, but he knew.

She had always been the stronger of the two, mentally and emotionally. She was level headed, calm and collected in stressful situations. Gray was jealous of how she always kept it together while it felt like he was constantly coming apart at the seams.

Ultear was… Ultear. They’ve been friends for as long as he could remember, their mothers being friends since their children. Ultear was his best friend, his sister in every way except blood. When their parents were killed, they lost everything other than each other. They stuck side by side through everything, protecting each other and themselves from the ugly world they were thrown into so suddenly.

They were only children when it happened. The ripe age of 8, three years before they received their Hogwarts letters, three years of orphanages.

Those three years were the hardest.

Voldemort and his death eaters were still at large. Death eaters were the ones responsible for their loss. Their village had been ransacked, a muggle village targeted during one of their mass “cleansings.” Their parents had fought tooth and nail to protect the two of them, forcing them to hide and not reveal themselves no matter what. Silver, Gray’s father was the only one out of the four parents that had magic, but it hadn’t been enough.

That fateful night they were dining at Ultear’s house for dinner like they frequently did, laughing around the table. Then the screaming started. Flashes of green light filled the night sky. Gray and Ultear had thought it was fireworks as they rushed excitedly to the window. Ur was the first to act, grabbing the children and leading them to a secret cupboard underneath the stairs.

“Swear to me you will not leave this cupboard. No matter what you hear, do not come out. It is very important that you stay as quiet as you can be. Promise me you two, can you do that?” Ur’s whisper was urgent, her eyes filled with loss.

Neither Gray or Ultear understood the urgency at the time, but they did as they were told. Their parents each hugged them, declaring their love as if it would be the last time. The panic didn’t set in until Ur shut them in with tears in her eyes. Ultear called out for her mother before Gray pulled her closer and hushed her. He had no idea what was happening but he knew they had to be quiet.

Gray played with Ultear’s hair to calm her as she hugged him, sobbing silently into his chest. A loud crash sounded beyond the cupboard door causing Ultear to hug him tighter. Stranger’s shouts intermingled with their parents’ as the crashing continued.

It felt like the commotion lasted for days, forever. The two of them were frozen in fear, trying but failing to not listen to the apparent wreckage happening outside the door. Gray had lost count of how many times the cracks in the door frame flashed green. As suddenly as it had started, it was quiet again. The muffled voices that had been present had gone silent. As badly as Gray wanted to open the door, he kept frozen in place like Ur had instructed. If it was okay to leave, Ur would’ve let them know, right?

Only Ur never got the chance to let them know it was okay. They had been cooped up in that cupboard for two days before someone opened that door. It was a stranger who had found them there. They would find out later, during their time at Hogwarts, that the stranger was an auror, an elite specialist officer who enforces the laws of magic and protects the world from death eaters.

The first year felt like a whirlwind, like life had kept moving forward while they were stuck frozen in that place, in that cupboard. Ultear had taken it the hardest. She cried. She cried more than Gray thought humanly possible. She cried enough for the both of them. Then one day she stopped crying. She steeled that part of her heart off and Gray was almost certain she never cried again, aside from on the anniversary of that day.

They spend the next few years living in a muggle orphanage. Coming from a muggle village, the auror hadn’t known that these two would have magic so he had left them in muggle care. They had to work for their food and board in that place, two eight-year-old children doing chores from sun up to sundown only pausing to eat. They were constantly finding themselves getting into trouble, weird phenomenon occurring around them with silverware floating in the air to items disappearing into thin air. The other children were afraid of them.  

Ultear never once left Gray’s side.

It got easier once they got to Hogwarts. Despite being sorted into separate houses, Gray into Gryffindor and Ultear into Slytherin, they stuck together. Once they learned the nasty truth of what happened to their village and who had caused their pain, they studied together relentlessly to achieve their goal, becoming aurors and protecting the world from evil. It had been Ultear’s idea to become aurors, the hate she held in her heart for those that destroyed their village pushing her to find a way to fight back. Gray had willingly agreed.

Their burning desire to become aurors, to protect the world from situations like the one they lived, pushed them to the top of their classes, exceeding expectations on every N.E.W.T. they took. They didn’t let the fact that aurors weren’t in high demand deter them because they knew that a new generation of evil was sure to show its face. Peace never lasts forever.

After they graduated, head auror, Harry Potter himself, gratefully accepted Gray’s and Ultear’s applications and enrolled them in training immediately. They had found a flat in London and have been living there since. Training had been difficult for the both of them, pushing them to their limits. What one of them lacked, the other one exceeded in. They had each other’s backs even in combat.

Gray would be forever grateful for Ultear because if it wasn’t for her and her unwavering strength, he’s not sure he would be where he was.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying in bed lost in his thoughts before he heard the sounds. They were soft, he could barely hear them through the wall, but he recognized the sobs instantly. He got up quietly and made his way towards Ultear’s room. He didn’t bother knocking, she probably wouldn’t have responded if he did. Through the darkness he could see her curled up on her bed, face buried in a pillow, her shoulders shaking with each sob. He walked over to her and whispered her name.

Ultear responded by scooting over to make room for Gray on the bed. He sat down and leaned against the headboard, crossing his legs on the bed. Ultear rolled over and rearranged herself so her head rested on Gray’s chest. He reached a hand up and began to stroke her hair in comfort.

“I miss them.” Her whisper was barely audible.

“Me too.” He replied.

They sat in silence for a while, both of them stuck in their memories.

“They would be proud, you know,” Gray said, breaking the silence. “We’ve come a long way, we’ve achieved so much. Instead of letting it pull us down, we used it to push us to success. Our parents are watching us with smiles on their faces. They’re protecting us while we fight to protect the world from evil.” The words had come to him suddenly, an attempt to console Ultear and himself. He felt Ultear smile against his chest.

Things were going to be okay.

[transdib]

genuinely how do people cope with having an almost full-time job? i work 4 days a week 9-5 and ive been doing that for...6 months? now? and despite loving work while im there, the depression and chronic overwhelmingness and feeling time-poor is driving me insane.

my previous job i only did 3 days a week, and sometimes 4 if i was really needed, and i remember the 4 days work weeks were so....”this is a huge week, im gonna be fucken wrecked from this” and now thats apparently my norm. 

if not the physical aspect, the mental aspect is just too much. the anxiety of customers, the stress of still learning dog grooming so needing to take my time on specific dogs...idk...maybe its cuz its a corporate groomer so we have a lot of dogs at once coming in.

the reason ive even survived as long as i have is BECAUSE its dogs. happened at my previous job too. which i lost to covid lol. but i could handle that because it was dogs.

and then i feel spineless and cowardly from not dealing with this. ive had breakdowns in the past about getting a job because i feel like i cant handle it. nowadays i WANT to handle it. i have dreams of running my own business from home with dog grooming, and working on my art, i WANT to be working this job, but the impact its having on my mental health is just so.....

i was coping better when i was having my adhd meds, but ive had to pause because my baseline tests came back with a worry about my heart so thats fun too....and maybe i put too much faith in meds to make things so much easier, and they did, but the crashes or the illness i felt after taking them really fucked me up. like. sent home from work fucked up.

i just wish there were more days in the week. i wish there was more TIME. i wish that the cost of living wasnt so fucking expensive so i could feel like im actually fucking saving away for something with this job, but i still have my mountains of debt, barely scraping by week to week on my income, so i need to take commissions for extra help, then i have to spend my art time on doing commissions, unable to work on my passion projects. its all just a mean horrible continuous fucking cycle, combined with my organisation issues and procrastination. im so sick of myself. i have had this rant over and over for the last 6 months, lamenting about how busy i feel and overwhelmed i obviously am.

we had another 2 week covid lockdown recently so my work was closed. and despite the financial stress of that, for those 2 weeks i actually felt rejuvenated. i felt a bit cooped up inside, because my brain is constantly going brrrrr, but i actually managed to catch up on art and do all these nice relaxing switched-off things for myself. and i felt i could do all these things and felt a lot of natural want to do things again. 

i mean, during last year when i had no job in quarantine, i was literally animating quite elaborate stuff and it was so nice and fun.

maybe im just at an impasse of my passions. i know i dont have to choose between art and grooming, but my time poor ass feels like i do. because i could barely manage an art “job” in quarantine (social media updates, routine comms, etsy, etc)

whatever. im rambling now. im just tired of these questions running through my head over and over, im really alarmed by how suddenly depressed and on edge i feel after being at work for 2 days after lockdown. i know this all sounds lazy but. im genuinely distressed by this. and i dont want to ask to reduce my hours to 3 days, because the previous worker did that apparently, until she reduced to 1 day, and my coworkers are obviously salty about that. i dont want to let them down...

[rilenerocks]

I’ve been thinking along several seemingly disparate pathways the past couple of days. I’ve always been like that. The other day, I met a friend to help her sort through a harsh diagnosis her partner had recently received. After a lifetime of dealing with medical issues, starting with my mom’s lifetime health problems which frightened me when I was just a little girl, to the ones that appeared throughout the decades in other family and friends, and eventually the five year cancer trip with Michael, I’ve gotten pretty good at wading into the morass of illness. My mom always said, “I’m sorry you were exposed to all my physical troubles, but look how smart you got?” Thanks, mom.

This friend of mine I met with is a fellow swimmer. Perversely, we met outside our empty pool where we’d swim next to each other for years while swapping life stories. Outside of the summer months, we’d rarely get together. Up until last Tuesday, aside from our summer swimming, we’d had lunch together exactly twice in three years. She is an artist and photographer. I’ve purchased a few of her pieces which are unique and especially marvelous because she repurposes a lot of throwaway stuff that would otherwise be landfilled. Last year she came to my house to take pictures of me and my yard, which were to be featured in a show about women and their gardens. That show was cancelled because of the virus quarantine. Maybe someday? Who knows?

Anyway, what frequently  comes up in our conversations is how I always go off on tangents in what appear to be significant digressions from the topic at hand. But in my circuitous way,  I always wind up back on the subject. That’s what this blog is going to be like on this mild, sunny day, as I sit in my backyard with my feet kicking away in my kiddie pool. I’m watching butterflies feed while looking at and listening to birds. I’m learning a lot out here. I’m trying not to worry about Pumpkin, the female cardinal I foolishly attached myself to, despite knowing that’s a bad move with any wild animal. I haven’t seen her in two days. Carmine, her male partner has been omnipresent. And I believe I spotted one of their babies at my bird feeder yesterday, identified by a splotch of that beautiful cream color of its mom.

I can’t hear a damn thing out here except for the birds. My headphones are turned up loud. I’m in my own universe with just the natural world, music, and the always palpable sense of Michael that emanates from this space. Sometimes I catch myself staring at what I can only describe as hologram of him, weeding away in his incredibly meticulous vegetable beds. I can actually see the tendons moving in his legs which were pretty scrawny compared to his muscled upper body. It kind of reminds me of what popped out of R2D2 when Obi-Wan Kenobi retrieved Princess Leia’s message in the first Star Wars film.

The other morning, I was hurrying through kitchen chores when my son showed up in the dining room. He’s staying with me for awhile he works on a postdoc at our local university. I was chattering away at him when he looked at me through bleary eyes and asked, “ what’s up with this intense energy level so early in the day?” Despite my 70th birthday being my next, I still have almost the same high energy that I did when I was young. Apparently that’s  hardwired into me. Sometimes I think it’s dissipated over time, but only on a relative scale, I move at a faster pace than most of my family of origin. My mom, despite her ailments, was clearly the progenitor for this trait. My dad spent his time off work lolling on the couch. Everyone in my immediate family also slept more than me. The same was true for the family Michael and I made together. I was always the first one awake, back in the days we were still living as a unit. In addition to the excess energy and the need for less sleep, I have an essentially sunny disposition. I can be sad, go to dark interior places and certainly recognize them, but in me, they don’t last long. After a sad day, I’m always surprised to feel my humor and energy bubble up from somewhere in me. Even in the worst of times, that’s been consistent. Once, a very long time ago, my brother, eight years older than me, told me that the first time he felt real joy was when I was born. I marveled at that statement. My parents also told me that I was such an easy, good baby that they were worried about me. I fell asleep easily with no complaints, which made them put a mirror under my nose to make sure I was still alive. I wasn’t a fussy eater and wasn’t ever colicky. I burbled happily through my days, primarily content and effortlessly pleased.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m certainly not that sweet saccharine type that you might want to punch in the face. I’m just relentlessly not difficult on a daily basis. Michael always said I was a cheap date, easily pleased and satisfied without a lot of effort. In other words, I’m not high maintenance. There’s just a lightness in me, sometimes despite all my efforts to the contrary. I’d like a maudlin wallow that lasted longer than an afternoon. My recovery time is so fast, I always feel like no one ever feels sorry enough for me. Maybe a more dramatic show of angst would get me more attention. Oh well. I think it’s mostly biology that’s running my show, modified by life and experience, but fundamentally locked in. I was twenty when I moved in with Michael and he often told me during our 45 years, that I was the singularly most unchanged person he ever knew. I took that as a compliment. He didn’t mean that I hadn’t evolved during our life together, but rather that my fundamental self was consistent. Since his death, I find that taken together, these essential traits of mine are both beneficial and problematic. My behavior indicates to the outside world that I’ve adapted fairly well to losing my partner. I do a lot of different activities. My brain is still active and I’m perpetually curious. I can have conversations about virtually anything. But inside of me where my intangible substance lives, I feel like I’m just fabricating a life to occupy my time. After all, I’m still alive.  My instincts tell me I have to do something. But in my depths, I often think this is all filler, placeholders for what my real life should be, a real life which still feels like my old life with Michael. I don’t know if or what a person is supposed to be in this world. You hear all these quotidian lines – “she’s a born mother,” “he’s a born grandfather,” all these “born” descriptors which seem to define some essential bent that we’re all expected to have. I suppose if that’s true, I’m a born life partner. Except I’m still here being that while my partner is gone. I don’t want another one. I can’t find a shred of evidence in me that would indicate I want to team up with anyone else. So basically, I’m using my essential traits and making up the current me on a daily basis. I don’t much like this. I simply don’t see another choice.

I guess that focusing on transience is the best coping mechanism I can employ to deal with this piece of time. Like the 18th century Dutch painter Rachel Ruysch, whose still lifes show the influence of the Vanitas movement, which display the inevitability of death and the loss of earthly things, I know that ultimately everything and everyone will disappear, if not completely, then certainly by changing form at the very least. Her painting above shows flowers reaching the end of their prime. I can relate to that.

  I’ve now lived in my town for almost 52 years. First I was a student with my life centered mostly around campus. After a time, I moved into the community at large. The places I spent time in over these decades, vary in terms of their continued consistent  physical presence, a modified presence or their complete disappearance. I rarely go through the university campus any more.

But the other day, I drove through the heart of what is known as Campustown, very near the main quadrangle where I attended classes in beautiful old buildings, many of which were constructed in the late 19th century and the early 20th century. Of course there have been many renovations and updates to those over the years. They are still recognizable. But Campustown is completely changed. High rise buildings dominate the landscape, mostly businesses on the first floors and apartments above. Green space is noticeably absent. Many of the places I frequented have vanished. I have vivid memories of them.

The Record Service where both Michael and I worked, he for 27 years, had several locations in the heart of that place. No trace of it exists. The corner drugstore which sold sundries and the like, but also had a few booths and a kitchen where for a modest price, you could get a hot roast beef or turkey sandwich with gravy and mashed potatoes. My friend Fern and I went there a lot. There was the Spudnuts doughnut shop and Follett’s bookstore. The Co-Ed movie theater and McBride’s plus the Art Mart which now exists in a new location far from campus.

There was Mabel’s, the music venue on the second floor of a building on the main drag, with an impossibly steep staircase even when my knees were good. The Deluxe, home of the best fish sandwich I’ve ever eaten. The Cellar, a basement “head” shop, Thimble and Threads, an alternative clothing store, The Leather Shop and Marrakech Clothing Imports. The Campus Florist, The Art Coop and the camera store way before digital cameras existed. Bailey and Himes sporting goods store. Chin’s restaurant and The Brown Jug. All these places and more exist in my mind. I can feel myself in them, feel what I’m doing as I jiggle my favorite pinball machine, Drop-a-Card, a little tipsy from beer which I never liked. I see my view of the stage from the good tables at Mabel’s where you could listen without getting too squished and sweaty and still get up to dance if you were so inclined. I can see my friends and remember conversations there. And of course there is Michael with me. As I drove down that strange but familiar street, I realize that when I’m gone, along with others in my peer group, all that energy from that time will spiral out into the universe somewhere, vanished from sight but yet alive in a context I can’t fathom. I believe that science will one day bear out my feelings about those mystical ideas.

A year or so ago, I had the presence of mind to drive around town to take pictures of every place I lived in before Michael and I bought the house I still currently occupy. Two places were demolished but I found photos of one of them. The other I hope to describe before that memory disappears. In my head, I can still walk through all those houses, turning into the kitchens, the bedrooms, the bathrooms. I can feel the  doorknobs in my hands. I navigate the past, parallel to the present. So much has happened in my life already. With the grinding repetitive routine that the coronavirus has required of me, these filler assignments that I concoct to occupy the present vacant time, aren’t as much fun as what’s already behind me, or next to me, or floating around somewhere in these difficult-to-comprehend wavelengths that are the stuff of physics and string theory and other befuddling concepts. I’ll take these scientists at their word while wishing for concepts easier for me to understand.

The other day, my son told me that my daughter didn’t want to sell our house after I die. Actually, she’d already told me that. He doesn’t really want to sell it either. I think I get it. Our home is like their ancestral shrine. People tend to move a lot in this country. When I came here in 1968 I was a 17 year old college freshman. Ten years later, after living with Michael and bumping around for six years, we bought this house, never dreaming we’d live here forever. But that’s how things worked out. I am anchored here, where so much of my adult life happened. My kids were conceived here and stayed until they went off to college. But they came back and brought their friends. We hosted 35 Thanksgiving dinners here with a wide assortment of family and stragglers. People who needed a place to stay intermittently shared our space. My mother lived here in a room that still smells like her. Michael and I did every conceivable activity that passes between friends and lovers here, up to and including his death. I am never uncomfortable or unhappy with our memories in this space. I wondered if I would be but instead it’s my gift and comfort to be here. If I’m lucky, I’d like to die in this place, just like Michael, although no one can predict what awaits us. If I could choose it, though, this is where I’d be.

When we moved in here, there was major reclamation to be done on this structure built in 1893. Daunting work and still it never ends. But the house emitted these wonderful feelings immediately, and we often wondered what good things must’ve happened that lingered in the walls and drifted out, enveloping us in the warmth of home. I imagine we’ve added to that deep resonance of succor which is palpable to me. I’m not surprised that my kids intuitively understand that their history still resides here. Not  something they’re likely to quickly cast aside once I’m gone, to hopefully commingle with whatever is Michael, who is out there afloat, still pulling on me daily, while I make up my current daily existence. All these changes I’ve experienced, internally and externally. My, my. I muddle along, creating a space around me that seems to pass for a full life. Maybe filler is too negative a connotation for what I’m doing now. Some days are better than others. I am confident that I still have value in this world and my intellect is fully operative which helps immeasurably. But the draw of my partner still dominates me after three years and change. If that alters, maybe I’ll redefine my current perceptions of this iteration of me.

Filler I’ve been thinking along several seemingly disparate pathways the past couple of days. I’ve always been like that.