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brokenmusicboxwolfe · 3 years

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With running out of storage space for pics, it’s time to unload insomnia writing with another round of....

From the drafts!

In this case I was rambling on about my hating Spring. I wrote this about a month ago, but it’s still 100% true and will be until half past June.

As usual, no proof reading and no promise it’s complete, but I just couldn’t delete it.

I HATE this time of year.

The days get longer and warmer, and I get sadder and sadder.

It’s spring, people say. The season of new growth, rebirth, young love, and blooming flowers. How can you not feel all that hope, optimisim, and potential?

But I think that’s the point. It makes me aware of what I lack, what I can never be or have.

Oh, I’ve had an amazing talent for focusing narrowly on the now and believing everything would work out somehow. I’d figure things out or get lucky or something. Stumbling through each day with a bullheaded determination and never letting myself linger on the futility of it all, distracting myself with anything interesting I’d come across along the way served me well.

Yet this never worked in spring.

The budding of the trees and the explosion of daffodils in all the yards would mark the start of if it. I’d find myself thinking about things to do with life. Beginnings and births would become thoughts of maybes and could bes that I longed for, but always found out of reach.

Despair and disappointment. Lost and alone. Trapped in a cage with no way out.

As a teenager I’d end up having a kind of meltdown every year. I’d run off to the woods to skip school at least once, hiding and crying. I would just not be able to stop crying, and at the time I was so ashamed to cry I could go the rest the year without shedding a tear, so this was dramatic for me.

My parents were great about it, never once chiding me even. Not talking about it really either of course, since I was always seen as fine really. They just assumed I’d cope, and if going to school the next day like normal, without the slightest blip in the grades I wasn’t having to work for anyway, was coping I suppose I was.

I suppose mostly it just would throw them. They knew of my insecurities and anxieties, but I don’t think they ever could quite see the depths of unhappiness that stayed submerged most of the time.

And that was when I was young. Back then there was still possibility and potential. I was a kid with a future ahead of her.

It was reasonable to assume that one day I’d have all the things I wanted. I’d have friends and family, someone that loved me, a career, a purpose, a few adventures, and just enough success that I could live comfortably enough survival wasn’t a daily worry and feel I’d accomplished at least one good thing to make the world better.

Okay, maybe just a few of them. But certainly I’d have at least some of those things, because it would be almost impossible not to at least accidentally end up with a few of them.

Or not it turns out.

Middle aged me has discovered just how bad a person can be at life, and how luck can end up not compensating at all. A life really can just be a slide downhill and you can suddenly realize you not only have no realistic hopes any more, you actually peaked at four!

The last few years have been increasingly worse. What used to offer stability and comforts have twisted into sources of anxiety or simply been stripped away. My loved ones have been lost to me, leaving me now friendless and alone. Worrying about surviving day to day, and trying to accept I can’t hold my world together occupies me thoughts. I have to let go of even little things that give me pleasure.

The future I never much looked to I can see more and more often as a bleak, dark, wasteland.

My optimistic and hopeful side is nearly gone, burned away by the bright glare of harsh realities. It gets that way when things never seem to work out and day after day offers fresh disasters you won’t be able to fix.**

I can’t even divert myself with all those little things. You may have noticed my photos are more perfunctory than they even used to be, my sculpting more awkward, and my text posts only venting and moaning. I don’t notice things and I can’t seem to get my imagination to work, and these were the cornerstones of my emotional survival.

Spring used to be the depressing time for me, and I could hold it back the rest of the time. Since certain events in 2012 that were the tugged threads that began the unraveling of the fabric of my life, it has increasingly gotten so the whole year feels like the awfulness of spring.

And yet spring is still actually worse.

The world comes alive each spring, while I wither just a bit more each year.

To be clear, I do NOT want to die. Never have, and expect I never will. As I like to say (and think I got from Blake’s 7) I intend to live forever, or die trying. (didn’t work out to well for them, did it! LOL).

I do admit I frequently try a little little mental trick of telling myself to think of myself as already dead. The idea isn’t I want to die, but that if I’m already dead the story is over and it doesn’t hurt anymore. If my story is still going on I desire what I can’t have and hope for what I can never get, so daily have to deal with the rapidly increasing impossibility of achieving any of it. It’s like starving to death slowly. It’s painful to very rationally and clear eyed face the simple fact that my life will get no better. The dead don’t feal pain, or grief, or loneliness, or fear, or unrequited love, or guilt, or shame, any of the rest of what has weighed me down.

So the game is to be a ghost, haunting the places I wander. I observe the world without an ache at being ignored, since most people never see a ghost anyway. I let myself be adrift between a warm memories of the past and the empty rooms of the present with no dread of the future, because that’s the story of others and not me. Nothing new can hurt a ghost.

But it’s just a thing to comfort myself when things are bad, but it never quite works. I can tell myself to pretend to be dead, but I’m very much alive. I feel and feel and feel, the raw nerve too sensitive girl still.

My other thing to repeat to myself on bad days is “I don’t matter.” This isn’t self loathing or anything, but me keeping my suffering in perspective. I’m not significant and contribute nothing to the world. I’ve no one depending on me or noticing me. If I died tomorrow only my mother would even mourn, and one day I won’t even have her. My sufferings are only mine and mine alone. I do not matter to the world.

Oddly this can be comforting and freeing. I don’t have to feel ashamed about how I’m stuck living. If a repair is out of my reach, well no one else is bothered so I can just deal with it unrepaired. I only have to worry about enduring.

But that’s the rub. Enduring can be grueling.

Watching your home rot away around you, being unable to get a vehicle repaired because you can’t get a lift to a repair shop, limping as you try to cut up a fallen tree blocking your driveway using only a handsaw, wearing five layers topped with a thick coat in your house in winter because you don’t exactly have heat, deciding what food not to buy yourself because you need to buy feed for the animals, and a thousand other things. It’s tiring.

Not mattering to others can’t stop you mattering to yourself. Mattering is what hurts. “It doesn’t matter” you shrug off. “It matters” you can’t ignore. My life is too full of things that “matter”, despite my attempts to feel otherwise.

And here is Spring, salt in the wound of my life. I’d probably be depressed in a good life this time of year, and I’d probably be depressed with the current state of my life whatever the season. The two together? I just want to curl up somewhere. Believe me, if I didn’t have so much I have to do I’d just stay in bed until June...

**Today’s disaster? I shattered the screen on my iPad. It still works, obviously since I’m writing this on it, but if it ever stops I won’t be able to afford to replace it.

#rambles #depression #spring #seasons #tired

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marikaaajoy · 4 years

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my relationship with digital art and how BNHA salvaged it

I just wanted to let out my thoughts but I can only do it here :>

This might be a downer for some people but I’d like to share it with people here. BNHA means the world to me and this is why.

I first started drawing when I was 7 years old in 2006

I think it’s ugly now, but 7 year old me remembered being so proud of this because this is a drawing of my stepfather. This is the only drawing I have that was from my childhood. I think the aim here is to draw in anime style BUT I didn’t even watch anime back then. I had a classmate who loves anime and she taught me to draw in school. Drawing became a favorite hobby immediately after that.

Then it was 2013 and I was 14 years old. Drawing is still my favorite thing to do besides being on the computer. I love anime at this point too. My parents bought an iPad for the whole family, but I was almost always the one using it. I discovered an app called ArtStudio and thought “Wow, I can draw without making a mess and with only my fingers” because I was always too lazy to take out my drawing materials and clean up afterwards.

These were my first digital drawings. The pirate one was the very first. I got obsessed real fast. I can color so easily, undo any mistake, layers are a blessing too. There was just so much more freedom. I always sucked at coloring in traditional art and I didn’t like the mess (idk my hands get so messy traditionally)

The next year, it was 2014, I was 15. My birthday is in a couple of months and I knew my parents were planning to buy me something pricey (I think it was a laptop) so I approached them and asked if they could just buy the Wacom Bamboo as a present which was cheaper anyway and I even explained how it works to them and how it would allow me to draw on the computer instead of the iPad. I tried really hard to be convincing. I would have prepared a powerpoint presentation if I had to.

They did give me the wacom as a present. They even gave it to me months before my birthday so I could use it already. I thought I was the luckiest teen in the world with my parents.

These are a collection of my favorite works from 2014 to 2016. The middle one was my second drawing using wacom and Paint Tool SAI. I was a part of a lot of fandoms in those years lol

It gets downhill from there :/

April 2016, my mom and I moved to Japan, while my stepfather and siblings stay in my country. It was tough. For someone who is obsessed with anime, you’d think I’d be thrilled to live in Japan.

I was. Though only at the first few months. It’s not the same as it’s portrayed in anime (I should’ve known but I used to be blinded by anime). It was just lonely. The language barrier sucked and then lots of financial and family issues until my parents split. I got my first boyfriend too and I thought I was blessed by the nicest boy, but the relationship became extremely toxic but I didn’t have it in me to walk away.

All the shit that happened affected me mentally and emotionally. My biggest outlet which was digital drawing, was also out of the question because I did not have a computer/laptop when we moved to Japan. We left it in our home for my stepfather and siblings, even the iPad. I have my wacom with me, but no computer/laptop to use it with. I couldn’t draw.

I tried though. I used my phone to draw, but it wasn’t the same. Then the life problems got piled up, things got worse, and I just lost motivation in anything. Literally anything. From 2016 to 2019, I stopped watching anime, I dropped out of all the fandoms I’m in, I stopped watching my favorite TV series or movies, and I stopped drawing. I even got a bit disconnected with my friends who lived in my country (we talk regularly online). My family was broken so I gave all my attention to my toxic relationship as well which made everything worse too lol

I didn’t draw besides from a few scribbles and the drawings above. I did try digital art on my phone a couple of times again and even posted them on my IG, but they weren’t any good. Eventually, I got mentally and emotionally drained and dropped out of senior high school. I just stayed home for almost a year, leeching off of my mom. I felt even more worthless and my life had no direction at this point. Nothing mattered anymore.

April 2019 or so I think, my (ex)bf bought me a laptop. He says it’s a gift, but I think the real reason was to make up for something horrible that he did (which is stupid because money /gifts won’t resolve anything). I have a laptop. I can draw again, but I didn’t. I didn’t care, I wasn’t interested in drawing anymore anyway.

Welp. June 2019, I went back to my country. My (ex) bf stayed in Japan. The distance helped me end the relationship and my friends were there (they always were) to help put me back together along with two trips to therapy. I went back to finish my senior high school in my own country this time. That said, I have to stay in my country for school (but I was happy because I didn’t wanna go back to Japan yet when the breakup was still fresh and with going back to school, my life has a direction again.)

It was weird. I remember just being sorta lost and confused because I used to put my time, effort and everything into my previous toxic relationship, which was now gone. I was free and I had so much free time that I didn’t know what to do with it. I got so used to doing nothing and being nothing.

This is where BNHA enters.

Dunno when it started, but I started seeing Bakugou frequently online. It’s usually just Bakugou. I knew who he was because my friend suggested BNHA to me back in late 2018 I think but I didn’t watch it since I’ve lost interest in everything at that point in my life.

But ye I thought he hot af but I still didn’t watch BNHA.

But then for some reason he REALLY kept appearing in my social medias and it was really frequent. The last straw was when I saw a pic of him in UA’s gym uniform and thought “damn boi aight imma watch bnha for u” (y’all gotta admit he looks good in those colors with his combat boots XD )

I watched BNHA. Fell in love with Iida along the way. Then I switched to Tokoyami (but Shoji was hot too so aaaaa), but then angry emotionally-constipated sea urchin head caught my heart again. But oof. BakuDeku moments really made me feel some type of way I haven’t felt since I moved to Japan. It felt new but nostalgic. I fell hard in that ship.

I started obsessing. From memes to posts to fanfictions to buying merch to filling my room with BNHA posters. I realized I was reverting to my old self from the time I was still happy and it was thanks to BNHA (and the good people who helped me through the worst too)

Shit I wanted to draw BNHA, I thought.

I mean, I have a laptop, I still have my wacom and drawing softwares. I could totally draw digitally again if I wanted to.

But guess what

I can’t :c

My hand physically cannot draw. My drawings don’t look the way I want them too. 3 years of not drawing really destroyed any skill I had. I was back to square one.

September (yeah they’re ugly, I laughed at it). If you’re wondering why I drew on paper, it’s because, for some reason, I really CANNOT draw digitally. I mean it. I can barely sketch digitally at this point. The lines and shapes just doesn’t come to life. They’re just scribbles. But somehow, I can kinda draw on paper with a ballpoint pen. But yeah, that was the best I could do at this point in my life

After that, I still tried to draw, to regain my old art style, but it didn’t happen... It just doesn’t look or feel the same. Drawing used to be fun. But during this phase, it felt like my ugly drawings were just mocking me (probably was just too emo that time lol)

Weirdly, around a week or two I think, after my half-assed attempts at drawing, I managed to draw digitally somehow o.o

I did a Midoriya and Todoroki drawing like this too. It was my first post here on Tumblr I think. The annoying part here is that I cannot draw digitally unless I draw on paper first, take a pic, and then trace the lineart. I couldn’t draw directly on the computer. Granted, drawing on paper and drawing on digital is very different for me in the first place anyway. But it was still a pain. And it still looked like shit. I can only draw stiff poses :/ it seems like my brain decided to delete all data about anatomy and posture and backgrounds. My lineart here is even messy af. It still really not the same as my old style.

By 2020, I think I got my old art style back. On March, I made this. This took me 27 total of hrs to make.

Right now, I think it’s not bad, but back in March, I was disappointed with the result. This is when I finally broke down crying because it didn’t look good enough and I hated that it took me 27 hrs to draw “bullshit.” I was angry at myself for losing interest in drawing for 3 years when I could’ve used that time to improve. I had to start all over again and it still didn’t look good. (Current me thinks that the drawing above is alright. I was just a lot harsher to myself back then. Used to have a lot of issues but I’m doing great now)

I cried myself to sleep that night. Woke up wanting to cry again. I wallowed in sadness for a couple of days. Eventually told my friends what’s up. Got some pep talk. Even talked to my sister (she’s great, she always hypes me up with my stuff and sometimes I think she’s my biggest fan with how she appreciates my drawings and I’m really grateful for that).

My world turned a 180 and I was weirdly positive after all that crying because brain chemicals and shit. I had a revelation. If I hate how my art style looked so much, then I should have been putting effort in changing my art style, not trying to regain my old art style (that I don’t like anymore)

I researched a lot. I analyzed different art styles and anatomy again. I did everything I could think of to find a style that works for me. I might have even neglected school for a bit to focus on digital art lmao

After all that work, I posted a fanart of middle school BakuDeku in their classroom. I love that fanart so much even if I probably have better ones by now because that was the first fanart I made that I felt like I could be proud of and it was the first one I made in my new art style. It was a milestone for me.

March 2020, I moved back to Japan and without the toxic relationship, I’m a lot positive now. Happy. I’m myself again after the previous bad years. I’m still continuously learning though, trying to improve, but at least, now, I found my own art style :) I really suck at interacting with people online, but I’m always grateful for the support everyone has been giving my fanarts. I’m happy when my content makes people happy.

This is why BNHA is important to me. The series is great alone, but it’s not just that to me. BNHA is so much more. It’s what made me find the passion to create again, only this time, it’s focused on drawing (I used to write, but now I just draw, but maybe I’ll write again for BNHA).

My family is supportive with my love for BNHA, but I think they don’t know the deeper reason why I love it. Sure, I was fine living on with nothing much going on in my life. I’ll finish school, get a job, work until I die or something. It was okay. It was the way of life. But BNHA gave my life color again. I wasn’t just blindly going through life anymore. I have something to look forward to everyday now. BNHA even became a bridge to other things. Ever since then, I’m a lot more open to people, to try new things, to explore and not just live through life and waste away. I got better at leaving my comfort zone. I’ve never been happier in my life :D

Thank you for supporting my fanarts. Thank you so much for giving me a chance to express myself through BNHA. I hope to make more content in the future and improve even more :)

#plus ultra #<3 #personal

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etraytin · 4 years

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Quarantine, Day 89

June 8

Another Monday, the start of another business week, and a very busy day! Today was full of many adventures, such as achieving a new high score in Gardenscapes, being yelled at by an elderly person, and not going to Lowes. Quite the whirlwind! The kiddo has not quite gone to sleep yet, but I have bought time out of his room by telling him I was going to make some tea (which is technically also true). I am hoping that by the time I check on him in ten minutes, he will have fallen asleep cause he was pretty tired.

First thing this morning was the meeting with the attorney. It was a Zoom visit, and my goodness, aren't we all getting good at using Zoom now? It's practically old hat. We had a list of questions and were able to get some useful answers, as well as start to make a plan going forward with handling the estate. Apparently the office now does drive thru will signing and notarization, which is very funny to me but makes sense since you need two witnesses in person for a will signing and I don't think anyone has tested whether videoconferencing is in person enough. (I think it's gonna happen soon though, and I think the answer will be yes.) After the meeting, I spent much of the rest of the morning making a list of what entities will need a copy of the death certificate when it arrives and where that certificate will need to be sent. I am hoping we can stay long enough that the certificates come in the mail, but they are apparently kind of backed up right now.

While I was working, the kiddo seized control of our little iPad (we have many iPads in the house right now, there is the big iPad, which was Papa's, the medium iPad, which is Nana's, and the little iPad, which we got when Papa got the big iPad because he couldn't read the little iPad) and used it to spend all my Gardenscapes stars. I like the match-three game that is Gardenscapes and pretty much ignore the metagame of furnishing the garden except when I need to get extra lives. The kiddo doesn't like the actual game very much but gets a real kick out of furnishing the garden, so he spent all 1400 of my accumulated stars, finished four or five areas, and bumped my coin total to an all-time high of 105,000. I am like unto a god among gardeners, fear my pecuniary might! Upon finishing spending my stars, he gave me back the iPad and insisted I needed to earn him more stars, so that's what I did during podcast time tonight.

For lunch my husband made mozzarella stick grilled cheese, where he made grilled cheese sandwiches, then rolled them in breading, then pan-fried them crispy golden brown and served them with marinara sauce. They were very, very good and I should probably not eat them more than once a year if I value my coronary artery health. After lunch MIL and I went to the drive-thru at the drugstore for her medicine, and then I tried to go to Lowes for a new outdoor garbage can and garden hose. I figured midafternoon on a Monday shouldn't be too busy, but the place was packed! What the hell is everybody doing at Lowes, anyway? I decided to come back later after noting the number of people not even wearing masks.

The afternoon was pretty sedate, husband and kiddo took the other guitar, this one a regular size wooden acoustic that FIL made from a kit back in his early retirement days. FIL was a hell of a woodworker at one time, he also built a grandfather clock from a kit that still stands in the living room and keeps good time. MIL wasn't sure that the homemade guitar could be tuned, but the guy at the shop said that while it wouldn't be quite perfect, he could get it sounding good. The kiddo is very enamored with the guitar and spent his creative arts half hour today just playing with it and making fairly musical noises with it. I can already understand why the guitar is a better instrument to have your kid learning than any of the brasses or woodwinds. This bears thinking about.

The meal train from MIL's church started today. People will be bringing us dinner every other night for the next two weeks, which is very nice of them and gives us dinner and MIL the feeling that people at her church have not forgotten her. FIL had an extremely hard time getting around this past year or two and was often hard to rouse and dress in the mornings, so they weren't getting to church nearly as much even before the virus. I can tell she is happy to know that people still know her and want to help her in a time of need. I suspect, I hope anyway, that within the next year or so she is one of the people signing up to help others, as well as joining committees and groups again. She thrives on being involved in things, and she hasn't been able to do it in a long time.

Anyway, two people brought stuff over today, one of them a backstop when she saw that the person who signed up was bringing imitation crab salad and sweet potato pecan salad as the main dishes. The second person very tactfully contacted us directly and offered to bring us a pork tenderloin, which we gladly accepted. The pork tenderloin lady arrived at 5:30 and dropped off the food with a little doorway conversation and condolences, very nice. Half an hour later, I was playing Gardenscapes in our room (the kiddo is a harsh taskmaster) when MIL shoved the landline phone into my hands and said "here, you're good at giving directions, the meal train lady is lost."

Before I could protest that I don't even go here, the rather elderly lady on the other end of the phone was telling me about how she'd gone from X road to Y road and ended up back on X road and had no idea where she was and was driving around randomly. By a small miracle, I was able to figure out where she actually was and try to explain to her what she needed to do, only for her to interrupt me four or five times to tell me I wasn't making any sense, and also accused me of not answering the phone the first time she'd called. At long last I managed to get her to a landmark that put her back on the correct road and gave her the rest of the turns, then sent the guys out to the end of the driveway to flag her down. When she arrived, I tried to apologize for the confusion and explained that our GPS was also confused for a long time by the fairly rural route, she told me I ought to remember that not everybody has a GPS! It was like getting Tumblr-privilege-checked IRL by an old woman and was rather offputting. But hey, at least it was me and not MIL. Who the hell scolds the bereaved family they are bringing food to because they themselves had shitty directions? I don't even know.

Anyway, the pork tenderloin was very good, the crab salad was a small container of crab salad, and the sweet potato salad was incredibly weird. it was like a vinegar based potato salad except instead of tiny chunks of white potato it was quartered sweet potatoes and also red peppers with pecans dumped on top. There were also brownies that we could not peg the flavor on but were something in the blonde peanut butter-chocolate chip-possibly dates or raisins category. And man, I know it's extremely gauche to bag on food people bring you out of the kindness of their hearts, but come on, don't both yell at me and bring me weird potato salad, that's not very nice.

The kiddo has indeed gone to sleep in the time I've taken to steep my tea and write this, so that is excellent. Tomorrow I need to look into the financial advisor stuff some more and hopefully actually arrive at Lowes long enough to buy my items. For now, though, I have some stars to go earn.

#quarantine #gardenscapes #weird potato salad

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years

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WHY I'M SMARTER THAN TREVOR

But it worked so well, and we knew that buyers would have a big pool of potential users, at least. Web browser.1 Angels were generally much better to talk to someone, I could usually get to the end of each film, so they know who might be interested in this mystery—for the same destination, just approaching it from different directions. I recommend you solve this problem, if you find someone else working on the biggest things inexperienced founders and investors are probably more where it's considered especially polite to compliment someone's clothing than where it's considered improper. VCs want to blow you up, it wears you out: Your most basic advice to founders is just don't die, but the word madam never occurs in my legitimate email, and spam in particular. Basically at 25 he started running as fast as possible. And what are the universities thinking?

The next best, for startups that aren't charging initially, is active users. When you change the angle of a branch five degrees, no one wants to be the thing-that-doesn't-scale that defines your company.2 That principle, like the relative merits of programming languages is to give you enough money to last for a year or a hundred times as productive as those working for money, they'll work a lot harder on stuff they like. 5-7% of a company like Apple and think, how hard can it be? Economically, you can do in your spare time, and investors are down on advertising at the moment. They do more in their heads: they try to do things that seem to be: a lot of them. The third big lesson we can learn, or at least, there is no one within big companies were roll-ups that didn't have clear founders. When I look back it's like there's a line drawn between third and fourth grade. That's what makes sex and drugs, it would be good to solve?

Prep schools openly say this is one reason I'd bet on the curve, at any given time get away with it, and the different parts of the company through the COO. Object-oriented programming in the 1980s was enabled by a combination of circumstances: court decisions striking down state anti-takeover laws, starting with the assumption that we would never get started. Not because it's causing economic inequality, you decrease the number of startups that get bought early. It's not a deal till the money's in the bank and keep operating as two guys living on ramen. I'm optimistic. They think that there will be ten JetBlues.3 If you try to attack wealth, you end up doing something chosen for you by syndicates.

And you don't want to see the Valley itself, but it goes fast. What Happened to Yahoo August 2010 When I went to.4 What this means in practice. That makes him seem like a winner, they may avoid publishing's problems. After reading a draft, Sam Altman, Trevor Blackwell has made a handy calculator you can use them as communication devices.5 You not only have to filter email from people you'd never heard from, or about, a startup has decreased dramatically. Startups are that constrained for talent. But it's harder than it sounds.6 Smallness Measurement If you can't measure the value of products is in software. You don't have to rely on. Hackers just want power.

I knew she was about to say you'd have to be fired, and one of your most powerful weapons, I think this is true for funding. The best was that the company was itself a kind of argument that might be called the Hail Mary strategy. They don't have time to work, just like a software company. But it hardly ever is. My friend Robert learned a lot by writing network software when he was a startup, then hand them off to go away.7 Sun. Oxford had a chair of Chinese before it had one of English.

Which means the slowdown that comes from being in America. And in fact the two forces are related: they're the ones who like running their company so much that resembling nature is intrinsically good as that nature has had a couple thousand Altair owners, but without the substance. Ditto for hacking. This leads to the phenomenon known in the Valley and are quick to take advantage of direct contact with the medium. We were all starting from scratch, that's a really bad sign.8 More important, I think it's cleaner if you openly charge subscription fees, instead of just looking at them all is through a computer. Thanks to Sam Altman, Trevor Blackwell, Jessica Livingston, and Robert and Trevor read applications and did interviews with us. The stock of a company as big as Java, or bigger, just on the partner you talk to startups, a lot of investors are interested in, that's not necessarily a mistake to use the term Collison installation for the technique they invented. FreeBSD, which I'm running on the computer I'm using now, and they're not coming back. Court hierarchies are another thing entirely. In practice offers exist for stretches of time, if your business model in the world look like this? Startups don't win by winning lawsuits.

5 spams per 1000 with 0 false positives. When I was in college that there were about 20,000. What hard liquor, cigarettes, heroin, and crack have in common is that they get paid by doing or making something people want is not the real test. Ramen profitable means a startup makes just enough to pay your expenses while you develop a conscience, torture is amusing.9 Wouldn't that at least someone really loves. Sex, or something just as bad. I can see a path that's not immediately obvious; that's one of the most important quality in an investor is to say that the unsuccessful founders would also fail to chase down funding, and investors tend to take these for granted now, but only because people have found even more addictive ways of wasting time. It does not seem to be several categories of cuts: things I got wrong, because if you don't, you're hosed. So we should expect founders to do it yourself. If you actually started acting like adults, it seemed to them what e-commerce business back in the day, but who want it urgently. 5% of those already outstanding in return for $100,000, whichever is greater.

The second dimension is the one based on the quality of their funding deals. So I want to zoom in on one detail of this picture. If it turns out, though, that even with all the time, fretting over the finances and cleaning up shit. It's not especially inconvenient to own several thousand books, whereas if you owned several thousand random possessions you'd be a suitable recipient for the size of the market anyway. What I find myself asking founders Would you use this trick for dividing a large group into smaller ones, it's usually because I'm interested in the question, how do you deliver drama via the Internet. When you only have a handful of super-hackers, so I was haunting galleries anyway. But I know the real reason: the product is only moderately appealing. Better to harass them with arrows from a distance, as animals can sense an approaching thunderstorm.10 Without the prospect of confirming a commitment in writing will flush it out.

Notes

Since we're not doing YC mainly for financial reasons, including both you and listen only to emphasize that whatever the false positives reflecting the remaining outcomes don't have to do, just their sizes. The problem with most of their origins in words about luck. It was common in the imprecise half. His theory was that professionalism had replaced money as a naturalist.

If you wanted to than because they need them to represent anything.

From? The way to fight. The Harmless People and The Old Way. I know, Lisp code.

Do not finance your startup.

Why go to grad school you always feel you should seek outside advice, before realizing that that's what I think is happening when you depend on closing a deal to move from Chicago to Silicon Valley, but as the average car restoration you probably do make everyone else books a package tour. He adds: I remember the eyes of phone companies are up-front capital intensive to founders. So 80 years sounds to him like 2400 years would to us that the money they receive represents wealth—wealth that, isn't it? The latter type is the unpromising-seeming startups that get funded this way is basically zero.

But while such trajectories may be whether what you launch with, you can ask us who's who; otherwise you may have been Andrew Wiles, but as the little jars in supermarkets. Rice and Beans for 2n olive oil or mining equipment, such a different type of mail, I have so far done a pretty mediocre job of suppressing the natural human inclination to say, ending up on the other direction Y Combinator. This is an instance of a business is to carry a beeper? This trend is one of those most vocal on the LL1 mailing list.

The First Two Hundred Years. Who continued to live inexpensively as their companies took off? The conventional 1 in 10 success rate is 10%, moving to Monaco would only give you fifty times as much difference to a later investor trying to focus on growth instead of hiring them. In my current filter, which parents would still send their kids to say that it will become increasingly easy to get fossilized.

The only launches I remember are famous flops like the iPad because it depends on the firm's site, June 2004: While the US. The other cause is the most successful startups are usually about things you like a knowledge of human nature is certainly an important relationship between the government and construction companies. People tell the craziest lies about me. Patent trolls can't even trust the design world's internal standards.

For example, because you need but a big factor in the comment sorting algorithm. Horace, Sat.

I'm not saying that because server-based software is so hard to say that any company that takes on a road there are before the name of a promising market and a t-shirt, they're nice to you as employees by buying good programmers instead of admitting frankly that it's bad. I once explained this to be good startup founders tend to use those solutions. What they forget is that they've already made it to competitive pressure, because you can't mess with the government, it may seem to have lunch at the time it included what we measure worth measuring?

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faeriefoxart · 5 years

Photo

Putting this art summary together was a surprisingly challenging process. I hadn’t realized my art year actually started at the end of September. The last 4 months (and May) were the only ones where I could choose between multiple good pictures.

For the rest, I had to deep dive into my social medias and art folders to find even one nice thing done during that month. More on each month under the cut

January - Figuring out Procreate with a D&D character portrait. This one is Rhonda, my Halfling Cleric of Light. I got an iPad mostly for Procreate and I haven’t used it since the summer oopsie.

February - The only potable thing I found for Feb were half assed sketches of bland cartoon character :/ Very Meh month

March - Same problem as Feb, except for this Batman that was done as a commission.

April - One of my favorite piece this year. Very different from what I usually do but I really Feel it.

May - That month I made a handful of instagram ‘celebs’ portrait. This one of DrexlAsh is my favorite.

June - Pink Dragon :)

July - Pickle Dragon. Similar problem as Feb and March, that sketch got more love than the others.

August -Another pretty dry month. These little tree guys blew up on instagram.

September - Had a big corporate contract that month, this is one of the picture I made for them. I very much enjoyed that job and it was a good opportunity to work with color palettes.

October - Made 31 ink illustrations during that month, plus this halloweeny painting of The Witch.

November - Very good art month, I took a break right after inktober to recover a but then, opened the gates of creativity

December - Very much enjoying my December so far, I’m actually finishing drawings so that’s good :) I feel like I’ve improved a lot thing year, mostly in colors and in defining *my* style.

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joaquinbumblebee24 · 5 years

Text

Onslaught 3/11

A week and a half later, June 23, House packed his bag with Wilson’s help. They had been packing all day yesterday; their backpacks were brought to the brim. Wilson overpacked; he wanted to make House comfortable. He and House had wanted to treat this trip as a vacation. While away for five weeks in the Philippines, one week they would spend in the city of Clark in the province of Pampanga, two hours drive from the capital Manila. Then after the conference, the plan was to go backpacking across Luzon, one of the three main islands of the country.

After the incident with his birthday House told Cameron that he was on the spectrum. The woman was on a hissy, half pitying and half freak out. She had almost blurted to a patient's father that Dr. House was autistic. Chase just removed her from the potential disaster on time.

House was furious, and stress out. He finagled a five-week vacation from Cuddy. He told her about an offer for a research position at UCLA, and he was ready to take it. Wilson was willing to go with him. Cuddy was taken aback; she gave in without any fuss.

They took an Uber to the John F. Kennedy Airport in New York City. As soon as they were there, House’s nerves were shot to hell. He had taken his Luvox, which he only takes when extremely anxious.

“Greg, You okay?” Wilson asked while they walked to their gate. House put a hand on his ears, even though he has his noise-canceling headphones on. The airport was busy; people were rubbing against him. House was on the brink of a meltdown. “Okay, Greg,” Wilson said dragging him to go to a bathroom.

As soon as the bathroom open House went inside a cubicle. Wilson followed him in; his partner was rocking back and forth. The oncologist slid down next to House and hugged him. The noise overwhelmed him, and too many people. Wilson knew this; He just stayed in the bathroom for thirty minutes. Luckily for them, they were an hour early.

After the meltdown ended, House felt humiliated. Wilson sensed this. “Hey?” Wilson said. “You don’t need to feel embarrassed, Greg. I love you.”

House huffed; he lost his words. As a child, whenever he had a meltdown, his Oma would know how to coax him, hugging him tightly. “Jimmy, I’m fine,” House said, regaining his barrings.

Wilson blinked and handed House the cane. He used a cane whenever they would walk far. His legs were easily fatigued due to hypotonia, which was related to the Autism. They walked hand and hand; Wilson kept House’s guitar bag, it was the Martin LX1.

The next hurdle of this trip was the pat-down search. House past thru a metal detector fine; an agent stopped him. “Mister, where do you think you’re going?” The TSA agent asked.

House; oblivious to the sarcasm said. “To a medical conference in the Philippines, I’m a doctor.”

Wilson frowned. “Sir, please forgive him, he has Autism,” He said. The glare from House didn’t stop him. “He doesn’t understand sarcasm.” The statement was half correct. House could understand sarcasm when he knew the person speaking.

The TSA agent, a man asked. Are you his brother?”

Wilson glowered at him. “He's my husband.”

The TSA agent looked at House with disgust. Wilson sighed. “Where the hell is your supervisor? Because I won’t let you harass us for being gay. Being gay is not a crime. I don’t know what you saw on him, but you are looking at the wrong person here. As he said, he is a doctor, not a terrorist. “ The agent looked humiliated.

Wilson led House out to their gates. They sat at a frequent flyer lounge, Wilson and House were both frequent flyers. They flew at least once a month to go visit House’s 86-year-old Oma in Portland. While his parents settled in Eugine.

“Greg? You doing okay?” Wilson asked while they drink coffee.

House looked at him. "What do you think? You called me autistic in front of a bear; I have no choice but to give a speech." He said, and his voice was bitter.

Wilson knew House. His spouse didn’t like it when people questioned their relationship, saying that because he had autism he didn’t know how to Love, romantically. “I’m sorry, I just need to get him off your back.”

House sighed. “I don’t want you to tell people I’m on the spectrum, James. It’s my business. “ He knew that House was upset when he uses his first name, not his nickname, ninety-nine percent of the time he was Jimmy to House or (Wilson at work.)

He knew not to argue with him; he was right. “Okay, I am sorry again.”

The overhead speakers announced their flight. They both got their backpacks, Wilson took the guitar, while House took his cane. They boarded the flight without any difficulties.

As they sat at first-class, House opened his laptop sleeve and got his MacBook Pro; and began editing the speech, that Wilson wrote. While Wilson got to sleep.

The fifteen-hour flight was a success.

During the flight, House played on his phone and iPad. While awake, Wilson researched LGBT issues in the Philippines. Although there are no laws on the criminalization of homosexuality; the country has no protection for being a gay man. According to his source, a nurse back in Princeton; "The Philippines is like the US in the ’90s. People in the country were more tolerant and accepting, though."

The plane touched down at Clark-Diosdado Macapagal International Airport. This was Wilson’s first time here in Asia; He and House had vacationed in Europe a bit. They had avoided Asia and Africa for safety reasons.

“Jimmy, welcome to my home for five years.” Said House as he ordered a (Grab car) an Uber-like service in the country.

The Grab CAr arrived. As soon as they were in the got inside the car, House slumped in a seat. “Mabuhay, Welcome to the Philippines, My name is Carlos.”

Wilson looked at his partner for cultural guidance. “People in the country understands English pretty well, they had been learning it for years since Pre-School,” House told Wilson while slumping next to him in exhaustion.

“Okay, Carlos,” Wilson said. “What are the best places for food?”

The driver smiled. “There is the mall; you can eat at some of our restaurants. First timer?”

Wilson smiled despite his exhaustion. “Yes, but my partner lived here when he was a teenager.”

The driver’s smile was never faltered. “Where are you from?”

“We are from New Jersey.”

They arrived at their hotel. “If you want a ride, call me,” Carlos told Wilson in parting, giving him his personal number.

Wilson booked a suite; at the Clark Marriott hotel. As soon as House saw their bed, he removed his blue Hershel & Co backpack and slumped to sleep. Wilson followed after a quick shower.

GH/JW

Hours later, It was ten in the morning they had arrived at 4AM. House woke up. They needed to buy OTC medications. They didn’t usually bring so many things, because he and that conveyor belt don’t mix. “Jimmy? You awake?” House asked, shaking Wilson. “Am hungry.”

Wilson mumbled, “Greg, what time is it?”

House looked at the alarm clock. “ten-thirty. I‘m hungry.”

Wilson stood up and got his jeans from underneath the bed.

“Can we call for room service instead of going outside?” House asked, getting his laptop from his bag.

Wilson most defiantly wanted to say no; Let's go outside and mingle in with the locals at the mall, but no, House needed to rest, for lunch, he would urge. “Okay." Wilson got the hotel phone. Then he asked as though forgotten. “What kinds of Filipino food do you eat when you were younger?”

House remembered the taste of one of the handfuls of mushy food he would eat, Kaldereta. Kaldereta was made of goat or sometimes beef with liver paste and tomato sauce. He’d love the beef version. “Kal- De- Re- Ta. Kaldereta.” When Wilson gave him a questioning look. “or Adobo.” He said the words with the correct accent.

“You call them yourself,” Wilson suggested. House looked at Wilson as if Wilson killed his puppy. Right, social anxiety, he thought. House swallowed nervously. “I won’t let you call them, okay?” Wilson was reminded; how House was in many ways a kid.

He dialed the number, “Do you have, Kaldereta or Adobo?” The staff on the other line answered an affirmative, “An order of adobo and kaldereta, please, Rice?" House gave a big nod, he ordered rice too. “So what are we going to do today?” Wilson asked; when the phone call ended.

“Do some touristy things with you?” House said, peering from playing on his iPad.

They have watched CNN Philippines on the hotel’s flat-screen TV. It was an English channel but was geared towards Filipinos and what was happening in the country. “There is a freaking Typhoon,” House commented as he saw what was on the TV screen.

“Where is it headed?” Wilson asked.

“We don’t know yet,” House said, as he peered towards a half-opened window. Meteorology had been one of his obsessions growing up.

Their food arrived fifteen minutes later. House looked at his food, and the Kaldereta looked and smelled lovely. House tasted it; as soon as he tasted his food. He was brought back almost 30 years ago; in the same town, that was previously a military base.

Wilson was delighted to see him eat; House regularly didn’t eat, he didn’t like the texture, or the smell or its high caloric. His partner was closed to being too thin. “Greg, you really love it here?” He asked as he took a bit off his chicken adobo; it was really good.

House looked at everything, but not at Wilson. He is gearing up for a speech. “When I was eight, I was homeschooled because of autism. I was bullied. I was with Oma Abbigail in California, while mom joined father somewhere in South America. I didn’t come; it's too dangerous. When I got here, in Clark, knowing a few words of Tagalog. I started in the third grade. They just put me on the fourth grade a month into it, After that school year I was entering the sixth grade.”

“Where I went to school was an international school, but 80 percent are Filipinos. Kids didn’t bully me, unlike that back in the states. They liked me, Here I was a Kano-puti or white American.” House said, touching the keyboard of his laptop repetitively.

Wilson didn’t know what to say. “I am sorry you went through that, babe.”

“Don’t be,” House said, making eye contact for the first time since the question started.

End of Chapter 3

#house md #house md fanfiction

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fluffy-critter · 5 years

Link

Wow, I’ve been traveling for most of the past week and a half. Aside from a brief stop back in Seattle between IndieWeb Summit and visiting San Francisco for family gatherings, I’ve mostly been away from home since June 28. Yikes.

I didn’t really get to see a lot of friends on the San Francisco side of things (although I had some good times with my brother and my friend Mark) but that’s okay, since I got a lot of stuff done on Publ. Or, specifically, on Authl, the authentication layer, and the Publ integration with it. I have sign-in by email, IndieLogin, and Mastodon working! I will also probably add direct auth for IndieAuth at some point, now that I know how easy it is to implement an OAuth basic authentication flow. Hopefully soon I’ll have friends-only entries going up on this site!

Pain-wise I’ve been doing a lot better. I’ve been tapering off the nortriptyline, but I’ve been taking magnesium supplements. I still hit a crash point in the evening pretty easily, so it’s not like this has, like, solved everything, but it’s at least doing more for me than the nortriptyline alone was. I’m currently at 20mg and taper down to 10mg tonight, so this is where I’ll probably start to see if it really was a placebo early on.

Gender-wise, something rather interesting has been happening this trip: I’ve been going into the men’s room as usual (because when I travel and am in “boy mode” clothing I don’t want to cause a panic), and pretty much every time, someone’s taken it upon themselves to point out that I was in the men’s room and redirected me to the women’s room. At the same time, I still keep getting “sir"ed a lot, although I don’t know how much of that is people changing their mental alignment for me after they hear my voice. (Probably a lot.) I don’t feel like my appearance has changed at all over the past year, so I dunno what’s going on there.

Also gender-wise, a lot of people have been respecting the use of she/her pronouns for me, and that just feels… off. Still. I think I’m back to thinking of they/them as my primary pronoun. Honestly, the main reason I switched to she/her was because if I was requesting they/them, people would just treat it as unspecified and still default to he/him. I think my way of specifying pronouns is going to switch to "they/them, but she/her is fine.” Because if someone’s going to misgender me I’d rather it go to the femme side of things.

And a really cute thing happened at my nephew’s 1st birthday party: Camille, one of my nieces (who just turned 6), wanted to get to know me better, and the first question she asked me was, “Are you a he, a she, or a they?” And I sort of fumbled over things and I eventually said “it depends but they and she are fine.” Anyway, I wonder where she picked that up from. Wherever it was, it fills me with hope for the future.

Anyway, I guess that’s all for now. Unless something else occurs to me in the next hour before my flight boards.

Edit: oh yeah, I think I need to switch to a backpack as my only conveyance. They’re kind of cumbersome for keys and wallet and stuff but purses are heavy and lopsided, and having both a backpack and a small purse is really awkward. My current backpack is great for just carrying my laptop to work but it’s garbo for actually organizing all my needs. Any recommendations for better backpacks (ideally ones which are femmy and have room for an iPad, a laptop, some sketchbooks, and makeup et al) would be appreciated.

Edit 2: oh and another thing: fuck all the plastic straw bans, seriously. I’m gonna start just carrying my own plastic straws with me everywhere. I swear, people see one injured sea turtle and suddenly all people with disabilities and sensory issues just get completely thrown under the bus…

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ficdirectory · 6 years

Text

Somewhere Inside (Disuphere series #4) Chapter 20

(To listen, click here) - 13:48

Jesus can’t quite shake the feeling he gets every single time someone recognizes him. Every time someone asks that question. “Are you Jesus Foster?” Because it’s coming up on ten years since he got away. And no matter how much time passes, he finds he still feels a rage inside hearing those words.

Because it’s self-serving. They’re not talking to him for him. They’re talking to him for them. ��He wished he got to talk to Dominique about it, but she’s upstairs in the loft, waiting for Levi.

Rationally, Jesus knows it’s good for her to be there. Levi needs somebody. He’s had a beyond rough day. Jesus knows what it looks like when you just escaped a predator, and that’s basically how Levi looked. Still. He wishes there were somebody he could talk to about this.

It can’t be Pearl. That would be awkward, complaining about how he wished he could punch her mom in the face. Can’t be Francesca, because he can’t put this stuff on her. She’s too little.

“Why do you look like that?” Mariana asks, startling him.

“Look like what?” he asks, irritated.

He’s sitting in front of a sub sandwich. Not realizing his jaw is super tense until Mariana sits down next to him. He tries to breathe. Knows he needs to eat. He can’t let Pearl’s mom’s assery factor into his wellbeing. But it does factor in.

It makes him feel like a thing to use. Like he exists to be gawked at. To owe people the info they ask for, at the exact time they ask.

It’s not so different from being kidnapped.

“What happened outside?” Mari pushes gently.

“Nothing,” he drops his voice. “Somebody recognized me…”

Mari’s eyes grow concerned. “Just a rando? Or?”

He nods at Pearl.

Mariana follows his gaze but doesn’t follow his train of thought. Their twinbrain isn’t activated. It isn’t usually for stuff from Then for him, or the car accident for her.

“Her mom,” he says lowly, clearing his throat. “Said Pearl said we were here. It was creepy. Like she was just hanging around to approach me…”

Mariana wrinkles her nose. She offers Jesus the pickle off her own plate. Pickles are the best, obviously. They both save them for last.

He waves it off. “No. It’s yours.”

“Jesus,” she says simply.

“I know. I will, okay? I’ll eat. I’m just…”

“You’re safe,” Mariana insists. “Dominique and Levi? Francesca and Pearl? Me and you? We’re here. We’re all here for each other. We’re not gonna hurt you. Please eat my pickle,” she practically begs, setting it on his plate.

Jesus regards it for a long time. Finally, he picks it up. Takes a bite. The sharp tang of vinegar is like a jolt through him. Wakes him up from low-level dissociation that had been threatening to get worse if he couldn’t eat. Luckily, Mariana knows that.

She sits with him while he eats. It’s agonizingly slow. But he’s in a rare headspace where if someone tried to help him, he’d shut down. So, having Mariana near him helps. It’s what he needs.

When he’s done, they climb the stairs to join Dominique, Jesus giving Mariana a hand.

“I was just telling Mariana about…” Jesus nods at the door.

Dominique’s eyes darken. She nods. It’s stiff.

“Is Levi okay?” Mariana asks. “You guys know he got sick when there was a knock on our door…”

“No, I didn’t…” Dominique says. Her face is unreadable.

“No way. That sucks,” Jesus breathes, sympathetic. “Dominique, are you okay? From before?”

“Are you?” she volleys the question back, a slight challenge in her eyes. A warning. “Let’s just not talk about it. I mean, you guys can. But not here. I don’t want this to turn into social hour.”

“Okay,” Jesus says, taking the hint. “Mari, you wanna stay here?” he asks, standing up.

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” she says, bumping shoulders with Dominique. Dominique bumps her back.

“I think I’m gonna see if I can find a life jacket for Frankie. See if she wants to go out on the dock.”

“You gonna be okay out there?” Dominique asks.

“Yeah. Should be. Dudley will be with me,” Jesus nods.

Jesus goes down to the living room where Francesca’s got her headphones on in front of her IPad. Pearl’s asleep on their couch. Cleo’s curled under her arm.

“Hey, buddy. If you wanna go out on the dock with me, I can look for a life jacket for you…” he offers, tapping her on the shoulder.

“Pearl fell asleep before Moana even left…” Francesca reports, disappointed.

“She had a tough day,” Jesus says.

“Because her mom yelled at her,” Francesca fills in. “I know. It’s still rude to fall asleep when you say you’re gonna do something with someone.”

Jesus walks with Francesca outside. He looks through Grandpa’s shed and finds an ancient orange life jacket with Snoopy on the front.

“No. That’s so babyish, Jesus, please.” Francesca whines.

“We don’t have to go on the dock. I just remember you wanted to.”

“Do I have to wear that? What if I promise to be super careful?” she bargains.

“Francesca,” Jesus squats in front of her. Dudley licks his face for a good measure. “No one’s gonna tease you here, remember?” he says gently. “If you wanna go on the dock, you’ve gotta wear the life jacket. That’s the deal.”

“It makes me feel stupid,” Francesca blurts, looking hurt.

“Staying alive isn’t stupid,” Jesus says, dangerously close to his worst Isaac memories. “Staying alive is really smart.”

“You wouldn’t let me drown,” Francesca pushes back. “I know you. You’d save me.”

“I can’t save everybody, Francesca,” he explains sadly. “I don’t wanna take that chance with you. It’s too big a risk, when there’s an easy fix.”

“You just don’t wanna save me if I fall in…” Francesca pouts.

“Buddy, what’s really going on? Talk to me.” Jesus tries. “Take a deep breath.”

She does, blinking back tears. Jesus sees it when she absently (or maybe not) pinches the skin on her arm hard.

“Can I hold your hands?” he asks.

Francesca crosses her arms. Doesn’t look at him. Loses her balance. Catches herself on a tree.

Jesus sits down where he is. Hopes Francesca might follow suit. He hasn’t spent this much uninterrupted time with her in a while. Hasn’t realized her self harming has reached the point where she does it in front of people. Or maybe, she does it in front of them because she knows they won’t judge her.

Dudley rests half his giant body in Jesus’s lap. It helps. This day has been super trigger heavy, between Levi, and Pearl’s mom, and now thinking of Isaac, and watching his baby sis do this… He needs Dudley right now.

Francesca stands until she can’t anymore. Until her legs literally give out. She starts tearing up the grass around her. “Why do you keep hurting my feelings?” she asks brokenly.

“Buddy, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry I hurt your feelings. I never wanna do that. I’m just trying to understand. And I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Well, you don’t understand. And you obviously don’t want me to be safe. So you might as well stop trying.” She’s still focused on destroying the grass around her.

“I do want to understand, and I definitely want you to be safe.” Jesus insists gently.

“Then stop saying you’re gonna not gonna save me if I drown!” she screams suddenly, staring at him, face flushed and tears threatening. “That’s mean and it hurts my feelings!”

He’s quiet a while. Giving Francesca’s anger space. In case she needs to say more. Turns out, she does.

“It doesn’t make sense to say you love me if you don’t care about me drowning! That makes zero sense! And it doesn’t make sense because I know you could save me. So why do I have to wear a dumb life jacket?! People already stare at me, Jesus! I don’t wanna give them another reason! I don’t wanna look even more stupid than I already do! Why won’t you just be there, and save me if I fall?!”

Jesus waits again. Makes sure Francesca’s done screaming before he tries to talk to her. When he does, he knows he’s taking a risk, but he also knows he has to try to explain his word choice to her.

“When I was twelve...just a little bit older than you...I tried to save my best friend.”

“Mariana?” Francesca asks, confusion overtaking her anger.

“No, another best friend,” Jesus confesses. “Our family didn’t know him. Only I did.”

“Was it Dominique? Pearl?” Francesca quizzes.

“Buddy, please listen. This is hard for me to say. But I want to share it with you, so you understand where I’m coming from about this life jacket thing. That I’m not trying to be mean to you.”

“I just have one more question,” she whispers.

“What?”

“Was I born yet?” Francesca asks.

Jesus thinks back. June of 2010. “Yeah, you were. You were 2 months old. Still in the hospital back in San Diego, I think. But I didn’t know about you yet.”

Realization dawns. “Oh. This was when the bad guy took you…” she asks slowly.

“Right. And after a while, he took another boy, too. We got to be friends. And one day, I tried to save him. As hard as I could. Only I couldn’t do it.”

Jesus is seriously editing the horror he went through trying to save Isaac following an escape attempt Jesus had started. Jesus can’t think about the details much or he starts to disappear - to dissociate. And he needs to stay here, to explain this to Francesca.

“Where is he?” Francesca asks, wide eyed.

“You know the cemetery, like where Grandpa Frank is?” he asks. “He’s in one of those.”

“Oh,” Francesca says, stunned. “He died.”

Jesus nods.

“Oh. So...wait…no. I don’t get it.” Francesca admits. “Sorry.”

“I’m not saying I won’t save you, Fran. If you fell in the water? I’d try as hard as I could to save you. And maybe I’d get to you in time. But maybe my best wouldn’t be good enough. Like when I was twelve. Maybe I’d try as hard as I could and it wouldn’t work.” He pauses. “I don’t wanna risk your life when I don’t have to. If the life jacket will help you stay alive until I can get to you - if it will help me see where you are...I want you to have it on.”

Francesca’s staring at him. Trying hard to soak all of this in.

“I get not wanting to be noticed extra. I do. People notice who I am all the time and it makes me angry. It makes me feel different.”

“Me, too,” Francesca comments softly.

“That’s not why I want you to wear this…” Jesus ventures.

“It’s so...in case I do fall...you’d be able to save me better?” Francesca asks.

Jesus nods. “Yeah. That’s why.” He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding.

She takes the life jacket without a word and puts it on. Struggles to zip it. “It squishes me,” she says. “And it kinda smells. Are you sure there’s no people staring?”

“I’m sure,” Jesus says, taking the opportunity to scope for Pearl’s mom. He doesn’t see her. Thank goodness.

“Can I ask a trauma question?” she asks, as they walk hand in hand onto the dock.

Jesus doesn’t answer until they’re both seated on the ancient white painted dock chair.

“I think so,” he says, after considering it.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Francesca reassures. “But...I was just wondering… If your best friend had a life jacket...would that have made a difference?”

“No, buddy,” Jesus says, defeated. “But thanks for remembering to ask me first about the trauma question. That’s cool that you remembered.”

“I’m sorry I yelled at you…” Francesca apologizes. “And I’m sorry about your friend.”

Jesus sniffs, blinking back tears. “Thanks.”

“Feelings suck sometimes, huh?” Francesca mutters darkly.

“Yeah, they do,” Jesus sighs.

Levi wakes up unsure of where he is. What time it is. What day. Then it all comes seeping back into his awareness.

Carla coming over. Carla, when he was a kid.

The other knock at the door.

Levi pulls the blankets up. He feels like he could sleep for a year. He wants to, but he has to get up and pee. He comes out, squinting hard and shielding his eyes from the bright light outside the dark bedroom.

He sees Dominique on the top step. Her back to him. It makes him feel good that she’s there. She glances at him, but he doesn’t look back. He goes in the bathroom and locks the door behind himself.

Being in here? Doing this? Brings back sensations he can actually feel. He cringes. Tries to hurry and get this over with so he can put everything back the way it’s meant to be.

He washes his hands at the sink, avoiding his reflection in the mirror.

Finally, he cracks the door open. Dominique’s still out here.

Levi doesn’t know where to go. What to say. Anything. He still feels those sensations. Even with his sweats and everything. He’s standing just outside the bathroom, shifting.

“Hey,” Dominique calls.

Levi sits down. “Think I might be...I don’t know...something…” he ventures, hoarse.

“Something?” Dominique turns. “Can I come sit across from you?”

He nods.

“What’s something? Can you tell me about it?” Dominique tries, quiet.

Levi ducks his head. “Like...something wrong…” he clarifies. “Like, with me… I keep feeling...like it’s happening again… Like, actually.”

“That’s normal,” Dominique reassures. “It sucks. But it’s normal. It happens. Just...know you are safe here. That includes your body. That includes privately on your body...” she says, remembering the words he chose to use. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you there.”

Levi doesn’t look at her. But he does listen. He clears his throat.

Dominique hands him a bottle of water. “Stay as long as you like. Be safe with us.”

Tears roll off his face.

Levi’s never heard kinder words.

#fic: somewhere inside

5 notes · View notes

gallery0022 · 4 years

Text

Cleveland Locavore

Wednesday, December 9, 2020 - Update

Cleveland Locavore Domain Name, free to a good home...

www.ClevelandLocavore.com

Monday, February 17, 2014

Urban Organics / SweetPeet

Hello All,

I found this lively thread that Maurice started in November, 2010.

I have fond memories of meaningful conversations with all of you about sustainability and local food from local farmers.

Since November, 2010 I made several changes in my life, as I am sure many of us have. Annette and I sold Morgan Farm Stay, my relationship with Urban Organics was paused.

Although both were tremendous success stories on many levels, the good fight is often made more challenging by a different form of sustainability, economic sustainability. It was Robert Kennedy Jr. who made it clear to me, at an annual EcoWatch event, environmental and economic sustainability MUST go hand in hand.

My whole life has been about selling a service, photography. Of course I have certainly had my challenges continuing to keep this profession "sustainable" due to the changes in the industry. If you don't believe me just ask Karl Skalak, or George Remmington.

The past three years I have focussed on getting my Photography house in order.

Just last week, Mark Bishop, the founder of Urban Organics, contacted me to see if I could help him again with his social networking and PR needs.

Well I have to say, I can't help myself, I am happy to be back, I never really left of course...

I am proud of what I have done for Urban Organics, writing and designing the web site...

http://www.urbanorganicsohio.com/

Urban Organics hopes to sell more of its flagship product, Sweet Peet, in bulk and bags. There are many newcomers to the organic mulch market, but nothing beats Sweet Peet! Sweet Peet is a great way to charge up any community garden, school garden, corporate garden, rooftop garden etc...

I am hoping to write a few stories based on testimonials from happy customers, which there are many. If anyone can help me with media contact information, at Cleveland Magazine, Edible Cleveland, or similar local media contacts, I would appreciate it.

Also please put me on your E-Blast lists, I want to know what you are up to!

All The Best,

Dan Morgan

[email protected]

http://clevelandlocavore.com/

10:54 am est

Sunday, May 26, 2013

Cleveland Plain Dealer Article Published...

Dan Morgan on Vermicomposting

5:09 pm edt

Friday, May 10, 2013

Vermicomposting Story For The Plain Dealer

Hi Judy, (Judy Stringer -PD's rental section of the Sunday paper)

Vermicomposting is a great way to create a soil amendment that is 10 times better for the garden than traditional back yard composting without red wiggler worms. A backyard compost pile that has to be turned regularly, while a vermicomposting bin, a "worm farm" does not. The worms do all the hard work.

Why best for renters?

Clean, compact, self contained and what is the best advantage for renters, LOW MAINTENANCE. The bin can be left undisturbed for weeks at a time, or can be "fed" every day. General maintenance can vary widely if you just follow a few simple rules, very important rules.

The right worms are the key! Red wigglers or the formal name Eisenia Fetida, are a very specific type of worm needed. The worms are expensive, and widely available for sale on the internet. The best way to start a worm farm, is look for a local sustainable gardening blog community, https://www.facebook.com/localfoodcleveland is a good one on Facebook. Ask around, and you will find someone who wants to share their worms, and you will suddenly have someone to help you get started as well. Vermicomposters LOVE to share ideas and even recipes.

The simplest way to make your worm farm is to find 2 identical plastic bins. drill holes in the bottom of one of them, the one that will go inside the other. The holes are for drainage when the soil gets too moist. Proper drainage and soil moisture is CRITICAL for the whole process to work without becoming a horrible experience. The other most important factor to make a renter's worm farm a clean success, DO NOT PUT FRUIT SCRAPS in the bin. Most vermicomposting web sites will encourage all organic material including fruit and veggies but believe me, not a good idea!

Recap:

Two things that will ruin the experience,

1) Soil that is kept too moist,resulting in a stinky bin! These anaerobic conditions can also kill the worms (by drowning)

2) Fruit will attract / breed fruit flies, something nobody wants in their apartment (especially a landlord)

The finished product, after separating the worms from it, can be added to indoor plants or outdoor gardens. The best thing to too with the final product is to make a "teabag" from an old t shirt and bunch the t-shirt around a garden hose to make compost tea, right into a watering can. This tea can be sprinkled right on top of gardens, acting as both a fertilizer and insecticide, NATURALLY. There is no reason to use synthetic fertilizers or insecticides in any garden, or lawn for that matter.

Got unsightly weeds in your garden? PULL THEM.

My wife Annette and I are apartment renters in Lakewood (the Carlyle) and we have an Adopt A Spot garden at the entrance to Lakewood Park, part of Keep Lakewood Beautiful's Adopt A Spot program, with over 40 volunteer maintained gardens on publicly owned property around Lakewood.

http://www.onelakewood.com/Boards_Commissions/KeepLakewoodBeautiful.aspx

Let me know anything else you need.

Dan

10:41 am edt

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Morgan Farm Stay Sale...???

Hello Friends, and Family,

Here is an update of our day to day efforts to sell our farm to some, while continuing to make it a "once in a lifetime" vacation experience for others.

Since early May we have had some great guests this season. Sophie Brun came to the United States from France a few years ago. She and her family settled into a posh northern suburb of Detroit, Royal Oak. Spotting our vacation rental property listing on HomeAway.com, she was reminded of the farm stays she visited in Europe.

Sophie and her family had a great Easter dinner at our farm, feasting on Buckeye Chicken eggs, Berkshire grass fed ham, and cookies baked in a wood burning stove across the street by Edna, our Amish neighbor.

In late May we had guests staying at the farm who made reservations over a year ago. They have a daughter who is graduated from Oberlin College and wanted a very special family get together at this important time.

The rest of the summer has been mostly filled in with various guests, as usual. July, which always fully books, had grandparents coming from Germany to meet a new grandchild at the farm.

On a regular basis we have had a varied crew of family, friends and neighbors working together to clean up the gardens and plant some new flowers, veggies and herbs. The grass, well it kept on growing, and growing, and growing.

We have several educational components in place form the past few years. The Blue Orchard Mason Bee Box has almost half it's holes housing eggs ready to burst out and begin the process joining an army of beneficial mason bees, pollinating nearby flower, veggie and herb gardens. Amy Roskilly, with the Cuyahoga Soil and Water Conservation District, hooked us up last year with a rain garden kit, containing several types of beautiful plants that thrive in a wet spot while filtering storm water runoff before reaching the stream nearby.

Our composting, both vermicomposting and traditional "back yard" composting operations are thriving and our rain barrels are very useful in areas our garden hose does not reach, particularly our companion garden, way out away from the main house. This year the companion garden will contain a few new plants. Comfrey is a great new addition, if I can manage to keep it from taking over the entire garden. Also this year I am cutting back on the heirloom tomatoes and adding some nice herbs.

In May we had a great deal of interest from a few interested buyers, one young man from California wants to take over the entire business, turnkey, keeping our furnishings, decor, web site and photos to promote. The only problem is, he is having some trouble getting financing. Sure the rates are great right now but banks are hesitant to lend. At the end of June we took our first nice vacation since moving back to Ohio in 2005. We of course worried about the Farm Stay rentals we had booked, but friends and family again came to our rescue.

On our second day in Europe, in Montpellier France, we got word from our realtor Teresa. She had an interested buyer making an offer. We spent a few hours on the iPad countering and the sale price was agreed on. After several anxious weeks awaiting financing approval for our buyers, it looks like the end of an era.

We have a closing date scheduled for this upcoming week. Our fingers are still crossed, because ya never know...

This has indeed been a great journey for Annette and I.

Au revoir for now, Thanks for all of your help and support over the past 7 years!

Dan and Annette Morgan

Dan Morgan

Straight Shooter

646-621-6434

www.AboutDanMorgan.com

10:22 pm edt

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Here is an update of our day to day efforts to sell our farm to some, while continuing to make it a "once in a lifetime" vacation experience for others.

We have had a great deal of interest from a few interested buyers, one young man from California wants to take over the entire business, turnkey, keeping our furnishings, decor, web site and photos to promote. The only problem is, he is having some trouble getting financing. Sure the rates are great right now but banks are hesitant to lend.

And so we keep on going, and going and going, while the grass keeps growing and growing and growing! This has indeed been a great journey for Annette and I. This summer we have made arrangements to visit the south France region and Spain, a nice little rest from all the political rhetoric and bickering here in the states.

Au revoir for now!

Dan and Annette Morgan

8:07 am edt

Thursday, April 26, 2012

2012 Season at Morgan Farm Stay

Check out our revamped web page with more about the farm, area attractions and recent stories "In The News"

Click Here, www.MorganFarmStay.com

3:11 pm edt

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Thank You Chris Hodgson -Dim and Den Sum for your support Now booking 2011spring summer fall season!

Our Farm Stay...

www.MorganFarmStay.com

Find Your Perfect Farm Vacation at www.FarmStayUS.com

11:05 pm est

Saturday, November 20, 2010

New Logo

Been a long time since I posted here. Now that the holidays and winter are coming I have decided to get back on my Cleveland Locavore horse. Check out the logo.

I am designing a great reusable bag that will help get this brand rolling. Cleveland local food advicates in many product and service areas are welcome to participate in this unique program. Come and have a seat at the table!

7:40 am est

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Local Farm Superstars

E4S held a great event Last Night

Click Here

Eight NEO Farmers told thier stories, pretty great. Common thread...Hard work that NEEDS to be supported by more and more of us at summer and winter farmers markets and CSAs

2010.03.01

Hello, I have found myself increasingly interested by how our food is produced since 2005. Annette, my wife, and I retuned to Ohio from NY and bought a farm in Ashland County. It did not take long to notice the backwards attitudes of most of today's farmers, urban planners, educators and politicians. During the Nixon administration, Earl Butz, Ray Crock and others had a seemingly harmless, goal in mind, produce and distribute the most amount of food for the least amount of money.

It has taken us a complete generation to figure out that this model just does not work, for so many reasons. The broken farming system effects everyone in profound ways, all connected. From healthcare to the economy, the way we produce and distribute food must change, and change dramaticly, NOW. Small scale farmers and farmers markets are the tip of the melting iceburg that will save the planet!

From Wikipedia...

The locavore movement is a movement in the United States and elsewhere that spawned as interest in sustainability and eco-consciousness become more prevalent.[1] Those who are interested in eating food that is locally produced, not moved long distances to market, are called "locavores." The word "locavore" was the word of the year for 2007 in the Oxford American Dictionary.[2] This word was the creation of Jessica Prentice of the San Francisco Bay Area at the time of World Environment Day, 2005.[3] It is rendered "localvore" by some, depending on regional differences, usually.[4][5] The food may be grown in home gardens or grown by local commercial groups interested in keeping the environment as clean as possible and selling food close to where it is grown. Some people consider food grown within a 100-mile radius of their location local, while others have other definitions. In general the local food is thought by those in the movement to taste better than food that is shipped long distances.[1]

Farmers' markets play a role in efforts to eat what is local.[6] Preserving food for those seasons when it is not available fresh from a local source is one approach some locavores include in their strategies. Living in a mild climate can make eating locally grown products very different from living where the winter is severe or where no rain falls during certain parts of the year.[7] Those in the movement generally seek to keep use of fossil fuels to a minimum, thereby releasing less carbon dioxide into the air and preventing greater global warming. Keeping energy use down and using food grown in heated greenhouses locally would be in conflict with each other, so there are decisions to be made by those seeking to follow this lifestyle. Many approaches can be developed, and they vary by locale.[8] Such foods as spices, chocolate, or coffee pose a challenge for some, so there are a variety of ways of adhering to the locavore ethic.[9]

Join me in promoting this just cause, starting right here in Northeast Ohio!, where we have already been recognized internationally for our efforts! Click here for Sustain Lane ranking

Dan Morgan, Cleveland Locavore [email protected]

0 notes

historyrepeatsitself-phff · 7 years

Text

Chapter Seventy-Eight

A/N: Hey guys, I’m having issues with uploading the chapter links to the masterlist, so I apologise for that. If you haven’t read the latest chapter, where Harry and Emmy are at the gala, then you can read that here as this chapter does lead on from that a bit 😊 I’m not too sure about this chapter, I don’t know whether I made it believable, but I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think 💖

The following day, Emmy sat at her computer with Grace on her lap, scrolling through the articles about the night before to make sure that no one had noticed what her and Harry had been doing. Most of the websites focused on her dress, and had hardly any photos of them once the banquet had begun. There were, however, photos on twitter of the two of them with Grace at the beach – the relief at having not been discovered easily outweighed the anger at having been snapped.

“Anything?” Harry asked, coming in and passing her a glass of water, before taking Grace and cuddling her to him. She cooed lightly, nuzzling into his chest.

“Nothing,” Emmy said. “Nobody must’ve noticed what we did.”

“Good,” he mused, kissing the top of her head. “Same time next week?”

She laughed lightly, rolling her eyes. “Harry, don’t even. We’re never doing that again.”

He chuckled, sitting down beside her at the kitchen table. “Remember ages ago, when you asked me where’s the weirdest place I’ve ever had sex? Well now you have your answer.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up slightly. “The weirdest place was with me? I feel so lucky!” She genuinely looked delighted by this.

Harry barked a laugh. “Definitely, you can’t beat doing it in a palace when we’re meant to be downstairs at a gala.”

“I’m honoured,” she said, somewhat dryly. “And I’m relieved no one saw anything.”

“Must’ve been your good poker face,” he teased.

“Honestly, that was the hardest part! Keeping a straight face! I’ve never not been allowed to react when you’ve done that to me before!” She giggled.

“I mean, I’m good with my hands, what can I say?” He smirked at her, and she rolled her eyes at him.

While Harry and Emmy were amused by what they’d done at the gala and were relieved that no one had seen them, Edward was not. They should’ve expected a chastising, really, especially from Edward, and a few days later at a meeting they got it.

They hadn’t even taken their seats at the table yet when Edward had blurted out, “What were you two thinking?!”

Emmy looked at him blankly but Harry, who had half-anticipated this, rolled his eyes. “Ed, calm down. No one saw us.”

“I did,” Edward snapped, scowling at the prince. “I saw you. I saw straight through you, too. I knew exactly what you’d just been doing. What were you thinking?!”

“It was Valentine’s Day,” Emmy said in a small voice, blushing deeply. Claire stifled a laugh, amused by this.

“I don’t care, you were at a gala! You were in public!” Edward’s voice had risen to a yell now, and he reminded Emmy of a disapproving father. “You could have been seen by anyone! And I don’t care what you say, I don’t care that you weren’t seen! You could’ve been! And then who would have to sort out that media mess?! Me! I am incredibly surprised by both of you.”

Emmy dropped her gaze to Grace, sat on her lap. The little baby was frowning slightly at Edward, irritated by his yelling. Emmy stroked the top of her blond head.

“I’m sorry, Ed,” she whispered.

Harry sighed, snaking an arm over the back of her chair and raising unamused eyes to Edward’s. “Sorry.”

“You should know better, Harry,” Edward scolded, but now his voice was calmer and he was less flushed. His anger had dissipated. Emmy was impressed he’d managed to stay angry considering it had been a few days since the gala.

“Trust me, wasn’t my idea,” Harry muttered. Emmy trod on his foot, making him wince.

Edward ignored him, dropping his gaze to his iPad before clearing his throat and looking at Emmy. “I have something to discuss with you.”

“It’s not the visit to WISE, is it?” she asked, frowning. “I thought it was being made for June, surely something else hasn’t come up-?” Her eyes flickered to Claire, somewhat disappointed.

“It’s not to do with WISE, no,” Edward said, and he shared a glance with the other secretary that put Harry on edge. They appeared to be apprehensive about breaking this news to Emmy, and if they were apprehensive that surely meant that the news could not be good. Harry tensed, preparing himself for whatever they were about to drop on them. “I’m sure you’re aware, Emmy, that each year William and Kate, at least one of the two, attend a parade in London at Mons Barracks to commemorate St Patrick’s Day.”

“Yeah, I know the engagement,” Emmy said, the image of Kate wearing various different green coats to the event flashed in her mind.

“Well this year both William and Kate are busy on St Patrick’s Day,” Edward said, and he opened his mouth to continue but Harry interrupted.

“Busy?” he snapped, frowning. “Busy with what?”

“That information has not been disclosed to us.”

“Convenient,” Harry said, with a scowl.

“And since Kate cannot attend this year,” Edward said, turning back to Emmy as though he had not been interrupted. “Clarence House has requested that you go in her place, to represent Kate in her absence.”

“Represent her?” Emmy said, a feeling of dread growing within her. After what she’d overheard at the christening, she wondered how well it would go down with Kate if Emmy replaced her at one of her signature engagements.

“Yes, you essentially do the engagement yourself but you’ll be there to apologise for Kate’s absence.”

“And how does Kate feel about this?” Emmy asked.

“Kate is fine with it,” Claire replied. “She’s happy that someone will be able to go to the event if she can’t. Apparently she wishes she were able to.”

“It’s not a very long day,” Edward piped up. “And Harry doesn’t have any engagements that day, so there’s no need to find a babysitter.”

Emmy looked down at Grace, wondering whether she should accept this. She didn’t want to make her fragile friendship with Kate any more strained…but if Kate was okay with it…and if Clarence House wanted her to go…

“Sure, why not?” she said, with a shrug and a smile. “I don’t get to wear green very often.”

Claire laughed lightly, but Emmy’s attention went to Harry, and she was alarmed to see the annoyance on his face. She waited until they were out of the meeting to confront him about it.

“Did you not want me to accept the engagement?” she asked with a frown, as they trekked back through Kensington Palace towards Nottingham Cottage, Grace curled in Harry’s arms, sat in silence.

“I wish you didn’t have to, yeah,” he replied.

“You seem angry.”

“I’m angry at William,” Harry said. “They’re “busy”? Very vague, I’m surprised they didn’t elaborate on that. Makes me wonder why they can’t really come.”

“Maybe they’re spending time with George and Charlotte,” Emmy said, wanting to not believe the worst of her brother- and sister-in-law.

“No, Kate already used that excuse last year,” he replied, with a sigh. “I’m sure it’s fine, they’ve probably just got an engagement or something. It’s just a little suspicious, is all.”

She rolled her eyes. “You need to be more trusting.”

Harry arched an eyebrow, but she could tell from the glint in his eyes that their conversation had taken a playful turn. “Maybe you just trust too quickly?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have trusted you to do what you did to me on Valentine’s Day,” she replied cheekily.

“Well I am incredibly sorry if that’s how you feel,” he said, with a smirk. “Feeling regretful?”

Emmy’s mouth tugged up at the corners. “Not at all.”

“Good, round two tonight?” he asked.

“If you can keep up.”

“Oh?” He broke into his cheeky grin, and Emmy felt her heart flutter. “We’ll see.”

“Hmm,” she said, looking over at him in what she hoped appeared to be a smug manner. “We will.”

Miraculously, Grace went to sleep easily that night, leaving Emmy and Harry some time to enjoy themselves before they had a disturbed sleep. Grace was very distressed, crying and screaming even though she was not hungry nor messy, and upon trying to change her nappy just in case, Emmy found the source – nappy rash.

“I‘m pretty sure George had that when he was a baby,” Harry said the following morning, when he was sleepily munching on some cornflakes before heading to Sandhurst for the day to talk to some new recruits. “Phone Kate up, I think all they used was some cream.”

But Emmy was having none of it. She clutched Grace to her chest, rocking the baby as Grace continued to scream and cry. “I’m taking her to the Doctor’s.”

“I don’t think you need to-”

“I don’t want to risk anything!” Emmy snapped back, hastily brushing her messy hair out of her eyes. She’d spent most of the night awake with Grace, forcing Harry to get some sleep for he was working today.

“Just Google it.”

The glare he received from her was answer enough. She turned away, murmuring to Grace in what she hoped was a soothing way. She would not settle until she knew that there was nothing seriously wrong with Grace, until the rash was just nappy rash, and until she knew that she could treat it herself.

It only took five minutes at the Doctor’s for her to be reassured of all of these things, and she cuddled a still crying Grace in her arms as she, Claire and Kev made their way back to the car from the doctor’s surgery.

“Was I overreacting?” Emmy asked shyly, as she strapped Grace into her car-seat.

“Of course not,” Claire said, reassuring. “Better to be safe than sorry. And Grace is still small, it’s normal for parents to panic.”

“So you think I panicked?” Her voice rose slightly, anxious.

“I think you had good reason too,” Claire said. “Like I said, she’s very small. You don’t want to risk anything.”

Emmy felt silly, having rushed to the doctor about something as silly as nappy rash. She’d been given some cream to apply to the irritated area, and then the GP had sent her on her way. What a waste of time!

She got home and caked the rash in some of the cream, hoping that Grace might finally calm down, and it wasn’t long before the wails subsided and Grace was dozing in Emmy’s arms once more. Emmy couldn’t blame her – she herself felt as though she could fall asleep standing up.

But first she wanted to let Harry know that he was right, and that all Grace needed was some cream. She settled herself on the sofa with Grace in her arms and rang his mobile.

No answer.

Feeling foolish, she realised that he was probably busy in his job right now and that it was silly of her to call him. Instead, she decided to phone the office which organised where he went and what he did in his role as “volunteer” at the Ministry of Defence, hoping that they would be able to get him to call her when he had a moment. His “boss”, Andy, answered the phone.

“Andy? It’s, er, Emmy, Harry’s wife?”

“My goodness! Your royal highness, I was not expecting you to phone!”

She laughed lightly, although the title made her feel awkward. “I know, I try to keep out of all of that. I was just wondering if you can get Harry a message – if he can call me when he has a moment, it’s just about Grace. She’s fine, I just wanted him to know-”

“But, ma’am, Harry isn’t with us today.”

“He’s…he’s not?” Her heart stammered slightly. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know, but he’s not here. He was never due to be in today.”

“O-Oh.” She took a deep breath, terror now flooding her veins. “Okay, well never mind then. Thank you.”

She hung up before he could say anything, frozen. A thousand scenarios flashed in her mind, the worst of which involved him having lied to her because he was having an affair. She let herself get lost in those hallucinations for a little, before finally coming to with tears in her eyes. Why had he lied to her? What was he hiding?!

No, she was being silly. Why was she thinking the worst already? Perhaps there was a perfectly good explanation. She was jumping to conclusions.

But what if he was having an affair…?

She’d known this time would come, when he would get bored of how young and inexperienced she was and would find someone better, but she never anticipated it being so soon after Grace’s birth. And she also never expected Harry to lie to her about it.

Maybe it was because of Grace. Maybe Harry didn’t like Emmy in Mum Mode, maybe he was bored of her being covered in nappies, being dressed in leggings and no makeup.

She felt sick to her stomach. Had he not known that this was what would happen when the baby arrived? Had he thought their glamorous life would continue? Anger flared within her – he was so wrong, wrong on so many levels.

She would not let this go lightly.

An hour or so later, Harry arrived home. He quietly closed the door behind him, expecting the smell of dinner to greet him, but the house was still and silent. “Hey Emmy,” he called out softy, not wanting to wake Grace if she were asleep. He continued into the kitchen, where Emmy was sat at the table, frowning, her back straight and rigid. “Hi.”

“Hello,” she said stiffly. She didn’t look up from her engagement ring, which she was toying with, but from where he was stood her eyes looked like they were rimmed with red. Had she been crying? Where was Grace?!

“Everything okay?” he said anxiously, hesitating before started to loosen his tie.

“Hmm.” She still didn’t look at him.

“Is Grace okay? Did you take her to the Doctor?” he said, sensing her coldness. He couldn’t yet tell if she was upset or angry with him or with something else, but he could tell that he’d definitely done something to piss her off, and he decided to wait and let her tell him instead of asking.

“Not that you seem to care,” she said icily, her piercing blue gaze finally going to his face. “I tried to call you about her! I took her to the Doctor, she has nappy rash, you were right! You were right! I tried to tell you that! I called you, I called your office at the Ministry, I called your mobile. No. Answer.”

He swallowed, then said, “I was at work, in a meeting, I had my phone turned off.”

“You were at work?” She arched an eyebrow, and Harry knew, deep down, that she knew that he was lying. “That’s funny, that’s what I thought, and so I phoned your boss, I was very relieved about Grace and I thought, naively, that you would want to know what had happened. So I phoned your boss, and he said you weren’t in work today. That today was one of the days that you were busy and so you weren’t scheduled in for anything.”

Harry didn’t say anything, his heart pounding. She couldn’t find out. She couldn’t.

“And so that just begs the question – where were you?” She spoke softly, her eyes on his, and he could read the heartbreak on her face. The betrayal. He’d lied to her, and she’d figured him out.

He hesitated, trying to organize everything in his head, trying to figure out the best way to explain it, the best way which wouldn’t make him seem weak, the best way which she would understand. He truly didn’t know what to say – he’d never wanted her to find out about this.

“I…can explain,” he began, and then was horrified to see that her eyes had filled with tears.

“You’re cheating on me, aren’t you?” she said, her voice breaking as a hand flew to her mouth to hold in a sob.

“No!” he blurted, his heart breaking. “No, Emmy, never!”

A sob escaped her. “And how do I know you’re not lying now?!”

“Emmy, just give me a chance to explain,” he said desperately, crossing the room and reaching for her hands. She pulled them away, glaring up at him as he stood across the table from her. “I’m not cheating on you, how could you ever think that?”

“Then why are you lying to me?” she whispered, tear-filled eyes raising to his face.

He sat down opposite her, sighing as he did so, and pulled his blazer off. “It’s…a long story.”

She waited, expectant.

“I didn’t want you to know,” he said. “I…I thought that you would think I’m weak.”

“I would never…” she breathed, almost moving to reach for his hand, then she seemed to remember that she was mad at him and pulled her hands back into her lap. “What is it?”

“Since…before I met you,” he said. “A few years before, at least, I’ve had sessions with a counselor to help me cope with the loss of my mother.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise, her heart breaking that he hadn’t told her about this. “W-Why did you not tell me?”

“I haven’t told anyone,” he said. “Only William and my father know.”

“But…” Her voice broke again. “I’m your wife.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry that I lied, but I just…I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why not?” she whispered, and she sounded a little like a spoilt child. She finally reached over to take his hand. “Harry, why couldn’t you just tell me? I would’ve understood.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was weak,” he said, ducking his head. “Or mad. Or…or depressed. Because I’m not. I just…I need to talk about it all sometimes.”

“But I get that,” she said. “I do. I lost my mother too, you know. I understand.” She reached up and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I am sorry,” he murmured.

“I tell you everything,” she said, devastated. “Everything.”

“I know.”

“And this…This is just like before…before we were married.” She got to her feet, turning away from him, shaking her head. “When you didn’t tell me you were going to Lesotho, or Australia, or…or…” She let out a wobbly breath. “What else don’t you tell me?”

“That is the only secret I have,” he said earnestly. “Emmy, I promise. I don’t keep anything from you anymore. Back then you were some girl I had to marry, but now you are so much more to me, Em, so much more. I love you more than life itself.”

“And yet you still lied to me?” she said, scowling.

“I was stupid,” he said. “I wanted you to think that I was…I don’t know…that I was alright. That I was a nice guy with no issues. I mean, what were you going to think if I had to meet someone every now and again to talk about how sorry for myself I am and how much I hate my life. What was that going to sound like? You were going to think I was spoilt, or something.”

“I would never think that,” she murmured, raising her eyes to his face. “But…what do you need to talk about?”

“Just…everything…” he said, shrugging. “Missing my mother, coping with seeing people die when I was in the army…even when I was told to marry you.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise, as did her tone. “Your councilor knows about us?!”

“Don’t worry, he’s signed a secrecy agreement, along with his usual patient confidentiality agreement,” Harry said, waving a hand. “But don’t you see? There’s so many things that sometimes I just need to get off my chest.”

“You’re…you’re not happy?” She sounded heartbroken again.

“I am happy,” he answered, reaching for her and pulling her towards him. “I am the happiest I’ve ever been with you and Grace. Today was just the monthly meeting I have with him. To check how I’m doing. We mainly spoke about Grace for a lot of it. But I also spoke about you covering Kate’s engagement, and how angry it makes me that we’ll be expected to represent them but not vice versa.”

“But why don’t you talk to me about these things?!” she nearly wailed. “I’m your wife! We’re meant to talk!”

“Emmy, honestly?” He looked slightly sheepish. “I could talk for hours about some of these things, I don’t want you to think I’m whiny.”

She looked crestfallen, but before he could add anything else she’d thrown her arms round his neck and had pulled him into the tightest hug. “I’m sorry you feel like this.”

“I’m not depressed, Emmy,” he said into her hair, holding her tightly, just enjoying the innocent contact. “I’m in a good place right now. I haven’t always been, I’ve struggled, but now I’m fine. And going to see Frank every now and again helps me stay that way.”

Grace’s crying came through on the baby monitor at that moment, and Emmy sighed. “I’ll go,” she said, her hands halting his as he moved to get to his feet. “I’m sorry about freaking out, and accusing you. Initially I tried to tell myself that there must be an explanation, but I’ve spent all day here thinking about it and I really convinced myself that it was the worst kind of lie. I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t be,” he murmured, dropping his eyes. “I’m sorry for lying to you. I should’ve told you sooner but…I’m not proud of having to go and see him.”

“I understand,” she said. “But now I know, now I can help you too.” She said this rather brightly, and she threw him a dazzling smile as though to prove it.

“The best thing you can do to help me is to pretend we never had this conversation,” he said, serious. “Honestly, Em, if you start worrying and fawning over me it will make it worse. If I need your help I will talk to you now, but please just act like nothing has changed.”

She bit her lip, examining his expression as though trying to work out whether he was just trying to keep her out of things, but then she nodded and smiled. “If that’s what you want.” She leant down and kissed him, then left him alone to go and comfort Grace. He sat back, sighing. Only William and Charles knew about this, that he went to see a councillor every now and again, and it felt weird having Emmy know too. He desperately hoped she wouldn’t make a big thing out of this, that she would just forget about it and move on.

It was difficult for Emmy, but she did as he asked. She acted like nothing had happened, nothing had changed, but occasionally Harry spotted her watching him, as though X-Raying his mind, hoping he was okay. He never said anything at these moments, and pretended that he hadn’t noticed her worrying. It didn’t take long for her to stop fretting, even if she was doing so silently.

This was mainly because it was her and Harry’s first joint engagement for a few weeks, and it involved a day in Reading to visit some charities and unveil a new entertainment centre. That meant someone babysitting Grace for the whole day, and that was what had Emmy worried. Never had her and Harry spent so long away from their daughter, and even the knowledge that both Taylor and Skippy would be looking after her did nothing to calm her worries.

“Where’s Grace today?” a lady asked her during the walkabout outside their second charity, Age Concern. Emmy’s mind was instantly snatched from the thoughts of how terrified she was to be out amongst the public, and the image of Grace flashed in her mind, along with many different scenarios which could result in tragedy.

“She’s at home,” Emmy replied. “Two of her godparents are watching her.”

“When are we next going to see her?” another woman asked eagerly, after giving Emmy a cuddly toy for Grace.

“I’m not sure, she’s still a little small, you know?” Emmy said.

“It must be difficult to be away from her,” someone asked.

“Oh, it’s awful,” she replied. “It’s horrible, I miss her terribly. I’m constantly wondering how she’s getting on. I really do hate being away from her.”

Those words earned Emmy criticism both in newspapers and online by the following day. She woke up to find that she had been called an “overbearing mother”, “overprotective” and “smothering”. With tears in her eyes, she read article after article, Grace sat on her lap. Eventually, when Harry came home from one of his own engagements, he found her in the kitchen, half-heartedly preparing dinner.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greeted her, with a grin.

“Hi,” she mumbled, looking thoroughly miserable.

“Grace asleep?”

“Hmm.”

He frowned as he absentmindedly loosened his tie. “Everything okay, Em?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she asked, although her voice rose a pitch, verging on hysteria. “Why wouldn’t I be okay? Is it because I’m a terrible mother? Is that why you asked?”

Harry stared.

“Because I am, aren’t I?” she said, tears brimming in her eyes now. “And to think, I actually thought I was doing alright!”

“What are you talking about? You’re an amazing mother,” he reassured, moving to give her arm a rub.

“Apparently not.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s all over the internet,” she said. “During the walkabout yesterday, I said that I hated being away from Grace. And now they’re saying that I’m overbearing and suffocating.”

“Emmy-” There was a laugh in his voice. “Since when do we care what the press say anyway?”

“It’s not just tabloids,” she replied. “It’s mothering websites and baby websites too! And they know what they’re talking about!”

“Really? Mum’s Net knows what it’s talking about?” He rose an eyebrow skeptically. “Emmy, honestly, just ignore them. Everyone I’ve spoken to thinks you’re doing a really good job, especially since you’re so young.”

“They do?”

“Of course they do, Grace adores you, how could anything be wrong with that?” He smiled at her, and she finally returned it.

“She adores you more though,” Emmy mumbled, although her tone was playful now.

“Of course she does, she’s only female,” he answered, with a wink. “Now, let’s have a look at dinner.”

#historyrepeatsitself-phff #royalfanficcentral #Prince Harry #prince harry fanfiction #prince harry fanfic

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my-jds-blog · 5 years

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Hi!

Oh my gosh I haven’t posted anything since September! There’s so much to say! Obviously it’s a brand new year that we’re already half way through. To update you on the moving yes I have moved but no his mother will not let me sleep over so every weekend I sleep over at my grandparents house and then at around 12 I go over to Jorge’s house. Sunday nights I usually get sad and cry a little bit because I’m going to miss him so much and just thinking about not getting to see him for the next 4 days is very sad and upsetting to me. Monday’s I usually wake up sad and I’m depressed for like the whole morning until things get so busy at work that I don’t even have time to think about my sadness anymore. I am also now full time at work which I wasn’t before so now I get blood money every month like the rest of the girls do. In April I went on my birthday trip with Jorge and we had an amazing time together. It was a nice change from our normal routine and we got to spend extra time together and the whole experience was great I wouldn’t change that for everything. Jorge left his job in January to focus on getting ready for the military and he ran out of money in April so since May I’ve been paying for his monthly bills. I told him I would though. He wanted to be independent and work again to pay his own bills but I told him he can’t work the weekends cuz that’s the only time we have to spend together so I would pay his bills for him so he won’t have to work for now. He’s down to 182 lbs right now and for his height the maximum is 185 lbs so technically he can go enlist and talk to a recruiter right now if he wanted to but he wants to get down to 175 lbs so he’ll have room to gain muscle mass back. Right now I had just started watching the intro to Songland with Meghan Trainor but then some visitors came over so now I’m hiding in my room while my grandpa and them talk so I decided I would download this app onto my iPad and start writing again cuz I haven’t written anything on here since 9 months ago 😱 geez time flies. It’s not even like I’ve been too busy to write I just haven’t thought about it honestly.

June 29, 2019

#ninemonth

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deanssexplorations · 7 years

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25th Reunion Classmate

I went to my 25th MBA reunion last weekend (25 years - from my master's degree! Where has the time gone?!?!?) and it was tons of fun. And while travel always affords me an opportunity to make fun new connections, I had my expectations in check because these were my old classmates, many of whom were married, and I expected to be traveling in a packs with them with fairly little time to be off canoodling with lovely ladies.

Still, you never know. Particularly since I had a near miss five years ago at my 20th reunion. A lovely classmate, Amanda, who I sort of knew but not all that well in business school, had been recently divorced and we did some heavy duty flirting. Arm touching and everything. (Arm touching being the sure fire sign.) That's another story for another day but in the end I connected with another woman instead and followed her back to her hotel, only to get a big hug goodnight. But all was well in the end because I ended up helping this other woman with her online dating profile and one week later she ended up meeting the love of her life, who she is still with today.

Anyway, that was five years ago. Since then I had been thinking about the possibility of a do-over with Amanda. She and I are connected on Facebook and I hadn't seen any evidence of a boyfriend, so I was thinking, "Who knows?" On the other hand, I also saw a list of RSVPs for the reunion and didn't see her name on it, so I figured we would continue to be ships passing in the night.

Fast forward to the reunion. I flew out on Thursday afternoon, and after my (mandatory) Jim's Philly cheesesteak I had a lovely if unexpected encounter with my ongoing Philly friend, whom I affectionately refer to as Philly Filly. I call it unexpected because last time I visited she told me she wanted to go platonic, which is totally fine, so I thought we were getting dinner and drinks only - until she recommended making out. Hey, it's all good with me. Philly Filly is a very fun and sexy friend and it's always fun to get naked and roll around in bed with her.

The next day, Friday, was the first day of the reunion. I had some business in the morning but at lunchtime I had connected with the first of our old cohort (the school was split into cohorts with whom you took your first year classes. It took a large business school and made it friendlier. And of course I was closer to my cohort-mates than anyone else in the school). I was sitting and chatting with them when I heard an "Is that Dean???" and turned to see my old business school buddy Lisa. Delighted, I leaped to my feet and gave her a huge hug.

Lisa and I had circles of mutual friends, and I had thought we were in at least one study group together, although she subsequently disavowed me of that knowledge. Oh well. But we were in different cohorts. I was always attracted to her at school - she was incredibly smart, very cool, and fun in an "I kinda think you like me under the surface but can't show it" sort of way. A fact that was subsequently confirmed by the way. And she's very physically attractive as well, with a warm, winning smile.

We chatted for several minutes during which I found out that she was in the process of getting a divorce (but it started two years ago so it is well underway). And somehow she brought up the penis-shaped cake that I had given to my girlfriend back in business school, which I had sort of forgotten about until then. "Wow, you have a great memory," I marveled, "or a one-track mind."

"A little of both," was Lisa's reply. Hmmm. This could be interesting.

At that point I decided that, situation permitting, I would try to share the fact of my open marriage with her and see where that took us. Of course, in the middle of the school courtyard, surrounded by dozens of classmates was neither the time nor the place. But I knew that wouldn't be the last I'd see her that weekend. Confirming we would connect later, we parted ways and mingled with other reunion attendees.

That afternoon was an ice cream social. By then my cohort was attending in force and we were traveling as a pack. I had gotten my ice cream and was catching up with people I hadn't seen since the 20th reunion when out of the corner of my eye who did I see walk in but Amanda - the near miss from five years ago! Holy cow, how fun and unexpected to see her again. I walked up to her and gave her a big hug.

She brought me up to speed on her job and her son, who, it turns out, will be attending Stanford golf camp in June and she will be coming out with him. We did a "we should get together" sort of thing, and I started wondering if my weekend play should be for Amanda rather than Lisa. Hmmm. A high-class problem. At any rate, I don't always have full control over how these things work out (yes, my friends have minds and opinions of their own!) so I decided I'd just keep my options open and see how it worked out.

That evening (Friday) was a school-wide alumni beer bash, at which there were probably a thousand attendees. I spent most of my time with my cohort, but I also kept my eye out for Lisa - or Amanda, even making a tour of the room to see if I could spot them. To my surprise I did see Lisa - and Amanda - talking to each other!

(Side note: I didn't realize they knew each other in school. But apparently they do. Side side note: when I shared this tidbit with Ruby, she said maybe they were talking about me - that Ruby, such a one track mind!) I did manage to work my way over and said hello to Lisa - Amanda had drifted elsewhere by then - but the room was far too crowded for me to work in a "by the way, I'm in an open marriage" aside. After a few minutes we separated and I went out with my cohort, with little to no chance of connecting with either friend that evening.

(As another side note, I could have messaged either woman as I'm Facebook friends with both. But a "hey, baby, let's get together for a late night drink" coming from their married classmate probably would not have gone over all that well. I have a slightly better sense of the art of seduction than that!)

Saturday morning I was heading to a talk when I saw Lisa sitting alone in a break-out room, reading on her iPad. Without hesitation, I popped in, plunked myself down, and started chatting. We had a far-ranging conversation (she's super smart and fun to talk to), which fairly quickly turned to her divorce. I asked several questions and got a better sense of what had been happening and the reasons she ended up leaving him (and she had good reasons!)

At that point I asked Lisa if she wanted to know a secret. Of course she said yes; there's really only one answer to that question, and I told her I am in an open marriage. She actually took it in remarkable stride. Normally I get an "oh, REALLY?" look - either with an air of incredulity or a note of interest - but she sort of just went with it. No worries, I'd just go with it as well.

We had about an hour and a half before the class lunch, and she checked the time every now and again to make sure we weren't running late. At one point I mentioned taking the stairs up to the 8th floor, where the lunch was being held, and she informed me she would be taking the elevator, "Because if I took the stairs, I'd need to take a shower afterward. Hey, we could take one together. Could be fun."

This took me entirely by surprise, and stumbled mid-sentence, having to collect myself and regroup before I could get back to my point. Not being quite prepared for that, the best I came up with at the moment was, "Hold that thought," then continued the point I was making. But this was a huge invitation and indication of interest and I didn't want to leave her hanging so maybe ten minutes later when I had my wits more together I said, "By the way - what you said earlier? Yes. I'm definitely interested."

We finished our conversation and went our way, enjoyed the lunch and afternoon activities (separately), as well as the class dinner that night (also separately, with our respective cohorts). But I had Lisa in the corner of my eye the entire dinner and about 15 minutes before it was scheduled to conclude I sat next to her and started chatting. Eventually her other friends peeled away, leaving the two of us alone, and I told her I thought we should take advantage of the situation and go back to my hotel. She agreed.

Fun!!

We stopped at the hotel bar to get a couple of glasses of water and headed straight up to my room, which I had left "date ready" (uncluttered, low light, comfortable temperature on the thermostat) just in case. We stood by my bed and kissed for several minutes, fully clothed. She is a fantastic kisser. We let our hands roam and drift around each others' bodies, tracing various curves and pointed parts. As the case may be.

Eventually we peeled each others' clothes off and migrated to the bed. We had a fantastic time. I went down on her, taking my time and enjoying every aspect of her warmth and wetness. She seemed to enjoy it as well, finally having to push my head away after a strong round of convulsions. She then gave me an amazing blow job, alternately taking me deep into her mouth and playing with the tip of my cock with her lips and tongue. Finally we ended up having sex in the missionary position, at which point I had a strong orgasm.

We chatted for a while afterward, cuddling and stroking each others' bodies. We talked about sex and dating, and admitted that we liked each other in school, but the fact that she had a boyfriend (later to be a husband) and I later had a girlfriend (later to be my first wife) kept us from hooking up. Such a bummer.

I learned that even though she was separated two years ago, she only recently started dating again and as of right now at least, hasn't met a guy she liked well enough to have sex with. So I was the first since her husband - and given that they had been together for MORE than 25 years, I may have been the first in a very, very long time. I was so touched that she do me the honor of filling that role. It made such a fun, sweet, and exciting encounter that much more special.

And it reminded me of the nickname that one of my earlier FWBs had given me. Early in my debaucherous period a number of my FWBs were recently divorced or newly separated, with the typical story being that they hadn't had sex with anyone for a long while - and good sex for a much longer while. I always enjoyed being their first re-introduction to unbridled passion and desire. And I was especially honored to play that role once again with my dear, sweet friend Lisa.

Chalk up one more lady "helped out" by the Divorcee Whisperer.

I'm such an altruist.

#Sex with my old classmate #25 years of foreplay #She suggested we take a shower together #Divorcee whisperer strikes again #Lisa #Amanda

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alexheathen · 8 years

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Growths

This is the story of my life, from the perspective of my relationship with my mother and her 13 years with cancer. I’ve posted bits and pieces of it before, but I felt like I could finally write it, and anon asked, so here it is. Warning: long as fuck.

The experience of my mother’s illness is central to my biography, without a doubt. Our relationship was incredibly close. I am the firstborn son in my family, so I suppose it was inevitable. She read to me almost every night when I was little: The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Once and Future King, and then Winnie the Pooh after the epic fantasy well dried up. I was discouraged from sports and imbued with the generalized fear/caution many of us 90’s kids seemed to get growing up. In fewer words, I was super nerdy, and I 100% had mom to blame.

For much of her life, my mom’s best friend was her older sister, Patricia, or Pat, for short. Pat received her first breast cancer diagnosis in 1993, fairly late in the tumor’s development. Treatment was aggressive, as it tends to be on the first go round - both breasts removed and intensive chemotherapy. Still, the disease progressed and eventually spread to her ovaries; she died in 1995 due to complications from chemo (treatment is inevitably worse than disease when we talk about cancer). My mother was devastated, and I was five years old and confused. Why was everyone crying? What happened? When my grandma told me my aunt was just sleeping, mom scolded her for lying to me. “She’s gone to heaven,” mom said, “and she’s not coming back.” The Lion King came out that year, and they played “The Circle of Life” over her memorial slideshow at the wake. A wake that was held at the high school I would attend, over ten years later. My sophomore English teacher was the woman who had been hired to replace my aunt after she died, and she passed along one of my aunt’s annotated books, which she had kept all those years. That was a very spooky day.

Breast cancer haunts my family; the genetic specter of the BRCA1 mutation looms large in my family tree, comorbid with clinical depression. My grandmother had two run ins with it, and though she only had a double mastectomy as treatment, she lived well into her eighties. In addition to my aunt, there is a cemetery of second cousins and great aunts I never met. Among the women of my generation, getting tested for the gene mutation is something of a rite of passage.

My mom’s first diagnosis was in April of 2002. Being a bookish and political child, I had been rocked by 9/11 the year before: the day after the attack I threw up on the bus and mom had taken me home. In less than a year, mortality entered my life, first on a grand scale, and then on a very personal one. My schoolwork suffered and what social life I had withered, since I relied on my mom to arrange it. As is often the case, I withdrew into books and videogames. In hindsight, I realize I was profoundly depressed, but as the oldest I took it upon myself to make sure no one worried about me - this was the only way I had control of my situation.

Fearing the swift and painful demise of her sister, my mother opted for an even more aggressive course of treatment - severe chemotherapy, the removal of both breasts and her uterus. In those days, our house was a still as a crypt. Every day, I would come home from school afraid she had died while I was gone. Many afternoons were spent sneaking into my parents bedroom to make sure she was still breathing, then falling into my own bed to weep or scream into the pillow before falling into an uneasy sleep. I have distinct memories of recurring nightmares from this time of my life, where my soul would leave my body and float around my house, completely out of my control.

This relatively brief period, less than a year, would define my adolescence. Even after her disease had gone into remission, I did my best to make sure mom had no cause to worry, even as my grades slipped in and out of dire straits. I was determined to make sure my parents had no cause to worry about me being “one of the bad kids" and I had also been marked by the unresolved experience of my mother’s illness, so I was indelibly separated from most of my peers. As a result, I missed out on a lot of teenage degeneracy, and most of the developmental milestones of that period as well. I struggled to separate myself from my parents. Teenage mawkishness was made worse by trauma. I had hoped college would be a clean break; in ways it was and in ways it wasn’t.

The summer of my senior year of highschool my mom received her second breast cancer diagnosis. This time, however, I at least had some agency. I made myself useful as I could around the house, cleaning and mowing the lawn, and I drove my mom to and from her chemotherapy appointments. When I left in the fall, she still had three more months of treatment to go, but the fear of death was not present as it was the first time. Separated from the events of my mother’s illness, I was able to use it as a motivation instead of a burden for the first time in my life. I excelled my first year of college - three semesters on the honor, and I won an iPad from the freshman writing competition. I wrote the winning essay the night before it was due, after smoking heavily. It was supposed to have been a work memoir, but I hadn’t worked much at that point, so I made up a job at Barnes and Noble and wrote most of the essay about taking care of my mother that summer. In a small way, I hated myself for it - in high school I always resented the kids who wrote sob stories to win contests while I proudly suffered in silence.

By junior year, however, I was severely depressed again, as I moved off of campus and lost my social support network. There was a semester I missed half of the classes in two courses, having become deeply confused about what I wanted from life and entered into existential catatonia. Still, I didn’t seek help, beyond smoking cigarettes, weed and taking the occasional acid trip. This turned around a bit, fall of my senior year, when I had my strongest experiences of friendship and creativity, and began to study mysticism and spirituality, but it was short-lived.

Come January of 2013, suspicious dark spots appeared on one of mom’s regularly scheduled MRI’s. The doctors waffled back and forth over whether or not it was cancer; but I think we all knew. The day my mother called to tell me it was officially back, I had spent the morning chanting Om Mani Padme Hum and had found a unique tranquility, like a warm green sun was holding my heart. I met that devastating phone call with grace and tranquility - and then had it decimated over the coming months.

I could barely keep it together to deal with school - I was okay in class but I didn’t have the presence of mind to work on assignments. As much as I could afford to, I smoked weed - which wasn’t very much - I was unemployed and my dad was tightening the purse strings to encourage me to look for work. One day, stoned, desperate, and staring down finals feeling completely helpless, I shaved my head and eyebrows, hoping to elicit some sympathy/be forced into talking about my dire situation. And it worked - three of my four professors passed me, to some degree or another, even though I either turned in the final essays late or not at all. The only one that didn’t, amusingly enough, was a 100-level course I had put off until the end of my degree - “Honors 105: Religious Worldviews and Ethical Perspectives.” I failed that course twice and didn’t graduate because of it.

My family didn’t know I had shaved my head; when my mother came to graduation she was deeply disturbed by it, because it was an explicit reminder of the impact her illness had on me. The night before graduation, I smoked the last bit of resin in my bowl and went into uneasy sleep. I woke up an hour late the next morning, threw on some jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed my cap and gown and ran for the bus. I didn’t have time to go to the bathroom, so I ended up shitting in the bushes in front of Soldier’s Field, Chicago, which was near where the ceremony was held. I eventually made it; mom was pissed, dad was confused, and my middle sister, I would later find out, was going through her own mental health troubles.

I should’ve moved home immediately, but I spent June through August in another existential catatonia. I was supposed to be looking for jobs; I read manga, watched Super Sentai, drank beer and smoked cigarettes. In September my dad came in a moving van to take me home; the night before we left he parked in a grocery store parking lot, and to add insult to injury, it got impounded and he had to pay $500 to get it out.

I spent the rest of 2013 and most of 2014 in near catatonia again, playing shit loads of video games - I remember playing Dishonored, Deus Ex HR, and Dark Souls in particular. I also remember playing Borderlands every damn day for a month when they were doing a “win a million dollars!” promo. My sister was about to graduate high school, had blue hair and was trying on being a lesbian. We became really close during this time, sneaking around to smoke cigarettes and supporting each other through our misery. I also got really close to my mom; sometimes we would spend whole mornings talking over coffee, both feeling guilty over the pain we had caused each other.

I eventually started seeing a therapist and taking 20mg of Lexapro daily, and finally I got the monkey off my back. I found a job, first working in a warehouse, and then a bank. Mom’s condition worsened, of course. You don’t survive a third diagnosis, so the chemotherapy she was taking was only to extend her life bit by bit. April of 2015, she was on so many fucking drugs she was getting loopy, culminating in her telling me “You were the beginning of the misery in my life,” while I was putting away the dishes one night. I brushed it off, but when I was alone I completely lost it, just burst into tears, and I confronted her, and she was shocked at her own behavior. She had no explanation. She was hospitalized for the last week of April, they recalibrated her meds, and she entered hospice care in May.

She lived for another six months, until October 15th, 2015. I got reassigned at the bank to one of the most hellish, tedious jobs I’ve ever experienced. During lunch I would go out, guiltily smoke cigarettes and contemplate jumping off the parking garage. I was catastrophically lonely August through September.

The night mom died was a Friday. I had gone to pick up some hard cider after worked - Rhinegeist Red. The day before, she had gone to the clinic where she received her chemo and said goodbye to all the technicians - some of these people she had known for ten years. I have to imagine those are some of the most peculiar friendships in all of human experience. She and dad also went to say goodbye to the neighbors from the house I grew up in. Dad was surprised that night - she seemed stronger than she had in months. This “golden day” is apparently typical for people in hospice care.

Friday morning, mom had started to have trouble breathing around 10:00 am. She just couldn’t catch her breath, and she was in a lot of pain. The hospice nurse came by and upped her morphine dosage, and told my father to continue to administer another dose every half hour.

When I came home, it seemed like the house was empty. I put my cider on the kitchen table, and suddenly the bathroom door opened. Mom had braced herself against the door frame; dad was holding her up. As he carried her into the kitchen, I saw death like I never had before.

My mother’s left eye was cast toward heaven. The right one wobbled ghoulishly in its socket. Her skin was the color of old glue. Her eyes had been off kilter for a few weeks - somewhere a tumor was interfering with her ocular nerve - but the pallor was new.

Dad called the hospice nurse again, after putting mom in the hospital bed that had become a fixture in our living room. I drank a can of cider. Mom fluttered in and out of consciousness.

My yoga teacher had suggested I read to her while she lay in bed, and out of sentiment’s sake I had chosen Winnie the Pooh. I was in such a poor state that I had only done it once before that day, though, so I started the second chapter as we waited for the nurse.

As fate would have it, it was the story where Pooh goes to Rabbit’s house, eats too much honey, and gets caught in the door on his way out. Wouldn’t it be odd, I thought, morbidly, if this was the last story I read to her? This story of a sweet old bear caught halfway out the door.

The hospice nurse arrived, checked mom’s vitals and swabbed the saliva from her mouth, as she could no longer swallow. The nurse walked dad and I into the other room, and told us she probably had a week to live. It was like a grenade went off in the room. I needed to steady myself, so I went upstairs, got on the computer, and read comics reviews.

Shortly thereafter, mom’s morphine pump ran out of batteries. Dad went upstairs to get the replacements. When he was halfway down the stairs, the nurse shouted “Steve, she’s going!” He vaulted the rest of the steps, and I followed shortly thereafter.

When we arrived, mom sputtered out her last few breaths. Dad said, “I love you Mel. I’ll never forget you, as long as I live.” All I could say, was sorry, over and and over again.

Dad stayed with her body, and I went to pick up my sister from college. It was a I miracle I didn’t get into and accident. I bawled and wailed the whole way there, a and then I was done.

The day of the funeral was sunny and crisp, autumn at its most sublime. The service was held a the church mom had grown up in, a small Lutheran chapel with stained glass windows.

I wrote my mother’s eulogy. I had planned to for years. It was the best speech I ever gave - my diction was clear, my gaze met the crowd. Afterwards, they would tell me they saw her standing behind me.

I didn’t stutter until the very end, when I said the words she wanted to be remembered for:

“Life is short; be kind, and be memorable.”

And then I sat in the pew, and shed one last tear.

I wish I could tell you I fixed after that, but I wasn’t. I spent another four months at that hellish bank job before I quit. When I quit, I took up yoga again, and started cooking. I began to rebuild myself. During that time, my friend’s mother helped me find a teaching job, here in Korea, and that’s how I finally began living again.

Is everything perfect now? Of course not. I still have trouble getting close to people; I’m a twenty six year old virgin. But things are a hell of a lot better, and it’s getting easier all the time.

#damn it anon you made me cry

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