#working in retail makes me feel so drained but working in therapy makes me feel so fulfilled

[butchdykeorpheus]

biweekly I Fucking Love Therapy post

[simplysnaps]

Sorry if this is a dumb question but as someone who's kinda dreading the career they went to school for (I went for art) and kinda just wants a stable desk job with benefits now: do you have any advice on how someone looks for them? Like, what even IS a desk job? (Again sorry if this is stupid but I have deadass no clue how or where to get a job that's not retail 🥹)

I've gotten a few asks like this, so I figured I'd answer one for everyone. The short answer is: No, I don't have a magic bullet that will land you a desk job making $50k/year with a 401k and benefits. I wish I had an answer, I wish there were safeguards in place that protected everyone from asking a highly unqualified 24-year-old girl for career decisions. I wish you all could get/have what you need. But since y'all asked for my advice, here's what I have to offer. Once again, I am just some girl, I'm not a business-god:

#1: The website I found my job on is https://otta.com/. It's a great place to find jobs in the tech field. It's where I found the job I'm currently working at!

#2: It's easier to find a job when you have a job. I know this seems like old-fashioned advice your racist uncle gives you at Thanksgiving, so lemme reiterate it as a socialist trans girl you follow. This advice is TRUE. You are less desperate and less inclined to make silly decisions/concessions if you're currently employed. Our existing system is literally designed from the ground up to exploit desperate workers who are given the decision to either work or DIE, so yes... In our current system, being employed PERIOD is preferable to not being employed. There will always be someone to work harder for less compensation, so you have to make yourself "worth something" by having additional options. This is fucked, and I wish it weren't the case, but the way to gain "capital" as an employee is to have mobility and options. Be in a position where you're able to tell someone "No, I'm better than that. I'll find something else." If you're not in that position, I'm truly sorry. I wish I had more advice for you. Like I said, I'm not an expert at job-matching, I'm just a girl who's been asked by dozens of people at this point for direction.

#3: Be kind to yourself. If there's anything I've learned in the last year+ of therapy, it's that we have to be kinder to ourselves. None of us are "where we want to be." Trust me, I know. I was in a terribly abusive situation far too recently, but now it feels like such a distant dream. So if you're currently in that position, I have a few things to say to you: Firstly, it gets better. I know that feels like something better-off-people say to us just to make themselves feel better, but I can personally confirm this. Unless you're literally dead, there is the possibility that things get better than they currently are. It can happen. I was once hopeless, thinking life could never get better. Now I'm financially independent with savings and a nice apartment. It's POSSIBLE. If it can happen to me, it can happen to you. Just try to believe it can. Secondly: Be willing to endure the shit jobs until you find a job that you can actually tolerate. Endure/tolerate are two entirely different things. I once endured my job. Now I tolerate it. Do you think I love working customer support? No! But I'm fine with it! I like it some days! That's what's important! Just... not wanting to unalive yourself at the end of the day!

#4 is for the folks who can MOVE: I can't relate to this one as an asthma disabled gal, but I have heard that it's quite simple to "sell your body" for money. This isn't sex work, it's actually factory/shipping work. If you're able-bodied and can work exhausting hours, maybe consider a job at a FedEx joint, or an Amazon warehouse. Like I said, this isn't advice for getting a great job, it's advice for getting enough money to survive. If you are physically able to lift/move stuff without collapsing/dying, maybe consider this option! It is grueling and draining, but it pays a fat check for the damages. This isn't ideal for the long-term, but can serve you well for a hot minute if you have the physical health to survive it.

#5: Just hang in there. You're beautiful, and I know everything feels like hell at the moment, but please trust me as someone who's been there that it can get better. It did get better. Someday, everything you're enduring will be a story you tell your loved ones, a tale of what you used to endure. It will show them where you came from, but it won't be where you are. You can beat this. You will beat this. I know you can, because I truly believed I was doomed to my place in the world. I hope you understand that I'm not a grifter, I'm not trying to sell you a magic solution to your problems. I'm openly admitting that I cannot help you. But what I can offer is a promise that it can get better. Not that it will, but that it can. And that's worth pushing through, right? I know it can, and I know it will. The alternative is death, which is oblivion anyway. That means, statistically, it must get better! Otherwise it'll be "nothing," which is null and void!

So get out there, champs! Or hang in there! Either, or! Try to focus on #1, it's the most important! I love you all.

[joy-drops]

this mf long so don't tell me i didn't warn u

been in a rut for over a year

something something autistic burnout

idk the cause or the solution

just trying to survive each day as best i can

easier said than done when everything that brings me joy (ha) is behind a pay wall

that's capitalism baby~

found out fauna is going to the only anime convention i can attend on a reasonable budget.... but im already so broke....

I'd shell out the cash (debt) if it meant guaranteeing a spot at the meet and greet but they might not release info until too late when plane tickets are unaffordable ;_;

i wanna look forward to something because sustaining my sanity on retail therapy and getting high definitely is losing its effectiveness

brain always returns to the loneliness. i know its crippling but how much of my struggle is from that and how much is from my disability... they're both invisible which makes it hard to tell

would having a partner help that much? my gut tells me yes since ill have motivation to live if i have someone to share existence with but that feels like putting all my eggs in one basket and setting myself up for an unhealthy relationship

i like to think i won't fall down that path of toxic codependency like i have in the past tho im not crazy confident based on my track record

Which reminds me I've realized how appealing polyamory sounds to me but I'm terrible in groups I feel like I'd be overwhelmed with more than 3 (including myself) tho who knows what can happen

REGARDLESS i guess i gotta talk to people and make friends since i am incapable of socializing with the intention of dating (trust issues yippee)

i wish i had a crush at the very least. i bring this up often but i fucking miss the feeling of legitimate interest and attraction towards someone

How do I meet someone, become comfortable enough with them, and ultimately find a partnership that satisfies my insane desires???? maybe I'm putting the cart before the horse? Tackling too much at once? Something like that...

Imma be real the only reason I'm active on here is another mechanism to cope with this loneliness (akin to listening to asmr for instant happy brain juice + with the added benefit of "putting myself out there")

My strange fantasy that I'll meet people on here like I did years ago and magically hit it off

AAAAAAUGGHHHHH how did I do it back then it seemed so easy what happened to my social skills (trauma, probably)

How is it I work 2 days a week and am still drained constantly? when will I be free from sleepy bitch syndrome? it's like I've been running on fumes for the past year WHEN WILL I HAVE THE WILL TO LIVE AGAIN

i miss having someone to talk to frequently about everything

i have my besties but unfortunately knowing there's no sexual or romantic attraction there makes it hard for me to get past these barriers?? Is that weird? I wanna be able to be intimate with someone and close but for me that's intrinsically tied to sex and romance. I'm overflowing with platonic friendships to the point where I had to cut off a bunch and leave many people I care about hanging because I simply have no energy to exist anymore

I've been doing my best each day but it only gets harder

The only thing I have energy for is getting high and living inside the fantasies my brain can muster as a means to cope with how lonely I am

I dream of being hugged, of someone touching me, of being accepted for all my flaws and reassured that my existence isn't shameful. I live for the day these might become reality

Since as long far back as highschool I've yearned for intimacy

Physical intimacy specifically since the most I've done is hold hands and lil cute things like that I CRAVE SKINSHIP UNLIKE ANYTHING ELSE

Anyway if anybody made it this far hi feel free to confess ur undying love 2 me

[excerptsfromjournaling]

TV Woman

These feminist books are ripping my eyes open. 

I can’t really watch tv anymore with my brain turned off. I see a couple and I think wow he’s gaslighting her and being controlling and manipulating and showing the red flags for abuse. I see teenagers flirting and I think wow this is really problematic for other teenagers to see because of the subtext and messages it sends about teem sex appeal, the obligation for girls to be sexy, the rigid gender roles it enforces. I see a woman in a neutral environment and all I can see is how made up she is. How she looks less like a woman and more like a costume. A caricature. I can no longer see a woman with manicured hair and carefully clean tanned shaved skin and face unrecognizable under the cake of make up... I can no longer see her as a woman. I see a person wearing a costume of ‘what tv says women should be’.

Woman. And tv woman are completely different species. In the same way house cats exist and saber tooth tigers do not. Tv woman is completely fucking imaginary and she’s traumatising me because I feel like she’s inescapable.

Even if I switch off tv she’s on Pinterest. Even if I hide from social media she’s on the billboards in town. If I try to shop for clothes online she’s there, trying to brainwash me with impossible stomachs and postures taken from pornography. She’s on the wrapper of this product and the side of that bus. She’s everywhere. I see the echo of her when I look at real women on the street. Their poorly applied tan and ill-fitting trendy clothes, their stubbly armpits and bleach blonde dead straight hair.

She’s everywhere.

And the part that makes me feel most uncomfortable is that she’s not real as a person. But she is real as a weapon. She’s a weapon waged against my brain draining my money and energy. She’s a tool the bourgeois rich fucks at the top of society are using against me. Brainwashing me to be compliant. To support them. To be exploited by them.

She’s a weapon used to keep me poor and miserable. And it’s so insidious I almost can’t breathe at the injustice of it.

Someone is actively trying to convince me to buy make up. To buy hair products. To spend 1/3 of my earnings on clothes. To waste an hour of my day keeping myself hairless.

Someone is actively trying to create this empty vacuum inside me so I feel like nothing in my wardrobe is quite right. It’s all just ever so slightly wrong. And of course, retail therapy is the answer. Of course.

Someone smiles when they see me staring at the mirror analysing what hair needs to go away, what work my eyebrows need. They smile when they see me picking apart the strengths and weaknesses of my face like I’m making obsessive edits to an essay. This can stay. This needs work. This needs to be completely reworked. They smile because they know the edits to my face involve me forking out money. To put in their pocket.

They smile because if I comply with the game, I will encourage all those around me to do the same.

It makes me angry to be used as a tool. To be manipulated into helping the very people oppressing me.

It makes me feel alienated to know that if I try to rebel, I will likely be alone. I will not only have to fight back against TV girl, but I will have to fight back against the shadow of her that sits over my friends. I will have to contend with their mindsets and thinking patterns, their beliefs which are now in conflict with mine.

If I try to rebel against tv woman I risk the disapproval of society. The kind that matters. Being taken seriously in the workplace, basic respect and dignity. People will make assumptions about me if I stop putting effort into looking acceptable.

And I’m not sure how much I want to into this rebellion.

[skullshoal]

talking about jobs and stuff again under cut bc its all i talk about and if it’s draining you dont have to read. Not wholesale negative but talking about what i wanna do and my mental state.

So after today’s interview fiasco maybe i will try instead to try and see if i can possibly make patreon a viable supplementary income. I am sick of shitty retail jobs draining all my energy away and killing me. Plus as unhappy as i am at my work i would be a lot less desperate to leave if i just had more fucking money. Especially if i could cut down on my hours there to divert energy to something that doesn’t suck the soul out of my corpse.

I have been wary to try for a long time because i have had so much trouble producing art at the same time as working. I think if I could set up a schedule for myself that people were paying to see my work for I would be much more motivated to make it happen. the want-to versus have-to do something thing. I’m also wary of making art my job since. I just like doing it. I know making something your job changes it. But also if the only other choice is retail then well I am willing to take that risk. I wanted art to be my job anyway this is just a lot more direct. I don’t expect big bucks or anything especially not for a while but my out look on jobs is so so bleak right now. I keep applying to places that actually sound worth while and then i get an interview and its either totally bad or they don’t want me. I’m so fucking frustrated and drained and bleeding out and dying and it’s for minimum wage. I like the store i work at and i think if i try to set up the environment to better suit me then i would be less miserable. if i can ask for a certain amount of days off or that i don’t work cashier anymore that would be better. Right now i feel powerless because i need every second of pay i can get but if i have a different source of income even if smaller maybe i will feel more empowered to ask for things to make my life better.

I haven’t fully given up on leaving. I am just greatly discouraged with my failure to find a decent job rn :( I am mentally ill in a major way and the constant feeling of failure is um. Taking a toll! I am going to a psychiatrist next week and i’m hoping maybe getting on antidepressants will help me even though i’m also worried about how antidepressants can make you feel worse at first. Everything feels hopeless like i am supposed to work forever and never make enough money to enjoy anything in life and it sucks so bad. Hopefully the psychiatrist will open the pathway up to other things like therapy and stuff. It’s so hard to be trying to fix my life and also living in a pandemic and in my mid twenties and transitioning and the country is on fire and like every major event in the last decade. My current job is the longest i’ve stayed at a job. and it’s only 7 months. I’m scared i’ll always have a ticking timer on my head for how long i can stand to do something and it will never be long enough to make anything of it. I’m scared i’ll work shitty retail jobs the rest of my life and never get vacations and retirement and my passions. I’m scared I’ll get more depressed than i am now or than i have ever even been. I’m scared the pandemic will never end and that the government will turn the country to the sea and that all the kind people are gone. I feel powerless to change even the smallest aspects of my life right now and its paralyzing and horrifying and exhausting. I just want to take back some control of my future and my present. I want to enjoy my days off and see my friend’s sometimes. I want to go to the ocean.

Thanks for reading this far. I hope we’ll be ok.

[mmagpye]

One of the first days of school for the semester. Tired. Brain never seems to work. I suppose it’s normal to be tired after listening to and processing information for 5 hours straight. I always feel like I shouldn’t be tired though, and fight it which makes it worse. I think I’m going to try using the pomodoro method more consistently this semester. I’m also trying to make a mental list of the things that drain me of my energy / overstimulate me.... insta, fb, twitter, reddit, opening all of them repeatedly. Most of them have been banished to computer only which helps. The commute is exhausting and it’s such a big time suck that I want to think of a way around it, or a way to use it. It seems like even if I just sit and listen to music I am often more exhausted when I get off anyways, so using that time for rest is not the way. I’m thinking of buying an ipad so that I can try and do my school reading and working on things like that for making life easier. I can’t tell if it’s a true realistic thought or retail impulsive therapy that has me hooked on this idea. Making all of my lunches is also a struggle sometimes and feels like a real hassle during the semester, so I’m just going to buy some packs of food to make my life easier. Like individual yogurts in cups, instead of making everything from as bulk and scratch as possible to not use plastic. I am thankful for a teacher earlier this week who obviously has adhd as much as i do (rare!), and he talked about taking advantage of the schools accommodations and how he wished he had done that / had the option when he was in school. That really convinced me to take a direct look at what school can provide me in that realm, and that I don’t have to white knuckle everything which has always been my perspective. 

[celestialsaturn]

🌜Moon in the houses🌛:

Moon in the 1st house:

🦋Very emotive beings, you wear your heart on your sleeve.

🦋Tend to have softer, fuller features.

🦋Senstive, and prone to mood swings, that everyone picks up on.

🦋Give off nurturing/maternal vibes.

Moon in the 2nd house:

🥮Logic prevails over emotions when it comes to decision making. Tend to be very objective individuals.

🥮May have trouble expressing their emotions in a healthy manner, due to the fact that they intellectualise their feelings, this can lead to them using retail therapy as a coping mechanism.

🥮A lot of people with this placement have great singing voices because, the moon brings soul, depth and emotion into their voice as the second house rules the throat.

🥮These individuals have an eye for beauty. Probably have an interest in interior design.

Moon in the 3rd house:

💌Strong desire to express themselves through poems, prose, etc. Very skilled at putting their emotions to paper. Could make excellent song writers.

💌Can be very wishy-washy with their view points, and are easily swayed. Some with this placement don’t take the time to get all the facts before making a stance.

💌Emotional attachment to siblings. Usually have a strong bond depending on how the moon is aspected.

💌 Tend to be great communicators and mediators.

Moon in the 4th house:

This placement is so cute to me 😩😩.

🤱Home is truly where the heart is for these individuals. They have strong familial bonds and an especially strong relationship with their mother.

🤱Y’all have the tendency to form an emotional attachment to things that bring nostalgia, such as, your hometown or antiques.

🤱These individuals probably love working from home. Their home is their sanctuary.

🤱Y’all usually deal with your emotions in a healthy manner, however your inner peace is dependent on domestic harmony and stability. If their home environment is disrupted this will affect them deeply.

Moon in the 5th house:

🎭This placement usually indicates that one will have many children. Y’all are great with kids and will have a strong bond with your own (if you choose to have them.)

🎭Very creative souls. Probably would excel on stage, as they are able to channel a wide array of emotions on command, making them excellent actors.

🎭These individuals have a strong desire for emotional fulfilment and the source tends to be superficial relationships that burn out quickly.

🎭Probably have a fun and light hearted relationship with your mother, or she could have been a total stage mom.

Moon in the 6th house:

🧼 Emotional fulfilment is gained by serving others. This can lead to one being a workaholic or in a one sided relationship. Either way it leaves you feeling drained. Make sure to prioritise yourself.

🧼Need to stick to a routine. If your schedule is disrupted it makes you feel as though you are unable to be productive.

🧼Stemming from the previous point, y’all tend to be very moody as minor changes set you off.

🧼 Probably perfectionists. You might feel as though you are letting others down if you don’t strive for perfection.

Moon in the 7th house:

👯Your partner will probably be nurturing and caring. They could give off a maternal vibe.

👯When it comes to work, you strive in partnerships or group projects.

👯Like the fifth house placement, emotional fulfilment is gained through relationships, however these individuals tend to have the future in mind, and are in constant search for their soul mate.

👯Empthatic individuals. Probably give good relationship advice.

Moon in the 8th house:

💄Very strong individuals. They keep a cool head in times of crisis and can overcome just about anything.

💄Their loyalty runs deep. Don’t ever make the mistake of crossing them.

💄Tend to make strong emotional attachments and their love is intense. Very sensual beings. There is a dark intensity that lies beneath their surface that draws people to them.

💄May have trouble with letting go of the past. They dwell on things they have no control over, causing even more frustration.

Moon in the 9th house:

🧳Emotional fulfilment is gained through learning. These individuals are curious about the world around them, and have a strong desire to explore and create enriching life experiences.

🧳Y’all yearn to travel, and see what the rest of the world has to offer. It is likely that you will settle abroad.

🧳Probably upfront, honest and blunt when it comes to expressing their emotions.

🧳Very restless individuals, this might lead them to roam from one country/profession to the other in search of emotional satisfaction.

Moon in the 10th:

♟Emotional fulfilment is tied to their career and/or success.

♟Probably feel the need to change professions in order to find emotional satisfaction. Career based decisions tend to be made based on emotions.

♟It is likely that your mother was very authoritative and your father had a softer disposition.

♟These individuals might find themselves along a career path which involves caring for others.

Moon in the 11th house:

🍻Emotional fulfilment is tied to a sense of belonging. You crave the feeling of acceptance and understanding from others.

🍻Strong emotional bond with your friends. You rely on them for support and guidance.

🍻Very optimistic outlook on the future, however your goals tend to change quickly making it hard to see your good hearted aspirations come to fruition.

🍻A humanitarian at heart.

Moon in the 12th house:

🍼These individuals swing from one side of the spectrum to the other. They either completely shut out their emotions and prevent themselves from processing their feelings. Or their emotions shroud their thoughts and become suffocating.

🍼It is hard for you to express how you are feeling to others as you are still trying to make sense of it all on your own.

🍼These individuals tend to be hypersensitive to their surroundings, thus they need a lot of time on their own to recharge.

🍼Y’all hate when people try to pry and ask questions about how you are feeling. You might think their advances are disingenuous or that they have a hidden agenda.

[theschizoidblog]

Schizoids at work – tips for schizoids and their employers

Blog 5: 22/09/2020

When it comes to Schizoid Personality Disorder, I find there’s so little info online on how to deal with it. While not all schizoids are comfortable holding jobs, many love to work for the income it provides, which in turn gives them the opportunity to have their own little haven without starving. (Ah, the joys of capitalism!) Some even really enjoy the challenge their job provides. Others suffer through jobs that aren’t a good match for them.

In this blog I want to give tips to employers about how to deal with schizoid employees, and to the schizoid employees themselves - don’t worry, you’re an asset!

(Also a quick note: covert schizoids are the ones you’re most likely to encounter on the workfloor, overt schizoids usually have it a little harder with fitting in.) (I can’t speak from experience there since I fall in the covert category.)

Now, the chance that an employee will tell you they’re schizoid, is minimal. First off, many don’t seek out therapy and thus don’t even know they are schizoid. (I didn’t know until I was 36.) Second, those that know they’re schizoid, will often feel like they can’t trust you with something as personal. Third, in some cultures it’s a big taboo to talk about mental health, especially if you have something that is labeled a ‘disorder’, and thus they will not tell you because they fear you would just fire them.

But in the rare occasion that your employee opens up to you about schizoid personality disorder, at least now you have this bit of advice from a schizoid who’s been employed in two countries (Belgium and the Netherlands), in a few different sectors and who has been in situations where the employer did not know, and is currently in one where the employer does know.

To the employer

First off, don’t be terrified or apprehensive if an employee tells you they are schizoid. Schizoids are better rooted in reality than most people and don’t suffer from delusions or paranoia like certain other personality disorders. They’re often quiet observers, analytical, witty… if they dare to open up in your company!

While it’s called a disorder, it doesn’t necessarily require medication or a great deal of therapy – it’s a state of being. If someone tells you they’re a schizoid, what they are saying is that company can drain them, that they are immune to most forms of peer pressure, that they don’t mind not talking to people.

Keep in mind that Schizoid Personality Disorder can be accompanied by depression, PTSD, anxiety and other comorbidities. While a schizoid seems emotionless most of the time, when your schizoid is suddenly crying at work, it’s possible you triggered some PTSD and that’s why they’re unable to perform well. But a schizoid without any comorbidities should, in theory, give you less trouble than any other employee.

You might think “humans are social beings”, but the same can’t be said for schizoids. We operate in a world where most people around us are just different from us, and accommodating to their social needs can exhaust us. (And in my experience that part gets worse with age.) We’re not very social beings. We get energy from being alone.

Consider us the ultimate introvert, while most managers and CEO’s I’ve met are on the other side of the spectrum, massive extraverts. To explain that bit: Did you find the lockdown horrible? Did you find it draining to talk to your employees online instead of at the coffee machine? Well, for a schizoid it’s often the other way around. Talking to colleagues through chat online is easier, more fun and less draining than talking to them at the coffee machine, and while you get energy from those conversations in the lunch room, they drain the schizoid person. We’re wired a little differently, so keep that in mind.

As an employer, you want to get the most out of your working relationship with anyone in your company. For schizoids, like other employees, you can just ask them what they feel or think, but in some cases schizoids will try to avoid conflict, and thus just say what you want to hear or not appear analytical at all. If they don’t trust you, I wish you the best of luck in getting them to open up. (You’ll need it.)

Especially young schizoids have not yet learned from experience to open up and might not indicate when things aren’t working out for them when they see it’s working out for their other colleagues. While immune to peer pressure (they might not eat the birthday cake everyone is having when they dislike it, or conform to the same clothing standard of the rest of the company when it’s not a strict rule), they will avoid conflict and thus they might not be fully upfront if the new work islands are ruining their concentration or when you place them among the loudest colleagues in the group and they just suffer quietly between them.

So in general, ask them whatever you like and be open and honest, and with any luck the schizoid will be self-critical, open and honest in return to you.

Ideal jobs for schizoids would be jobs they can do alone, like being a night guard, administrative jobs they can do from home, or jobs with animals or in nature. But that doesn’t mean that that’s all they’re good for. Plenty of schizoids work in retail, customer support, elderly homes, healthcare, IT, or are teachers, lawyers, even psychologists themselves! Having Schizoid Personality Disorder should never be an excuse to fire someone from a job, because it’s not a reason as long as the schizoid is doing their job well.

Practically

Feedback moments

Schizoids have their walls up very high, nearlly all the time. During feedback moments, that’s true as well. Give your feedback, but don’t expect to see shock, anger, sadness, relief or happiness on the face of the schizoid. They might not respond differently to your praise or criticism than if you were to recite the alphabet to them. Ask them what they will do about the issue and they’ll probably come up with a solution themselves or give you the acknowledgement that you wanted to hear that they understand the problem now.

Whatever you do, don’t get harder and meaner in your feedback because you see no response. Someone once did that to me and it triggered PTSD that I’ve been coping with for 15 years now. I did not realize why my employer was so mean to me, but now I realize that I must have sat there like a zombie, hardly acknowledging his feedback with any visual cues, and he felt a need to “drive it home” to the point where my body is now convinced I’m being sent to a war zone when my employer says it’s time for my yearly evaluation.

Control/manage

Schizoids don’t enjoy other people controlling everything they do. I’ve worked in helpdesk situations and do great in situations where I’m not given specific scripts to stick to. It makes for a better customer experience too and I get the job done and I get it done well. By forcing scripts on schizoids (but probably on plenty of regular folks too), you’re destroying motivation and only making the job harder. Let the schizoid do their job and use their magnificent brain, they’ll figure it out. Be there as a person they can come to for help. Tell them they can always ask for help or advice, and they’ll ask it if they need it, but don’t try to be too authoritarian, it usually doesn’t stick well with the schizoid and they’ll just learn to dodge you instead.

Flexibility in shifts

One of the biggest advantages of having a schizoid employee is that they might be willing to work Sundays or Saturdays or evenings or nights while others prefer to spend that time with family or going to the bar. I volunteered to work on Sundays and evenings because if I work on Sundays, I don’t have to go to carnival get-togethers with the family (huzzah!), and evenings because then I don’t have to work with all my colleagues together at once, but I just have one other colleague around and it’s quiet and I can listen to music.

I’m also the go-to-person for my colleagues when they have an evening shift they need to switch in case of emergency. I don’t mind switching from morning to evening. (I’m also an evening person so my efficiency will be better if I work late shifts compared to when I work early shifts.)

So while a schizoid person might not enjoy being in large groups, don’t say they’re not team players! They will gladly help out the company when they can, as long as they’re not being taken advantage of.

Dinners/parties/celebrations/team buildings

Every company has reason to celebrate at times and sometimes you want to thank your employees for their hard work with a nice party or event. A schizoid might not like every type of party or teambuilding though. I’ve been to a few I really enjoyed, but others where I was like “can I just work instead?” We did a very intimate speeddating teambuilding with our closest colleagues which I really enjoyed (wait, what, a schizoid enjoying a speeddating sort of thing? – I liked it because it wasn’t small talk but really witty questions that you could discuss with colleagues.), but there are sometimes also parties where the entire company is there and that are just too many people whose name I don’t know and whom I don’t fully trust, with music I don’t like and lots of drunk people, so I’ll rather bail out of those. Basically, my tip would be: definitely extend the invitation for the event, but if they say “no”, that’s that and don’t take it personal. (Also, they once didn’t ask me to go to a party because they know I never go anyways, and then I was a little sad they hadn’t asked me. I’d still like to say no and feel included. ;-))

Privacy

Most employees like to know a lot about the private life of their employers. Schizoids might not share a great deal. They like to keep work and private life separate, but let’s be real here: there’s often not a great deal going on either. Asking “What did you do in the weekend?” might result in a slightly annoyed schizoid. They probably didn’t do anything you’re interested in hearing. They probably had food. Watched shows or played games. Slept. A lot. And that’s what they might do for the next 51 weekends of the year as well. Don’t invite yourself over uninvited either, I never open the door unless I know someone’s coming. It’s not even something personal, it’s just that home is sacred and I wouldn’t even open the door to my elderly grandmother.

Someone else said that intrusion upon privacy is even something they consider offensive, so best not to do it!

But, if you’re patient, you will get to know your schizoid employee better. We just open up slower than most, so don’t pressure it, we’ll tell you what we want to tell you when the time is right.

Carpooling

I think carpooling is great for nature but from a personal point of view I hate it. Some companies are big on carpooling, sometimes to events. One schizoid told me she drove 6 hours to go to a company event because she didn’t want to take a flight and sit next to a talkative colleague. That’s how much we prefer to be alone when travelling sometimes. For some schizoids it’s the only time they have alone. At home they might not live alone, at work they’re never alone, and thus that time in the car is sacred to them, the only moment they can recharge a bit and be alone with their mind. (I have the same with lunch break, I usually take my lunch alone, just to recharge a bit. It’s nothing personal, I just need the me-time.)

Ambition

When asking a schizoid where he or she sees themselves in a few years, they might offer a blank answer. Schizoids don’t have a great deal of ambition. They will rarely say they see themselves as a manager or anything of the sort, instead they’ll express they’ll be good employees with a good knowledge of all systems and such. Don’t expect your schizoid to be ambitious – they might be perfectly happy with an entrance-level job.

Please do not mistake this as a sign they have no interest in the company or in their own career with the company. They just can’t imagine a lot of things changing very fast in their career path.

Mediators and Listeners

Schizoids are great mediators and listeners. If you have a problem, tell them the problem and wait for their pearls of wisdom. They’ve been observing society for their entire lives, even if they’re not very social people, they understand society better than most. They’re also very good listeners and will earn a lot of trust from their fellow colleagues that way if they open themselves up to them. Just be mindful at the same time that you’re not expecting them to do a specific job AND sit them down next to people that love to talk, because those people will love to take advantage of the fact they’re great listeners and get their own egg out of their system. Not a lot of work will get done then.

Bonding with colleagues

If you want a schizoid to bond with colleagues, it’s not really going to happen if they work 9 to 5 with 10 other colleagues in the same room. They’ll become part of the wallpaper. If you want them to bond, then let them work with other colleagues in 1-1 situations where it’s just the schizoid and the other colleague. For me, that’s during my late shifts and weekend shifts that I’m usually alone with one other colleague, and that way they get to know you in a non-intrusive way. For me it always works better that way then if I spent a regular 9 to 5 job among a large group of people.

  Open Office

One of the hypes that I really dislike on the work floor are all the “islands” and “open workspaces” they have now. Everyone is stuck in the same room, often very close to one another, and it’s often loud (even when everyone is trying to be quiet) and distracting. A manager is like “but I want people to play off of one another!”, but to a schizoid it just means they can’t think properly and they lose track of what they’re doing and they need to listen to conversations from other colleagues about their kids that are going through college or the soccer match of their youngest. I once worked somewhere where not only half my colleagues were constantly on the phone, but the others were not allowed ear plugs to listen to music because the team lead wanted folks to listen and talk to one another. Needless to say, in a room of IT’ers that decision was not appreciated. IT’ers in generals are very introverted, at least allow them ear plugs to listen to music if they’re in a loud environment, you can’t afford to have them fuck up because they can’t focus. (Not to mention that now with covid a lot of open offices are like ‘oh, maybe we should not have had everyone in one big area, maybe we should have at least kept a few smaller offices with walls in between them….’)

Meetings

 If you are having weekly meetings with your team, let me just tell you now, so your schizoid doesn’t need to tell you: your meetings are boring as hell and repetitive. It’s more efficient to have brief meetings when new things are happening or problems need fixing. Weekly meetings where you go over the same agenda each week aren’t really necessary, the neurotypicals are just abusing the fact they don’t have to work for an hour. :-P I felt like someone needed to say it, even if it’s not even a schizoid thing to remark. Sorry, managers. Monthly meetings are more than enough in most workplaces. 

To the schizoid

Whether or not it’s wise to tell an employer that you have SPD depends on many things. I notice that culturally there are big differences. In Belgium and the Netherlands I feel like there’s a very open attitude among millennials regarding mental health. When I told my employer I was going to a therapist because I wanted to explain my anger outbursts and PTSD and I wanted to learn how to control them better, I got nothing but praise about how brave I was to take the first step and to talk about it so openly and to trust them with the news.

It took quite some time before I had the schizoid diagnosis, and after processing it myself, I also told the same team lead about what they’d found and what it meant. She’s a big extravert so it was rather funny comparing and explaining it to her, but she was intrigued and also confirmed that even if I am a schizoid, I’m still a teamplayer and my strengths are the weaknesses of others (and the other way around.)

When working in a team, there’s room for everyone and schizoids aren’t toxic people or anything of the sort. We can be barometers to sense the mood in a room and whether something is wrong in a team. 

With all of us working from home with covid, my lead has also seen proof in my numbers that I perform better when alone at home than when I’m at the office in an open space. She’s also thinking of, when covid ends, letting me work from home several days a week and no longer having me come into the office four days a week. (On Sunday I always worked from home anyways.) Maybe when covid is over I’ll just be asked to come over one or two days a week.

Personally I think there are more advantages than disadvantages for companies that hire us.

However, it really depends on the company. Ten years ago, I’ve worked in a company where I saw people go if they had diagnosis of ADHD or other much milder things, where they were laid off and told to pack their stuff. Not necessarily the moment they opened up, but they never remained for longer than a year after that. Some companies do not welcome diversity or folks that decide to have such an open dialogue with their employers. 

In my opinion, if you’re a schizoid and babyboomers are in charge, I don’t think it wise to open up. They do not like diversity or just folks that ask attention for their own mental health in the same way millennials do. They don’t see it as an advantage but as a disability to their own company. They don’t want folks to ask any work from them, they like it as a one-way street. They don’t want folks with labels. And some labels are more harmful than others. Personally I don’t think schizoid is a harmful label, as long as your employer does not confuse it with schizophrenic. And some employers will think a label, for the sake of having one, is already a bad thing.

How people look at personality disorders also depends on the country you are from. Belgium and the Netherlands are rather open (- especially the Netherlands). In the Netherlands they often say: “Alles is bespreekbaar”, which means that you can talk about anything, without judgement. If you admit something weird or extravert, you’re sooner called ‘brave’ than ‘weird’. Or you’re called both, affectionately.

Political climate at your job/in your country is also a means to predict how well it will be received when you admit to having a disorder. The more to the left, the less folks will make a fuss, the more to the right, the more they’ll think it better to exclude those that are different.

If you decide to never tell your employer, that’s perfectly fine. If you are happy in your job, why would you? If you are not in therapy or anything of the sort, there’s very little reason to tell them.

I’m very open about my current treatment as well, and now that I’m in EMDR treatment it’s possible I’ll have days of emotional turmoil and thus lessened productivity. I warned them in advance so that if it happened, they’d know about it. With my PTSD attacks increasing, we also agreed that I could just tell them “having an attack” or something of the sort, and then they’d know what I was doing to self-care and that I’d be back asap. (But it helps not having to explain everything from the start in that very moment, since that’s counterproductive.)

Or as we say in Dutch “goede afspraken maken goede vrienden” – meaning that good agreements make good friends. We got agreements on what to do in certain unexpected situations so that if a PTSD attack happens, they know exactly what to expect from me with just a word.

I realize such a good relationship with superiors at work is rare - I’ve had a lot of jobs before I landed this one and some were straight-out toxic. I would not recommend opening up in an environment where folks will use it as a means to pick on you. Luckily not all workplaces are like that, and I hope you find such a place! 

Conclusion

Schizoids are hard workers that just want to make some money so they can support themselves. They might not be very social at work but they can make up for it by being a team player who doesn’t mind taking over unwanted shifts. They thrive when working at home, alone and don’t need constant supervision. They can be insightful and are good observers, and they are peacekeepers within the group. You won’t catch them having fights with colleagues. Since they read the mood in a room very well, if your schizoid is closing off completely or looking ill at ease, that’s probably a sign that the mood on your work floor isn’t great. There could be some toxic people out there that are preventing the schizoid from opening up at all and those same people could be ruining the mood for others as well. (Or worse: a toxic leadership style is also possible.)

If you have further tips or questions, my inbox is always open! I’m certain there are many more tips to give, and not every tip will be effective for every schizoid. (I suppose this is more for the covert schizoid, like myself, as opposed to tips for helping the overt schizoids.) None the less I hope it’s helpful and that if you have a schizoid employee, you now know there’s no reason to panic!

[shhhhhskars]

See You Again

This is a new piece I have been working on that’s been floating about in my head. I’ve broken it up into two pieces...It’s set a little further into their relationship. Stay tuned for Part 2 and enjoy.

Long days that bled into the evening were typical as of late. As bodies began to flood the streets in the city, eager to get home during that awful, congested five o’clock rush hour- she was just taking a quick break from the office to grab another coffee at the cart on the corner, so she could get some caffeine in her to finish up. Things in her life came in waves, and right now, she was drowning at work, and usually, she didn’t mind the high volume. It was actually soothing to her, to have more to do, something to focus her energy on. But there was a catch. Alexander was off right now, and the timing couldn’t have been much worse.

New York City was his home-base, but his career was a glowing beacon that he followed through and through. His work was pressing, and required a lot of movement and rigor on his part, and she loved being over worked when he was gone. Right now, however, she couldn’t believe the universe was coming for her neck like this. He was always up to something. If not on a new project, he would at the very least be absorbing a new script. But right now he was free- a nice, long two weeks with a vacant schedule, that he requested from his agent, just to get some quality time. Quality time. His love language. She learned quickly that his way of receiving love was her un-filtered, undivided attention. Perhaps it was the fact that he had to travel more often than he even wanted at times, or maybe it was just him, a quality that he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried. He craved it, he needed it, to balance him out. So, he developed a habit of requesting bouts of time off, that he could dedicate to being at home, just lazing around with her.

Usually, it worked perfectly. She had no problem sharing her time with him, even if it took some adjusting initially. She liked being around her giant guy. Unplugging from the world entirely, except for him. Shutting her phone off, or tucking it somewhere she couldn’t see for a while. It was a modern luxury, stepping away from the technology, and enjoying the company of someone else. Talking to them, and really listening. It was how some of their deepest conversations came about. How they slowly built their trust with one another, realizing that they had found a safe place within each other. That they didn’t have to perform, instead, they could just be. The Swede always had something to chat about, some interesting point to raise about the latest novel he picked up or podcast he had stumbled on. And those tiny little points would lead to hours of conversation, snuggled up in his bed, super late at night, stoned out of their minds.

But there was a first time for everything- and right now, her schedule was biting her in her ass. Her time with Alexander had been next to nothing since he’d been home, and she was aching to see him. But not just see him, she wanted to give him what he needed. It was biting at her, the fact that she couldn’t be as present as she wanted to be, but she was convinced she would make it happen. She would come through, with the S on her chest, and that was her prerogative when she clocked out for the day, mentally drained. Nevertheless, she persisted, heels tapping away at the sidewalk, stopping in at Magnolia Bakery to grab his favorite Tiramisu. The man had such a sweet tooth, it was a shame, but she had a thing for appeasing him, and his naughty little habits included.

She had absolutely no plans of stopping at her favorite lingerie shop, but, it was just few paces down from Magnolia....oh fuck, who was she kidding? Of course she was going to drop in there, she was a well known customer, if we’re being honest, and when did a little retail therapy ever hurt anyone? She opted for a lacy little number that she was sure he would adore on her- a high cut on the hips that would accentuate her waist, with crisp, black lace woven into the edges. The top was much more simple, much more her style. Alexander was the one who liked the bells and whistles when it came to the intimate pieces she chose, it amused him and his eyes lit right up. The top however, featured barely any lace, instead, it was mostly a soft blend of cotton and spandex, which revealed an overly generous, lifted cleavage. A tight garter belt completed the number. Black was beautiful, and always timeless, and she felt anxious to get into it tonight for him, to see his reaction to her curves in the damn thing. As far as she was concerned, she was wearing this piece one way or another, tonight.

She wiggled her key into the latch, finding the the sweet spot and entering the large Brownstone, nestled on a quiet street in the East Village. Work tote straining on her shoulder and hands full of bags, she shut the door behind her with a soft thud. “Hooooney, I’m home,” she yelled out, eager to hear him call back to her.

Instead there was an eerie silence that followed, and she paused in the foyer before slipping out of her heels, still awkwardly holding her bags. She felt a twinge of sadness, the place was inexplicably quiet, and she could feel that he wasn’t there, that he was somewhere else. Normally, the television would be running, or the Bluetooth speaker would be on, belting out some faint Lo-Fi to warm the space up. An incense burning, at the very least, or some sage. But instead, it was radio silence. 

She sighed, taking herself through the arched walk way, the high ceilings she loved so much felt suddenly much lower, more closed in. It dawned on her as she traveled into the sitting room that he might have truly just went out. The couch was perfectly assembled, pillows propped and fluffed neatly, the way she showed him. The throw was folded neatly, and clearly hadn’t been in use today...and still, there was no Alex calling back to her, or emerging from the office, or anything like that.She sighed deeply, taking a second to accept defeat. The bags felt heavier in her hands now, and she dropped them at the foot of the stairs before grasped at the banister to make her way to the bedroom to get out of her work clothes and take a rinse.

**

When she came back downstairs, she was feeling refreshed. The soothing cold shower made her sore muscles feel relaxed again, and she didn’t even bother texting Alexander. He hadn’t texted her, so she figured he needed space, or something. She couldn’t shake him the entire shower, and just stood in there for a while. Stood and wrapped her arms around herself, giving her self a hug, and a pat on the back, her attempt at physically transferring some self-love to her body. She maintained her pragmatic mindset however, and managed to talk herself down. She got out of the shower feeling better, that Alexander was a grown ass man and entitled to make his own movements, as was she. She slipped into a pair of his boxers and a baggy tee shirt, with some fuzzy socks for emotional support. A bottle of wine sounded about right, for this night.

She clicked on the kitchen light, heading to the fridge to put the dessert she had gotten him away, when she saw it. 

It was a yellow sticky note. Her eyes narrowed, and she realized she hadn’t stepped into the kitchen since she got home. She felt relief, and a little smile creeping on her lips- he had at the very least left a note explaining his whereabouts, which was cool with her. She resumed putting the cake away and snatched the note off the counter, shocked at how eager she was to read his infamous scribble. Meet me on the terrace at 9. I miss you. It was such a simple request, scrawled on the tiny post-it note, and pasted for her to run into. Her brain was so fatigued that she couldn’t even remember what day it was, let alone the hour, and she couldn’t help but shake her head and let out a soft sigh of relief, he was home, he hadn’t left without warning, and he was most definitely up to something...

[tiphansia]

long and negative post under the cut that’s just a giant wall of text with no breaks lmao

ah lads now i’ve really done it, accidentally left myself unmuted in the voice chat of a discord server of online friends to whom I never said a word about being trans. In fact I lied about it, when asked earlier I said I was a cis dude. I even played up being a little homophobic/transphobic as a joke to reinforce the perception of cis-ness. But now they’ve found out I’m actually trans which is the most wildly humiliating thing that could happen to me on there. This sucks ahah god now they’re going to think of me differently and accidentally misgender me sometimes like they do with the other trans people in the server which i don’t mind in principle but the big problem is that it means they aren’t perceiving me as male anymore which. Really sucks. God it’s really my fault for lying to them but all I wanted was to be treated as normal. That’s not a crime, right? All I wanted was to be one of them and not a weird outsider like how they treat the other trans dudes. I feel like I’ve betrayed my own kind in some way. I even have an irrational hatred towards everyone who heard me, which is completely stupid given that it’s my fault for leaving myself unmuted. I wish they would hate me because it would make me feel a lot better if they did, but no one is mad at me and it’s making me feel sick. Hmm. Privileged problems, right? I know people out there have it worse than me and that I don’t even deserve to feel sad about this because nothing bad has ever happened to me in my entire life but still. I can’t help but be sad, and it makes me feel better to post this into the unfeeling void. Might get hate for this, but I really wish conversion therapy actually worked and was legal, I’d be the first in line to sign myself up. To me, the thought of becoming a woman makes me absolutely scared and sick, and therefore I am scared of conversion therapy in this hypothetical scenario, but just like dying, once it’s over I won’t care anymore. So it’s the most logical thing to wish for out of all my stupid fantasies, even though it’s the most painful one. My other fantasy is to go back in time and mess with my dna so that I’d grow up a cis boy, but of course that’s impossible. I once saw a post about how any religion that touts the idea of suffering as a virtue is one to be wary of, but I subscribe to that idea myself. Even though I don’t really have much real pain in my life since it’s not like being trans is actually the worst thing in the world (to me it is the ultimate shame), the idea that my being trans (very minor pain compared to others I know) is somehow a test of my character comforts me. I don’t know what scares me more, the fact that I’ll be like this my entire life, or the idea that it’s temporary, I’ll detransition, and all this pain was just made up for nothing. I also don’t believe in god logically, but whenever I’m in pain it’s comforting to think that there’s someone I can talk to, even if no one is actually listening. I think the most use that could come out of my life would be as a murder victim of a trans hate crime, so people can use my death to advance the cause. At least I’d be doing something useful for once. I think I’d make a fine martyr, too. I feel subhuman a lot of times, like everyone around me is looking at me and speaking to me without noticing that I’m a cursed and rotten creature to be crushed under their shoes. I almost wish people would hate me more so I wouldn’t feel like such a liar all the time, even though really I’m not lying about anything. I feel though that even by attempting to pass as male, I’m deceiving people. I’m a man inside I know but it’s so hard to even say the words or even think them because of this stupid shell of perception. I look and sound like Minnie mouse, anyone I told would burst out laughing if I told them: “I’m a man.” God, it even sounds so stupid here. I get by by presenting as ambiguously as possible, and saying nothing about pronouns unless directly asked. I’m such a pussy, not strong enough to stay female-presenting, too weak to correct pronouns and perception, and not even man enough to kill myself when I should have. It’s been 3 or 4 years since I was severely suicidal, and still I think life would not have changed for those around me if I had died then. I still wish I’d killed myself then, or at least tried. It’s kind of my life motto at this point: “Too pussy to do anything”. Even now as the grand landmark age of 18 draws near, all the hopes I placed on it in years past are evaporating. I told myself, “When we’re 18 we can get on hormones, we can change are name, we can finally live a full life”. And now, life’s realities are becoming clear. Transition with what money? And how are we going to deal with the family? I’d rather die than come out, but I’d also rather die than not transition. Real sticky situation we got here. Looks like I won’t be able to transition until my late 20s, which is horrifyingly far away to me. I thought I couldn’t make it until 18, but here I (almost) am. I know I can make it until then, but it makes me so unbelievably sad, and I can already imagine the amount of suffering in my future between now and then. Plus, I was on track to have a beautiful and privileged life. Was a 4.0 student, in multiple honors societies, great standardized test scores, the works. Now I’m none of that except the test scores  due to me being a dumb piece of shit this entire school year and letting my half a decade of hard work swirl down the drain along with my life prospects. Hell, it’s starting to look like I’m gonna be a highschool dropout. Me! It’s unthinkable. I’m gonna end up working in retail or at mcdonalds or something and while all work is honorable work, I’m not going to be making enough to fucking live off of, much less transition. I was set up for greatness, man. I let everyone down cause. Well, I don’t even know what happened,w as probably depressed or something but I can’t remember most of this entire school year so I’m not sure. Being trans ruined everything for me. I wouldn’t have ever even been depressed if I wasn’t trans. I’d be in the qualifying race for the cross country junior olympics if it wasn’t for being trans. To be honest I miss track, but guess what! You’re trans, no sex-segregated sports for you. You either have to come out and do sports with your chosen gender, or stay closeted to your parents and out yourself as a tranny to your entire fucking high school. I mean sure the whole world’s probably thinking, “Boo fucking hoo tumblr user tiphansia, let me play you a song on the world’s tiniest violin, those are first world problems” and yeah they certainly are but it doesn’t make it any less upsetting to me. Just let me have my little pity party in my little corner of the internet. I miss my online friends. Normally my response to anything painful that has to do with my being trans is just denial denial denial until even I forget the event, but I’m pretty sure my brain can’t take any more forgetting. I’ve forgotten this entire year I can’t do this anymore. I have to be strong and face it and stop being a pussy. I hope it turns out well for me. and for whoever made it this far reading hope your life goes well too. Thanks for listening. Goodnight.

[thrallsnpuppets]

Weird Cinderella moment but not really.

I am handicapped. I had to have reconstructive surgery on my legs for vestigial heels as a result of a neurological problem.

Finding shoes that fit have always been a trigger of anxiety for me. In the past, I have been made to feel bad because i only used 'half the shoe' at full price.

I internalized that so after my surgery I was very excited to be able to try out other shoes that didn't make me feel like a broken RoboCop.

To no avail, my feet are still deformed from having to walk without heels.

So for like 20 something years, I find shoe shopping to be a point of contention and eventually learned to settle for shoes that simply didn't hurt.

As a result, I can't wear flats, heels, converse, certain cuts of boots, running shoes, sandals, really any shoe that has a strap over the arch, and basically all women's shoes. It must have arch support and cushioning around the heels to prevent rubbing of surgical scar tissue.

Wearing men's shoes became my norm. To me, it's not really a big deal but most common retail for men's shoes are less than cute. Sometimes a witch just wants to wear pretty sandals with a sundress.

Lo, it is not practical.

To be honest, before I was married, my shoe choice had frequently come up as topic of discussion with my dates. (I wore steel toe boots most of the time when I wasn't wearing gym shoes for physical therapy and no I didn't discuss my health on dates.) My choices were dull, out of place for whatever outfit, and made me taller. men's shoes provided an extra 1/2 inch of lift on average in my experience and since I'm above average in height for an American female it sometimes made me eye to eye with the men i was dating. [It was never a problem or a point with the women I went on dates with.]

I blew them off. I bought my shoes so I was going to wear what made me ... Comfortable.

So, along comes my now husband whom insists on caring needlessly about almost everything.

He thought I was intentionally depriving myself of nice things based off of some of my financial/economic idealogy combined with insecurities. And this was before I talked about my handicaps.

Some of you might be wondering why I hid any of that in the first place and those of you with physical handicaps or chronic health problems don't really need an explanation.

For me, it was trying to create a separate identity from my health issues i had since a young child and that most people I grew up with tended to attribute these symptoms as my entire personality. So, I experimented in my dating life with those whom didnt know my medical history to see if I would always be "the sick kid" or if it was entirely circumstancial. I couldnt carry out these social experiments with or at school or I'm social outings because I was absent and in hospital often. (And some people who knew about it bullied me despite trending empathy.)

(Good news, my conclusion is that individual response is mostly circumstancial based off of 'blind' studies. Much of the situational outcome was a feeling of betrayal... on their part for 'not being honest' from the start. I'm not a nun in personality so a gentle smol flower i am not. My relationships were intentionally not physical so sometimes they were emotionally incompatible. occasionally, the added physical handicaps became a breaking point for some of the individuals I had dated. It's hard for me to blame them and I don't. Argue that as you please but it seems irrational to guilt somebody into a relationship because they don't like me for being dishonest about a pivotal aspect of my life. If they were accepting of it cool. If they weren't accepting of it, the end of the relationship is best for both parties.)

I digress.

My new boyfriend (now husband) wanted to buy me new shoes after finding how deteriorated my favorites were. He specifically made a point of helping me find shoes that I liked and he would buy them.

Que me getting really grumpy about that but the gesture was sweet. Earlier in that week is when I decided to 'reveal' my deformities. Honestly, it caught him by surprise (like others whom I have told because years of physical therapy taught me to articulate walking motions effecienty though my legs still feel like QWERTY most days.) Then, for the first time, I explained to a male lover why I wear men's shoes.

He believed that I didn't ever have proper help finding shoes. (After meeting my parents and making a judgement on that.) I didn't have the heart to tell him that I have been buying my own shoes for the last few years because my parents insisted I just had "fat feet". (Denial is strong with ambitious parents of a handicap child, even after twenty something years.)

Resolutely, I decided to bear it and let him go through the whole process of having me try on pretty shoes that may or may not fit. (I knew the shoes wouldn't fit but this was the first time someone was going through this defeating process with me so I went with it.)

I tried on over a dozen shoes of varying sizes and cut. Each one never fitting properly. Mostly because, they were women's shoes. This took over an hour. I was emotionally drained and so was this man.

At one point he stopped and stared at the array of shoes beside me each with a different reason of why I can't wear them.

He looked at my old broken in boots, then back at the dainty women's shoes around me. I had been quiet for sometime now. I have already been through this process several times before and had sobbed about it on multiple occasions on shoe shopping trips right after my surgery (main reason why my parents insisted I just buy them by myself.) As an adult, I settled for practicality and reserved my sullen reservations for when i returned home.

I waited as he crunched the numbers in his head, kneeling by my feet and rubbing his chin in contemplation.

"are the sizes too small?" He pondered.

"my feet aren't that long." I uttered.

"Why don't these ones work?" He pointed at a pair of tennis shoes.

"to get the shoe to close all the way requires me to tighten the laces so hard across my arch it makes my toes go numb." I replied.

"and a bigger size won't help?" He furrowed his brow.

"the size differences don't include depth of the shoe and arch height." I said, "it's why I wear men's or boys shoes. They're deeper with more support even if they're a bit too big in length."

"I can tell you from personal experience that men's shoes are dull and not cute." He said earnestly.

I guffawed. I know he meant well but that wasn't the first time I bought a pair of men's shoes. Still, he carried a look of defeat. He had wanted to do something he thought was nice and buy me a cute pair of shoes because he thought it'd make me happy.

I'm not trying to make a point here.

I'm merely venting because I had to buy new shoes again yesterday because the snow storm killed my last pair and I was stressed out about it.

My husband now has a sense of what shoes I purchase for myself so typically he's right there and the trip ends in about ten minutes without a scheduled panic attack.

[rendezvous-ramblings]

I graduated college (undergrad) last spring and started working at a job in an industry I hate. I want to leave because the work environment is stressing me out so much that I broke out into hives (which has never happened before) and I have mini panic attacks every weekend before the work week. I also have chest pain due to stress and I’m only 22!! I really want to leave but my parents are encouraging me to stay or find a similar job because of how well it pays. Because of the pandemic, there aren’t a lot of options right now. I’m honestly okay working at a Barnes and Nobles part time in order to get a bit of money while I figure things out but also, I want to purse my own business and I would have time to do so with a less stressful part time job like that. My parents want me to work in an office though because they think I shouldn’t work in stores since I have a degree. And then I think maybe I should stay only because I’m scared of making the wrong decision and regretting it even though I’m pretty sure this job is slowly killing me. Any words of advice? I know we’re pretty much the same age but I would love to hear your thoughts.

Hi, 

First of all congrats on graduating because that’s an achievement you should be very proud of given how chaotic the last few weeks of our senior year of undergrad went! I’m sorry you’re experiencing these negative health symptoms from your work environment. When I was in the PhD program I didn’t have any extreme external symptoms that you have, but I was very self-aware that I was experiencing a mental low that I’ve never dealt with before. I knew in the long run I would end up burning myself out and it would be detrimental towards my mental health. I also realized from the few months that I was in the program that despite getting good grades and feedback in the A range that 1. I was not as passionately invested in a research idea as my peers were 2. I felt I was not getting the proper amount of guidance being the youngest student with only a BA degree even though I was actively reaching out to professors 3. I just realized that my actual career goals and what I wanted were no longer aligned with academia after experiencing it. It wasn’t worthwhile for me to invest 5+ years of my life to enter an oversaturated job market with the perspective financial instability as an adjunct lecturer. One of my recommenders/former professors actually told me I was brave to realize that this path just wasn’t for me so early on, accepted it, and moved on with another plan in motion. I once met someone who was stuck in a PhD program and ended up dropping out when she only needed to complete her dissertation/final year! Sometimes it is much harder to walk away from an opportunity that is hurting you more. There’s so many people who end up staying and ignore their own wellbeing. 

Thankfully, my parents did support my decision because they saw how I was emotionally and mentally drained/not myself. At first I was unsure if I should get a job as a substitute teacher for a year before reapplying in Fall of 2021 to a teaching program that I rejected in the Spring of 2020. I was actually in the process of doing so until I reached out to another high school teacher of mine. She gave me advice and talked me through all my options and in the end I decided to reapply for Spring of 2021. I left the PhD program as soon as I was able to without any financial penalties because I had to stay for at least 3/4s of the semester. I found a retail job during the hiatus period after leaving the program. It’s not the most glamorous job but it’s in my neighborhood and I don’t have to commute/be exposed to people outside of my area. I’m using that to fund my degree and pay my own personal bills for the time being. I’ll consider an internship or higher paying position once things become more settled after the vaccine rollout.

My advice would be to try to reason with your parents and explain to them the adverse health symptoms you’re having (if you haven’t already). If you’re dependent on them (to whatever extent) discuss your plan and options moving forward. You could try applying to some of the retail jobs that you want and other corporate jobs that might be a better fit for your personality/interests. I am sure there’s different team dynamics and work cultures out there. It sounds like you might just be stuck in an environment that is toxic or incompatible with you. My best friend’s sister recently got out of a toxic work environment and she was unsure if she wanted to continue in that industry. However, she applied somewhere else in the same industry and it was a much better fit for her mental health/team wise! You might want to consider talking to a mentor, professor, or close friend that is unbias and has your best interests at heart. That way you can get a professional opinion in your field + a personal one. 

If you cannot leave your current position right away then I would suggest seeking therapy if that is an option for you. The best scenario is to have your exit plan aligned by the time you leave the door, but I understand how that’s not always an option for every circumstance. If you must leave before you have your next plan in place then just give yourself the time and proper environment to recover before making your next moves. Don’t see this as a failure but just a minor setback. There’s people who invest YEARS of their life in an occupation, relationship, etc. that does not serve them well. So at least you discovered this early and you can now readjust your life goals and plans. I’m slowly learning too that there’s no set “timeline” for our lives. You might have a plan but sometimes your plan doesn’t always play out exactly the way you imagined it. There might be uncontrollable circumstances that make things harder or enjoyable pitstops (you didn’t schedule) where you’re still moving closer to your goals only at a slower pace than you imagined. 

Make sure you list out the pros and cons for each of your options and discuss it with people who are supportive of you. If you want to maintain a good relationship with your parents and appease them in a way where it’s still a healthy relationship, you can just tell them that this is only temporary until you gather yourself together. We’re still dealing with the instability of the pandemic and taking a slower paced job could help you take a break from the corporate stress you experienced. You will just have to keep emphasizing that you’re still actively working and planning towards something. It’s not as if you’re just sitting around at home and stuck in limbo. As long as you have your set personal goals in mind I’m sure you won’t be stuck in the wormhole of a minimum wage job. I can see how maybe your parents are worried that you might get caught up in the routine or become too comfortable with it.  Regardless, you know yourself better and what you need for your mental health and physical well being. Just make sure you’re reaching out for help (this is coming from someone who bottles up all her emotions and never wants to ask for help!). I talked to my old professor, my high school teacher, friends, family, and everyone I could get my hands on when I was struggling. From talking to people you realize you’re not alone in this uncertainty and realization that you’re in a situation that you don’t want to be in.

Good luck! I hope this all helped! Feel free to dm me if you feel like I missed something or you just want to vent. 💛

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: This isn’t a rom-com 7/?

Author’s notes: So this one is a little longer than usual, but not by much. Lot’s of stuff happening and I’d love feedback about the direction I’m taking this. I’m always open to suggestions!

Wordcount: 3524

Warnings: one F. bomb, but other than that, lots and lots of fluff.

Part 1 Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6

Lilah was supposed finishing her breakfast and getting ready to go to work, but instead, she was browsing the New York Film Academy page, especially the Master of Arts in screenwriting and its admission application.

She didn’t even know why she was doing it. It wasn’t like Lilah was actually considering applying for it. She already had a master’s degree. Not only that, she already had a career that she spent the last ten years of her life investing in. This was just a stupid pipe dream and nothing more.

“Morning”, Isaac’s voice started Lilah out of her thoughts, and she hurried to close her laptop lid and turn to watch as he padded into the kitchen and poured himself some coffee, still on his PJs.

“Morning. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work?” Usually, Isaac worked from 8 to five or later whenever needed.

“We had some night shooting yesterday and it wrapped up around six,” he replied yawning and dropping on the chair in front of her, cradling his mug. “I’ve just gotten back and I’m planning on sleeping all morning.”

“Jesus! That’s some horrible hours,” Lilah commented with a wince and Isaac just nodded.

“And I’m one of the lucky ones because all the runners take turns helping out while the others take a nap. I don’t know how Keanu does it. The guy is a machine. But this was my last day anyway.”

“Wait, what?” Lilah asked surprised. “You quitted?”

“Yeah. It was good money, but it was getting in the way of rehearsals, both theater, and band.”

“Band? What band?” Lilah looked at him confused. Why didn’t she know about this?

“Oh right! You didn’t come to my last gig,” Isaac said and there wasn’t any accusation on his tone, but Lilah still felt bad. She had been with Keanu last weekend and missed his performance. “These guys liked my vocals and asked me if I was interested in joining their band. I said yes.”

“But what about musical theater and the Hollywood dream?” she asked, her eyes wide. How come she missed such a change in her friend’s life? Isaac just shrugged.

“I’m still doing theater, but you know I love to be on the stage too and these guys have a great sound,” he said draining his mug and picking up Lilah’s breakfast dishes to bring to the kitchen. “And I can still take on Hollywood in a different way. But to do that, I need time to rehearsal. So as of Monday, you’re looking at the newest barista for Novelsy.”

Lilah was at a loss of words faced with so many changes in Isaac’s life in such a short period of time. She was being a lousy friend, focusing too much on her own issues and missing Isaac’s and Jean’s lives.

“Oh. I know that look,” he said with a frown. “It’s the ‘I’m having a freak out’ look. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Isaac asked, tapping her temple gently.

“I just…” Lilah sighed. “I can’t believe I ended up missing so much in these last few weeks. I’m sorry.”

“Well, you have been a little self-absorbed lately,” Isaac pointed out with a small grimace. “But I get it. It’s the thrill of new love and all that.”

It was weird how Isaac’s words managed to be exactly right, but the truth behind them still took her by surprise. Because no matter how hard Lilah tried to fight it or pretend otherwise, she was in love with Keanu. Had been for a while now and it was both exhilarating and terrifying.

“Oh honey,” Isaac sighed, catching her wide-eyed gaze. “You’re one of the smartest people I know, but when it comes to your own feelings…”

And could she really argue with that? It was staring her in the face this whole time and Lilah didn’t see it. Well, no, that wasn’t quite right, was it? She refused to see it because she was afraid. Afraid of what it could be and where it would lead and how it would end.

And this was so no what Lilah signed up for when started this thing with Keanu. Or at least that’s what she kept telling herself. She kept repeating that he was her friend and that was all but none of her friendships ever felt like this. And to be fair, considering how sweet, humble, caring, intelligent and amazing Keanu was, did she even stand a chance of not falling in love?

“Are we having a meltdown at this time in the morning?” Jean asked in a yawn and filling a cup of coffee for herself.

“The penny finally dropped on the Keanu thing,” Isaac informed.

“Thank fuck! The oblivious thing was cute at the beginning, but it was starting to get annoying,” Jean said, her harsh words shaking Lilah from her daze. “Also, not fun to get kicked off my own place so you could have your little ‘not a date’ with Keanu.”

“I never kicked you out of the apartment!” Lilah complained, glaring at her friend and Jean rolled her eyes.

“Right. Because I wanna be here when you two are making heart eyes at each other. No, thank you.”

“Jean!” Isaac chided cutting her off. “There were a dozen ways you could’ve said that without coming off like a bitch.”

From the corner of her eye, Lilah saw Jean cross her arms over her chest, her lips pulling in a thin line of displeasure. She hated to be called out over her bluntness.

“But even though she could have phrased better,” Isaac continued, looking over at Lilah. “Keanu has been coming over a lot. Not that I mind, but it does take away some of our privacy, you know?”

Lilah sighed and nodded. He had a point. They both did. Lilah never thought she would be one of those people that ditched her friends the second they started dating. Not that she was dating Keanu but…

“I’m sorry. I’ve been a shitty friend.”

“A little bit,” Jean agreed, but Lilah could see she was fighting a smile. “But we still love you.”

“We do,” Isaac agreed with a grin. “And you can start making up for the lost time by coming to my band’s gig this Friday night.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Lilah assured, kissing his cheek. “Now get your ass in bed! You look exhausted.”

Isaac nodded and waved at them both, before disappearing into his bedroom. Lilah hesitated for a moment, before glancing at Jean, who was inconspicuously avoiding looking her way.

“Are we ok?” Lilah asked and Jean nodded with a sigh.

“I missed my friend, you know? I missed talking to you, knowing what was going on in your life and sharing mine.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she said, dragging Jean for a hug. “How about tomorrow, after my class, you and I get some retail therapy? Novelsy’s costume contest is next week after all.”

“A girl after my own heart,” Jean joked with a grin. “It’s a date.”

“Alright,” Lilah replied with a chuckle as she got up and head to her own bedroom.

She went to turn off her laptop, Lilah was confronted once more with the New York Film Academy page, which made her pause. When she told Keanu how she considered going to film school as a teenager, Lilah didn’t give him the full picture.

The idea of being a writer, creating stories and universes, especially movies, had always been a dream. She remembered reading The Lord of the Rings for the first time and having that mix of fascination and jealousy of Tolkien for being able to create such a fantastic, magical universe that entertained so many people. Lilah wanted to do that too. Leave a mark in the world, tell a story, make people laugh and cry and love that thing she created.

But Lilah also remembered how her father reacted when she said she wanted to apply for film school. He had actually laughed because he thought she was joking. She knew he didn’t do it to hurt her. He was looking out for her, wanting her to be practical about her future.

What were the odds of Lilah making it in that industry? One in a million considering that she was a woman of color? Considering that it wasn’t all depending on hard work? Was she even good enough to begin with? Well, there was one quick way to find out.

Her eyes shifted back to the computer and Lilah took a seat, browsing her archives. Writing samples were required for submission, a fictional piece and a non-fictional.

She could use one of the reviews she wrote for Novelsy’s blog as a non-fiction sample. Lilah had gotten positive feedback from those. The fiction piece would give her a bit more trouble and after some more searching, Lilah decided on a fantasy story she wrote during college.

Lilah would need to work out a few kinks, but she really liked that one, so she put on her headphones blasting some of her favorite music as the story poured out of her, her fingers flying over the keyboard in a way she never managed to do whenever she was writing her dissertation.

By the end of the morning, Lilah had close to five thousand words written and any thought prepping her class for tomorrow slip her mind, but Lilah didn’t feel guilty at all. There was only excitement as she proofread her material.

After she annexed the documents, Lilah rechecked the application form, hesitating over the campus options.  For a second, the cursor hovered over the LA option, before she selected the NY campus and submitted everything.

Lilah must be crazy for even considering LA. Even if for brief seconds. Her life was in New York. LA had nothing to offer her. Which was a lie, she knew, but fortunately, it was one easy to ignore.

Once that was taken care of, Lilah started to get ready to go to NYU. She had some data she needed to run through the analysis software and Lilah could only do it on campus. She was halfway through getting dressed when her phone rang, the screen showing Keanu’s name and selfie with the puppy beagle.

“Hey,” she greeted as how could Lilah have missed being in love with him for this long when just a phone call from him could brighten up her whole day? “How was filming last night?”

“It was good. Tiring, but good. Basil gave us the night off since we’re managing to keep up with the schedule,” Keanu replied, and Lilah could actually picture his proud smile. “I was thinking we could do something. Since I cut off our movie night short yesterday.”

“We don’t have to,” she said, reminded of Isaac’s comment earlier. “You must be exhausted.”

“A little bit, but…” he paused for a moment. “I want to see you.”

His voice was soft barely a whisper and it almost felt a little like a confession and it set the butterflies loose in her belly and she smiled.

“Well, we could watch something, get some pizza…”

“That sounds great. I’ll drop by later?”

“Sure, but promise to get some rest first?”

“I’m in bed right now. Don’t worry.”

And Lilah couldn’t help but conjure a picture of Keanu shirtless in bed, dark hair splayed over the pillow and hooded eyes. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Good,” she croaked as she tried recomposing herself. “Sleep well.”  

It wasn’t until she hung up that Lilah realized what she had just done and winced. She was such a terrible friend, but now it was too late. She knew Isaac wouldn’t mind. He would be out rehearsing anyway, but Jean…

Lilah stepped out of the room, finding Jean cleaning the breakfast dishes. She hesitated by the counter, drumming her fingers on the top and Jean heaved a sigh.

“What did you do?” she asked, turning around, hands on her hips.

“I might have invited Keanu over,” Lilah replied with a grimace and Jean rolled her eyes. “Sorry!”

“Fine! But only because I have to do inventory anyway.” Lilah let out a happy squeal and squeezed Jean in a hug. “And you’re helping me with the Halloween contest! It was your idea after all.”

“I promise! Thank you!”

Lilah said her goodbyes to Jean and headed out, doing her best to push thoughts on Keanu and her brand-new revelation aside while she worked, managing to be somewhat successful until she got back home to find Keanu, browsing through her bookcase, dressing in a fitted jeans and a t-shirt so tight it seemed to be struggling to contain his biceps.

“Hi,” she greeted, and Keanu flashing her a warm smile.

“Hi. Isaac let me in. That’s ok, right?”

“Of course. I’ll be right with you. I’m just gonna take just a quick shower.”

“Sure.”

Lilah dropped her things in her bedroom and hurried to the bathroom that she shared with Isaac. There was only one suite in the apartment and Jean claimed it since the place was hers after all.  

She went through her usual shower routine, but it wasn’t until Lilah was drying herself that she realized she didn’t bring any clothes with her. Lilah was just so used to shower and then go back to her room to change it kind of became a habit.

If it was Isaac or Jean outside, Lilah wouldn’t even hesitate to step out, but it wasn’t them. It was Keanu and she would have to walk past him to go back to her room.

There was nothing else she could do at this point, so with a deep breath, Lilah pulled the towel tighter against her body, making sure that there wasn’t anything showing before she walked out, refusing to look his way. She did, however, hear his sharp intake of breath disguised as a cough.

Once she was safe inside her room Lilah leaned against the door and let out a sigh. She just paraded in a towel in front of Keanu! Shit! Did he look? She wondered for a second but shook herself out of it. That would lead her nowhere. Instead, she focused on getting dressed, coming back to the living room to find Keanu on the phone. He gave her an apologetic smile as his attention returned to the call.

“My publicist. Sorry about that,” Keanu said, hanging up. “But I’m all yours now.” Lilah couldn’t help her wide grin at the way Keanu took a second to realize what he said and cursed under his breath. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” she chuckled. “It’s nice to be on the other side of those for a change.”

Keanu chuckled too, rubbing his nape in embarrassment and part of Lilah want to reach for him, pull him in a hug and a kiss, but that was a very dangerous line of thought so instead, she picked up the pizza menu.

“So, I have a very important thing to ask you,” she started with a somber voice. “It might define if this,” she gestured between them. “Will continue any further.”

“I’m already nervous,” he quipped, turning to look at her better.

“How do you feel about pineapple on pizza?” She inquired and Keanu shook his head in disbelief as he chuckled. “Oh, I’m serious. There is a right answer to this.”

“I don’t like it?” he replied with a hesitant smile and Lilah gaped at him in exaggerated horror

“And you call yourself Hawaiian!” she teased, clicking her tongue in disappointment and making Keanu laugh.

“You do know that Hawaiian pizza isn’t really Hawaiian, right?” He commented and she rolled her eyes.

“Fake Canadian then,” she shot back, sticking her tongue out at him and Keanu snorted in amusement. “Pepperoni?”

“Sure,” he agreed. Lilah called in their order before joining Keanu on the couch.

“So you’re going to Japan?” she asked curiously.

“Yeah. 47 Ronin’s premiere,” Keanu explained, and Lilah just hummed, avoiding his eyes. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You have a very expressive face, Bennett,” he said, and Lilah laughed.

“I don’t want to judge a movie based only on a trailer,” she started hesitantly.

“But you didn’t like it,” he completed with a chuckle.

“It’s not that I didn’t like it, I just… Let’s just say Hollywood doesn’t exactly have a great track record on portraying other cultures.”

“You have a point,” Keanu relented, and Lilah was glad to see he didn’t seem upset with her comment. “We did our best to show respect for Japanese culture and the legend, though.”

“I’m sure you did. This is ok, right? Talking about your movies?”

“It’s fine. I like talking about what I do,” he assured, and she grinned.

“So, I can ask about John Wick? Because I still don’t know what’s about even though I’m technically in it?”

Keanu chuckled and quickly explained the general plot for the movie, hands waving around excitedly as he described the entire process behind getting the movie greenlighted and getting his friends Chad and David involved.

Lilah could tell not only how much Keanu loved what he did by the way he was smiling, by the eagerness in his voice, but she could also see that this wasn’t any movie for him. She hung onto every word of his, chin on her head and her chest felt about to burst at the overwhelming affection Lilah felt for him.

After a moment, Keanu fell silent and he once again did that ducked head, hand covering the mouth chuckle that Lilah learned to associate to him being shy or embarrassed about something.

And maybe he saw it in her eyes, so she quickly looked away. The last thing Lilah needed was Keanu catching on to her feelings and making everything awkward between them. She had come to enjoy their time together too much.

It was a bit of a relief when the pizza finally arrived because it gave them something else to focus on, beside themselves.

“You can try the Hawaiian if you want,” she offered after they moved to the couch to eat, a random movie playing on the TV just for noise. “I’m the only one who likes it in this house.”

“I’m good.”

“Are you sure? It’s really good,” she said in a sing-song voice and Keanu snorted.

“You’re gonna annoy me into trying, aren’t you?” He asked with a sigh that really wasn’t annoyed at all. Lilah just nodded with a grin. “Fine. Give it here.”

Lilah didn’t know why she didn’t just hand him the slice. Instead, she moved closer and lifted it in front of him. Keanu hesitated briefly before he took a bite, lips brushing against her fingers as he did it. It sent shivers down her spine because Lilah hadn’t expected it to feel this intimate.

“And?” she asked, clearing her throat.

“It was better than I was expecting,” Keanu admitted sipping his beer and Lilah grinned. Small victories.

She brought the slice back to herself, but before she could take a bite, Keanu leaned forward and stole the last bit. The movement brought him so close his beard actually brushed again her cheek.

“Hey!” Lilah protested as he grinned smugly.

“You’re the one that wanted me to try it,” he pointed out, bumping his shoulder against hers. Lilah shook her head and picked up another slice, trying to hide her pleased grin.

They talked for a while longer, completely ignoring the TV. It was fun and comfortable, and Lilah knew she could probably spend the entire night like that, but it was getting late and she knew Keanu had to work tomorrow and so did she.

“I think we should call it a night,” she said, turning off the TV.

“We didn’t watch anything,” he pointed out and Lilah shrugged.

“It was still fun. I like just talking to you.”

“Yeah, me too,” Keanu replied, his lips tugging on a smile as he helped her clean up.

“So, Novelsy’s hosting its first costume contest next week. Afterward, Isaac’s theater group is reenacting Rocky Horror Picture Show in this bar. It’s basically a bunch of drunk people singing along to the songs, trying to remember their lines and failing miserably. It’s really fun, do you wanna come?”

“Sure,” Keanu agreed, and Lilah could see the doubt in his eyes, that was quickly replaced with a curious smile. “Are you gonna be in costume?”

“Definitely,” she replied, as she looked at him under her lashes. “Gotta be there to know what it is though.”

“Then I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

There was something in the way that Keanu said it, the way he was looking at her that just stole her breath, making her heart thunder in her chest and there was no way to see this as anything other than flirting.

“See you on Thursday, then,” she said, standing up to press a kiss on his cheek. She barely missed his lips and she really hoped Keanu noticed it was on purpose.

(tbc)

Go to part 8

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[sleepytisi]

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.

This concept is a thing that really infuriates my husband. More times than I can count, I hear him ask me if I even care about what’s happening around me. 

Of course I care! I care very much that things are hard right now, but what I’m trying to also accept is that the things that are happening are not fully within my control. I can’t make the insurance cover more of my medication. What I can do is try to figure out a way to make this work for me. I am switching careers and start my new job next week. This has a lot of potential for change. I might get better insurance, I might get worse. I might get much more money that I was making before, making the payments for meds easier. I might also get paid less because the hours are based on the needs of clients instead of the needs of the company. I might have to figure out how to live without them for a while. 

There’s an old proverb that really affected how I viewed things in my life. It came into play in August of 2019, when I was laid off. I’ll go into that in a bit.

An elderly, hard-working Chinese farmer and his son, had a single horse. They used the horse to plow the field, to sow the seeds, grow the crop, and transport it to the market. The horse was essential for the farmer to earn his livelihood.

One morning, the horse broke the fence and ran away into the woods. When the neighbors found out that the only horse the farmer had, had run away, they came to solace him. They said – “Your only horse has run away just before the planting season. How will you till the land? How will you sow the seeds? This is unfortunate. This is bad luck.”

The farmer replied – “Good luck, bad luck. Who knows?”

A few days later the farmer’s horse returned from the woods along with two other wild horses. When the neighbors found out the news, they said – ” Now you have three horses! You can till the land much faster with three horses. Maybe you can buy more land and sow more crop and make more money. Or you can sell the other two horses. Either way, you will be a rich man! This is good luck!”

The wise farmer replied – “Good luck, bad luck. Who knows?”

Next morning, the farmer’s son started training the wild horses to that they would help till the land. While attempting to mount one of the wild horses, he fell down and broke his leg. Just before the sowing season, the son would not be able to help the farmer with his broken leg. The neighbors came once again and commented – ” This is really unfortunate. This is bad luck.”

The wise farmer repeated – “Good luck, bad luck. Who knows?”

A few days later, the king’s men started to visit each village in the kingdom. A war had started between their kingdom and a neighboring enemy state. The king’s men were enlisting the eldest son from each family to join the army so that they could defeat the enemy state. When they came to the farmer’s house they saw the son with the broken leg. He would not be of much use in the army and hence they didn’t take him. He was the only eldest son in the entire village who was not forcibly taken by the king’s men to fight the war. The neighbors, some of them with teary eyes, came once again to the farmer and commented – “Your son breaking his leg was really fortunate. He is the only one who was not taken. What a stroke of good luck.”

The farmer calmly replied – “Good luck, bad luck. Who knows?”

Every single time the neighbors thought that what had happened to the farmer was bad luck, it turned out to be good luck! And just when the neighbor’s thought that the incidents had brought the farmer good luck, it turned out to be bad luck! 

We have a tendency to interpret any and all events as either good or bad. Often we do it unconsciously. When we interpret events as good luck, we are usually happy and vice-versa. However, most events, like in the story, that are beyond our control are just events! There is nothing we can do about these events that are beyond our control, except accepting them and moving on. Adding our interpretation and the emotional drama into the mix is usually counterproductive and stops us from moving forward.

We get in our own way, this way. But back to my story from last year.

I worked at a big box retailer for 5 years. I was really good at my job, but it was starting to become emotionally draining. I was getting heavily depressed to legitimately scary levels. In 2018, I was due to have my baby in the beginning of November. I wouldn’t be working the holiday season. I went back to work in March 2019. Spending time with the baby was very important to me, as I  believe that this is the most crucial time to form bonds and teach. 

I told myself that I would be 100% out of retail by holiday 2019. I would be in a career that I actually enjoy and where I feel fulfilled. 

In July, I had some severe medical issues which landed me with a trip to the ER and an emergency surgery. I was still in the hospital when I got the call from my manager, saying that the company had restructured and my job position didn’t exist anymore. It was one of the 5 or 6 titles to be deleted, nationwide. There was a similar job that was created with lower pay and I declined. I was to be laid off in late August. With my medical leave, I only worked the last week. 

The company continued my insurance benefits into 2020, and gave me a pension. Not a great pension, but definitely something helpful. 

Bad luck, good luck. Who knows? 

On a whim, I decided to look up jobs for massage therapy and got a hit on a local franchise for the field that was hiring pretty much everywhere. I used some of my pension to get my license back and buy some uniform stuff. I was offered a job in the field on the spot at every location I interviewed. I got to spend most of this year with my new baby, resting and repairing my mental health, getting my body back where I wanted it to be, and I start my new job next week.

Good luck, bad luck.... who knows?

[amygeeunit]

The Quarantine Chronicles: These Last Five Years & What I Thought I Wanted

There’s nothing like being alone in your own thoughts at 1:00am in the midst of a global pandemic... Instead of aimlessly scrolling through my Instagram timeline or checking my bank account with all the money I have saved from not going out, I’ve had time to think about what the 28 year old, almost 29 year old Amy needs versus wants...

I think in high school or at some point in our lives we have all fallen victim to “By the time I’m age this, I want to have x, y and z.” At 16, I thought at 25 I would have my life 85% figured out. Pretty funny concept now that you think about it, right? I actually laugh at how naive or how troublesome it is to have these unrealistic goals and tag an age onto them... I pictured myself living in a nice apartment, potentially dating someone, or if not just focusing on my career. Fast forward to 2020, besides this year being a complete clusterf*ck, I’ve had extra time to sit down and think of these last five years in a nutshell.

All I remember from 2015 was going to Vegas, still working in retail, having foot surgery and getting into CSUF. The rest is foggy because it’s been five years. Huh? I thought 2015 was last year...

2016 seemed to be one of my better years. I started at CSUF, went to Iceland, interned at Rastaclat, ended up getting a job at Rastaclat, entered into my first serious relationship, moved back out to Orange County and felt like at 24 - 25 I was killing the game (or so I thought.)

2017 wasn’t too bad. I graduated from CSUF in the spring, went to Oahu, continued on in my relationship and spent a majority of my time focusing on my career.

2018 is when life started to get real interesting. My pup, Ben G, passed away while I was out in Illinois visiting my cousin (long story to save for another post,) I started a new job at Pretty Great LLC, traveled to escape 99% of the time, started taking birth control that made me bloated, emotional and feel weird and moved back to Moreno Valley. During this time, my relationship started to crumble due to lack of communication, the wave of grief I was experiencing and everything in else in between that couples go through. I started going to therapy in July and in August, I had my first panic attack. In September, I decided I needed to get as far away from my life as possible. I booked a flight to Japan to visit Sarah since she was stationed out in Yokosuka. Yokosuka has a naval base and is about an hour from Tokyo. I talked to my boss at work a few weeks prior and asked for a week and a half off. Luckily, he was one of the most understanding and best people I have ever worked for in my career so far. Most bosses would have told you to “Get over it” or “Figure it out.” Rob Myers was a saving grace for me that year for letting me have my time off to not think about life. 

While I was in Japan, I remember the time change messing me up quite a bit. I think it took around three days for me to finally be okay without passing out in the middle of the day. In short, this trip changed me. It changed how I traveled, it changed how I process emotions, it changed my outlook on life, it changed many things for me. I came back from this trip and my relationship was virtually over. I didn’t know how to feel, I didn’t know what to do, it just sort of fizzled like a candle using its last part of the wick. October came and I spent my birthday in Big Bear with my parents. I remember crying in the cabin when we got back from Octoberfest. I don’t think it really hit me that I was single, with no friends around and that 27 was already a shit show on day 1. I visited my best guy friend and his sisters in Arizona at the end of October to make up for the previous weekend. I had no idea that November could get any worse for me, but it did. It was two days before Thanksgiving, November 20th, 2018. 

I was driving from Moreno Valley to Santa Ana one morning on my way to work. I took my normal route, left at my normal time, a pretty standard commute. About 2 miles from work, I was at a stop light. At this stop light I waited for about 30 seconds while the other cars went. The light turned green. As I was pressing my gas to accelerate, out of nowhere, a semi truck plows its way through the intersection and t-bones my driver’s side. I remember screaming. I remember it being like a scene from a Final Destination movie where the victim doesn’t know that death or uncertainty is upon them. In that moment, I remember thinking “This is it.” My reflexes shifted real quick and that was it. I remember pulling off to the side of the road leading up to the 5 freeway. I felt like my soul left my body for seconds then came back. I was shaking. I called my dad first and let him know what had happened. I called my mom and then the insurance company. I exchanged words and information with the driver. I remember being upset, but I couldn’t yell or get any words out. I just went by the protocol of what to do when you get involved with an accident. Sure, I have been rear ended before, but never t-boned and let alone by a damn semi truck. This accident passed, I was awarded some half ass money and in the midst of it all, I remember being so mentally drained that I cried out for help on Instagram Stories... I remember going through survivors guilt. I remember saying to myself “Why am I still here? There are people that die in accidents or by drunk/distracted drivers all the time... Why do I still have to live this life of pain and suffering?” In my mind and in 2018, I never knew how to take pain and suffering very well. I didn’t know it would shape me for what these next couple years would throw at me. 

December came and went. It was like a sigh of relief for me to know that the vicious cycle of the 2018 rollercoaster was coming to an end. At this point, I kind of gave zero f*cks as to what happened in life. A few days before Christmas, I visited my Grandma in Illinois and my grandparents’ grave site. I think my trip to Illinois was some type of closure to my 2018 year. I hadn’t been back to Illinois since my Grandma’s funeral in 2011. It was a cold and frigid trip. It was the first trip I had ever driven by myself. The only cool thing was running into Ja Rule at the Palm Springs Airport (before the Fyre Festival documentary came out, otherwise I would have yelled at him.) He was on my flight to Chicago. Jeffrey Atkins, you sneaky motherfucker, you! How I wish I would have known about you tricking people with that one guy... I ordered a “Survived 2018″ crewneck from this small online business store, went to Disneyland with my mom on Christmas and threw caution to the wind.

2019 was interesting, but not as heavy as 2018. I called 2019 the year where I  “rushed to get back to normalcy.” I realized the commute to PG was getting tiring pretty fast, I accepted being single and got back into dance. Dance saved my life, point blank. Whether it was subbing, teaching, training or being on a team, it brought back a sense of joy and also established new friendships along the way. I started a job at a marketing agency in March 2019 that was a short commute and about 6 months in, I realized this was something I wasn’t a fan of. It took me a while to realize that that was okay to feel uneasy about the jobs I once knew.

If I had to rate 2019 on a point scale, I would say it was a 6/10. I felt like the last few months I was suppose to be back to normal and healed from a lot of things I kept to myself. Dating people was weird because 1. I felt behind. What I mean by that was I thought by age 27 - 28, I would have met my “person,” by now. As I seen other friends get proposed to, plan their weddings and start their families, I started to feel like the odd woman out. Was there something wrong with me? Am I that complicated or hard to love? Are my values not aligning with people I like? Am I going to be that person that gets married at 40 or even at all? Will I always be the friend and not the potential girlfriend or wife? Who knows? 2. The reciprocity factor of it all and setting boundaries. 3. I don’t think I ever got over everything that had happened in my first relationship because we never cheated on each other, our trust when out without each other was never questioned and there was a best friend component in it. I was filled with regret, frustration and memories I forced myself to black out even after going to therapy and journaling it. Fact: I dread my birthday each year. I don’t like my birthday in general, but October I have mixed emotions about. The anniversary of my Grandma’s death is on 10/13, my Grandpa’s birthday is 10/14 and my birthday is 10/20. I spent the last couple months of 2019 drinking more than usual, especially after my friend, Beka, passed away suddenly in November. December came and went. I had my first trip to Puerto Vallarta and enjoyed some much needed beach time. I had this “idea” that I would move to the east coast with Sarah because I wanted to start over. That idea went out the window. I ended 2019 with buying a new car after having paid off my Kia Forte back in 2016.

It’s now 2020 and boy... It has been a shit show for the world I feel like. I can’t even begin to describe what a rollercoaster of emotions everyone is feeling right now, but I do have one word for me personally: gratitude. I started off the year so uneasy with finding out my dad was diagnosed with colon cancer again for a second time. I remember going into February with no expectations, yet I had expectations (weird right?) Without going into too much detail I felt like that quote by DJ Khaled saying “Congratulations, you played ya self!” I was constantly frantic about work, friendships, relationships, my future, dance, my parents, basically everything. I was a walking, talking ball of stress. March came around and I downloaded Bumble (yup, I went there) and matched with a really nice guy who actually knew two of my nurse friends. Then, COVID-19 was in full effect in the states and suddenly the idea of dating or wanting any kind of human interaction made me cringe... I had to politely excuse myself and move on. I checked in on friends and they checked in on me. 

I’ve spent more time with my parents, more time on myself and then it finally clicked: I am where I need to be in this exact moment. I don’t want to date anyone in quarantine, I don’t want to understand or have expectations for another human like I’ve been searching for these last 6 months. What the fuck, Amy? You are everything you need right now and it is not in another person. I’ve danced in quarantine, I’ve cried in quarantine, I’ve laughed in quarantine, I’ve journaled in quarantine, I’ve found myself again in quarantine. As easy as it sounds for most people, the concept is quite large. Since I was 18 years old, I have ALWAYS wanted to live by myself and try it out. It’s ten years later and in the midst of this uncertain time period, I know that 2020 is the year that I finally accomplish this. So, in short, 2021 I’ll be back on the “dating” field or whatever, but 2020 is my year to literally work. on. myself. This includes: my relationship with myself, my relationship with my friends, family, acquaintances, coworkers, etc., my health regiment, my mental health, my physical health, my emotional health, I think you get the point, right? In a time where some of us feel alone, I feel secure. My days vary and maybe I’ll post something tomorrow where I say “That post was trash, quarantine was terrible,” and while it is on most days, I’m so grateful to connect more deeply with people on a spiritual and conversational level. I was tired of hiding behind my day-to-day busy routine when I finally came to terms with myself.

We are all in this together. We are all processing what we need and want. I use this blog as a way to express and share what so many people keep to themselves. Maybe you can relate, maybe you think I’m too out there. Either way, to each their own. 

Until next time.

[blooferlady86]

The Park By Night

So I am very good at spooking myself and creeping myself out. I’ve never thought of myself as a creative writer, but there are a couple of things that really catch my imagination. I decided to do a thing and actually get something written down. Yes, I take constructive criticism. No, I don’t know how to make something readable on Tumblr, so I apologize if this is a mess. If I can figure out a way to make a story out of it, I’ll write another one on the strange sounds my bus radio makes when I’m driving it to school at 5:30 AM and there’s no one else on the road. 

It’s probably barely a story. It’s definitely not a terribly well-edited draft. It’s not even really beyond a rough draft. I know I have some tenses that disagree, but hey, it’s late, and I just finished a spooky walk through the park.

Anyways. Without further ado: A little creepypasta I should probably have just kept to myself:

The Park By Night

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

“Well, I am the pinnacle of human achievement, so I don’t blame you.”

Eleanor leans over the kitchen counter, green eyes staring deeply into mine, reaches gently for my face, and painfully flicks my ear. “Don’t be an ass when I’m trying to be supportive. You’ve done really well. This time last year you were walking with a cane.”

I snag her hand and give her knuckles a gentle kiss. “I only give you a hard time because I know you love it. It means a lot to me, you saying that. It really does. I wouldn’t have made it this far without your help.”

“I’m not the fitness buff. I’ve just kept you company on the couch.”

“That’s not true, and you know it. You helped. Every day. I’m just glad I can finally get back to work full time, and anyone willing to put up with me moping around the house for this long deserves a medal. Or at least a vacation.”

She laughs sharply and eyes the lunches we’ve prepared for the day: cups of noodles and whatever fruit was on sale this week to stave off a vitamin deficiency. “Maybe now that you’re full time again, we’ll be able to stop eating like undergrads and start saving up for a weekend at the lake.”

I give her hand one more kiss. “Sounds like a deal. See you this afternoon.”

It had been a long year. And Nell deserved way more than a weekend away at a lake. After a pallet of lumber crushed my leg right above my knee, I had only been able to go back to work about six months ago. Six months of painful hobbling about in the mornings, to go home after lunch and then do my physical therapy and exercise. The woman was a saint. Things were financially tight even before my accident; neither of us were exactly bringing in massive sums. Her retail job, my warehouse gig, they kept the pantry full and the rent paid. My time away from work drained the savings account, and even getting back to part time felt like a windfall. She didn’t have to tell me how stressful that time had been. I didn’t need to hear both sides of the phone calls with her mother to know my mother-in-law’s thoughts. “If he only had a college degree. He’d be working in an office, this would never have happened, and you’d be a homeowner, not renting some shack.”

She didn’t care. She was my therapist, counselor, and friend through the whole process. Unlike me, she was never one for regular exercise, but she walked me through the strength building routines assigned by my therapist, kept me well fed on the scant amount of money we had, and never made me feel ashamed of having to ask for help. The first day we were able to take a walk through the park together, I felt like a new man. Me, leaning heavily on my cane and her with one arm around my waist, swaying with my lopsided gait to keep our shoulders close, I could finally see the end of the tunnel. 

It became my regular exercise spot, and eventually Nell was able to confidently let me limp around the 2 mile loop fenced in by chain link that we had discovered in our neighborhood. She generally sat and read while I completed my lap. Eventually, when I was cleared for driving, she was able to get back to her hobbies at home. She had seen me walking with enough confidence that she was sure I wouldn’t fall and be stuck on the hot pavement of the walking trail without her.

The park was simple, but well maintained. A two mile paved path encircled a lightly forested area along with some kickball fields. There was a green belt with a creek running behind the park. I’d made up my mind to tackle that hike when my limp had been fully conquered. With work being full-time again, that would have to wait for the weekend. 

I threw some pasta in a pot when I arrived home that afternoon. Meatless spaghetti. My specialty. It would be ready by the time Nell finished her shift. I did my stretches, some laundry, and some dishes, the only chores I could do without painfully regretting it the next day. We exchanged stories about asshole customers and asshole managers over our meager meal of bargain pasta. 

“Are you going for a walk this afternoon? I was thinking of bringing a book.”

“Not this afternoon. A: It’s boiling outside, and B: I need a couple hours of vegetating before my leg is ready to move again. You’d think it would remember how to work all day.”

“‘Don’t forget you’re human’” she quips in a sing-song tone.

“I’m going to forget you’re human if you quote my therapist’s posters again.”

“Tell you what, if you go this evening, I’ll have an ice pack and a beer ready for when you get back.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

The park is never busy even on weekends. It’s tucked away amongst a bunch of single family homes, well off the main street. During the day, it’s a pleasant breath of oxygen in a crowded suburbia. When I pull the car up, an hour after the sun has gone down, I hardly recognize it. I’ve never been here at night; I’m impressed by how well lit the walking paths are in the little neighborhood greenspace. 

Earphones in, music on, I begin my 2 mile walk. I’m making good time for someone with two rods and four pins in his femur. 60 minutes is my record, and I was on the couch for two days after that, with Nell providing me ice packs and disapproving looks until I promised to go easier on myself. 

At the quarter-mile sign, I stop to stretch. My calves are in a constant rebellion these days. I hear a tinny rattling, and quickly pop one earbud out to see if I’ve got a short in the wiring. The rattling, though a gentle noise, gets louder when I unplug my ear, not softer. I look quickly back towards the start of the path, but the bright lights illuminating the path make it hard to see beyond the pavement. I realize what I’m hearing is the chain link fencing, as if it’s been lightly jostled. A cat, I tell myself, or a possum squeezing under the fence. They’re nocturnal, right? And I bet they’d love to get to investigate these trash cans. The gentle rattle dies away, I finish my count to 30 on my bad leg and set off again.

You really can’t see anything out here at night, I think to myself. The familiar path is illuminated with frequent overhead lamps, which I am quite thankful for. A stumble on a dark walkway would leave me hobbling home with my tail between my legs to explain to Nell that I’ve overdone it again. Cue another “inspirational quote” from my physical therapist. Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I squint across the park at another late-night walker with their dog, finishing the last of their two miles. The lit path is like a band of light snaking through the dark trees, only inky blackness past the light poles. My attention is caught by a figure standing across the park, silhouetted between me and the path the dog-walker just left. I blink, and the two dark legs of the figure come into focus and become the sign post for the one and a half mile mark, the torso a water fountain right behind it. I shake my head, continue walking. Half a mile down.

At the three-quarter mile, I have to stop and stretch again. Maybe it was a mistake to come out for a full walk during my first week back at the warehouse. Tomorrow will be a rest day. As I’m bending down to grab my toe, I get another glimpse of something on the edge of my vision. I snap back upright, wincing as I do so. I squint into the dark space behind me. The same figure, standing in a dark pool of shadow by the entrance to the park. This time I can’t seem to focus and see a sign instead of a pair of legs. The torso and head remain a torso and head. A chill runs down my neck as some part of my subconscious chooses this moment to decide that the figure is most definitely looking in my direction. “All right,” Nell’s voice rings out in my head,  “you’re nearly halfway done and you’re not the only one in the park tonight. No problem. Get today’s walk over with, and next time they pass a street light, you’ll see it’s just another late visitor.” 

Begrudgingly, I turn my back on the shadow and continue my labored hike. When I’ve gotten one mile finished, the path make a U turn and begins to weave back through the trees towards the parking lot. I take advantage of the wide view of the park to look for my fellow late night ambler who spooked me. 

No one.

As I walk, I scan the park starting at the gate, following the path. If they’re walking, I’ll see them. The walking path is the only damn thing you can see in the park, after all. Another metallic rattle has me ripping out my earbuds and I see the chain link fence around the three-quarter mark vibrating in a wind that doesn’t seem to touch the trees. There. Again. The dark outline of a figure, not walking on the path, but standing just outside the flood of light cast by the lamp. Once again, something deep and primal tells me that its unseen eyes are on me. 

It’s enough. I don’t care if this is some teenager dicking around with the cripple clomping his way through his required 5,000 steps, I’m ready to be home, watching bad TV with my wife. I pick up the pace, striding as far as I can with each step to just make it back to the safety of my car. I’m glad I didn’t put the earbuds back in. It would have made it harder to hear the chain link start its  clatter again. As I round the corner to see the one and a quarter marker, I recognize the sound from when I was a kid and would run my hand along a fence in my yard. It’s getting louder.

I don’t turn my head. I very carefully avoid thinking about the quickly approaching clinking sound. I am studiously facing forward as I imagine the figure three lamps away, two lamps away, one lamp away, running long shadowy fingers across the metal fence. I huff and puff my way up to the next distance marker. The parking lot is ahead. I’m going home. 

Filled with the confidence that I’ve nearly crossed the finish line, I take a breath and risk a glimpse over my right shoulder. Nothing. The fence is still, the black shapes of the trees a comforting and familiar sight I recall from my walks in the sun. I take two steps, still looking behind me, when I feel a gentle, warm waft of air in my left ear, followed by a wheezing, rasping inhale of breath.

I’m running. I haven’t run in a year, but I am running now. As the gate comes into view, I feel something pop in my knee. If I’d had time to stumble and stagger, I would have, but the gasping, shaking thing is behind me, and I now I can smell an odor of decaying flesh, of corruption and rot. I push down the burning pain in my leg, and the nausea that threatens to make me double over. I train my eyes on my car and start counting the yards to get there. As I lumber gamely through the gate, I feel something catch at my shirt, and hear the wheezing breath growing louder, just behind me.

I spill into the brightly lit parking lot and throw myself into the car, pummeling the locks as I slam the door. Gripping the steering wheel tightly and closing my eyes tighter still, I listen for the death rattle breath that had followed me out of the park. Nothing. I hear a gentle clink of chain link fencing, and my eyes dart for the source. Still nothing. I turn on every light in my car and check the back seat just for my own sanity. Putting the car into gear and pulling out to the road as quickly as I can, I catch one more glimpse of a silhouette in the mirror. Snapping my head up, I once again see a signpost for the park materialize in place of the dark form I thought I’d seen. 

By the time I get home, I’ve almost convinced myself that the entire thing was my imagination. It’s been a busy week. I’m over-tired from being back at work. I went somewhere I wasn’t familiar with, heard some spooky noises, and panicked. I give Nell a hug, and go to take a long hot shower. I’d nearly convinced myself. I pulled my shirt over my head and almost missed the hand print on the back. A hand print with four long, thin, muddy fingers. 

The shirt goes straight into the garbage bin.