#3. that anxiety scenario thing has been plaguing me for two weeks

[sleepymaddy]

.

[kyluxtrashpit]

Okay so I jokingly mentioned I have an entire rant on twitter and then people wanted to see it so I’m gonna crosspost here too cause why not

(Note: includes spoilers for Major Grom and Plague Doctor comics, has nothing to do with the movie. It’s regarding what I strongly predict will happen in volume 8, which comes out next week)

(Second note: I’m gonna tag this with ‘long post’ even though it’s behind a cut for the sake of mobile users to go blacklist literally right now if they’re not interested cause I included the relevant comic panels and thus it’s LONG sdklsdklsdks)

Anyway: why Sergey must be the one to personally rescue Oleg in volume 8, from a narrative point of view

In order for Sergey and Oleg's relationship, regardless of how you want to define it, to move forward with positive momentum, this /must/ happen. The narrative demands it in order to bring closure. Why? Well, let's get into it by analyzing what we have so far

1) While I do fully believe Oleg trusts and forgives Sergey (and I’m not gonna go into proof of that here, as others have before), there is a constant spectre hanging over them. A spectre in the shape of 5 bullets. We are reminded constantly of it, largely in the form of Sergey's guilt, which is something we haven't gotten any real closure on yet. Sergey believes himself only capable of destruction, which is literally represented using a picture of him and Oleg.

The rift in their relationship is why Sergey doubts himself. The lasting physical effects bother him as well and we are all but beaten over the head with it - Sergey can't forget and neither can we, the audience. Oleg, too, has to live with this, even if he has made his peace with it

In fact, his long term injuries are what cause him to be captured in the first place. This situation, from a narrative pov, is thus Sergey's fault - if not for the 5 bullets, it's implied Oleg could've won. But no, he's captured and tortured, because of what Sergey did

What Oleg does or doesn't think of that is honestly irrelevant; the narrative is what's setting this up as a direct consequence. Also, whether or not Oleg has forgiven Sergey is also irrelevant because Sergey hasn't forgiven himself. This is what the story has presented and thus what it needs to conclude.

2) We are all also aware that Oleg has rescued Sergey more than once, even when it was ill-advised. The first time, sure, there's some risk, but it’s still in the range of manageable. But the second time? Not only was it more dangerous, given all that was going on in the immediate aftermath, he’s also risking himself to rescue someone who shot him 5 times. Oleg is cautious; he keeps Sergey in a cell presumably until he feels safe freeing him, but he still did it. He planned it, had that place ready, faked their deaths, all of it. He did that after the 5 bullets

So Sergey isn't lying when he tells Lera they don't leave their people behind. Oleg has been there for Sergey before, rescued him no matter the dangers, continues to stay by his side, and even cares enough to make sure he sleeps. Given this, how could Sergey not be ready and willing to return the favour?

3) Every outside character who knows anything about their relationship believes it to be imbalanced. The mercenary, Altan, Vadim, and even Lera. They all say this, they all point out the 5 bullets, that oh, Oleg, why does he stay?

While they don't have the insight us readers do, this tension is here for a reason, especially coupled with the previous two points. Even if we know better, the narrative is offering us a kernel of doubt. Does Sergey really care? Will he go as far for Oleg as Oleg has for him? Did he really mean those apologies? Or are the others right? Even Oleg, although I do think he's lying to protect Sergey, says he has doubts. Vadim seems certain Sergey will come, yet still calls Oleg “Mr. Stockholm Syndrome”.

The equality of their relationship is continually called into question - why do that if it's not going to be resolved? Why play this 'will he, won't he' game if he won't? Why set us up for disappointment? If Sergey doesn't go, all of this will remain unresolved and their relationship can only get worse, not better. The spectre will never leave them alone.

(One note here: I believe most of these perspectives are from unreliable narrators, given what details they give and that their accounts conflict with what we actually see. But these perspectives are included for a reason – imo, so that Sergey can prove them wrong)

4) The other thing the narrative tells us is that Sergey can be impulsive. Yes, he's brilliant, frighteningly so, but it's Oleg that is constantly urging caution. Sergey is aware there are risks, yet he forges ahead anyway, restrained (sometimes) only by Oleg's advice.

Why would that change now? If anything, with how distressed Sergey seems to be, I'd argue he'd be even /more/ impulsive than usual because he's too emotional to think right.

And who's going to urge caution, if not Oleg? Lera? I doubt he would listen if she did and, to be frank, why would she care if Sergey gets hurt? She knows him primarily as the one forcing her into a situation that is having serious negative effects on her life. Her secondary knowledge is that he's a murderer and terrorist. Much as it's fun to think of them all having a friendly relationship, Plague Daughter and all that, that’s not where they are right now. She might from a logical point of view, just because it is very obviously a trap, but Sergey knows that - her saying it isn't going to convince him of anything. Even if she did try, I don't think it'd have any effect.

5) And lastly, Lera is absolutely not ready for this fight. This isn't some regular asshole on the streets; Vadim is a professional killer. He beat Oleg in a fight and, even with his injuries, we all saw the kitchen fight. We know what Oleg is capable of. I love Lera with my whole being and she is a badass, but she's not ready for this. She had trouble with Kamenny, who honestly may have let her win under Altan's instructions.

Even still, Vadim is MUCH better and, much as Altan wants PD alive, I don't think he much cares in what condition. Best case scenario is that Lera gets captured too, and Vadim likely wouldn't hesitate to kill her, and then Sergey has to go himself anyway. Lera may come to help, but Sergey needs to be there. If Sergey really is better than Oleg at present, he's the one who needs to fight Vadim (with a plan, obviously, and maybe some extra backup).

In conclusion, all of this comes together to say one thing: Sergey needs to go. He needs to prove to himself, to the audience, and most of all to the narrative that no, this relationship isn’t one-sided, and that he will go as far for Oleg as Oleg has gone for him. The narrative made this a big point of tension, insisted upon it, beat us over the head with it, and now has teased at Sergey’s opportunity to put up or shut up. It has to be Sergey, both practically because Lera isn’t ready yet, and in order to be a satisfying story. Because if he doesn’t, that tension isn’t resolved. His guilt will only grow after failing Oleg once again, despite Oleg sticking with him through everything, and it would have been by his own choice, not because of the Bird’s influence or anyone else. He will know it. Oleg will know it. We will know it. And their relationship can only sour from there. There will be no more possibility for positive momentum, only negative.

As a last point, I will also say that I’m aware my anxieties may be unfounded. These creators do seem to legitimately care about these characters, telling a good story, and satisfying the audience. But I’ve been burned by pieces of media where that is not the case, so it’s hard for me to trust and not doubt, even with creators who have, so far, not let me down lmao.

Anyway, thank you for coming to my tedtalk, I’m sure I missed something I would’ve liked to add but holy shit this is absurdly long already sdklsdklsk so uh bye ✌️

[deniigi]

i have been sick in bed with a stomach bug and re-reading a bunch of your series and these questions have plagued me so pls, for the sake of your fellow samuel chung lover, if sammy was in the Selkie verse, would he be a fae? if so, what kind? ALSO, what would his interactions with jack be like (either in the selkie verse or in the lying by omission verse)? pls and thanks <3

hi!

I’ll answer asks in a bit, but for this one I have a fic that explore a What If Jack Lived/Mike existed scenario with Sam in the Inimitable verse? I know it’s now what you asked for, but it is like 4k already written so that might be smth--an LBO Sam would be tricky because Sam would be itty bitty and Matt wouldn’t have the same kind of relationship with him.

As for selkie-verse Sam? I would have to do more research on Chinese spirts/fae/folklore, but for now, he’s not fae, just human 💖He’s like 12 and can make himself invisible though, which would be very confusing for Sue if she ever bumped into him

(Sue: baby boggart??? come here I love you I will look after you.)

(Sam: please stay exactly 5037 feet away from me! Thank you and I’m calling my mom!)

Here is the What If Jack and Mike thing from the Inimitable Verse.

Jack Murdock was the size of a house. He made Matt look dainty. He made Kirsten look like a kids’ mannequin. And he made Foggy laugh until he wept.

Sam could not understand a goddamn thing he said. Nor could he understand the guy he’d brought with him, who appeared to have had some serious plastic surgery to look exactly like Matt.

Sam could take an unintelligible giant. What he couldn’t take was an unintelligible Matt, and before him, somehow, in this ring of ginger, he’d been presented with two unintellible Matts.

His head was spinning.

Kirsten patted at him sympathetically.

“I’m from New York,” Sam told her mournfully.

“I know, hon.”

“How is this even possible? You’re from New York. How are they—what are they saying?”

Kirsten shook her head.

“Only Foggy knows,” she said. “It’s okay, he’ll translate when he gets back up.”

 --

 Mr. Murdock, the tallest of the gingers, might have been a good three to four inches taller than his boys, and he might have had the biggest hands that Sam had ever had the opportunity to touch in his life, but he was really nothing but a big, shaggy sheep dog.

The reasons Sam couldn’t understand a single fucking word he said came threefold.

1) Mr. Murdock had grown up in mid-century Hell’s Kitchen. That was just how accents from those parts used to sound. They’d lightened with time.

2) He had an extra layer of what Matt called a ‘brogue.’ He was first-generation American. Both his folks had immigrated from Ireland. He talked halfway between the way they talked and the way that the kids in his neighborhood growing up had.

And 3) The man had a lisp?

It wasn’t super noticeable. Sam sure as shit couldn’t hear it among the other layers of stuff going on, but Foggy said it was there.

Apparently, it came out more when he was anxious.

Apparently, he was anxious a lot.

Foggy told Sam to just give it an hour and he’d understand.

 --

  “So your name is Sam?” Mr. Murdock asked him while Sam tried to keep his mouth from falling open.

Matt was holding his facial-copy-cat against the wall by his lapels. The copy-cat had started making kissy noises at him. He egged Matt on to punch him right in the face.  

No one was stopping them.  

Kirsten cleared her throat and brought Sam back down to earth.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sam. Mr., uh—”

“Call me Jack.”

Never.

“Matty hasn’t said much about you, sorry to say.” Mr. Murdock explained. The more he spoke directly to Sam, the more Sam found, to his relief, that he could understand him. “He don’t like sharin’ things his brother can get ahold of and take from ‘im.”

Sam looked from him to the ‘brother.’

“There’s two of them?” he asked.

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“God help us, every one,” he huffed.

You can say that again.

“How long has there been two?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“Mm? Oh, uh. Christ with the math,” Mr. Murdock said, “Michael—Michael—boy, you knock that off; that’s how you lose teeth—how old are you now?”

Nevermind. Sam didn’t need to know.

“I’m ageless, Pops, remember?” ‘Michael’ said, grinning at Matt’s sneer in his face, “Everlasting, never dying. Immortal. Timeless. I’m—” Dude got the wind knocked out his sails from Matt aiming for his solar plexus instead of his face.

“Maitiú,” Mr. Murdock said sharply. “He’s your brother.”

“He earned it,” Matt snapped back at his dad. “You said ‘no teeth,’ I ain’t even touched his goddamn teeth.”

“No, you coward, you wouldn’t, would you?” Michael threw back at Matt with no sense in his head. “You scared of gettin’ stuck on all that metal, huh?”

“I ain’t got my tetanus booster,” Matt deadpanned.

“Oh, get the yellow fever one next time, it’s a hoot—”

“I’m mailing you back to Thailand in a crate.”

“Oh mail me, why don’t you?”

“I’m gonna.”

“Boys,” Mr. Murdock said, exasperated. “Knock it off. You love each other. We get it.”

Kirsten shook with giggles.

“I’d drown you in the open ocean and then kill myself,” Matt said through gritted teeth. His nose was maybe an inch from his brother’s.

Michael just beamed.

“Aw, babe. You’d do that for me?” he gushed.

“HHhhh—”

“Maitiú.”

Sam had never heard someone said ‘Matthew’ this way. It was delightful. It made Matt’s shoulders go stiff as a board and then squirm in barely contained fury.

“Thank you,” Mr. Murdock said. “Drop ‘im.”

Matt didn’t want to, but he released his grip on his sibling. Michael slipped down and then caught himself and straightened himself out.

“Well, I’ll never,” he said. “We come all this way to visit you on your deathbed and—”

“I’m not dying,” Matt said.

“—you worry Dad sick for months on end. Don’t call. Don’t write. He thought the Californians had eaten you—"

“—I told him that it was a dislocation and I’m fine—”

“—and of course I told him, ‘no Dad, there ain’t any more cannibals in California than there are in New York’ but who listens to Mike, huh?”

Mr. Murdock had only been in the house for 15 minutes and he already looked exhausted.

“Where are the dogs?” he asked Foggy.

 ---

 This was the weirdest time-out session Sam had ever experienced and he’d decided that he was living for it. Mr. Murdock went out onto the deck and locked himself out there with the dogs. Matt and his brother had never been more guilty.

Quickly the arguing turned towards scheming, which turned towards climbing out a window, which turned towards getting stuck on the roof and pleading with the Father to lend a hand.

Mr. Murdock observed Matt sobbing with laughter over Mike’s sudden anxiety of stepping from the roof to the deck’s arm railing with only hollowness.

“Mike’s not very super,” Sam pointed out to Kirsten.

“Nope,” she said brightly. “He is refreshingly normal,” she said. “Even the conman part.”

The what?

 ---

 Matt climbed off the roof with ease and took the opportunity to finally give his old man a hug, which Mr. Murdock seemed to appreciate. He smoothed a giant mitt of a hand through Matt’s hair tenderly, like he was a baby.

It was kind of cute.

Mike scowled at them both and announced that he was pretty fine, by the way. He’d just stay there on the roof until the vultures got him.

“Matt’s the younger twin,” Foggy told Sam cheerfully. “He can do no wrong.”

Sam felt like he could suddenly see the forest for the trees.

“And Mike?” he asked.

Foggy snickered.

“He and Jack live together to keep each other in good cardiac shape,” he said. “They drive each other nuts.”

“But they still live together?” Sam clarified.

“Yeah,” Foggy said. “Mike’s what happens when you give a used-car salesman ever so slightly too much brain. He travels all over. Gets shot at and held hostage a lot. He’ll do just about anything for a couple bucks, no matter how hard Jack’s tried to get him to go straight over the years.”

“And Mr. Murdock? He doesn’t mind his son living with him?” Sam asked.

Kirsten and Foggy softened.

“Matt used to check on him more when we lived back home,” Foggy said. “Without him and Mike, Jack’s by himself. He’s got friends and work, yeah, but you know. If it weren’t for Mike, he’d come home to an empty apartment every night. Man’s got too much head trauma for that to be any kind of good. Mike looks after him—probably more than he lets anyone else. He’s too stubborn to let Matt try to help him.”

Aw, cute.

“Be prepared, Sammy,” Foggy said. “Jack’s already adopted you.”

Say what now?

 ---

 Mr. Murdock didn’t outright say that Sam was puny and he was going to fix it, but Sam could see it in his disappointed gaze.

“Don’t like bread?” he asked as Sam chewed his way through an Uncrustable at the kitchen table. Sam froze with the sandwich in hand. He stared at it.

It was bread.

Surely, this was bread.

Right?

“Uh?” he tried.

“Don’t like the crusts?” Mr. Murdock asked him more gently.

Oh.

“I don’t mind them, these are premade though. You know, convenient,” Sam explained.

He got a stare impossible to read.

“Stay there,” Mr. Murdock decided.

It took too long for Sam’s brain to work out what had just happened, and by the time it had, it was too late. Matt stuck his head in the room and asked Sam why he’d told his dad that Matt was starving him.

Sam floundered and tried to explain the sandwiches. Matt absorbed this and rolled his whole head.

“Well, now he’s makin’ a week’s worth for you,” he sighed. “Wants you to eat the crust.”

Dude.

“It’s easier not to question it,” Matt sighed. “What kind of jelly do you want?”

 ---

 Matt didn’t interrogate his father, but Mike did. Unrepentantly. He walked in as Sam was emphasizing that he didn’t want any kind of jelly and he’d make his own sandwiches and understood the entire situation faster than Sam could have possibly explained it.

“FATHER,” he roared. ��Leave the boy alone, he’s not starvin’, he’s just short.”

Flattering. Thanks, asshole.

There was no response from the kitchen. Matt told Mike to ease off. Mr. Murdock was trying to be nice.

“There’s nice and then there’s rude,” Mike said.

“And you’re rude?” Matt offered.

There was a pause.

A warm hand found the space in between Sam’s shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry about both of ‘em, kid, they got rocks for brains, it ain’t their fault. Our grandfather was a caveman, you know how it is,” Mike said kindly.

Matt was not amused.

“It’s not a big deal,” he repeated. “I’ll eat ‘em if Sam doesn’t want ‘em.”

“And subject yourself to peanut butter hell for multiple days in a row, Maitiú?” Mike asked, scandalized.

Matt glared in the direction of the stairs.

“Some of us enjoy nut protein,” he said.

Sam blinked in shock as big hands slapped themselves over his ears.

“There are children present,” Mike hissed.

Sam found the guy’s middle fingers and yanked. Mike swore. Matt chuckled.

“He ain’t a baby,” he said fondly. “Sam’s a tough cookie.”

You’re damn right he was.

“Charming,” Mike grumbled as Matt abandoned them for the kitchen again. He scowled down at Sam. “What’s your gimmick then?” he asked.

Sam wondered if he could make his contacts come out by blinking slowly enough. It would be cool as fuck. It definitely wasn’t happening.

“I control typhoons,” he said.

Mike winced.

“Fuckin’ vigilantes,” he said.

 ---

 Mr. Murdock gave Sam a second sandwich. He’d cut it into quarters.

“Matt says you don’t like jelly,” he said. “Bananas are better?”

Sam couldn’t help but like him.

“Yeah. I don’t eat much bread generally,” he said. “My family has always been more about rice.”

Mr. Murdock analyzed him.

“I can do rice,” he said.

Bless. It was okay, really.

“Do you like spicy things, Mr. Murdock?” Sam asked.

“Jack.”

Nice try.

“Spicy?” Sam repeated.

Mr. Murdock considered it.

“Not sure,” he said. “You mean like hot sauce? I ain’t fuck with that ghost pepper shit.”

Sam hummed.

“Before you leave, I’ll cook for you in return,” he said. “I won’t make it too spicy, cross my heart.”

Mr. Murdock considered this and then got a look in his eye that made Sam’s cheeks start to ache a little.

 ---

 Matt told Sam to play nice. Matt told his father to play nice.

There was to be no hiding chilis in Mike’s pasta.

They were caught and scolded.

“Not to worry,” Mr. Murdock told Sam fondly, “There are other ways.”

 ---

 Sam had never seen such outrage over a knot in a shoelace. Matt crossed his arms over his chest, seconds away from tapping his own foot.

“You said you were ready,” he reminded Mike for the fourth time.

“I know what I said,” Mike snapped at him. He’d dug through all the kitchen drawers to procure a metal skewer to apply to this situation.

“We’re going to be late,” Matt said. “I wait for my guide, she doesn’t wait for me.”

“Well she’s waitin’ today,” Mike said. “I swear to god—”

Mr. Murdock stroked the top of Tuesday’s head and asked Mike if he’d tried putting baby powder on it. Mike spat at him to mind his own business and went back to the knot. He managed it get it untangled and the shoe half on just in time to find the second one stuck in the third hole down.

He just about vibrated with fury.

Matt sighed loudly.

“Borrow mine already,” he said.

“Never.”

“Mike.”

“They’re blue. This outfit tolerates only warm colors, Matthew. ONLY warms.”

“We’re late.”

“Style waits for no man.”

“Well, clearly that ain’t the case, is it?”

Mike stood up sharply.

“I’m going to change,” he said. “And whatever elf tied these will rue the day. Mark my words.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll tell the elf—oh, my bad, the clown, Mike. It’s you. Get your life together. We’re late.”

Hilarious.

 ---

  “Why don’t you move out here?” Sam asked Mr. Murdock as he watched Sam sand away at his latest secret project in Matt’s absence.

“Sun’ll kill me,” Mr. Murdock deadpanned.

“I thought so too, but it’s not so bad,” Sam said. “I miss the snow sometimes.”

Mr. Murdock cocked his head and then knelt down to take the sanding block out of Sam’s hands. He gestured for Sam to give him the hunk of wood in his hands, too.

“Matty says you don’t got papers,” he said.

Sam was surprised. Matt usually kept that secret locked tight. But Mr. Murdock didn’t seem to have any adverse reaction to it.

“No,” Sam admitted. “My mom brought me here when I was really little. I didn’t know what it meant to overstay a visa.”

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“Makes flying tricky,” he said.

Yeah.

“Bus, not too bad, though?”

Mm. Bus was better, yes.

“Train?”

Depended on the train.

“Hm. Well, if you get homesick or need busfare, you just give a shout, ya hear? You’re always welcome to stay with us.”

Aww.

“Or if you really hate yourself, I’m sure Mike would love to come pick you up.”

Oh god.

“He can drive?” Sam asked.

Mr. Murdock paused and held his face in his dusty palm.

“The day he got his license was the worst day of my life,” he said.

Sam snickered.

“Did you guys drive all the way here?” he asked.

“No, thank god.”

“Can you drive?”

“Son.”

Sam looked up from the block of wood into Mr. Murdock’s hazel eyes.

“I take two steps out of New York and I’m gone, that’s me dead. No, I don’t drive. Why the hell would I drive? Where the hell am I goin’?”

Wow, mood.

“I tried to drive once,” Sam said. “Reversed into a fire hydrant. Matt laughed so hard he cried.”

Mr. Murdock handed back the woodblock. It was much smoother than it had been. Sam was chocking that up to the muscles and the practice.

 ---

 Matt and Mike got home and Mike announced that he was disowning that ‘putrid being’ that was the Swamp Monster beside him. Matt told Mr. Murdock that Mike didn’t approve of the swimming part of triathlon.

Mr. Murdock picked leaves out of his hair with supreme patience.

 ---

 “So Dad’s officially decided that you’re his grandson,” Mike informed Sam out of nowhere that Sunday. “He prayed for you at church today.”

Sam almost dropped his wrench. That was so endearing his teeth hurt.

“It’s ‘cause I do woodwork,” he said. “He can smell the handyman on me.”

Mike cocked his head to the side. His eyes were blue like Matt’s. Their mom must have had blue eyes—or maybe hazel like Mr. Murdock’s.

“No,” Mike said. “It’s ‘cause he’s also been a grocery bagger, a janitor, and a contractor.”

He what now?

“He wants to know why you aren’t in college.”

Oh. well—

“Matt tried to explain, but you know, it ain’t clickin’. He don’t get the politics part of things sometimes. Gets confused why people make such a big deal when there’s obvious solutions in front of ‘em. It’s not all his fault, he barely got a highschool diploma back when ‘critical thinking’ wasn’t even a testing category. Anyways, he wants you to go to college. Thinks you’re too smart to be pushin’ paper.”

Sam was going to cry.

“I think he sees a lot of Matt in you,” Mike said with a squint. “So just as a warning, he’s unbearable. Always—well, no. More like 95% of the year. He’s alright around New Years when he’s tired. You can tell him to fuck off at any time, though.”

No, no. It was okay. It was nice to have���more family. That’s what it was.

“I hope you know what this means, Samuel,” Mike said.

Mmm no?

Mike’s hand clasped his shoulder.

“You can call me ‘uncle,’” he said.

Ah.

No, thanks.

 ---

 Foggy and Kirsten couldn’t look at Sam without bursting into merciless laughter, which Sam had realized was a result of Mike’s vocal distress at his rejected offer of uncle-dom. Sam didn’t know what to tell him.

Mr. Murdock was nice. Enormous, yes, but very well meaning and gentle. His and Sam’s priorities and experience in life aligned neatly and Sam was slightly charmed by the way that he expressed himself verbally only to Matt and Mike.

Sam also didn’t hate Mike. He just didn’t want him to have uncle privileges. He didn’t see what was difficult about this.

“Mike’s got a history of rejection,” Foggy said. “And by that, I mean that every woman on the eastern seaboard has rejected him and he tries anyways.”

 ---

 Matt came downstairs and told Sam to ignore everything Mike said to him all day. He also said that they were going out that night, so don’t burn fingers on the soldering iron.

Sam saluted in acknowledgement.

Forty minutes later there was a rap at his door followed by Mike saying through it that he wanted to show Sam something.

Sam did not open the door.

He heard Matt’s name being cursed on the other side.

 ---

 Twenty minutes later there was another knock, this time with Mike saying that Mr. Murdock wanted to bond with Sam.

Sam nudged open his curtains and squinted hard into the backyard where he could see the vague shape of Matt chatting to his dad on the deck stairs, both apparently having a beer and shooting the shit.

This was a scam.

Sam would not be scammed.

He went back to the suit.

There was more cursing outside the door.

 ---

 About half an hour later, there was a knock, followed by Mr. Murdock’s voice this time, asking Sam if his shoes were supposed to be on the front porch.

They were not.

This was playing dirty.

Sam ventured out to go right this wrong and ended up outside on the front porch with the conman himself. Mike closed the door after him triumphantly and proceeded to get them both locked out.

“Are you supposed to be a good conman or?” Sam asked.

Mike gaped at him.

“The best conman,” he said. “Don’t worry, kid, I’ve broken into a thousand houses and won two horses. I’ve got this.”

That was not comforting. Sam was not comforted.

“First, we gotta test all the windows, and, failing that, we get a rock or a gun,” Mike told him with a knowing finger.

Sam blinked at it and then up at Mike. The man’s shoulders twitched.

“Uh?” Mike said.

Ah. The eyes. No contacts today.

“Do you like them? They’re Prada,” Sam said to absolute silence.

“A brick,” Mike announced abruptly. “A brick works too. Like a rock but bigger.”

Okay, so they weren’t talking about it, gotcha. Look, a whole family’s worth of repression styles. Sam was glad that they had a full set of methods.

 ---

 Sam broke into his own bedroom through the window. Mike clapped for him outside. Sam opted to leave him there.

 ---

 He was sort of sad to see the Murdocks go, especially after seeing the effect that the most senior of them had on Matt.

Sam hadn’t seen him this chilled out. He visibly relaxed under his dad’s hand on the back of his neck. He tolerated the fussing and constant hair fixing and the fingers brushing at his cheeks and elbows. Mr. Murdock guided him with the same practiced ease that Foggy and Kirsten did, but his guiding was accompanied by a quiet, ongoing commentary about the street around them, which Sam hadn’t actually heard Foggy do in the same kind of way.

It was like Mr. Murdock was telling Matt a story everywhere they went.

He told him when there were flags hanging up a story above, waving in the wind. He told him about the hanging wire baskets of flowers that Sam forgot about. He huffed a bit while he talked about lines of traffic in the street and a vast lack of color in the group due to the absence of so many yellow cabs.

Mr. Murdock of course, had been Matt’s first ever guide. It only made sense that he had a specialized style of it, just for Matt.

And for Matt’s sake, Sam didn’t want him to go, but alas, New Yorkers, man. The city called them back to the coast like a siren.

“You take it easy, y’hear, kiddo?” Mr. Murdock told him at the airport.

Sam smiled and said that he’d try.

“Take care of yourself. I mean that. Out at night too.”

Copy that, big guy.

“Give us a hug.”

Oh??? A hug??? Sam loved hugs. Hugs were great. He was—er. Leaving this one with double the ribs from the cracks apparently.

Mr. Murdock released him to go break Matt in half and then Foggy and then Kirsten. Mike told him that he couldn’t avoid flying again by hugging people. He also warned Kirsten that he’d see her soon and that then, she was sure to fall for his charms.

Kirsten said that she would be waiting with bated breath, and then that was it. Three Murdocks again whittled down to one.

“God, I should have married your dad,” Foggy moaned.

Matt laughed at him.

“He’s plenty busy avoiding the gaze of every person over sixty in his building. Let him live,”  he said. “Sam? Not too traumatized, I hope?”

Mm. Not so bad.

“Are you sure Mike’s your brother?” he asked.

“Unfortunately.”

Too bad.

“It’s fine, if we ever need a guy to distract the police, we’ve got him on retainer.”

That was true.

“They’ll come back?” Sam asked.

Matt paused before feeling for his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said. “Or we’ll go to them. I think you’d enjoy watching them in their natural environment.”

 -----------

Hope that’s something for you anon!! I also hope you feel better!

[collapsingstars-nova]

Dreams.

I wasn’t sure where to write this down, here or the goals blog, but I’m just gonna put it here. 

I keep having two dreams, one of which is a nicer dream, and then the worst dream ever. 

The Nicer Dream: 

I wake up early, on a breezy summer day. The sun hasn’t quite fully risen which means everything’s still cast in that early morning gray light. I love that lighting. I pull on regular clothes and go down to my garden. I’ve got a backyard that’s much bigger than the one I actually have, and a huge three-tiered box garden that’s right outside my second-story window, scaling up the hill. 

It’s not all hunky-dory. On the top tier on the right, I’ve got unnamed plants growing, tomatoes in the middle, and corn stalks on the left. In the dream I turn on a water system, that cascades down the from the top of the hill to the bottom to water everybody. My tomatoes were having a hard time, but they are growing nicely now, and I’m supremely pleased because it’s hard to grow tomatoes, especially in Colorado (which IRL is true.) Whatever on the right is good, and the corn is good, but some nasty weeds have gotten in the way of their healthy growth, and I spent a lot of time in my dream there, pulling out nasty black weeds that look like the corn, but aren’t. Every time I have this dream, the weeds get bigger, and there’s more of them. But they don’t touch any other plants, in fact, there aren’t any other weeds in my garden I’m aware of. Just when I’m starting to feel accomplished for pulling those weeds, I notice something has gone wrong with the watering. The sprinkler system is failing, and the second tier of the garden, which sometimes I remember as spinach and sometimes as carrots, or both, is absolutely flooded, and it’s going to destroy the plants. These plants are pretty hardy and so I tun the water off and let it drain, hoping the sun will dry up the excess and the carrots and spinach which are sprouting will survive, and I resign myself to hand watering the garden until I fix the leak. 

The bottom row of the garden, I never touch, I never take care of or explore what’s there, and when I wake up my curiosity always peaks and I can’t help but wonder why that is, and what’s there. I also know on the far left side on my backyard is more planted, but I never explore it either. The only other thing I explore is tucked away in the corner right. I’ve got a chest-high wooden fence, and behind it are garbage cans. Some are open and some are not, and inside all of them are full of dirt with one random gourd plant growing on top. I can’t count how many are open and closed, in the dream if I do, I immediately forget. And it always ends here, after I’ve checked the gourds, and I am satisfied. The sun never rises anymore than it had when I woke up. 

I’ve had this dream six times since the beginning of February, and it always falls into the same groundhog day scenario, except the weeds in the corn are bigger and more numerous, and I’m aware of that. Sometimes realizing that about the weeds, I become aware I’m dreaming, but I can’t seem to change anything until the dream is over and I become unconscious after the gourds, or I wake up. 

It doesn’t bother me very much, in fact, I enjoy the dream, because I do like to garden, but I’m bothered by how precise and exact the scene and scenarios are every time. 

The Worst Dream Ever:

In this dream, I’ve got long hair. The length changes, sometimes below the shoulder, sometimes around my eyes and chin, but it always is long enough to cover the back of my neck. It always starts with me in various scenarios. In the eight times I’ve had this dream in the past two weeks I’ve been 1) twice at the gym with it tied up, 2) once I was dancing with someone, 3) three times someone has been playing with it and running their fingers in it (which I enjoy IRL) 4) once I was sleeping and finally 5) once I was gardening, which is important and I’ll get to that. I’m watching myself do stuff from the third person, and then it switches to my POV, and someone is pulling on my hair, hard, hard enough to drag me. I end up in the dark, floating in a featureless dark room, and I get a reprieve for only a moment before that same person grabs it and takes dull scissors to it. It hurts enormously, and then when they’re done I’m thrown back into my room, at night, and I’m curled up underneath my window with my hair chopped close to my scalp and in pieces around me. 

This dream makes me anxious enough that I’ve had to wake up and throw up almost every time. The last three times I was expecting it, and ironically enough two of those three was someone playing with my hair, and the third I was gardening. 

I have some premise for this one I can identify IRL; I have had my hair cut in a short pixie since high school, for various reasons. It’s easier to take care of; I’m in an ever ongoing, quiet, gender and sexuality identification crisis; my mom wasn’t ever around to teach me how to take care of it or do anything with it, and I didn’t have any sisters or other femme role models either; at the time it was a load off my mind. And I loved it, and strangely enough, since I did it, it’s become one of the things that helps me to stick out in people’s minds, in a good way. My hair and expressing who I am have become intrinsically linked. But now I’m curious and want to feed that curiosity. I can understand being anxious about it. But to the point of being anxious enough about it, that I keep having this same dream, and it’s incredibly violent toward me, is upsetting. 

...

I figure if I boil it down I’m probably just anxious about some life things. 

But the reoccurrence, specificity, and pointed notes my brain continues to make in these dreams are more than a bit odd. Especially since last night. I had the gardening dream again, and it had been awhile, and as I was weeding, someone grabbed my hair, and it swung right into my hair dream. I had a physical headache when I woke up and spent a good chunk of time coming down from an almost panic attack. 

The combination has been enough to keep me up since early morning, and I’ve spent all day taking care of whatever adult things I’ve been putting off to stave off whatever anxiety is plaguing me, to see if it will help. It feels good but at the same time, I can feel it’s not these things that are wrong. I am just kind of at a loss. I also sat and tried to identify if there was anything in my life that I did regularly that my brain would keep bringing up, but I ingest media, look for a job, and go to the gm. I don’t even listen to the same music over and over. It’s the worst of winter in Colorado right now, I’m not even gardening. 

I’m already aware I need some therapy, but while I’m battling that uphill battle, I thought I’d write something down somewhere. I’ve got a mess of each of these dreams in my notebook and typing things down helps me to sort out messy journal notes. 

And because I’m a glutton for attention/punishment, I thought I’d post it on Tumblr. If someone’s got a better idea as to what the fuck my brain is doing, feel free to hit me up. If not - they’re quite curious dreams anyway. 

[awesomedarmoe-blog]

What’s the Theme?

Though it’s been less than a week the eclectic nature of my blog composition thus far seems to create question in people’s minds, “What’s he on about?”

Well, I write on a myriad of subjects with my passions leaning towards Political & Social issues, the lie of Religion, some very bold perspective on the LGBT community, My personal business offerings (How To materials for the Psychic Entertainer’s industry, books on Esoteric/Metaphysical belief systems, and introduction to “Craig’s Concoction” my very own snake oil elixir product). 

Yes, I am very opinionated. 

Yes, I am quite angry. 

Yes, I am an old fart that sits at the keyboard all day Reading, Writing and Cussing. 

I am generally unapologetic in that what I offer is based on what’s understood by people vs. what is popular and in vogue.  In fact, I tend to be very controversial when it comes to the latter in that I don’t necessarily agree in many cases.  For an example, I have deep issues around the whole Transgender and Vegan trends we’re seeing in society at present and their exceptionally aggressive agenda to convert us all. . . or so it would seem. And do understand, I’m a middle-aged gay man that’s saying such things and I’m rather confident that I’m not alone in my views. Then again, many gay men loathe the whole Cross Dressing side of our community, seeing it in the same light as the old Black Face Minstrel shows. 

About Me

My story is simple but strange; born in kaiki diapers at the Aberdeen Proving Grounds in Aberdeen, MD to two West Virginia natives that just happened to be 2nd cousins -- they lived on either side of a mountain so it’s considered legal by hillfolk standards. It was the early 1960s, the space program was in its prime and expanding, television was maturing, and the world was in a major flux when it came to change and conflict.  There’s nothing like seeing racially based abuse and learning straight from the bible why, as a young white kid, I wasn’t allowed to play with my black friend. . . in other words, those ghost costumes were definately around, and though we rarely ever had contact, it was well established that Sen. Robert Byrd (former grand wizard of the KKK) was a part of the family as well). 

Ties to Appalachia came with a very strange mix of religious & spiritual points of view.  Whereas most considered themselves “Christian” they likewise dabbled in what we call “Hoodoo” or “Mountain Magick” -- when you toss in my half-breed great-great-grandmother, the daughter of a Cherokee shaman and noted midwife (Granny Lady/Healer) as well as a part Shawnee paternal grandmother it becomes obvious that this particular legacy is unique unto itself. 

When I was but a toddler (3-5 years old) certain “truths” would come to the surface about me such as the natural swish in my walk and lisp in my talk; something my red necked father faithfully beat out of me thinking his abuse would knock the queer completely out, but NO. . . I’d be fooling around with other boys, many of them older than I, for the whole of my life (sort of). . . there is the matter of my playing Mr. Mom and helping raise about 10 kids over the years and being celibate for most of the 30 years spanning my 30s to present.  But such things pertain to my latter years. . . 

One of the other things that cropped up in those days was the ability to intuitively KNOW people; I was known for walking up to total strangers and being able to relate details about their life, why they had certain emotions and more.  It was a trait that panicked my parents, fearing that I would be of the generation that lends reprise to a more esoteric way of living vs. the dogmatic bias of the church.  And yes, they did all matter of exorcism and laying on of hands to “cure me” -- by the time I was in my late teens and actually looking into going to seminary (c’mon, preaching is like a family business in my world) and discovered the truth about the church, the bible and the millions of murdered innocent people it took to “christianize” the world.  It made me sick to my stomach and intensely angry because of the lies I was told (we’re all told) about it all.  While I maintain a strong spiritual point of view and association, I am very much anti-religion with particular emphasis on the Abrahamic traditions, 3 of the most brutal, blood thirsty cults ever known by humankind. 

Seeking answers as to why I could just touch people and know things (Psychometry) I discovered the world of stage magic via The Magic Land of Alakazam and magician Mark Wilson.  To this day my mother swears the two dumbest things she ever got me as a kid was a puppet and a magic kit, in that both would come to rule my life -- nearly 5 full decades in show biz which ranged from doing commercial shows for a noted kid’s clothing line, being a feature in a major traveling Side Show and gaining a serious reputation as a technical advisor and effect developer. . . not bad for a kid from Ohio’s famed valley. 

PTSD, Depression & Me

PTSD can be caused by a number of scenarios; for me, it was an overly controlling father that loved to employ crued psychological tactics to keep everyone in the family suppressed and in servitude.  Oh yes!  He was physically violent as well -- a very short fuse and terrible temper.  The results of which is my blocking out most of my youth from age 8 well into my early 20s.  Even now, at 58, I jump when I hear the man’s voice (though he’s been dead now for nearly 4 years). 

Most of what I know about my teen years is based on stories told to me by others that were there and so, things tend to get a bit mixed up from time to time when it comes to chronology and the unfolding of events.  Too, because I was treated as royalty (child prodigy) in the early years, my ego frequently leads me to believe that I’m very special and amongst the elite, even though I have very little claim to fame as a showman. 

Showbiz is rife with damaged people it would seem, many of us in the Variety Entertainment side of things, enduring horrid anxiety & depression.  For me it has been more than stifling at times and did entail some short term (very expensive) drug use which lead to my going through a substantial amount of money in under two years time. 

Brain Damage as the result of drugs and a few concussions plagues me to this day and has been compounded by the progression of my RRMS (Relapsing Remitting Multiple Sclerosis) which has put numerous lesions on my brain. But then, I’m always breaking things or getting hurt by animals, etc.  You don’t chase adrenaline without having to pay the piper. 

The West Coast & Awakening

By the time I was 22 I was desperate for some sort of positive change in my life, finding a purpose.  The healing came through several key sources, including 12 step participation, working with New Age author-publisher Louise L. Hay and studying A Course in Miracles with Marianne Williamson.  Add to this my involvement with T.O.T.E.G. a Hopi Shaman-based study group as well as Pacific Circle, one of the nation’s biggest Pagan fellowships and you get a fairly decent glimpse as to what really shaped me most in life. 

Like anyone tied to the world of theatrical magic I practically lived at the world famous Magic Castle from 1982 to 88 when my adventure would once again take on new life and new directions.  By the late 80s I was working in the San Jose and Bay areas and taking the occasional gig in nearby Las Vegas or Reno, laying foundations for things to come, I guess you could say. 

Craig the Psychic

Throughout my work in magic I kept feeling drawn to a field of study known as “Mentalism” -- basically, it is a kindred artform that allows the performer to create illusions that seem to be Psychic or Spiritual phenomena (and we’re talking almost 20 years prior to its current popularity).  My first series of Mentalism performances were in Palm Spring -- 3 nights of shear terror!  I was 23 and inexperienced when it comes to the kind of reaction my performance generated -- people wanting me to become their guru. I’d never experienced anything like this and wasn’t emotionally prepared to deal with it, so I ran back to the safety of my big illusions for a while, inserting psychic styled demonstrations here and there, as part of the program; typically dividing the show so that one full 20 minute segment focused exclusively on Mind Magic. 

Unlike the majority of people that move into this world, I was not an ardent skeptic or “cynic” as it were.  No, I am still a confirmed believer in probability and likelihood i.e. it is very likely that science will prove out what the mystics of old claimed as magick.  Even now researchers are even boasting about how technology is inching us closer to such discoveries and allowing application thereof.  Adding to my faith however, is the abundance of miracles and amazing revelations that I’ve personally experienced and studied that have NO LOGICAL EXPLANATION to which the intellectual cynic has but one answer “Coincidence” (so much for “scientific” theory). 

At 16 I got my first deck of Tarot cards and have been doing Readings with folks ever since.  At 10 my father’s step-dad, a noted Dowser in the Bluefield, WV region, put a stick in my hand and taught me how to divine for water, treasure and more.  One of the reasons I wish more young pagan people could learn from actual elders vs. overly commercialized publications that too frequently, give incomplete and even misinformation to the eager noob. The old methods of testing and help cultivate abilities are virtually forgotten to all but a small handful of us that the millennials are reluctant to listen to. 

So You’re a Charlatan! Comes the claim of the cynic; someone that takes cruel advantage of the gullible and desperate. 

When Harry Houdini and Joseph Dunninger and others declared war on Spiritualists of their day, it was for good reason -- most making the claim were nothing but hacks employing sleight of hand and other forms of deception to steal from their clients.  I often point to the Anna Riva Book of Black & White Magic in that it basically outlines exactly how to accomplish such exploits (while holding a mystical veneer). But the real charlatans in today’s world rarely come in the form of Psychics; most are “businessmen” (CEOs, Lawyers, Advertising & Marketing Pros, etc.) Just look around and you’ll find it.

I do two things as a Psychic; legitimate one on one or group Readings and related teaching.  Then I likewise perform and as best I can, I do my shows in a legit manner, employing trickery (which is usually obvious) here and there for the sake of amusement.  Let’s face it, if you can’t laugh, there is little in way of entertainment value. 

Today, Living in Western Massachusetts

Since 2003 I have been officially “retired” due to health issues.  I also spend a good portion of my time in a wheelchair though I’ve managed to be free of the contraption for much of the past 16 months. I survive on government assistance and the little bit of cash I get here and there from doing Readings, book sales and busking.  

This Spring (2018) I plan on starting a new career venture through a health drink that’s been in the family for generations -- Craig’s Concoction.  This is a ginger, lemon & vinegar drink that is very refreshing but the 5 key herbs used in brewing the elixir are known for aiding with everything from digestion and staving off colds to helping with high blood pressure and diabetes.  I’ve not completed the Kickstarter outline on this campaign but it is on the horizon (to the tune of about $75k+). 

My homelife is blessed by my best chum (pictured below) and with that introduction, I’ll bid thee farewell. . . 

BTW. . . his name is Bohdi and he’s 6 years old. 

[mikeyd1986]

MIKEY’S PERSONAL BLOG 72, October 2017

"Overcoming self-doubt is all about believing we're enough and letting go of what the world says we're supposed to be and supposed to call ourselves."        The Gifts of Imperfection by Dr. Brene Brown (p. 115)

On Monday morning, I participated in the Do It In A Dress charity event at UFT PLAYgrounds in Berwick. I had a lot of anxiety leading up to this event but most of it was self-generated inside my head. I’ve had self-confidence issues most of my life so wearing a dress in public is a massive step up for me. I’m putting myself out of my comfort zone, supporting an important cause and being a part of something bigger than myself. I ended up putting about $10-15 in small change into the money box plus I made an online donation a few weeks ago.

Past Michael would have caved into the fear and ran for the hills (Fear of being laughed at by others, fear of being embarrassed or humiliated, fear of being rejected or socially excluded). But Present Michael is much stronger than that and the reality is that most of those things won’t actually happen. Every personal trainer, coach and client will be wearing a dress of some kind so therefore I won’t be standing out for all the wrong reasons. Plus this event is meant to be fun.

The event was organised by personal trainer Sheena Mabilangan. The aim is to raise money towards educating young girls in Uganda and Sierra Leone who can’t afford to go to school or aren’t allowed to simply because they are born a girl. So the idea is to wear a dress for the girls who can’t. You can find out more information about the cause and the Do It In A Dress event here: http://www.doitinadress.com/

WARM-UP...So this morning I did my usual flowing sequence of yoga stretches...thread the needle, pigeon pose (10 on each side) plus five minutes standing on the balance board. I decided to vent my frustrations about work to Luke because it was still plaguing my mind from yesterday. It was a very exhausting and stressful day for me but I got through it without having a mental breakdown or bawling my eyes out.

DEVELOPMENT...Today I worked on my single back squats, doing 5 sets of 1’s and getting up to 95kg. I got myself a little confused at the start as I wasn’t sure if we were doing 4’s, 2’s or 1’s. But the biggest challenge for me was keeping my chest lifted up during the ascent. Part of it was a mental battle of being able to handle the pressure of the weight on my back but eventually I got it. It was just navigating the period of adjustment to lifting a heavier weight than normal and concentrating on getting my form correct. But I was still very proud of my efforts.

WORKOUT...Today’s workout involved doing 3 rounds of the following movements: 20m sled push, 10 squats, 20m sled pull, 10 squats and a 200m run. Whilst the first of the workout was definitely tough from a strength and fatigue perspective, the run was the thing that got me the most. I do feel like I am making some significant improvements though. Remembering to breathe, keeping my chest lifted up and arms in a swinging motion. But eventually, I just run out of gas and that’s when the heavy panting and breathlessness begins. Still I managed to smash the workout and that’s what really matters. https://www.facebook.com/breakawayf...

On Monday night, I decided to take a second bite of the cherry and came down for an Ultimate Bootcamp session at UFT PLAYgrounds in Berwick. By this point, I was feeling rather worn out and mentally exhausted from the weekend and this morning, but I was determined to put myself out there again in my One Girl school dress. I know that most people at UFT are more than happy to put themselves out there and having an extroverted personality certainly helps but for me, it’s certainly a lot more challenging exposing myself like this.

But everyone today has been really supportive and encouraging about the cause and the way I look in the dress. The last thing I wanted was to be put down, mocked and laughed at. But that’s what anxiety does...creates the worst possible scenario inside your head when the reality is it’s probably not going to happen. Like I said to Luke Davey this morning, just tell that fear to fuck off!

This was my first time doing an Ultimate Bootcamp class at UFT. I was feeling a little nervous as there was a lot of other classes happening at the same time. It was just a small group tonight which I was comfortable with. We warmed up by playing a game of stick master followed by flip the tyre. I found both of these really fun and thankfully this helped to release some awkward social tension I was having.

Next we had to do 3 rounds of: 1 minute row, 1 minute rest, 200m run, 1 minute rest. I’ve never really been a competitive person even in a group training environment. In fact, the most important advice I’ve ever received is this “Don’t worry about anyone else. The only person you should be competing against is yourself.” I was having some issues keeping up at times but I didn’t care. I just did the best I could to keep a good, consistent pace.

The workout involved a 25 minute AMRAP including 50 kettle bell swings, 50 kettle bell lunges, 50 burpees and 50 hollow rocks. This workout absolutely killed me. First of all, I’ve never done a 25 minute AMRAP before tonight so that in itself was a huge challenge for me. Then there was the mental pressure, fatigue and struggle to keep going. It got harder and harder for me to hold that kettle bell up but I didn’t give up.

I got kinda sensitive towards the end but reminded myself not to take things personally. There were times when I really needed to rest in between reps because I was physically exhausted and burning out. I honestly didn’t care what anyone thought because I was still giving it 110% effort even during the last few minutes. I AM GOOD ENOUGH! And I should be proud of myself for not only getting through this workout but the whole day in general. http://www.uftplaygrounds.com.au/ul...

On Tuesday afternoon, I had my third appointment with Dr. Yasmin Baliz at CNS: Comprehensive Neuropsychological Services in Narre Warren. Today was my final day of assessment for the Autism Spectrum Disorder and thankfully it was nowhere near as stressful or brain-straining as last week’s session was. I had to fill in a number of questionnaires ranging from 30-60 questions each as well as another verbal response test.

The first questionnaire was the DASS (Depression Anxiety Stress Scales) which thankfully I’ve done before with a previous psychologist. This was all about measuring my moods and emotional states. There were two other paper questionnaires which had the options of: Strongly agree, slightly agree, slightly disagree, strongly disagree. The statements were all situation based and if it applies to me. I also had to do an online questionnaire featuring the options: Never, sometimes and always. http://www2.psy.unsw.edu.au/dass/ov...

Some of the questions where only hard because I tend to get indecisive about which option to pick and whether it’s the correct response for me but you just have to go with your gut and try to be as honest as possible. The verbal response test was mostly easy but at times I do have trouble explaining myself or coming up with a coherent answer inside my head. Part of it is certainly overthinking but the other part is finding the right words to say. But Dr. Yasmin was patient and allowed me time to think if I needed to.

And now it’s a 3 week wait until my final feedback session whilst Dr. Yasmin prepares my report. It was also a huge relief to know that I am able to pay the report off in installments rather than in full. $500 is a lot of money to fork out but I do believe that it’s worth it in terms of improving my social skills, personal development and emotional well-being going forward into the future. And if Dr. Yasmin can offer me any additional support services to help me then I’m all the better for doing this. http://www.cnspsych.com.au/

On Wednesday morning, I had my second Strength Training session with Luke Davey at Breakaway Fitness in Berwick. It was a challenging day for me considering I was still recovering from Monday. The soreness in my lower back became a huge distraction for me and unfortunately it gave my inner critic plenty of opportunity to kick off and make the session harder than it should have been.

WARM-UP...I felt that it was really important to be up front with Luke about the soreness and pain I was still experiencing in my lower back before starting. So he got me to roll out and do some pretzel stretches to help release and ease some of the discomfort. I also did 3 rounds of 12 single arm balancing deadlifts with the kettle bell. The pain started flaring up again towards the end of the second round and I was beginning to get frustrated.

DEVELOPMENT...Today I worked on my single deadlifts, doing 4 sets of 1’s at 105kg and one set of 1’s at 110kg. I was really struggling hard even putting the plates on the bar and starting at 40-60kg. The negative thoughts began flooding in as the soreness began to intensify in my back (God this must be so painful for Luke to watch. This is not my best performance at all. I’m taking far too long and even lifting 60kg is really hard for me today. I don’t think I can do this).

But thankfully I managed to silence my inner critic and somehow find the fire within. It was really tough but with Luke’s help, I managed to slowly shift my mindset, get the posture correct, chalked up my hands, put maximum effort into my deadlift and feel confident about it. Luke knew that I was capable of lifting more and so I smashed out a single 110kg deadlift which is a PB for me. I could have lifted heavier but knew that this was my limit for today and next time I’m sure I could hit 115-120kg.

On Thursday morning, Mum and I went down to do some shopping at IKEA Springvale. I absolutely love visiting IKEA mainly because I see it more as an adventure rather just a typical “just looking” shopping experience. The layout of the departments is very unique compared to most other large retailers with a top level dedicated to showrooms and interior displays and the bottom level dedicated to homewares, lighting, decor and furniture.

It’s one of those things I only do a couple of times per year and I find that they’re always changing the layout and introducing new products into the store as well as traditional IKEA staples. You start by “borrowing” a large yellow bag and a trolley, and move your way from one section to the next. There was plenty of bargains and cheap impulse purchases to be had...artificial plants, candles, coat hangers, dish brushes, lamps, bath mats, peelers, spray bottles, watering cans, throw rugs, cushions, towels, lint rollers, drinking glasses etc.

The IKEA Restaurant and Cafe is very American Cafeteria styled as you grab a food tray and work your way along the different cabinets...desserts, drinks, hot food, pastries, coffee and tea. Being close to Christmas, there was a festive promo area set up in front of the checkouts with everything from wrapping paper and napkins to decorations, lights and soft toys. And of course, Mum and I could leave before having a $1 hotdog. http://www.ikea.com/au/en/store/spr... 

On Thursday night, I went to my Water Workout class at YMCA Casey RACE in Cranbourne East. As usual, I decided to spend about 20-30 minutes before the class doing some hydrotherapy on my lower back to ease off any soreness and release any tension. I’ve also started contemplating using the sauna on a more regular basis. The most important thing about sitting in a sauna is to gradually build up heat tolerance over time. Tonight, 5-10 minutes was enough for me but I did my best to relax and embrace the humidity inside the room. https://www.naturalhealthmag.com.au/... 

Tonight’s class was run by fitness instructor Janine and it was a small class of only 6 people. The structure was a little different to previous classes in that all the exercises were done using basic interval training in mind...50 seconds of work, 10 seconds of rest. We did several aqua movements including: jogging, rock ‘n’ roll, mermaid, ski poles, star jumps, tuck jumps, pendulum, donkey kicks and running. http://woman.thenest.com/water-aero... 

On Friday morning, I had my third Strength Training session with Luke Davey at Breakaway Fitness in Berwick. I still have mixed feelings about my progress and performance today. My emotions definitely got in the way particularly during the workout and certain things really got me down after leaving. But at least I can say that I put 110% effort into it. Every struggle is real for me. I don’t put it on and I don’t bullshit. But that doesn’t mean I’m weak either. This is something that I genuinely hope Luke recognises in me. 

WARMUP...Today I started by doing some stretches into my shoulders and pectoral muscles on each side before doing 3 rounds of 10 plank holds with shoulder lifts. I also did 2 rounds of 10 kettle bell overhead lifts. 

DEVELOPMENT...Today I returned to doing dumbbell bench press, 5 rounds of 8 reps at 30kg (15kg x 2). I started off really shaky and found it hard controlling the movement of the dumbbells but over time, I was slowly getting better at it.  

WORKOUT...There was so much going on physically and mentally for me during this workout that I didn’t even think I could finish it at one point. I did four rounds of the following: 350 row, 20 pushups, 15 ring rows and 10 box jumps. I was absolutely fine on the rowing machine. It was more of a mental challenging of wondering if I was going fast enough and being able to handle the fatigue building up. 

The pushups were easily the hardest for me. I did really well during the first two rounds before things became almost too much for me. I was getting very hard on myself for collapsing onto the foam mat and missing reps. Tears were mixing in with sweat as I contemplated whether I could finish this or not. I was worried about disappointing Luke and basically felt embarrassed about my performance. I just struggled heaps with it. 

The ring rows were really tough also but nowhere near as bad as the pushups. I did have to stop a few times to recover and shake the physical fatigue out but otherwise I did well. The box jumps were easily my strongest area. No longer did I feel anxious about tripping over the box or letting the height intimidate me. The fire within really unleashed here as I literally stomped onto the box. I think it was me releasing a lot of pent up negative emotions and saying “I can fucking do this” with my body language. 

On Friday afternoon, Mum and I visited the Cat Cafe Melbourne in the city. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about replacement buses or rushing to get there on time. I really wanted to use my hour session wisely and let it all sink in. The cat’s there are all so beautiful and for the most part placid. This was exactly what I needed after how upset and stressed I was feeling about my training session this morning. A welcome distraction to wind myself down.   

They had a selection of slices, cakes and biscuits all with cat designs on them as well as some coffees and teas. There is also a gift shop downstairs which sold everything from toys, cat nip and a drinking fountain to notebooks, magnets, pens, diaries, games and plush soft toys. I really enjoyed myself today and I’m glad that my friend Amy Amy suggested this place to me. Highly recommended for all cat lovers. https://catcafemelbourne.com/ 

“In my defense, all my intentions were good. And heaven knows a place somewhere for the misunderstood.  You know I'd give you blood if it'd be enough...For what it's worth, I'm sorry for the hurt. I'll be the first to say, I made my own mistakes. For what it's worth, I know it's just a word and words betray. Sometimes we lose our way.”                                                                           Liam Gallagher - For What It’s Worth (2017)