#But I also love medicine too so can’t see myself just doing a PhD and not practicing

[stuckinapril]

Woke up having a crisis about if I want an MD or an MD PhD………. It’s so over

[imperfectcourt]

Andreil Prompt:

Neil is an Assassin. Some day something goes very, very wrong. So the first time Andrew meets Neil, Neil has to explain to him that he accidentally poisened him and Andrew has to go to the hospital to get the antidote.

So I was really unsure about this but when I got going I got really excited about it! But I also COMPLETELY MISSED the line where it said "the first time" so this is very much not the first time they meet ;__; sorry! I hope you like it though!

Neil had never panicked on a job before. He’d never made a mistake or killed the wrong person or not killed the right person. He could kill whoever he was told to kill, he could kill however he was told to kill, and he could be whoever he was told to be in order to do it.

Killing Andrew Minyard was the worst and last mistake Neil would ever make.

Worming his way into A. Minyard’s life hadn’t been easy but it had been natural- the most honest work of his filthy, bloody life.

It had to be this way. It couldn’t look like a typical mob hit, anything abrupt and easy would look suspicious. The call had to come from inside the house, or so they say.

Neil tipped the vial into the remnants of the whiskey bottle and poured two modest glasses. It wouldn’t be pleasant for him but he’d built up enough of a tolerance to survive. Odorless, collarless, no paper trail. He’d suffer some hallucinations and maybe some minor liver damage but he’d live and after tonight he’d be free. No more Moriyama’s. No more contracts. No more death.

No more Andrew.

Neil brought one glass up to swirl, smell, sniff, and sip. A perfectly normal glass of whiskey. He brought out onto the small balcony and put them on the rickety table between two lawn chairs. Andrew picked his up and didn’t make the small cheers motion he always did as a silent thanks, didn’t drink. He’d been staring at his closed phone for the last half hour. Neil knew he would say what was wrong in time (if there was time).

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said after several long minutes, punctuating the statement with a sip. Guess there was time, after all. Neil sat sideways on his chair so he could watch Andrew light a cigarette.

“That sounds ominous. You’re not a murderer are you?”

Andrew’s top lip curled in a small, vicious smile. “That’s a truth for a different day.”

No, it wasn’t, and Neil found himself reaching for another mouthful of whiskey. Andrew raised a brow at this, having caught on a while ago that Neil liked to draw the drink out as long as possible if it meant he didn’t have to go home yet.

“It’s nothing to form a drinking habit over, calm down.” Andrew took up his drink again and every sip he took felt like friendly fire. “You’re going to see something on the news tomorrow and I’d rather tell you myself than get pissy with me for not bringing it up sooner.”

“Secrets secrets are no fun,” Neil parroted. Andrew kicked out his socked foot to hit Neil’s heel and didn’t pull it back.

“A story will be dropping about my brother’s involvement in a gang bust tonight. Just got word that everything went well but his services had been needed on sight.” With the hand that held the cigarette, he gave his cellphone a little shake.

“You have a brother?” That hadn’t been in the assignment, but family matters were often left out for jobs like this. He couldn’t go in knowing too much and risk exposing himself.

“My twin.”

“You have a twin?”

Andrew threw back the rest of his drink and waved it at Neil’s face. “The only reason I’m telling you is because you’re going to see him parading around on t.v. with my face. We’re not that close.”

A gang bust. Big enough for national news. That couldn’t- that would mean-

“What’s his name?”

“Aaron.”

“A. Minyard. Doctor Aaron Minyard.”

Andrew froze. Looked at Neil so expressionless he might as well have been stone. “I never said he was a doctor.”

He didn’t have to. Dr. A Minyard. Fox affiliated attached to a photograph. Andrew had his PhD and his connection to Kevin Day was easy enough to find if you knew where to look. The Foxes were an elusive bunch of vigilantes but everyone had heard of Kevin Day, son of the founders of the Foxes.

Neil had never made a mistake before and killing Andrew Minyard was the biggest mistake of his life. He knocked the glass from Andrew’s hand only because Andrew let him.

“Now, right now,” he changed, grabbing Andrew by the sleeve and tugging him back inside. It only worked because Andrew let him. Andrew was always letting Neil, trusting Neil. And for what? For this?

Neil let go when he was sure Andrew would follow him and rushed to the tiny kitchen. He took the water glass by the sink and upended the entire salt shaker into it.

“Drink this right now,” he ordered Andrew.

Andrew did not take it.

“Andrew, trust me just one last time. Just this one last time trust me and drink this. Just this once. Just this one last time.” There was time. There was barely time. It had been less than a minute, there had to be time.

Neil didn’t know what he would do if Andrew didn’t drink, if Neil killed him for nothing. No matter what the outcome, no matter Andrew's decision, Neil would die either way.

Andrew took the salt water, drank the whole thing, and promptly threw up in the sink.

Neil watched, hands in his hair and tears clouding his eyes as Andrew righted himself, wiping at his mouth with the back of his wrist.

“That’ll give you time to get to the hospital. You have to go now, you’ve got time.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Andrew put his hand slowly, calmly, over Neil’s throat, “until you explain.”

He pressed him into the wall.

Neil let him.

“You were supposed to be my last one and my contract would be fulfilled,” he said.

“Explain better than that. What does this have to do with Aaron?”

“There’s no time-”

“Then make it quick.” He pressed against Neil’s throat and Neil’s hands came up instinctively to grab his arm. He stopped before making contact.

“I was born into a debt that the Moriyama’s own. I was one of their hit men. A. Minyard. Fox associate. And a picture. That was my last assignment and I could finally… I could…”

Words were getting harder. He had begun ingesting the poison before Andrew and hadn’t gotten any of it out of his system.

“You’re the only one I never…”

“Never what? Never shot like a coward? Never succeeded in killing?”

“Never wanted to.” His hands came down onto Andrew’s forearm even though he didn’t have permission. His vision was swimming around the edges and he couldn’t tell if it was because of the drug or the pressure on his trachea. “I didn’t want to kill you. H-hospital. You still need the hospital. You have time.”

“Why should I believe a single thing you say?”

“I’ve never lied to you.” It was so important for him to say that somehow the words came out with conviction. “Never lied. Andrew, you’re amazing and I love you but you need to leave right now.”

His knees gave out and for the briefest moment all of his weight was being held by the hand on his throat. Andrew lowered them both to the ground.

“What did- You idiot.” Ah, yes. He must have caught on. “You did all this to live only to fucking kill yourself? Neil. Neil… Neil!”

Neil had never panicked on a job, but he’d also never woken up in a hospital bed before. He was aware of the spike in noise before he was aware of his surroundings.

“The worst assassin in history.”

Neil groaned but didn’t yet open his eyes. His memory was just solid enough to know what he’d taken and experience told him he wasn’t ready to face the spinning world.

“Can’t say he was wrong, technically,” the same voice said.

“What kind of assassin not only chooses the wrong target but falls in love with their dumb ass?”

“This dumb ass has the same level of education as your dumb ass.”

“My dumb ass has a doctorate of medicine, not in books.”

“Literature.”

“Still dumb.”

“Sssh,” Neil breathed out, testing the waters of control and strength. He had very little of either.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the dumbest of asses.”

“Give him another hour and he might even be able to respond.”

“Now who would want that.”

The second time Neil woke up in a hospital, it was enough for him to look around and realize this was not a hospital but rather a medically furnished bedroom.

“I hate you.”

He turned his head to see Andrew slouching back in an overstuffed, wingback chair. The look on his ever-passive face was angry and Neil would take angry over dead any day.

“You made it,” he slurred. His mouth felt like cotton. “You made it,” he said again because it was right and good. “You made it.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m fine. Got a tolerance”

“Is that something they teach you in the bright sunny world of the Nest?”

Neil made a finger gun at Andrew (why?) and slowly, slowly tilted himself onto his side to see him better. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew there were things he needed to worry about, but for now he just wanted to look.

“I’m happy you’re alive.”

“I don’t care.” And he sounded like he didn’t, but that was how he always sounded. Still Andrew. Still him. Still alive. For a long, quiet while they stared at each other.

“I have to go before the Moriyama’s come looking to do clean up. This won’t be tolerated.”

“No. It won’t be. But not by the Moriyama’s.”

Andrew stood in a motion that made him look much older than he was, tired. As he came to stand over the bed, Neil couldn’t help but stare because not killing Andrew Minyard was the only right thing he had ever done.

“The Foxes completed their take down of the Moriyama’s. It’s been all over the news, which you would have seen if you hadn’t poisoned yourself.”

The… the what? Something must have shown on Neil’s face because Andrew pressed him down into the bed a split second before he’d tried to sit up. As consciousness cleared his fog, his brain began catching up enough to understand that he wasn’t understanding. The synapses were there but they weren’t connecting.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered. Andrew’s mask twitched.

“Of course you don’t, you’ve been too deep cover to keep up with what was right under your nose. The Foxes won, there are no more Ravens, and you, Nathaniel, are a free man.”

The sound of that name, his name, sent a flinch so hard through his body that it made something cramp in his stomach. Andrew watched, bored, as he curled in on himself. If he knew that name, if his cover was blown so spectacularly, then there must be an ounce of truth to it.

“I’m just… Neil. I just want to be Neil.”

“Well, Neil.” Andrew slid his hand into Neil’s hair and squeezed, not hard but enough to tilt his head back. “If you ever do something that stupid again I will kill you myself.” Something in his eyes, however passive he tried to pull off, told Neil that Andrew was not referring to his own attempted murder.

“Were you… worried about me?” That couldn’t be right.

“I don’t know, Neil.” He kept saying his name like that and Neil didn’t know what to feel about it. “My whatever of a good stretch of time nearly killed himself. How should I be feeling?”

“I nearly killed you. I only poisoned myself a little.”

“Why?”

Why? The easy answer was forensics. Two glasses. Two drinkers. One lucky to survive the ordeal. But that wasn’t all of it. As Neil stared up up at Andrew, here at the other side of it all, he could admit to himself that he was glad for the punishment.

“Because… because I was going to kill you to save my own life and I had never hated myself for anything more than that.”

“I hate you,” Andrew spat.

“As long as you’re alive to hate me it’s fine.”

“Shut up.”

“Tell me more about the take down.”

“No.”

“Is your brother a Fox? Do I have to be killed for knowing that?”

“You have to be killed because you won’t shut your mouth.”

A good stretch of time. That’s how long Neil had been worming his way to be Andrew’s whatever. And in all that time he’d never felt safer. He lifted a shaky hand and waited. It took nearly a minute before Andrew released his hair and took the hand up in his own.

He didn’t apologize for trying to kill him. He didn’t apologize for coming into his life under false pretenses. If Andrew was there now, he trusted Neil enough to understand. They could talk about it later.

“Go back to sleep,” Andrew ordered quietly.

“So I’ll shut up?” Neil whispered back. His eyes were already drifting closed.

“Sure.”

[fly-flower-fanfics]

Change Me

Bruce Banner x Male Reader

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, depression

~~~~~~~~~~

I laid in the bathtub, water swirling around my hair. My ears were under the water, making everything around me sound muffled or drowned out the sound in general. It was peaceful, and I wish it would stay this way forever.

Tears rolled from the corners of my eyes into the water that circled my body. My past, my issues, whatever ran through my head, it was all too much for me. The Avengers wouldn't need me anyway. I was just normally a distraction for the villains so they could do whatever heroic shit they needed to do because my powers weren't helpful.

All what my powers were were a form of shapeshifting. I could manipulate my body to make it look like my skin was peeling off, and I was melting — being flexible was always a major help with that stunt. I could also make my body change colors and bubble like I was being poisoned. But that was pretty much about the extent of my powers.

Well, the extent of them that the Avengers knew of.

My body did one more power that I absolutely hated and cursed, and it also made me think that someone else was in my mind, that someone else was injected into my head when I got struck with that bolt of...of god knows what.

The other power my body did was not allow me to kill myself.

I tried overdosing on drug by injecting them into my bloodstream; my body toughened my skin to the point where it will shatter any needle that tries to go through. I tried cutting my wrists; my skin only toughened up further so knives can no longer hurt me, too. (I guess that came in handy when Loki gets aggravated because I let him stab me, change my skin color to red wherever he tried to hurt me, and feign pain. It always helped him.) I had also tried to overdose on pills; my body is incapable of swallowing pills. Half the time I even gag on jellybeans because my body think they're pills.

Every damn time I try to kill myself, whatever — or whoever — inside me causes me to live and makes it so I can never do that again. I just pass out for a little while and wake up in awful pain, almost like a hangover, and continue on with life.

It doesn't stop me from trying though.

I sunk my head entirely under the water, willing myself to breathe in. My natural instincts told me to hold my breath, and I fought them. My hands gripped the side of the tub and the wall to keep me submerged. My lungs screamed at me to breathe, and so I finally did, my brain forcing me to breathe.

My nose and throat stung and burned as water filled my lungs. It was a sensation that I had never experienced and as I blacked out, a part of me felt like I had finally done it for good this time.

I woke up, my eyes lazily darting around. I yawned, wondering why everything was so blurry. As I shifted, I heard the muffled sounds of water sloshing around. The more I woke up, the more aware I was that I was still in the bathtub and experiencing an incredibly painful headache.

I groaned and pushed myself up into a sitting position, rubbing my eyes. So I can breathe underwater now. Fucking great. I got up out of the tub, drying my body off and wrapping the towel around my waist. Another failed attempt.

My heart practically stopped as I looked up in the mirror. On my neck laid suits, four on each side. I touched them gently and flinched even though they didn't hurt.

Gills. I have fucking gills.

Frustrated tears built up in my eyes, and I opened up the cabinet that the mirror was on and slammed it shut. The mirror cracked, and a few pieces of glass tinkled into the sink.

"How the bloody fuck are you going to hide that, hm? You fucking did it this time," I scolded myself, but it didn't do any good.

I wanted to slam my head against the wall, but I was sure it would turn my skull into steel or something. Curse whatever the fuck was inside my head with me.

There were only two people I could talk to: Bruce and Loki. Both were my best friends. Loki would allow me to vent and spar with him, but he would distract me by using his magic and it eventually calmed me down. Bruce let me do science work with him since I had gotten a PhD in the field. Bruce would probably be the better option at the moment because he could probably comfort me more with science, even though he didn't understand why certain things happened to me.

I refused to let any of the group know how suicidal I was.

I left the bathroom, got dressed in my room, and headed towards the closet. All I was able to take was liquid medicine, and that shit hardly did anything, but I would throw up on pills so there was nothing else for me to do. I went to the kitchen to grab some water because I couldn't stand the taste of the bubblegum syrup.

"Are you alright?"

I turned my head towards the couch at the sound of Loki's voice. Only then did I realize it was pitch black outside. I rubbed the back of my neck.

"Yeah. Just...sleepy." Thank god I was a good liar.

"No one has heard from you since the afternoon."

"I was taking a ba-"

"Yesterday."

Shit. Had I blacked out that long?

"Took a long bath and didn't want to be disturbed," I answered, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. "Not feeling so great."

I plopped down on the couch next to Loki. It looked like he didn't fully believe my words but couldn't pick out what was a lie about them, so he let it go.

"If you are ill, you should be in bed."

"I'm going. Why aren't you asleep?"

He gestured to the book that was laying open in his lap, never once taking his eyes off of the pages to look at me.

"Oh, that's a good book," I muttered, reading over the first few paragraphs on the page. "Wait until you get to chapter five. I cried."

Loki chuckled softly, turning the page in his book with his magic. "You're a very emotional man. I shan't be concerned."

"Ooh, lookie here Loki. It might get ya. You've been around me for a while now." I got up, pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and gave him a soft smile. "Goodnight, Loki."

"Goodnight."

As soon as I turned my back, I allowed my face to fall and show the pain I was experiencing. I did need to sleep, there was no doubt in my mind. Thank fucking god he didn't look at me. I didn't know how I was going to explain the fucking gills on my neck, and frankly, I didn't want to at the moment.

I flopped down onto my bed, my face buried in the pillow. I just wanted everything to stop. The pain. My pain. How much everything hurt. Depression is a hard battle to fight. Memories are an even harder battle to fight...

Once again, I entered the world of blackness.

I wasn't sure what time it was when I woke, but I felt better, and I needed to talk to Bruce. I nearly left my room as I was before remembering my gills. Fuck. My gills. I did an about-face towards my closet and dug around in it. Turtleneck. I could wear a turtleneck. No one would question me wearing one because no matter what season it was, I could be found in one at least twice a week. For once, I was thankful for always being cold.

I made my way down the hall and to the elevator towards the lab where Bruce would no doubt be. But as I neared, I could see Steve, Tony, and Bruce all having a discussion. Steve’s arms were crossed over his chest, and Bruce’s hands were dancing wildly as he spoke. Both showed me that this was a serious discussion. I decided to just wait outside until they were finished. As I passed the door to go and sit in the corner, I heard Bruce talking.

“It’s in case you need to kill me,” he said, and I immediately knew that they were talking about the glass cage that never really seemed to work anyway. “But you can’t, Stark. I know. I’ve tried. I got low, and I didn’t see an end. So I put a bullet in my mouth, and the Other Guy spit it out.”

I fell deaf to anything else that was said. I put a bullet in my mouth. Not my Bruce. Bruce would never... he would never... New tears built up in my eyes as my heart broke. I put a bullet in my mouth. I knew he had depression, but I was never aware that he had tried to kill himself.

My feet carried me into the corner of the hall, and I sunk down against it, wrapping my arms around my knees. I put a bullet in my mouth. The words hurt more than I thought they would. Not that I would be ecstatic to hear one of my best friends talking about killing themselves, but they dug into my heart deep. Deeper than I ever thought words could go. Deeper than a best friend level.

I got up and ran towards the elevator, smashing the keys on it. I knew JARVIS probably wasn’t happy with me, but I didn’t care. I ended up in Bruce’s room. I dug through his shirts until I found his baggy tan sweater. I tore off my turtleneck and slid that on inside. The scent instantly calmed me, but his words still rung inside my head. I put a bullet in my mouth.

I wandered back out into the hall and back to the elevator. I asked JARVIS to take me down as low as I could go. I guess there were no hard feelings because he did so without a word. I found myself in the garage, heading over towards the motorcycle that Tony had designed specifically for me. I threw my leg over it and sat down, rubbing my fingers over the handlebars.

Is this what Loki and Bruce would feel if I told them I had tried to kill myself? Would they be just as distraught? No, they fucking wouldn’t. They don’t give that many damns about you. Would their hearts break the way mine did over Bruce’s words? Hell no. You’re out of your goddamn mind.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to case the thoughts away. It wasn’t easy because my mind then decided to settle on Bruce. Bruce and my feelings. The linger I sat there on my motorcycle in sweatpants and Bruce’s sweater, the more I realized that my feelings for him passed just friendship. I was in love with him. Holy fuck, I was in love.

I nearly laughed because after years and years of being...me, I didn’t think that I would ever be able to love romantically again. And yet... I did. Yet part of me was saddened by this realization because I knew that there was absolutely no way Bruce could like me back. Especially with all the secrets I kept from him.

I got off my bike and grabbed the set of spare keys I kept hidden in the garage. I didn’t have any shoes on, my sweatpants were barley clinging to my waist, and I was wearing a sweater that wasn’t mine, but I needed to get out. I knew I would be scolded and congratulated by different members of the team, and neither made me change my mind.

As I started my bike and drive out of the garage, I realized that I didn’t have a destination. I guess I just needed to drive and get away from everything. All the new things I realized and all the feelings that had been churning in my chest.

I wanted to just drive forever, but I eventually found myself parking back inside the garage. Thank god I didn’t get pulled over because heaven knows with how out of it I was, I probably missed countless stop signs. Hell, I’m lucky I didn’t hit something. I ended up chuckling lightly at that, even though I knew it was dark.

I headed back inside and as I stood inside the elevator, I requested to go see Bruce, wherever he was. JARVIS took me back to the lab where Bruce was now working alone. I stuck my head in and knocked on the open door, trying not to startle him.

His beautiful brown eyes met mine, making my heart melt. I found myself wondering how I just now realized I was in love with the man. I guess I really was the Dumb Gay that Tony always called me.

“Hey, Bruce,” I said softly as I walked in.

He gave me an adorable smile. “Hey.”

I found myself stopped in the middle of the room, fumbling with the sleeves of his sweater. It was a mistake to come in here with his clothing, and I realized it all too late. I only ever wore Bruce’s clothing when I was upset because I drowned in it. I was a lot thinner than he was — something that worried him and Loki — and Loki’s clothing was not big enough for me. I liked hiding when I was sad, and Bruce’s clothing along with his scent gave me that sense of security.

“What’s going on?”

His words pierced my ears, and they hurt. They hurt because I knew all the secrets I kept from him and all the lies I’ve told. They hurt because I now knew something about him that I wasn’t sure he wanted me to know. They hurt because I felt completely disgusting in his presence now. A devil in the eyes of an angel.

“Hey, David, what’s going on?” Bruce walked over to me and held my face in his hands.

That’s all it took for me to fling my arms around him and squeeze him in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Bruce. I’m so sorry.” The words tumbled from my lips and tear ran from my cheeks; both were impossible for me to stop.

Bruce only held me close and kept a hand on my head and back as I cried. He kept trying to reassure me that everything was okay, but I knew that it wasn’t.

Eventually, after I had calmed down, I was sitting on his desk while he sat in his chair. I fumbled with his sleeves more, and Bruce reached up to brush his fingers across the new gills on my neck.

“Since when did you have these?”

“Since last night,” I answered with a dry laugh.

Bruce looked up at me and the concern was clear in his eyes. I closed my own and let my lips go. My story spilled from them. Everything I lied about and everything I never told Bruce was falling out of them. All of it fell onto his ears.

After I finished, he was silent for a long time. I was terrified. I fucked up. I had to. He was disappointed in me. He didn’t want to be my friend anymore.

“I-I... you-you love me?”

When I opened my mouth, no words came out. Had I really told him that too? Oh fuck me. I closed it and bit my lip. “Um... y-yeah...”

A stupid little grin pulled at his lips as he pulled me from his desk into his lap. “I forgive you, you know,” he said softly.

I lifted my eyes to his. “What?”

“I forgive you. I lost track of the amount of times you apologized, but I forgive you. Depression is hard. Suicide is harder. If you have my back, I have yours.” Bruce leaned his forehead on mine, and I closed my eyes.

“I really wanna kiss you,” I whispered.

I opened my eyes and noticed that his cheeks were red. I cupped them in my hands and pressed a soft kiss onto his lips. His hands held my waist as he kissed me back.

“You look really cute in my sweater,” Bruce replied quietly.

I felt my cheeks heat up and I glanced back down at myself. The heat on my cheeks darkened as I realized I was sitting in his lap. I doubted that he ever realized he had put me in his lap because the Bruce I knew would never be so bold.

It felt like the world around us had stopped and it was just the two of us. Bruce and I. That was it. I felt lighter and happier than I ever had before, and it made me want to cry. To cry tears of joy.

I pressed my lips back against his, repeating the process over and over again until the two of us were breathless. Even then I didn’t want to stop.

“Bruce...Bruce be mine, please,” I whispered, rubbing my thumbs along his cheekbones. “Be mine. I can’t imagine my life without you and not a day goes by that I don’t think about you. I love you, Bruce. I love you. God, I fucking love you.”

Bruce laughed softly and smiled, this time making the move to kiss me. “I’m yours as long as you’ll have me.”

I pressed soft kisses against his lips and cheeks, wishing I could just do this forever. I wished I could keep Bruce in my arms forever and always.

“I’m going to help,” I promised. “You and the Other Guy. You guys are mine. I love you. Both of you.” I paused and then my eyes lit up. “Bruce! Bruce I got it!”

He frowned, clearly concerned about what I had just ‘got.’ “And what’s that?”

I looked back down at him, holding his hands tightly. “I’ll drop a boulder on myself!”

“Woah. Woah woah woah, how the hell is that ‘getting it?’ And what the hell is ‘it?’ What is that going to do?” His concern made my heart flutter, and I kissed his lips to calm me down.

“I can’t kill myself. Whatever — whoever — is in my head won’t let me do it. Baby, I can drop a boulder into myself and then you don’t have to worry about crushing me as the Hulk. I’d be okay. You wouldn’t have to worry. You wouldn’t need to be afraid. You’d be okay, and I could help you.”

Bruce seemed to be heavily concerned about my idea, but I thought that it was perfect. One night of intense pain to result in not being able to be crushed would be so worth it. It would be worth it so I could help the man that I loved. So I could clam him down. Protect him. Show him I wasn’t afraid.

“Why don’t we just wait on that,” Bruce suggested, holding me tightly, “and maybe I can work on something to fix it...”

“Just kiss me,” I begged quietly. I was solid in my plan, and I just wanted him. I wanted his love, and I wanted to give him mine.

Our lips met once again. I would never grow tired of it. I’d never grow tired of the feeling of his lips on mine. I’d never grow tired of him.

[taffysannotatedsonichu]

Sonichu 11 Page 19

ROBBIE: Daddy! Aren’t you listening and paying attention?!

SONICHU: Yes, Robbie. Her ex went crazy; her phone died; she’s very stressed.

ROBBIE: Okay. That’s good!

SONICHU: I just called a van taxi; it will be here in a few minutes.

SONICHU: You want to hear a real homeless story! After my evolution transformation, my Pikachu family hardly recognized me; would not welcome me babck into the fields and mounds. I’ve had to survive on berries alone! It really threw me off my life game. I never had felt so alone! And to defend myself from the other creatures was a constant chore on me, but I grew stronger and survived.

STEPHANIE: Oh, my! I was the youngest in my family. I have two sisters. We were constantly vying for the title of favorite child. But I was spoiled my our mom and dad’s love and attention. We still resolved our differences in the long run, and helped eac other. My sisters got PhD’s in medical sciences; I settled in finances and recovery. Obviously, right now, I’m flunking at that. Lol.

SONICHU: Robbie, are you okay?

ROBBIE: I’m okay. I got carried away with my empathy again.

Robbie chides his father for not paying attention, but Sonichu clarifies that he was. Sonichu then tells his son and Stephanie about his life for that week between his transformation and his meeting Rosechu (which would have been a more interesting story to see than Genesis of the Lovehogs, but that’s neither here nor there), how his parents abandoned him because they didn’t recognize him, and he was forced to scavenge for food before Kel took him in. Chris, while under the wicked wings of the Idea Guys, rewrote Sonichu’s backstory to say that Sonichu’s parents were killed by inhaling poisonous gasses from Team Rocket’s Koffings and Wheezings, another tasteless Holocaust reference that was one of the Idea Guys’s calling cards. This backstory is much less cringy, so this is the story I accept as canon, and I suggest you do the same.

Stephanie too has more backstory. She was the youngest of three sisters and had a fierce sisterly rivalry as children, which apparently she won, as the spoiled youngest daughter. As they grew and matured, they buried their hatchets and grew close (though presumably these sisters were also on vacation, thus they couldn’t pick her up). Her sisters went into medicine, and she, ironically, went into finance.

Robbie is now the one who appears spaced out, Robbie sites that he was “carried away with [his] empathy”. This appears to be a tease for the next issue, where Robbie decides that his empathy means that he is a transwoman, as empathy is an empirically female trait that men are incapable of having.

I think the bench in the background says “CWC” on it, of course, but I can’t totally tell.

[quilavastudy]

Hi I’ve just finished Year 3 of medical school. At my uni year 3 was our 1st proper placement year (years 1&2 were very lecture based with weekly GP afternoons). Of all the placements the one I enjoyed least was haematology. To be fair to the department it was a well structured placement week, but I had no real grasp of the concepts by the end of it: Leukaemia/Lymphoma are so confusing. I managed to understand myeloma. The clotting cascade is still a mystery to me. Why does haem appeal to you?!?

Ahaha yeah fair enough, haem isn’t for everyone and it sure is intimidating! When I studied it at med school I thought the science of it was interesting, but it wasn’t until I did a 5 week placement in it in final year when I was like WOW I could see myself doing this. There’s a few reasons:

- like I said, I like the science. I was one of those weirdos who actually learnt the whole clotting cascade in med school, cos I thought it was cool. I find it really interesting and also, the treatments for haem malignancies are SO cutting edge and cool to learn about! Don’t get me wrong though, I don’t know much haem and it’s still baffling to me, but I think I’d find learning the details really fascinating if I get there. And people have told me it’s one of those things where it seems really difficult and hard to understand, but it’s not too bad once you get into it. It’s just you don’t get too much exposure to haem in med school so it seems very alien to a lot of doctors.

- haematologists are all really nice and really smart, which makes it appeal to me more - I want to be like that!

- it’s a good mix of science and people. Obviously it has some complex science, and it’s pretty niche, but it’s also dealing with very ill people so you need to be empathetic and have those people skills. I like that. 

- everyone on haem is ill. It may sound silly, but in many other specialties a lot of it is determining whether someone is actually ill or not and you’ll get those frustrating cases where some patients are coming into hospital when they’re not actually ill, or should have gone to their GP. To get onto a haem ward or a haem clinic, you have to be ill. You can’t fake or misinterpret your blood counts being all over the place. So I think it’d be more rewarding in a way? 

- there is actually quite a good cure rate for a lot of lymphomas and leukaemias and it’s improving all the time - so again, very ill patients, but it can be very rewarding and maybe not as depressing as some other cancers/specialties.

- the research possibilities are huge in haem. I like research and I’m on the academic foundation programme, so this is a huge plus for me. Haem is pretty academic and I think a fair few consultants have PhD’s and the like.

- you get to know your patients over a period of time. I like this side of medicine, and this was one of the reasons I considered GP for a while too. I love getting to know your patients and building a relationship. Haem patients are often admitted for weeks at a time, and then you’ll probably see them back in clinic so you get that continuity of care. 

Hope that makes sense! x

[somelonelywordmonger]

I changed the topic in a stupid argument my parents, sister, and I were having. I changed the topic to something I've never told anyone else and I regret it. All I wanted was to stop arguing.

I began telling them about this "dream" I use to have as a kid. I wanted to be a genius. I wanted to have a PhD in everything. Every medical field, all the sciences, a historian of all kinds, English and Literature, even math which I dislike. I wanted to also have passed the bar exam and be a legal lawyer. I wanted to have joined the army and have that to my name.

~dad interrupts, in annoyed voice: Well what's stopping you? Then I cut in: JUST LISTEN.~

I wanted to be tall and beautiful. To be strong and able to do all types of hand to hand combat. My hair was perfect and my glasses were cool, my face was a whole different shape, the pretty shape that Emma Watson or Kristen Stewart have. My skin was even-toned and had no scars or imperfections. I had slender, long fingers and straight, white teeth. Everyone loved me, I had all of these friends. I had excelled through my school years. I had been the captain of every female varsity team, I was amazing at ballet and every other dance class that local dance schools teach. I knew and could speak every language. I had this laugh that just lit up the room, heck, I lit up the room. I was the perfect Christian, I went to every church service, was in the choir, was in the church groups, went to the Wednesday evening service, read the Bible and could cite every part of it. I knew how to play every instrument but preferred percussion. I won Oscar's and Golden Globes. My novel series was finished and published. It was made into a movie series and everyone loved it and me. I was on talk shows. I had all of these pets and this beautiful home. A massive library, indoor pool/hot tub, a bar, grand piano. I was a master at every video game. And then I was an even better mother. A single mom with two boys. I raised them in my image and they were perfect like me and achieved all that they wanted. I gave them the discipline I never had, but secretly craved and they turned out better for it. I had perfect boys raised on God's image and we were happy.

But now I realize how impossible it is.

~Mom says: yeah that is impossible...there are no perfect Christians.~

~I respond, hurt: That's what you got from that?!~

~Dad cuts in: Okay ENOUGH stop talking!~

~Sister follows up: OKAY, IDA, SHUT THE FUCK UP!~

~Then my mind wavers to the handle on the car door attached to the moving car, and it takes all of my effort not to open it and throw myself out of the car.~

~Angered from the response I got, the fact that they triggered the thoughts of dying again, I respond: NO YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP! I WAS TRYING TO TELL YOU ABOUT MY DREAM AS A KID. WHAT I WANTED TO BE. MOST KIDS SAY THEY WANT TO BE A PRINCESS, BUT I WANTED TO BE SMART AND HAPPY AND EVERYTHING. BUT YOU HAD TO BE DICKS!~

I thought mom would be all like "wow, Ida, that is such a cool dream. I totally get where you are coming from. And it is possible to achieve some of that, honey. You can pick what you want from that and achieve it." But instead she only agrees with me and focuses on the part that either shocked her or hit home for her as she was a pastor and I started off going to church every Sunday.

I expected my dad to not have much to say in his own way but to think and wonder about his daughter's high expectations dream.

My sister is the only one who didn't shock me. The whole day she has treated me rudely. And has been mad at me for reasons I know not. I figured she'd either say nothing or shout something with the word "fuck" in it. Nowadays she tends to be a very angry person around me.

I'm a 20 year old woman weighing in at 282lbs and coming up to 5 feet tall. My hands are the smallest in the family and pudgy. My face is round and fat. My skin is scarred all over, uneven in areas, once a beautiful tan on my otherwise white self. I loved God, still do. He was my only friend for the longest time. I was never able to connect with my peers. Still have trouble connecting with people. But I met a wonderful person at a local dance company and we did hip hop together and became BFFs. Still going strong today. I have depression and anxiety. Moments at least once a day that one therapist said are dissociative and the rest of my therapists from then on don't seem to talk about. I'm smart and have cool glasses, but my novel is unfinished and the rest of the series only lies in my brain and heart. I don't take care of myself well, I hardly function. I'm decent at video games and that's basically all this community college dropout does. I've been volunteering at a local cat shelter since August 2018 and have made some efforts to get better. But the weight of my mental illness is so strong that I fall back down. I'm doing this alone. I'm fighting my anxiety, paranoia, weird dissociative "daydreams", depression, and crippling self-doubt alone. All I have is the medicine. My therapist that I loved and trusted seemed to only want to focus on my college goals and let me down in November 2018. Since then I haven't gone back to see her, my trust broken. Not a day goes by where death isn't on my brain. I look for jobs and then think "oh I can't do that!" And so I put myself down. I'm aware of my shit, but I am so stuck that I can't seem to progress anywhere.

I'm sharing this to vent. I'm sharing this to raise awareness about how you respond to people, matters. I'm sharing this to be heard, to know that I am not the only one. You can share this too. In fact, my younger self and even my sad current self would love the fame. Thank you, and God Bless you all. 💜

[soap-brain]

69 + culmets (lmao) or 88 + chril

HELL YES HELL YES HELL YES :D

also omg that’s *whispers* the sex number

these got really long so here’s a cut

69 + culmets

Hugh rubs his eyes and blinks again while he stares at the disappearing and reappearing dots on his PADD display. Maybe he should just text Paul and call it a night - or day, seeing how it’s 6:34am. Except they haven’t talked face to face for, fuck, probably for a whole week now, maybe more. There’ve been voicemails and texts, and that’s nice but it’s not enough. He needs the reassurance of Paul’s whole being, his little smirks and bigger smiles, his voice, his eyes, the way he gesticulates while talking, especially after the hell week of terrifying and stressful space “adventures” he and this ship have just had, including loss of gravity, even a whole day without life support, life-threatening injuries, battles, away missions and so forth. Hugh needs a damn good night of sleep, at least a whole month of vacation, and, most importantly, a hug. Either from his mom or Paul. But since he can’t have any of those things (especially not the sleep - he’s back on duty in about six hours, but he needs to see Paul’s smile like he needs air), he’ll settle for second best, and that’s calling Paul. Who knows all these things, or can at least probably extrapolate them, so why the hell isn’t he picking -?

Pling. Paul’s face fizzes into view, wearing that sweet soft little smile he usually wears when they call each other.

Suddenly Hugh is warm and safe and happy, all because of that sweet curl of pink lips.

     “Hi Hugh.”

God, he wants to live in these moments where all he has to think about is how pretty Paul is when he smiles like that.

     “Paul. Hi. It’s so good to see you.”

     “Why are you still in uniform? Aren’t you off?” 

Hugh also loves that crease between Paul’s eyebrows. It’s the perfect place to press a kiss to and then watch the frown melt away.

     “Yeah, I’m off. Sorry, I’m just - I needed to see your face. How are you?”

Paul shrugs. “We’ve run into a bit of a problem with the current greenhouse, and we might need to section parts of it off to allow for vastly different climates, which is annoying, so to speak, because of course the owners have a problem with that, and... well, now we’re looking into not having to rebuild but just somehow adding different biomes. Maybe with bigger grow tents, so we’ve been looking at various models and comparing what they offer versus what we’ll need, and...”

Hugh lets Paul talk and watches him. He hardly has enough mental energy to keep his eyes open, much less follow along with what Paul’s saying, but he knows Paul will understand. They usually call each other as a sort of evening ritual since luckily, Alpha Centauri runs almost on Federation Standard Time, and Hugh missed seeing Paul in the evenings so much. It’s so nice and domestic to just sit down with your boyfriend and hang out, the lightyears between them be damned.

     “So yeah, I don’t really know what we’ll do n- why the hell are you bleeding?!”

Paul’s exclamation shocks Hugh out of his doze.

     “Huh?”

     “Your hand! Are you okay?!”

     “What?” Hugh looks down on his hand, and - oh. “Oh, yeah, I’m just - using hand sanitiser all the time really dries out your skin, but with all the issues we’ve been having we had to go back to that, and uh, I have to sanitise a lot, so I... my skin just cracks.”

     “You’re bleeding!”

     “Yeah, I’ll regen it tomorrow.”

     “You have heard of the concept of hand cream, right?”

Hugh grimaces and shrugs. “Yes? But the one I have also gives me dry patches and it really hurts to use it on already cracked skin. I’ve been meaning to look at other stuff, but...” He casts Paul an apologetic look. “I’ve just been super busy. You know how it is.”

Paul’s eyes are soft even if there is a slightly displeased twist to his smile. “Please take care of yourself, Hugh.”

     “Yeah, yeah.”

Hugh falls asleep later in the conversation, and eventually Paul wakes him up again and makes him go to bed, and even though he does get his hands regen’ed once he’s on shift again, he doesn’t think much about their conversation again. 

After their next supply beam though, he gets a notification that he’s gotten a package too; odd, since he didn’t order anything, but okay.

The sender is just a bunch of numbers, a Federation standard shipping address, so it’s not until Hugh opens the package that he knows who it’s from.

this is literally the best stuff for skincare in the whole universe. they also have a ton of different scents but they don’t use anything that dries your skin out for scenting. plus it smells so good i have to stop myself from getting out a spoon and eating it. please take care of yourself, love

ps: check out their scented candle section ;)

The note comes with a pretty big tub of what’s undoubtedly hand cream, the label promising a fresh, peachy smell and soothed skin. Hugh smiles to himself and hugs the tub a little. Paul is such a darling.

The cream itself is slightly goopy and overall quite liquid. It smells absolutely fantastic. Hugh dips a finger in and rubs it against his skin and sure enough, the smell explodes a little more and the newly creamed skin feels nice and silky, so Hugh slathers that stuff all over his hands, then groans and lets his hands hang over the edge of the chair because he’s pretty sure his skin is crying in relief.

you said the cream was good, not that it was the second coming of christ even though that’s exactly what it is! thank you so much, paul, i love it and i love you, he texts once the cream has mostly sunken in.

Paul sends a laughing emoji back a bit later.

AND NOW FOR CHRIL + 88 :D

Chris is... aware of his existence. That’s not necessarily a plus, that’s just a fact. A feature.

He’d really like to turn it off though.

There are other things he’s aware of. One of them is the room roiling. Like a ship. But not a nice ship. A ship made for suffering. Also he’s in a bed. That’s good. Beds. He likes to be in them. He’s also on his stomach. That’s acceptable.

Something died in his mouth. That’s less acceptable. He also doesn’t know whose bed he’s in, because it’s most certainly not his, because the mattress feels different. Also, things are mostly quiet.

Chris cracks open an eye but his glasses are not on his face so he can only vaguely discern the environment he’s in. Looks... like a building. Maybe an apartment. Probably a bedroom, considering there’s a bed (he’s in it) and walls (around him). Walls equal room, bed plus room equals bedroom.

There’s a reason he got a PhD.

So, to cap it all up, he’s in a bed that isn’t his, in a bedroom that isn’t his, he didn’t brush his teeth before going to bed, and he’s got a hangover. So he hooked up with someone.

Funny, because he does remember landing in Las Vegas with Phil, a few days early for a show they wanted to see, but perfectly on time for their vacation. Considering Chris hooked up with someone, Phil is probably a bit sad and neglected now. This was supposed to be their guy time.

In the not gay way because Phil is gay, very, but he has standards and yeah, they’re best friends, seriously soulmate best friends material, but it’s not like that, and Chris isn’t really - well, sure, of course he’s attracted to Phil, because despite his myopia, he’s got eyes (and with his glasses the myopia also doesn’t matter anymore), and Phil is a fantastic guy and Chris might’ve been working on coming to terms with with his big bisexual crush on Phil.

Doesn’t mean he should try to drown that in a casual one night stand with someone on the first night of their vacation.

Ugh, yikes. That’s seriously so not cool.

Chris groans to himself and finally blinks his eyes fully open. The room stays fuzzy, but he can make out a glass of water and what’s probably a pill on the night stand next to him, and his stomach doesn’t protest much when he pushes himself up. 

He knocks the medicine back and then squints around the room some more. Definitely a hotel room. Could well be his and Phil’s with how generic it looks.

He gives the painkiller about ten minutes, during which he’s just sitting up, trying to remember what might’ve happened. There isn’t much - casinos, Phil laughing, gambling, drinks, lots of drinks, more gambling, walking around Las Vegas, definitely a gay strip club, more drinks, and a church. And a ring on Chris’ finger.

Fuck him.

Yeah, there’s definitely a ring on his finger.

Ooohh Jesus. Oh fuck. Oh boy. Fuck.

     “Chris? You awake?” That’s Phil. Why is Phil here? Chris hooked up with some rando, but why is Phil here? Unless he came back to their hotel room after getting married to someone.

Phil’s figure shows up in the doorway. Chris has known him for long enough that he knows exactly what Phil looks like even without glasses, and wherever Phil is, there’s also a semblance of calm.

     “How are you?”

     “Uhh,” Chris replies intelligently, still staring down on the goddamn wedding ring on his finger.

     “Ah, yeah. That. Don’t panic but I think we might have accidentally gotten married…” The wince in Phil’s voice is obvious.

     “We?!”

     “Yeah, um... uh. Do you feel up to getting up and getting dressed and... having a talk?”

Chris definitely does feel better once he’s showered and dressed and wearing his glasses again. Phil is in the living room of their suite, pacing anxiously.

     “Okay. Hi.” He gives Chris a fleeting grin. “You might want to. Uh. Sit down.”

     “So we got married, huh?” Chris asks, sitting down on the couch and pretending that this is just another cool friendly chat he’ll have with Phil.

Phil is messing with his hair, mouth set in an unhappy twist.

     “So you know how I’m gay, right.”

     “I went to Pride with you. Repeatedly. You’ve brought guys over. I’ve heard you have sex with those guys. I’ve seen you a mess after breaking up with guys. I’ve been thoroughly lectured on how gay sex works. I helped you dye your hair in rainbow colors. So, yeah, I know you’re gay.”

     “Right. Well. They, um. They. Hmm. Um. So what happened, or, um, rather, I, the thing is sorta, um, kinda. I might, you know. The thing is, ugh.” Phil grimaces some more and shoves his hands into his pockets.

     “Phil. Dude. Whatever it is: sit down, let’s talk about this, right? That’s what you always tell me, right? Whatever it is in this world, we can get through it together.”

Phil throws him a nervous toothy grin but comes over to plop on the couch, careful to keep some space between them. Which is odd, because personal space isn’t really an issue for them.

     “I’ve been having a big fat crush on you for, uh, how long have we known each other for? Ten years? Yeah, at least eight of those I’ve spent wanting to get with you. There.” Phil smiles unhappily. “And I know you’re straight, and I don’t - I don’t want to take advantage of you, Chris. You’re my absolute best friend and I don’t want to do anything that’d change that. I love having you in my life.”

     “Okay.”

     “So what happened is we were getting drunk, last night, which you probably remember, and at some point you were... really fucking drunk and I was really drunk and, well, and you kissed me and told me you were in love with me, and I kissed you back and they had a tv on in the bar we were in, and they legalized gay marriage yesterday and, so, uh. I asked you to marry me. And you said yes. And we went and did that.” Phil casts him a rueful look. “I’m sorry, Chris. You were drunk, you didn’t - you didn’t mean it, I shouldn’t have, uh, god, I should’ve, I don’t know, said something, not agreed, not even proposed it, you know, just because it sounded like a good idea, but I was drunk and you were even drunker. So. But. Um. I’ve been looking into it already and it’s really easy to annul marriages, and -”

     “Phil?”

     “Yeah?”

Chris takes a deep breath because he might be a little nervous. Just a tiny bit. Really, just a little bit. Not much at all.

     “Chris?”

 “IkindathinkI’mbiandyou’rereallyattractiveandalsocuteandIthinkImightbeinlovewithyou.”

     “What? No, I really didn’t hear that.” Phil looks flushed.

     “I just really, um, can I kiss you?”

     “What?!”

      “I love you. In the um. Gay way.”

     “But - you’re straight!” Phil says in desperation.

     “Yeah, not so much anymore. I don’t know.” Chris stares into his lap, running a finger over the ring - the fucking wedding ring he’s wearing. “I... I don’t know, I just... I’ve been realizing, um, recently, that, you know, maybe, or not maybe, just like... I really, um, you know. Guys. I like them.”

Phil sniggers. “Extremely relatable.”

     “Especially you. And, uh. I - since you’re my husband now, I’d rather enjoy sucking face with you.”

     “Right.”

So they do that. It’s pretty damn neat because of course Phil kisses with exactly as much care and elegance as he does all things.

Also Chris calls his mom to explain, and that’s definitely odd, and then they order pizza and make out some more, which is rather gay and very good.

:D these were fun!

+++drabble asks!+++

my ao3 | my ko-fi

[chasholidays]

Bellarke, strangers on a deserted island, please! Thank you :)

“So, is that one of your desert island books?”

Bellamy looks up from Percy Jackson, blinking at Clarke. The sun is behind her, framing her hair with something like a halo, and the wind is trying to lift the hat off her head.

“My what?”

Clarke sits down next to him on the sand, gathering up her skirts. He knows now that she’s a brilliant, capable scientist, but she still looks like a tourist on a beach vacation most of the time. Not that he blames her; if you’re coming to an island assuming you’ll be the only one there, you might as well dress comfortably.

“Come on, you must have played that game. What books and movies would you bring if you were stuck on a deserted island. Is that on your list?”

“I brought it with me to a deserted island,” he points out. “Ergo it’s a deserted island book. Kind of by default.”

“You brought more than five books.”

“True. I’m also not really stuck here, so I don’t know if it counts.” He huffs. “I always thought that was such a stupid game.”

“Why?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense. You don’t get to pack to get stuck on a deserted island. Also, when I was growing up we didn’t have portable technology yet so I was like, do I have a VCR? Where are we getting electricity on this deserted island?”

“And now here you are, an adult, stuck on a deserted island with a generator. And you are stuck,” she adds, before he can object. “The ship isn’t coming back to pick us up for another few weeks. It counts.”

“So you want me to say that this is one of my desert island books?” he asks, closing the book and looking at the cover. “Because, again, it undeniably is. I looked at the amount of space I had, thought about my priorities, and brought The Sea of Monsters.”

“My actual question is if you brought all the Percy Jackson books, and those five books are your desert island collection, or if that one’s your favorite, or what?”

“Honestly, I bought it in the airport a few years ago,” he says. “I read the first one in the series and figured I could read this on the plane. Then I slept the whole time and didn’t actually read it, so every time I go on a plane, I bring it and figure I’ll read it eventually.”

“And now that you’re on a deserted island, you finally are.”

“You’re here, so it’s not actually deserted.” He taps the cover. “I’ve read it like five times now.”

He’s expecting her to laugh, but instead she rests her head on her arms, smiling. “I get that.”

“Yeah?”

“When I was in high school, after my dad died, my mom sent me to stay with my aunt in Russia for the summer. She thought I’d feel better if I got away.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t know anyone or speak the language, so I just stayed in my room. The only books I brought were my summer reading for school, so I read East of Eden so many times I practically memorized it.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure five books is really enough for a deserted island.”

“Well, it’s not deserted,” she points out. “I’m here. And I have books to share.”

He snorts. “So you desperately want to read The Sea of Monsters and you’re hoping I’ll trade it.”

“And you will, right?”

He stands and stretches. “Depends on what you’ve got. If it’s all biology texts—“ The vast majority of his books are academic, and while he likes them, they aren’t exactly fun.

“Give me some credit, Bellamy. I know what you like.”

“Yeah?”

The smile playing on her lips is more than a little distracting. “Yeah, I think I do.”

*

Bellamy was planning to be stuck on a deserted island, but he wasn’t planning to be stuck with Clarke, and he was kind of annoyed when the guy he’d hired to take him to the site asked if he was joining his friend. Bellamy’s interest in the island was archaeological: based on his research, he was fairly sure there had been a settlement there, but it was wiped out by natural disaster, and he wanted to see if he could find any evidence of it. As summer projects went, it felt fairly doable. It’s not a full expedition, but his goal is to find enough evidence that he can bring it back to the university and get an full study funded.

Plus, he thought he’d be spending the summer alone on a tropical beach. It sounded kind of awesome.

Clarke had been waiting for the boat when it arrived, wearing a loose dress and a floppy sun hat. He’d assumed she was some tourist looking for privacy, but it was a free island. She had no authority to kick him off.

“Is there a problem?” she asked the boatman, eyes sharp behind her sunglasses.

“Just dropping him off,” said the man. “Do you still want to leave on the 23rd? If you both leave the same day, it will be easier for me.”

“When are you leaving?” Clarke asked him.

“The 25th.”

“I can leave with him,” she said. “Thank you. We’ll see you in a few weeks.”

She waited until the boat was gone to turn on him, which seemed odd. If he’d been a woman alone on an island, he would have wanted to get the strange guy’s story before the witnesses left.

“Business or pleasure?” she’d asked, not particularly friendly.

“Academia,” he said, and she broke out in a grin.

“Really? Me too.”

*

Clarke’s a biologist, documenting plant types. It seemed like an odd use of her summer, but she’d actually read some of the same texts he had and found the island in the same way, but while he saw a lost settlement, she saw unknown medicinal plants, referenced in texts and illustrated, but unidentified. Her camp is a chaotic jumble of notes and samples, but so is his.

With two weeks down and five to go, he can admit he would have been miserable without her.

“For one thing,” Clarke is telling him, “I have a kindle.”

“Have I mentioned how much of a fucking racket being rich is?” he asks. “You can power a kindle.”

“I’m using solar panels.”

“You can afford solar panels. My research funds didn’t cover those and I’m not independently wealthy.”

“Sucks to be you.” She pulls a paperback with a pale cover out of her bag and presents it to him. There’s a half-completed scientific sketch of a dragon on the cover, and the title A Natural History of Dragons. He has to admit, Clarke does have his taste pegged.

He flips through it, getting the general idea. “Don’t tell me, this was what inspired you to be a scientist.”

“Yeah, I read it the day it came out and did my entire PhD and got hired on tenure track in the last four years. I’m a savant.”

“Okay, so it didn’t inspire you. But it’s one of your deserted island books.”

“Like you said, they all are.” She shrugs. “It did inspire me. But the kind of way where–I don’t know. When I was little and I started seeing women who liked women on TV, that helped me figure out who I was? And these books aren’t like that; I was already a scientists. But I did bring it because I was coming on this kind of stupid, reckless trip, and she’s a role model for that.”

He laughs. “So this is a book that validates your bad choices?”

“Hey, guys get validation for that all the time. Women need some help.”

“I didn’t get a ton of general validation,” he says, and she inclines her head in acknowledgement.

“Okay, yeah. But yes, I’m going to give you my actual deserted island books. It’s going to be fun.”

“I can’t believe you brought deserted island books,” he teases.

“I can’t believe you didn’t. How many opportunities do you actually get to plan to be stuck alone somewhere for an extended period of time? And you just wasted it.”

“I do really like that Percy Jackson book, though,” he says, and she laughs.

“Cool, so I’ll read this, you’ll read that, and we can have a book club. Meet up in a couple days.”

“Our camps are next to each other. We’re going to see each other before then.”

“We don’t have to.”

“Are you going to try to cook your own food again? Because that was bad last time.”

“Okay, fine,” she says, with a roll of her eyes that can’t cover her smile. “We’ll still talk. But I do want to have a book club.”

“You’re a giant nerd, Griffin,” he says.

“So are you. This is a giant nerd island.”

“The entire population is giant nerds.” He smiles. “Thanks for the book. I’m really looking forward to it. And all your deserted island books.”

“I want yours too,” she says. “I don’t care if you have them. But I want the list.”

He smiles. “Trying to get to know me?”

She looks around at the empty island surrounding them, pointed. “I don’t have a lot of other options, right?”

“That’s my brand, yeah. Bellamy Blake: better than nothing.”

Her smile is much softer than he would have expected. “So much better, yeah.”

*

After A Natural History of Dragons, Clarke gives him The Golden Compass, which he’s read before but always likes, Persuasion, which he’s been meaning to read, A Room of One’s Own, which he figures out based on googling that he’d always conflated with A Room With a View despite having read neither, and finally The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, which he read for one of his classes but hadn’t revisited since.

What’s most surprising, once he’s done, is how much he does feel like he has an idea of Clarke, how he can fit the novels into the woman he’s still getting to know, how it brings her together.

“It’s like you were planning to unexpectedly meet someone here and wanted them to get to know you,” he teases, and she shrugs.

“I wanted to remind myself of who I was, I guess. These are the books where I really–” Her fingers trace the cover of The Golden Compass. “They felt like revelations, the first time I read them. Like I found something. So I wanted to make sure I could find it again, if I needed to. When I didn’t have anyone else.”

He nods. “I get that. So–I’ve been working on mine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m not totally sure on these, so don’t get too judgmental.”

“Me? I’d never judge,” she says, completely straight-faced, and he snorts.

“Of course not.” He clears his throat. “I told you about my sister, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, the first one is To Kill a Mockingbird. My sister loved the book because she felt like it was about a girl like her, and when I read it, I felt like I did too. Jem and Scout always reminded me of us, and reading it was the first time I really felt like I understood my sister.”

Clarke smiles. “See, I don’t have siblings, but Atticus reminded me of my dad.”

“So between us, we have the full To Kill a Mockingbird family.”

“Go us. What’s next?”

“Double feature, The Iliad and The Odyssey. I liked The Iliad more when I was a kid, but if I’m stuck on a desert island, The Odyssey seems appropriate. Getting home, or whatever.”

“I can see that, yeah. And you’re definitely an archaeologist because you loved mythology, right?”

“Definitely. I had to pick between history, classics, and archaeology, and I went with archaeology because I wanted to find things, not just read about them.” He wets his lips. “Which brings me to the next one, which you’re not going to know.”

“No?”

“I guess you might. But it was this–not quite a picture book, I guess, but kind of mid-range, more like Dinotopia. Illustrated story. My teacher in fourth grade had it in her classroom. The Voyage of the Basset. It’s about this professor of–myths and mythology, I guess? And his colleagues don’t respect him, because there’s no proof anything he does is real. And then a magical ship shows up, and he and his daughter go on this–magical voyage, and see–” He flashes her a grin. “All my favorite mythological creatures, basically. Dragons, mermaids, sphinx, even Medusa. And it was kind of what like you said, I read that and I felt like I got something about myself. It felt like–I don’t know. The kind of person I wanted to be.”

“See, this is why you bring the books to the island,” she teases, and he laughs.

“Honestly, I haven’t read it since I was a kid. I didn’t even remember it until you started talking about this stuff.”

“See? It’s a useful exercise.”

“Yeah, you’re delving into my psyche.”

“And it’s awesome.” She nudges his shoulder. “One more.”

“I still reserve the right to change this, but I think I want my last one to be Murakami. But I’m not sure which one.”

“I read Norwegian Wood in undergrad, I think? But I don’t remember it very well.”

“I don’t have a great profound reason for it. I think it’s filling the same role on my list Persuasion did on yours. I just like his stuff. If I had to have one now, I’d say Wind-Up Bird Chronicles, but I like a lot of his short stuff too.”

“Okay, cool. So that’s the desert-island guide to Bellamy Blake.”

“You’re actually getting the real desert-island guide to Bellamy Blake,” he teases. “This is the ultimate crash course.”

“Yeah, but still.” She bumps his shoulder. “Thanks for humoring me on that one.”

“It was fun. Sorry I don’t have the books for you.”

“Next time,” she says, and he laughs.

“Sure. Next time we’re stuck on an island together, I’ll bring more books.”

“You better,” she says, and even though she’s smiling, it doesn’t quite feel like a joke.

He doesn’t really want it to be one, either.

*

They leave the island together on the 25th, say goodbye when she has to fly back to the States. He takes her to the airport, and it’s not entirely a surprise when she leans up and kisses him goodbye, just this quick, soft brush of her mouth, but it is a relief.

And then she’s gone, and it aches, until she texts him that she’s landed, and then that she’s off the plane, and the next day, best of all, a picture her hand holding a new translation of The Odyssey he’s been wanting to check out, and the caption, Reading up for next time I see you.

Alone in the airport, waiting for his own flight, he grins.

Hope it doesn’t disappoint, he replies, and her reply is immediate.

It won’t. I get to learn more about my desert-island person, right?

Right, he agrees, and the next time he sees her, he’s the one to kiss her first, as soon as she’s close enough for it. He’s not even nervous about it.

After all, he knows her pretty well.

[saviormysticmeme]

Hello! If you feel inspired can you write about the RFA+V & Saeran trying new food like in a new restaurant or while on vacation abroad, and they catch a bad stomach flu. So how would the RFA deal with MC and the other way around what kind of sick person are the RFA? I know it's kind of a weird request but experiences like that really strengthen relationships so... ⊂(´• ω •`⊂) Thanks beforehand! I love you writing

I have been taking forever I am so sorryThank you for the request and compliment! And yeah I totally agree, taking care of someone when they’re sick is such a strong relationship builder…or breaker lololThere are few parts to this ask so it might be formated a lil weird but bare with me

I hope you enjoy (ง♥ᨓ♥)ง

Yoosung

Taking care of you:

No MC don’t get out of bed just rest!

He has the laptop out in front of you so you can entertain yourself. 

Brought you tons of blankets

He’s terrified of getting sick though, so he’s in and out of the room

He keeps bringing you orange juice 

It’s too much acid. It makes you throw up, causing Yoosung to almost throw up.

“Yoosung?? Are you alright?”

Him, refusing to look at you or the trash can of vomit: “Yeah MC I-I’m fine. I’m just gonna..go over far away for a few mins..” He ran out of the room

After about an hour he comes back in, looking better than when he ran out earlier. 

When he’s sick:

He looks like he’s dying

He doesn’t move from bed

He tries to muster up the energy to play LOLOL but you reprimand him and make him rest more

He’s shamelessly needy when he’s sick

“MC can I have this?” “MC…I feel so gross.” “MCCCCCCCC, hellllllp”

But you get breaks when he passes out for a few hours at a time, or he’ll get distracted from how gross he feels by watching Let’s Plays. 

Jaehee

Taking care of you:

She follows all the online instructions

The room temp is changed to be the perfect temp for counteracting your illness

You’re positioned just right among a hundred pillows so you’re in the most ergonomic position to prevent you from puking on everything

She calls room service to request only nutritious meals to help get you back on track

She also calls the restaurant you two ate at and reports to them that you seem to have gotten sick from the food there, managing to get a gift card for the place as an apology.

If she thinks you’re about to up heave your guts she just looks away and crinkles her nose a bit

She’s basically the bedside angel nurse you never thought you’d deserve

When She’s sick:

She insists she can take care of herself

But you argue that she’ll get better faster if she just lets you take care of her, and the faster she gets better the faster you two can go back to enjoying your vacation

She tries to sleep as much as possible because she knows her immune system works faster then

But you remind her she shouldn’t force herself to sleep through her vacation

You get her vitamins and tea, and you two just sit on the bed or couch and watch the Cooking network because Jaehee loves watching pastries getting decorated 

Who doesn’t tbh

Zen

Taking care of you:

He waits on you hand and foot

Even when you don’t need, or even want, something, he brings it

Blankets, vitamins, water, orange juice, this weird herbal drink he found at the market that says it’s good for you, snacks, you name it

He cuddles with you despite being sick too sense he has the immune system of a beast

You two just sit around and watch movies all day while you nap on and off

He still thinks you’re cute, with your flushed face and red eyes and that adorable drippy nose

Haha just kidding he is not a fan of you being sick but he does think your sneezes are adorable and the way your eyes flutter when you first wake up from one of your naps is pretty damn adorable

When you barf…he is a little disenchanted but he knows it isn’t your fault so he just holds your hair and rubs your back

When he is sick:

He refuses to sit still and stay in the room

“Come on MC we have sights to see”

“But Zen you’re sick!”

“I don’t feel so hot but I can keep myself from throwing up at least so come on”

If he does vomit he grabs the nearest trash can and you’d hold his ponytail back

And cut it off

No just hold it

He insists he’d feel too awful if you guys sat around during a vacation just cause he has the stomach bug

And you insist you feel awful that he feels awful for being sick

You guys just go back and forth until you give up and resolve to just keep an eye on him and not stray too far from the hotel in case it gets worse

By the next morning he claims he feels better just from being with you all day

Jumin

When you’re sick:

He calls the best local doctor in the area

All the high class foreign vitamins 

The best Korean vitamins are in express mail on their way to you guys

The restaurant is under new management within the hour because how dare they let this happen

Jumin please it isn’t their fault

You’re resting in bed and he’s by your side, pumped with antibiotics to keep him from getting sick because he refuses to leave you alone

He extends the vacation by a week to make up for any lost time spent in bed and sick

When he’s sick:

Very similar to the steps from when you were sick

You try to make the phone calls for him but he says he’s fine to do it and that you should at least have fun on your vacation

He tries to plan for a trusted tour guide to take you around so you can at least enjoy yourself

But you refuse, saying you’d much rather be with him

He tries to get you to leave so you won’t be at risk for catching whatever he has but you’re persistent

And despite him having all the best medicine and care already you do your best

You bring him warm or cold towelettes for his forehead when his temperature drops or spikes

You brush his hair back and do your best to hold his bangs back while he pukes

He apologizes for being so ‘disheveled’

You run to a local bookstore and find some interesting reads for him to entertain himself with while relaxing

Eventually you just snuggle up to him and nap while he does.

Seven

When you’re sick

First thing he does is dress as a sexy nurse

But then he gets serious…ironically serious considering his outfit

He buys some medicine and vitamins, uses the power of internet to get a good read on what may be ailing you

He knows you don’t feel like eating but insists you eat a small meal here and there to get some nutrients in you

He gets lots of bendy straws for you to drink water, because bendy straws make everything better.

You say the word and he is doing whatever you need or getting whatever you want in an instant

He’s your one and only bedside nurse

When he’s sick

“MC I’m fine”

“You threw up twice in an hour”

“I’m fi-”

You take the PhD Pepper out of his hand “No more of this for now” 

Cue you hiding all the really acidic and fatty foods he brought along despite his whining

He feels guilty doing work on vacation but you assure him that it’s ok since he can’t do much but sit at his computer anyways.

Besides, if he finishes some work now you two can have fun when you’re back home

He takes a lot of breaks though where you two just snuggle

After a while he hints that he has the sexy nurse outfit for whatever reason

You tell him you’ll put it on when he feels better.

Getting him all riled up while he’s sick is not on your to do list

He’s sad, but he understands

And while he hides most of it behinds jokes, he really appreciates you 

Even the part of you refusing to wear the sexy nurse outfit

Saeran

When you’re sick

He’s a little annoyed. Not at you because he knows you didn’t choose this, but with the situation as a whole.

But you can tell he’s irritated and that either irritates you, or makes you feel a little guilty.

Cue slight strain on relationship here

But after an hour or two he realizes instead of being salty he could be helping you feel better and he does

He’s not good at it, but he tries.

He gets you water and some vitamins he’s familiar with, and tries to find things for you to entertain yourself.

After a while he realizes you’re happy with the two of you just lounging around and talking….and that makes him happy too.

Maybe this isn’t such a bad vacation. He wasn’t super excited to go outside into tourist land anyways.

Then you started puking and he had to hold your hair back

Ok no still kind of bad vacation

But even a bad vacation with you is an okay one in his eyes

When he’s sick

He’s just overtired and feeling icky and therefore a little more snappy than usual

You try getting him to eat but he refuses because his stomach hurts

After almost a whole day you bring in a tray of easy to digest foods and try getting him to eat once again

“No.” He glares at you and turns his back as he lays down.

You glare daggers into the back of his head.

“Saeran, you’re going to eat something or so help me god.” He turns to look at you, a challenging look in his eye. He isn’t used to you being assertive but he’s not going to give i-

You’re still glaring at him. Dead. In. The. Eyes.

“Alright” He grumbles as he takes the tray

At first he’s just moving things around with a spoon

But eventually he starts picking at things and actually eating

And he even feels a little better

Weird. It’s like being overtired, sick, and hungry only made things worse who would have guessed certainly not MC

You notice he’s sweating and grab a cold towel and start washing his forehead

“What are you doing”

“Does this not feel good?”

“No no.. it does. Thanks.” He looks away as you tilt his face to get all the drops and brush back his sweat matted hair. 

Once he’s freshened up a little more you just cuddle him.

“MC…”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” 

V

When you’re sick

Protective Daddy Mode Activated

Much like the others he just takes care of you

And even when you whine he doesn’t mind, he understands you don’t feel well

He does anything he can to help

He does think it’s for the best that you two don’t cuddle or kiss though, cause if he catches it too then you’re both screwed

He even wears a germ mask

But he’s cute as fuck so you don’t mind

He brings you tea and water constantly, along with small nutritious meals

He gets tourist books and rearranges your schedule so you two can optimize the time you have once you feel better

The vomiting doesn’t phase him, he just holds your hair, rubs your back, and mutters encouraging, albeit strange, things along the way

“That’s it MC, get it all out” “You’ll feel better soon” “I’ll be here with you, just relax and do what you need”

Thanks V, the vomit was needing that encouragment

When he’s sick

He is bedridden

Boy will not move

He suddenly seems so fragile

You kind of think he’s dying.

But he assures you he is fine and tries to get you to go out and have fun without him

What is with these boys not understanding you’re not leaving them

Whenever you bring him something he sings praise about how kind you are to him, and how he doesn’t deserve you.

As much as he wants to be near you, he can’t risk getting you sick because ‘he’d be unable to deal with the guilt’ so he banishes you to the living room while he sleeps.

You feel bad but he absolutely refuses anything that involves you doing something for him more strenuous than making a cup of tea.

Once he feels better a couple days later he promises to make it up to you, despite you saying he has nothing to make up for. 

[euprymna-scolopes-blog]

Grad School Update

It’s been a while since I had time to come back here but it’s not abandoned! 

Anyway, here’s how things stand now: 

EMBL Heidelberg - Interview - Offer - Accepted

Francis Crick Institute - Pre-interview - Rejected

Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory (Watson School) - Interview - Offer - Declined

MIT (Biology) - Rejected

Harvard (Biological and Biomedical Sciences) - Rejected

King’s College London/Wellcome Trust “Cell Therapies and Regenerative Medicine” - Interview - Waiting list - Declined

Oxford DPhil in Chromosome and Developmental Biology - Interview - ? 

Oxford Interdisciplinary Bioscience DTP - Withdrew application 

I’ll talk about the individual interview visits in more detail later; here I’ll just cover the general course of things. 

MIT and Harvard rejected me without an interview invitation, which wasn’t actually too surprising (just demoralising, in the case of Harvard... but then the invitation from Watson School came and I was overjoyed. MIT’s lack of invitation didn’t bother me at all. 

The Crick rejected me after the pre-interview, which was kind of disappointing. But to be absolutely honest, the Crick and EMBL were the only non-rotation programmes I applied to, and between the two I’d go for EMBL in a heartbeat. 

Before I’d heard back from CSHL/WSBS, I also applied to the KCL/WT CTRM programme in excitement, and two Oxford programmes under semi-coercion. (I was just encouraged really enthusiastically to apply; nobody held a gun to my head or anything!) I ended up withdrawing the IB DTP application almost right after they called me up for interviews, because I had received my offer from EMBL by then and didn’t want to waste their time (or go through another interview). 

I accepted the EMBL offer on the day I received it. 

I know, it sounds like a) I was desperate and b) I didn’t think this through, right? And in fact my internal rankings had changed a bit over the interview visits. But even though it was an incredibly painful decision, it wasn’t a difficult one. I’ll explain... 

Before the interviews, before everything, EMBL Heidelberg had been my first choice. I never expected that I would apply to the US, let alone be flown in to interview at - and then receive an offer of admissions from - one of the most incredible research institutes and PhD programmes in the world. And even though I applied only to programmes that I could see myself attending (or at least I could before I went to visit), I had pretty much set my heart on EMBL. The only problem it had, I thought, was that it wasn’t really a graduate school, and there were no rotations. (I’m a greedy, curious person who wants to learn everything.) But apart from that, it would have been perfect. 

But then my friend currently enrolled in the Watson School encouraged me to apply. I don’t know what he saw in me that made him think I stood a chance, but I sent in an application anyway because I loved everything about the school’s philosophy. It matched exactly with what I wanted in a graduate school. I remembered browsing through CSHL’s online historical archives and reading the transcripts of interviews with Dr. Winship Herr, and just falling in love more and more with the picture of WSBS they painted. I was head over heels when they invited me to interview (this even after EMBL sent me an invitation too!). It felt completely unbelievable to me that this amazing institution saw my application and found me adequate. 

I flew to interview and absolutely could not have loved what I saw there more. The people were friendly and generous and willing to talk (and listen!) to me about their science. The environment was stunning. The atmosphere was the most open and collaborative I’ve felt. The students were quirky in a good way; so was the Dean, if I might say so... I enjoyed myself so immensely. Add to that the fact that I felt really good throughout my interviews; at least two people told me they wanted me here (in more roundabout terms, of course). At this point, I cautiously moved WSBS up to number one. I wholeheartedly believed that I would come here if I was accepted. The only problems I could see were that the place was geographically isolated (I can’t drive, but I thought I’d find a way around it somehow if I had to); I didn’t manage to find a Burning Question to work on (but I could leave that until after the rotations, I felt); and, of course, this was now Trump’s America. Who knew what terrors the next four years will bring? But I didn’t think these would hold me back. 

Well, I didn’t count on falling back in love with EMBL Heidelberg. 

If I thought I didn’t stand a chance with CSHL, I knew I didn’t with EMBL. There were four people recruiting from my unit of choice (Developmental Biology), and at least 20 of us vying for a slot. So much depended on me impressing a supervisor whose work interested me and whose style matched mine. And I had come from CSHL only a week ago, and my mind and heart were full of Watson School. Let’s just take it easy, I thought to myself. Make friends, talk about exciting science, go walk around this lovely German city. 

Fairly unexpectedly, it appeared that they took a shine to me; I’m very certain they went easy on me during the initial assessment by the panel (probably because I was the last person and they wanted to get it over with). I didn’t get any difficult questions that I couldn’t answer at all. I had a really nice chat later in the evening with the head of the unit and other recruiting group leaders. And dangerously, throughout the entire process, I felt my wish to join EMBL grow stronger and stronger. (But the Watson School! cried a small voice, which was quickly hushed by replies of Dude, can we please focus?) 

I spoke with the group leaders in more detail over the next days, narrowing down to two people whose work I was intensely interested in - okay, to be quite fair, for one of them there was definitely an aspect of “oh shit I don’t really understand this, but he is so smart and his lab is such cool people”. As for the other... I didn’t feel anything intense until I talked to the graduating predoc and just. fell. in. love. 

It was the perfect project. I could investigate so many aspects of supracellular behaviour using this. Virtually everything was understudied, so anything I did would have a good chance of turning out novel and interesting results. I could learn advanced microscopy, biomechanics/biophysics, computational modelling, 3D culture, etc etc... all the skills I’d wanted to acquire over the PhD period. Most importantly, I could not stop thinking about the question over the next day of interviews. I kept searching for ways to connect what I was hearing about in the interviews to “my question”. At this point, I knew that I wanted to be here, and I knew that I also had a pretty good shot (one of the interviewers essentially said to me in private that she’d love to have me there - twice). 

With the Watson School, I’d get possibly much broader and deeper training during the coursework and rotation year; I’d also have superior pastoral care. It’s also a much cosier environment because of the tiny class size and close interaction. But at EMBL, the predoc course is nothing to sneeze at, and my particular unit is small and close-knit. I suspect I would miss the environment/atmosphere at the Watson School more than the training, especially given that my potential projects offer chances to branch out laterally too. Opportunities-wise, both institutes are hubs for conferences gathering leaders across many fields, and at both places I’d have the same problem of too many opportunities, not enough time. So when all the Serious Factors were considered, neither EMBL nor WSBS was significantly in the lead (except maybe that my Burning Question(s) have been pinned down to a much better degree at EMBL than WSBS). 

But then came the killer. Where can I see myself spending four years outside of the lab? Where can I make a home? I couldn’t happily do that at Cold Spring Harbor/Huntington, given the general inconvenience one faces without a car, whereas at Heidelberg the public transport system is inarguably superior. (I don’t care much for clubs and drinking, so the geographical isolation of CSHL from NYC isn’t actually a big deal for me at all. I even prefer it, because otherwise I would have to keep explaining that no, I really am a happy introvert, and I do like people in general, but please leave me alone because I can’t handle constant social interaction all day.) And, of course, in Germany there is no Trump. There are radical right-wing groups, but in general they do not have the same degree of power and legitimacy as they now do in the US, and in any case EMBL is incredibly international in composition (and on actual UN ground, what the heck). As a - and I hesitate to say this, because I sound like such a SJW now - queer Asian atheist/agnostic woman, I feel much safer in Europe than I do in the modern-day US. Yes, CSHL is progressive and so is NYC, but the general climate plays a role. I don’t want to live and work in a place where I might suddenly wake up to find that yet another aspect of me no longer has human rights. 

(Of course, fingers very tightly crossed that Europe doesn’t pull some awful shit in the next four years... Le Pen is unsettling.) 

And once I came to that conclusion, I gave myself no alternative by accepting the offer from EMBL on the day. If I hadn’t, the pain I am going through right now - writing to the Watson School to turn them down while crying intermittently - would have been magnified a thousandfold, and I’d have constantly been second-guessing myself and trying to justify one place or the other. So... for once... I was decisive and didn’t procrastinate... Thanks me. 

I know that the decision I’ve made is right, but I also know that I shall be looking back on this day, ages and ages hence, when the Frostian mood strikes me; if I had taken the road not taken, would it have made a difference? 

[little-kitty-kanny]

answer all of them

Here weeeeeeeeee gooooooo, I’m going to use a read more because this is gonna be hella long

flower crown: when did you last sing to yourself?

I wanna say like Sunday? I think that’s when I last worked. Sometimes I’ll sing under my breath at work.

fairy lights: if a crystal ball could tell you the truth about anything, what would you want to know?

If my meds are going to keep working for me. 

daisies: what is the greatest accomplishment of your life?

I’m still alive.

1975: what is the first happy memory that comes to mind, recent or otherwise?

My youngest sister is curled up fast asleep next to me.

matte: if you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living?

I’d probably be a lot warmer to people. I’d spend a lot more time with people that I care about.

black nail polish: do you have a bucket list? if so, what are the top three things?

Not really to be honest.

pantone: describe a person close to your life in detail.

Well, she’s got pretty curly hair, and the prettiest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. She’s likes to draw and she’s very good at it. She got me more involved in art and drawing. She started the playing the trumpet and has been in love with it ever since. She marches and looks like a boss ass bitch doing it. Music is her passion, but loves learning about how we as humans think and express emotion. She’s lovable and the bestest friend a person could ever ask for. Even though our interests differ a little more now than they did when we first met, she’s been by my side through eleven years of nonsense, heartbreak, and absolute fuckery.

She’s my best friend in the whole wide world and I love her to bits.

moodboard: do you feel you had a happy childhood?

My childhood was decent enough.

stars: when did you last cry in front of another person?

Huh....this had to be sometime last week. I didn’t cry this time talking with my counselor.

plants: pick a person to stargaze with you and explain why you picked them.

Neil Degrasse Tyson so he could tell me all about the cosmos and the different stars.

converse: would you ever have a deep conversation with a stranger and open up to them?

I dunno....like it’d depend on the situation. I’ve had conversations with strangers, but never very deep ones, unless they’ve come forward to talk to me about a really personal situation. 

lace: when was your last 3am conversation with someone, and who were they to you?

Either you or Beth, I can’t remember.

handwriting: if you were about to die, and you could only say one more sentence to one person, what would you say and to whom?

I’d tell my mom that I love her and to tell her to tell the others I love them too.

cactus: what is your opinion on brown eyes?

Well I like them, but that might be because I have them myself. :P

sunrise: pick a quote and describe what it means to you personally.

“Healing doesn’t mean the damage never existed. It means the damage no longer controls our lives.” I’ve had my fair share of hurt and setbacks, but now I’m working to make myself better and working to move past it. I’m acknowledging that things have happened to me that can never be undone, but that doesn’t mean other people’s selfishness or my own mistakes have to control who I am right now.

oil paints: what would you title the autobiography of your life so far?

Whelp, Look at This Absolute Fuckery.

overalls: what would you do with one billion dollars?

Pay my student loans...all my student loans because I’m still only in my undergrad and I’ll at least need a Masters or PhD.

combat boots: are you a very forgiving person? do you like being this way?

No, I’m not always forgiving. I’ve tried to be better about it, but there are still situations in which I find it hard to forgive.

winged eyeliner: write a hundred word letter to your twelve year old self.

Whelp kiddo, lemme teach you some things. Anyone who says they’d kill themselves without you is not your friend. YOU are NOT responsible for the happiness of the whole damn world. You need to take care of yourself and stop worrying so much about other people.You’ll have to break some hearts, but baby, it’s gonna be for the best. You’re gonna have people who don’t like you, but FUCK them. You’re not doing anything wrong, people can be cruel when you tell them things they don’t like.

pastel: would you describe yourself as more punk or pastel?

Ugh...I’d like to say punk, but probably more like pastel. I do like soft colors and that kind of aesthetic.

tattoos: how do you feel about tattoos and piercings? explain.

I like them. I’m actually thinking about getting a tattoo soon, but I’m still deciding on an artist. I won’t ever get my ears pierced again though. I learned the hard way I can only wear surgical steel earrings....*shudders* never again.

piercings: do you wear a lot of makeup? why/why not?

Meh, I wouldn’t say a lot of makeup. I usually only wear it to events, on holidays, and occasionally for work, but I definitely wear it more than I used to.

bands: talk about a song/band/lyric that has affected your life in some way.

Metallica was my childhood, so I guess I’ll go with them. My dad’s loved them since they started making music and we’d always listen to it together. We don’t do it so much now that we’re both adults with responsibilities, but sometimes we still have time to listen to it together.

messy bun: the world is listening. pick one sentence you would tell them.

JUST BE FUCKING NICE TO EACH OTHER,POWERFUL BEINGS ABOVE.

cry baby: list the concerts you have been to and talk about how they make you feel.

Carnival of Madness....I wanna say it was 2012- This was the first concert I went to. It was my sixteenth birthday present. My dad took me and I’d never felt so amazed and excited. One of the newer bands actually signed some CDs and sold them, so I go to meet one of the members of a band called New Medicine. I also got to watch Amy Lee perform, and she was my singing idol as a child.It was pretty amazing, even if I was anxious because of the large crowd and tight groups of people. 

Carnival of Madness 2016 was about one of the only GOOD things to happen that year. That was my sister’s first concert. It was AMAZING. All the bands were wonderful. Hats off to Whiskey Meyer because I’ve never seen anyone rock out to a cowbell, but man, they did. Halestorm was amazing as always....AND SHINEDOWN WAS FUCKING FANTASTIC. They were amazing and omg I fell in love with the music all over again is was great.

grunge: who in the world would you most like to receive a letter from and what would you want it to say?

.....you know I don’t really know. 

space: do you have a desk/workspace and how is it organised/not organised?

I have a desk, and I finally cleaned it.

white bed sheets: what is your night time routine?

Lol, don’t really have one.

old books: what’s one thing you don’t want your parents to know?

The reason I didn’t want to drive is because at that time I was so suicidal all I could do is imagine driving the car into a wall or something else that would end me quick.

beaches: if you had to dye your hair how would you dye/style it and why?

I wanna dye my hair purple again, I’ve just been too lazy to do it.

eyes: pick five people to go on an excursion with you. who would you pick and where would you go/what would you do?

I dunno...I’d definitely take my best friend, but lately I’ve had some....issues with friends....so I’m not sure who’s my friend right now and who is.

11:11: name three wishes and why you wish for them.

Nah, this one’s gonna get dark.

painting: what is the best halloween costume you have ever put together? if none, make one up.

I was Wednesday Addams for Halloween last year. I spray painted my hair black and wore it in braids. Everyone at the costume party knew immediately who I was just by looking at me. :)

lightning: what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done while drunk or high?

I’ve never been drunk or high so nothing I suppose.

thunder: what’s one thing you would never do for one million dollars?

Murder

storms: you on only listen to one song for the rest of your life, or only see one person for the rest of your life. which and why?

As painful as this is- one song. Because you can mute a song....but you can’t replace people.

love: have you ever fallen in love? describe what it feels like to realise you’re in love.

Oooooooh boy.....yeah I’ve thought I was, but I don’t think I really was. Or maybe I was with one person.

I just realized I felt completely comfortable with this person. When this person was upset, I wanted nothing more than to fix whatever was going on. I was just happy being friends with that person....and I wanted them to be very happy, even if it wasn’t with me. It was fucking agony and pain and it made my heart hurt....but hey...isn’t love supposed to make you feel something?

clouds: if you’re a boy, would you ever rock black nail polish? if you’re a girl, would you ever rock really really short hair?

One word- cowlicks

So no short hair for this girl. 

coffee: what’s your starbucks order, and who would you trust to order for you, if anyone?

Eh,  it varies. I usually get some sort of frappachino. My mom knows me pretty well, so she’ll occasionally get me some when she gets hers.

marble: what is the most important thing to you in your life right now?

That would still be my family.

[pitz182]

It's Never Too Late to Change: New Books by Writers in Recovery

Your nerves shot? Mine, too. Winter is a slog and I can’t wait for spring. When I can’t stand one more minute of worrying about the planet, polar bears, politics and hate, I still choose escape. But… instead of rum and cocaine, my go-to is a good book. So, if stress has been dogging you and your bandwidth is low, it’s okay to turn off your gadgets so you can refuel. Breaks from YouTube and the 24/7 news cycle can do wondrous things for the mind. I went radical this week and even turned off my cell. Twitter can consume me if I let it.This month I made time to curl up on the couch with my dog and disappeared into these gems:Never Enough: The Neuroscience and Experience of Addictionby Judith Grisel (Doubleday, Feb. 19, 2019)“My response to being overwhelmed by the deep void was to leap into it.” — Judith GriselJudith Grisel writes about the grizzly years of self-destruction. Stories show the author at her messiest. In a decade, she’d consumed a cornucopia of substances; by age 23, she was a self-loathing mess.The strength of Grisel’s bestseller is her intimate knowledge about the nervous system and addiction. Grisel peppers the pages with unsettling anecdotes, but she does it sans self-pity. Like a journalist, she reports embarrassing and creepy things.“I ripped off stores and stole credit cards when the opportunity presented itself, I was still able to maintain, at least to myself, that I was basically a good person. To an extent, for instance, I could count on my companions, and they could count on me. I say to an extent, because we also knew and expected that we would lie, cheat, or steal from each other if something really important were at stake (that is, drugs).”I never tire of drunken-drugalogues, and Grisel doesn’t disappoint on that front. But telling these stories is not to shock or manipulate readers, nor is Grisel trying to prove she was “a bona fide addict.” Her purpose is to illustrate the bleak existence of those who cannot stop drinking and drugging.When Grisel “finally reached the dead end” where she felt she was “incapable of living either with or without mind-altering substances,” she sought help. After a 28-day rehab and months in a halfway house, she managed to pull her life together. After seven years of study, she earned a PhD in behavioral neuroscience and became an expert in neurobiology, chemistry, and the genetics of addictive behavior.This book doesn't brag about having the answers, but shows what a sober neuroscientist has learned after 20 years of studying how an addicted brain works. She makes it easy to understand why it's so difficult to get sober and maybe even harder to stay that way. It irks me when people say they never think about drugs or alcohol anymore. My first feeling is rage—probably because I’ve never experienced anything like that, despite working hard on myself during 30 years in recovery. Grisel refreshingly writes about the temptation that’s always there.Grisel’s writing communicates succinctly: “A plaque I later saw posted behind a bar described my first experience [with alcohol] precisely: Alcohol makes you feel like you’re supposed to feel when you’re not drinking alcohol.” In another passage, she quotes George Koob, chief of the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism: “There are two ways of becoming an alcoholic: either being born one or drinking a lot.” Grisel is careful to explain so you don’t get the wrong idea. “Dr. Koob is not trying to be flip, and the high likelihood that one or the other of these applies to each of us helps explain why the disease is so prevalent.”When she writes about her experiences, it’s candid and clear, and it feels like she’s a friend and we’re chatting in a café. I found myself frequently nodding with identification—like a bobblehead on a car dashboard. It’s a fascinating, absorbing, satisfying book about addiction.Widows-in-Lawby Michele W. Miller (Blackstone Publishing, Feb. 26, 2019)There was a huge turnout at The Mysterious Bookshop in downtown Manhattan on February 26. The event was the book launch of Michele W. Miller’s second novel, Widows-in-Law. Lawrence Block, the wildly successful, sober crime novelist, sat beside Miller in the role of interviewer, and he was as entertaining as ever.See Also: Lawrence Block: One Case at a TimeMiller, a high-level attorney for New York City, said, “Widows-in-Law is about an attorney who dies suddenly in a fire, leaving behind a first wife who’s a streetwise child abuse prosecutor.” She then jokingly added, “who might resemble me a little bit.” That got a big laugh because many attendees knew that Miller had previously worked as a child abuse prosecutor.In a thick and endearing Brooklyn-Queens accent, Miller described the deceased’s second bride. “You know, legs up to the eyeballs…[a] gawgeous trophy wife.” Block jumped in with praise: “That’s the one that resembles you.” Miller blushed and said, “See? That’s why we keep him around for a hundred books. Another big laugh, another inside joke: throughout Block’s astounding career, the well-loved crime writer has churned out 100 books.Miller quickly regained her composure and got back to the novel’s setup: Emily is a 16-year-old from Brian’s first marriage, to Lauren. Shortly before Brian died in the fire, Emily moved in with Brian (and his new wife). Lauren hoped they could reel in the out-of-control teen.The Miller thriller works well. It’s a fast read with dramatic and believable scenes and dialogue. I wanted to dig deeper and find out how much of the novel was fictional. Many novelists write about the worlds they know. Miller agreed to one-on-one time to discuss the three badass women at the center of the story.“Emily’s mom Lauren is my main character. Her backstory includes being a homeless teenager during the 1980s and ‘90s,” Miller said. “Her parents were whacked on drugs so Lauren left. She stayed at a shelter on St. Marks. It’s an iconic recovery building in the East Village.”When I asked which parts of the novel are autobiographical, Miller paused, sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.“Okay,” she said. “Here goes. I’m in my 30th year clean. I was a low-bottom heroin addict.” Miller’s past included a felony arrest for cocaine possession. She was facing 15 to life. To avoid spoilers, suffice it to say that explained why some of the scenes seemed so thoroughly researched.“The book touches on my experiences with jail, illegal after-hours spots, and the complete chaos of addiction,” said Miller, who is now the director of enforcement for the New York City Conflicts of Interest Board. “Basically, that means I’m the chief ethics prosecutor for the city.” She’s aware of the irony. Before getting clean, Miller ran in the same circles as hitmen, such as the infamous Tommy Pitera.“Yeah, we got high together,” said Miller. “People knew him as Tommy Karate because he was into martial arts. But it wasn’t until a book that I found out he was a brutal killer who cut people into little pieces. I was traumatized. We hung out, getting high. I don’t know why he didn’t kill me. I guess he liked me. Maybe because I was an accomplished martial artist?”Miller is proof of how much your life can change when you get sober. She's lucky to have survived her druggy past that included hanging out with murderers. Lawrence Block said, “Michele Miller has had more lives than a cat, and they’ve made her a writer of passion and substance.”After you read Widows-in-Law, check out Miller’s first novel, The Thirteenth Step: Zombie Recovery (HOW Club Press, November 4, 2013). It’s another fast-paced doozy and a finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards. Kirkus Reviews wrote, “A humorous and surprising satire of both the zombie apocalypse and the culture of addiction... wholly original... satisfying.... The care taken in both characterization and prose earns the reader’s time. A well-written, thoughtful treatment not just of a popular literary trope but of a nagging social issue.”The Addiction Spectrum: A Compassionate Approach to Recovery by Paul Thomas, MD, and Jennifer Margulis, PhD. (HarperOne, Sept. 4. 2018)Paul Thomas, MD, is board certified in integrative and holistic medicine and addiction medicine—he’s also in recovery.“Addiction isn’t about willpower or blame,” he said. “It’s a disease that, like many other conditions, exists on a spectrum.” The spectrum is about how severely you crave your substance of choice when you don’t have it. It’s about how serious your health consequences are. Death, of course, is the worst end of the spectrum.The Addiction Spectrum offers a system that bases the individual’s needs on where they are on the spectrum. Thomas offers seven key methods for healing, whether you’re active in addiction or already in recovery. “Doctors need a new approach to treating pain,” said Thomas. He mentioned the hazards of painkillers within the medical community, “My wife is a nurse and recovering opiate addict,” he said. The book is about any addiction—alcohol, marijuana, opioids, meth, technology. Co-author Jennifer Margulis, PhD, is an award-winning science journalist who’s been writing books about children’s health for over 10 years.“Making love, eating delicious food,” said Margulis, “these activities release dopamine and make you feel good. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel good. But using heroin or abusing prescription opioids or even excessive computer gaming or binge eating will harm your brain. Too many young people think, ‘Hey, I’m just having fun.’ But there is nothing fun about dying from an overdose.”But what is it about right now that can explain the drug epidemic?“We’re animals, wired to avoid danger and seek pleasure,” Thomas said. “We scan for threats and have an immediate fight, flight or freeze reaction. We’re talking about dopamine and epinephrine (adrenaline) responses.”Margulis agreed: “with cell phone alerts, video games, 24/7 news and high stress from work or school, we are overloaded. We can become addicted to food, social media, cigarettes, and a bunch of other substances and behaviors.”Both Thomas and Margulis agree it is time to start looking at the root causes. Why is there an increase in mood disorders, fatigue, and addiction? The book answers so many questions and I learned a lot about how to treat my body and mind better. The writing style makes it easy reading—nothing too tough to get through and very practical.The most anticipated book on my list isn’t out yet, but I’ve been lucky enough to read a sample chapter.Strung Outby Erin Khar (HarperCollins|Park Row Books, Feb. 2020)Erin Khar’s much-anticipated memoir will hit the shelves in early 2020. It’s the story of Khar’s decade-long battle with opioids, but it goes even further by searching for answers. Why is it that some people can do drugs and stop, while others become addicted? She explores possible reasons for America’s current drug crisis and its soaring death toll. The CDC statistics are staggering. From 1999 to 2017, more than 700,000 people died from drug overdoses, and 400,000 of those died from an opioid overdose. This epidemic is devouring our nation.Khar’s writing beat includes addiction, recovery, mental health, relationships, and self-care. She also writes the “Ask Erin” column for Ravishly.For a decade, beginning at age 13, she kept her heroin use a secret from friends and family. When she was caught by her then-fiancé, she went to rehab and her book describes her harrowing withdrawal. Three years later, at age 26, she relapsed. Four months later, her using had dragged her to the bottom.Khar, who has written for The Fix, told me, “I’ve been clean from opiates for 15 years!” That’s an enormous achievement for any addict, and in that decade and a half, she’s completely changed her life.From Khar’s essay in Self magazine:“If you had told me 15 years ago that I would be a happily married mother, living in New York City, doing what she loves for a living… I would have laughed.”She hopes that her book will help shatter the stigma; stop the shaming. She describes its genesis: “I wrote the short story 'David' for Cosmonauts Avenue. Agents contacted me about writing a memoir.” After reading her essays, and following her writing career, I’m eager to read a book by this heroine about heroin.Every one of these books is written by a sober writer. They are living proof that people’s lives can change at any time.Mine sure did.Do you have favorite sober authors? Please share them with us in the comments!

[emlydunstan]

It's Never Too Late to Change: New Books by Writers in Recovery

Your nerves shot? Mine, too. Winter is a slog and I can’t wait for spring. When I can’t stand one more minute of worrying about the planet, polar bears, politics and hate, I still choose escape. But… instead of rum and cocaine, my go-to is a good book. So, if stress has been dogging you and your bandwidth is low, it’s okay to turn off your gadgets so you can refuel. Breaks from YouTube and the 24/7 news cycle can do wondrous things for the mind. I went radical this week and even turned off my cell. Twitter can consume me if I let it.This month I made time to curl up on the couch with my dog and disappeared into these gems:Never Enough: The Neuroscience and Experience of Addictionby Judith Grisel (Doubleday, Feb. 19, 2019)“My response to being overwhelmed by the deep void was to leap into it.” — Judith GriselJudith Grisel writes about the grizzly years of self-destruction. Stories show the author at her messiest. In a decade, she’d consumed a cornucopia of substances; by age 23, she was a self-loathing mess.The strength of Grisel’s bestseller is her intimate knowledge about the nervous system and addiction. Grisel peppers the pages with unsettling anecdotes, but she does it sans self-pity. Like a journalist, she reports embarrassing and creepy things.“I ripped off stores and stole credit cards when the opportunity presented itself, I was still able to maintain, at least to myself, that I was basically a good person. To an extent, for instance, I could count on my companions, and they could count on me. I say to an extent, because we also knew and expected that we would lie, cheat, or steal from each other if something really important were at stake (that is, drugs).”I never tire of drunken-drugalogues, and Grisel doesn’t disappoint on that front. But telling these stories is not to shock or manipulate readers, nor is Grisel trying to prove she was “a bona fide addict.” Her purpose is to illustrate the bleak existence of those who cannot stop drinking and drugging.When Grisel “finally reached the dead end” where she felt she was “incapable of living either with or without mind-altering substances,” she sought help. After a 28-day rehab and months in a halfway house, she managed to pull her life together. After seven years of study, she earned a PhD in behavioral neuroscience and became an expert in neurobiology, chemistry, and the genetics of addictive behavior.This book doesn't brag about having the answers, but shows what a sober neuroscientist has learned after 20 years of studying how an addicted brain works. She makes it easy to understand why it's so difficult to get sober and maybe even harder to stay that way. It irks me when people say they never think about drugs or alcohol anymore. My first feeling is rage—probably because I’ve never experienced anything like that, despite working hard on myself during 30 years in recovery. Grisel refreshingly writes about the temptation that’s always there.Grisel’s writing communicates succinctly: “A plaque I later saw posted behind a bar described my first experience [with alcohol] precisely: Alcohol makes you feel like you’re supposed to feel when you’re not drinking alcohol.” In another passage, she quotes George Koob, chief of the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism: “There are two ways of becoming an alcoholic: either being born one or drinking a lot.” Grisel is careful to explain so you don’t get the wrong idea. “Dr. Koob is not trying to be flip, and the high likelihood that one or the other of these applies to each of us helps explain why the disease is so prevalent.”When she writes about her experiences, it’s candid and clear, and it feels like she’s a friend and we’re chatting in a café. I found myself frequently nodding with identification—like a bobblehead on a car dashboard. It’s a fascinating, absorbing, satisfying book about addiction.Widows-in-Lawby Michele W. Miller (Blackstone Publishing, Feb. 26, 2019)There was a huge turnout at The Mysterious Bookshop in downtown Manhattan on February 26. The event was the book launch of Michele W. Miller’s second novel, Widows-in-Law. Lawrence Block, the wildly successful, sober crime novelist, sat beside Miller in the role of interviewer, and he was as entertaining as ever.See Also: Lawrence Block: One Case at a TimeMiller, a high-level attorney for New York City, said, “Widows-in-Law is about an attorney who dies suddenly in a fire, leaving behind a first wife who’s a streetwise child abuse prosecutor.” She then jokingly added, “who might resemble me a little bit.” That got a big laugh because many attendees knew that Miller had previously worked as a child abuse prosecutor.In a thick and endearing Brooklyn-Queens accent, Miller described the deceased’s second bride. “You know, legs up to the eyeballs…[a] gawgeous trophy wife.” Block jumped in with praise: “That’s the one that resembles you.” Miller blushed and said, “See? That’s why we keep him around for a hundred books. Another big laugh, another inside joke: throughout Block’s astounding career, the well-loved crime writer has churned out 100 books.Miller quickly regained her composure and got back to the novel’s setup: Emily is a 16-year-old from Brian’s first marriage, to Lauren. Shortly before Brian died in the fire, Emily moved in with Brian (and his new wife). Lauren hoped they could reel in the out-of-control teen.The Miller thriller works well. It’s a fast read with dramatic and believable scenes and dialogue. I wanted to dig deeper and find out how much of the novel was fictional. Many novelists write about the worlds they know. Miller agreed to one-on-one time to discuss the three badass women at the center of the story.“Emily’s mom Lauren is my main character. Her backstory includes being a homeless teenager during the 1980s and ‘90s,” Miller said. “Her parents were whacked on drugs so Lauren left. She stayed at a shelter on St. Marks. It’s an iconic recovery building in the East Village.”When I asked which parts of the novel are autobiographical, Miller paused, sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.“Okay,” she said. “Here goes. I’m in my 30th year clean. I was a low-bottom heroin addict.” Miller’s past included a felony arrest for cocaine possession. She was facing 15 to life. To avoid spoilers, suffice it to say that explained why some of the scenes seemed so thoroughly researched.“The book touches on my experiences with jail, illegal after-hours spots, and the complete chaos of addiction,” said Miller, who is now the director of enforcement for the New York City Conflicts of Interest Board. “Basically, that means I’m the chief ethics prosecutor for the city.” She’s aware of the irony. Before getting clean, Miller ran in the same circles as hitmen, such as the infamous Tommy Pitera.“Yeah, we got high together,” said Miller. “People knew him as Tommy Karate because he was into martial arts. But it wasn’t until a book that I found out he was a brutal killer who cut people into little pieces. I was traumatized. We hung out, getting high. I don’t know why he didn’t kill me. I guess he liked me. Maybe because I was an accomplished martial artist?”Miller is proof of how much your life can change when you get sober. She's lucky to have survived her druggy past that included hanging out with murderers. Lawrence Block said, “Michele Miller has had more lives than a cat, and they’ve made her a writer of passion and substance.”After you read Widows-in-Law, check out Miller’s first novel, The Thirteenth Step: Zombie Recovery (HOW Club Press, November 4, 2013). It’s another fast-paced doozy and a finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards. Kirkus Reviews wrote, “A humorous and surprising satire of both the zombie apocalypse and the culture of addiction... wholly original... satisfying.... The care taken in both characterization and prose earns the reader’s time. A well-written, thoughtful treatment not just of a popular literary trope but of a nagging social issue.”The Addiction Spectrum: A Compassionate Approach to Recovery by Paul Thomas, MD, and Jennifer Margulis, PhD. (HarperOne, Sept. 4. 2018)Paul Thomas, MD, is board certified in integrative and holistic medicine and addiction medicine—he’s also in recovery.“Addiction isn’t about willpower or blame,” he said. “It’s a disease that, like many other conditions, exists on a spectrum.” The spectrum is about how severely you crave your substance of choice when you don’t have it. It’s about how serious your health consequences are. Death, of course, is the worst end of the spectrum.The Addiction Spectrum offers a system that bases the individual’s needs on where they are on the spectrum. Thomas offers seven key methods for healing, whether you’re active in addiction or already in recovery. “Doctors need a new approach to treating pain,” said Thomas. He mentioned the hazards of painkillers within the medical community, “My wife is a nurse and recovering opiate addict,” he said. The book is about any addiction—alcohol, marijuana, opioids, meth, technology. Co-author Jennifer Margulis, PhD, is an award-winning science journalist who’s been writing books about children’s health for over 10 years.“Making love, eating delicious food,” said Margulis, “these activities release dopamine and make you feel good. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel good. But using heroin or abusing prescription opioids or even excessive computer gaming or binge eating will harm your brain. Too many young people think, ‘Hey, I’m just having fun.’ But there is nothing fun about dying from an overdose.”But what is it about right now that can explain the drug epidemic?“We’re animals, wired to avoid danger and seek pleasure,” Thomas said. “We scan for threats and have an immediate fight, flight or freeze reaction. We’re talking about dopamine and epinephrine (adrenaline) responses.”Margulis agreed: “with cell phone alerts, video games, 24/7 news and high stress from work or school, we are overloaded. We can become addicted to food, social media, cigarettes, and a bunch of other substances and behaviors.”Both Thomas and Margulis agree it is time to start looking at the root causes. Why is there an increase in mood disorders, fatigue, and addiction? The book answers so many questions and I learned a lot about how to treat my body and mind better. The writing style makes it easy reading—nothing too tough to get through and very practical.The most anticipated book on my list isn’t out yet, but I’ve been lucky enough to read a sample chapter.Strung Outby Erin Khar (HarperCollins|Park Row Books, Feb. 2020)Erin Khar’s much-anticipated memoir will hit the shelves in early 2020. It’s the story of Khar’s decade-long battle with opioids, but it goes even further by searching for answers. Why is it that some people can do drugs and stop, while others become addicted? She explores possible reasons for America’s current drug crisis and its soaring death toll. The CDC statistics are staggering. From 1999 to 2017, more than 700,000 people died from drug overdoses, and 400,000 of those died from an opioid overdose. This epidemic is devouring our nation.Khar’s writing beat includes addiction, recovery, mental health, relationships, and self-care. She also writes the “Ask Erin” column for Ravishly.For a decade, beginning at age 13, she kept her heroin use a secret from friends and family. When she was caught by her then-fiancé, she went to rehab and her book describes her harrowing withdrawal. Three years later, at age 26, she relapsed. Four months later, her using had dragged her to the bottom.Khar, who has written for The Fix, told me, “I’ve been clean from opiates for 15 years!” That’s an enormous achievement for any addict, and in that decade and a half, she’s completely changed her life.From Khar’s essay in Self magazine:“If you had told me 15 years ago that I would be a happily married mother, living in New York City, doing what she loves for a living… I would have laughed.”She hopes that her book will help shatter the stigma; stop the shaming. She describes its genesis: “I wrote the short story 'David' for Cosmonauts Avenue. Agents contacted me about writing a memoir.” After reading her essays, and following her writing career, I’m eager to read a book by this heroine about heroin.Every one of these books is written by a sober writer. They are living proof that people’s lives can change at any time.Mine sure did.Do you have favorite sober authors? Please share them with us in the comments!

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 https://www.thefix.com/its-never-too-late-change-new-books-writers-recovery

[alexdmorgan30]

It's Never Too Late to Change: New Books by Writers in Recovery

Your nerves shot? Mine, too. Winter is a slog and I can’t wait for spring. When I can’t stand one more minute of worrying about the planet, polar bears, politics and hate, I still choose escape. But… instead of rum and cocaine, my go-to is a good book. So, if stress has been dogging you and your bandwidth is low, it’s okay to turn off your gadgets so you can refuel. Breaks from YouTube and the 24/7 news cycle can do wondrous things for the mind. I went radical this week and even turned off my cell. Twitter can consume me if I let it.This month I made time to curl up on the couch with my dog and disappeared into these gems:Never Enough: The Neuroscience and Experience of Addictionby Judith Grisel (Doubleday, Feb. 19, 2019)“My response to being overwhelmed by the deep void was to leap into it.” — Judith GriselJudith Grisel writes about the grizzly years of self-destruction. Stories show the author at her messiest. In a decade, she’d consumed a cornucopia of substances; by age 23, she was a self-loathing mess.The strength of Grisel’s bestseller is her intimate knowledge about the nervous system and addiction. Grisel peppers the pages with unsettling anecdotes, but she does it sans self-pity. Like a journalist, she reports embarrassing and creepy things.“I ripped off stores and stole credit cards when the opportunity presented itself, I was still able to maintain, at least to myself, that I was basically a good person. To an extent, for instance, I could count on my companions, and they could count on me. I say to an extent, because we also knew and expected that we would lie, cheat, or steal from each other if something really important were at stake (that is, drugs).”I never tire of drunken-drugalogues, and Grisel doesn’t disappoint on that front. But telling these stories is not to shock or manipulate readers, nor is Grisel trying to prove she was “a bona fide addict.” Her purpose is to illustrate the bleak existence of those who cannot stop drinking and drugging.When Grisel “finally reached the dead end” where she felt she was “incapable of living either with or without mind-altering substances,” she sought help. After a 28-day rehab and months in a halfway house, she managed to pull her life together. After seven years of study, she earned a PhD in behavioral neuroscience and became an expert in neurobiology, chemistry, and the genetics of addictive behavior.This book doesn't brag about having the answers, but shows what a sober neuroscientist has learned after 20 years of studying how an addicted brain works. She makes it easy to understand why it's so difficult to get sober and maybe even harder to stay that way. It irks me when people say they never think about drugs or alcohol anymore. My first feeling is rage—probably because I’ve never experienced anything like that, despite working hard on myself during 30 years in recovery. Grisel refreshingly writes about the temptation that’s always there.Grisel’s writing communicates succinctly: “A plaque I later saw posted behind a bar described my first experience [with alcohol] precisely: Alcohol makes you feel like you’re supposed to feel when you’re not drinking alcohol.” In another passage, she quotes George Koob, chief of the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism: “There are two ways of becoming an alcoholic: either being born one or drinking a lot.” Grisel is careful to explain so you don’t get the wrong idea. “Dr. Koob is not trying to be flip, and the high likelihood that one or the other of these applies to each of us helps explain why the disease is so prevalent.”When she writes about her experiences, it’s candid and clear, and it feels like she’s a friend and we’re chatting in a café. I found myself frequently nodding with identification—like a bobblehead on a car dashboard. It’s a fascinating, absorbing, satisfying book about addiction.Widows-in-Lawby Michele W. Miller (Blackstone Publishing, Feb. 26, 2019)There was a huge turnout at The Mysterious Bookshop in downtown Manhattan on February 26. The event was the book launch of Michele W. Miller’s second novel, Widows-in-Law. Lawrence Block, the wildly successful, sober crime novelist, sat beside Miller in the role of interviewer, and he was as entertaining as ever.See Also: Lawrence Block: One Case at a TimeMiller, a high-level attorney for New York City, said, “Widows-in-Law is about an attorney who dies suddenly in a fire, leaving behind a first wife who’s a streetwise child abuse prosecutor.” She then jokingly added, “who might resemble me a little bit.” That got a big laugh because many attendees knew that Miller had previously worked as a child abuse prosecutor.In a thick and endearing Brooklyn-Queens accent, Miller described the deceased’s second bride. “You know, legs up to the eyeballs…[a] gawgeous trophy wife.” Block jumped in with praise: “That’s the one that resembles you.” Miller blushed and said, “See? That’s why we keep him around for a hundred books. Another big laugh, another inside joke: throughout Block’s astounding career, the well-loved crime writer has churned out 100 books.Miller quickly regained her composure and got back to the novel’s setup: Emily is a 16-year-old from Brian’s first marriage, to Lauren. Shortly before Brian died in the fire, Emily moved in with Brian (and his new wife). Lauren hoped they could reel in the out-of-control teen.The Miller thriller works well. It’s a fast read with dramatic and believable scenes and dialogue. I wanted to dig deeper and find out how much of the novel was fictional. Many novelists write about the worlds they know. Miller agreed to one-on-one time to discuss the three badass women at the center of the story.“Emily’s mom Lauren is my main character. Her backstory includes being a homeless teenager during the 1980s and ‘90s,” Miller said. “Her parents were whacked on drugs so Lauren left. She stayed at a shelter on St. Marks. It’s an iconic recovery building in the East Village.”When I asked which parts of the novel are autobiographical, Miller paused, sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.“Okay,” she said. “Here goes. I’m in my 30th year clean. I was a low-bottom heroin addict.” Miller’s past included a felony arrest for cocaine possession. She was facing 15 to life. To avoid spoilers, suffice it to say that explained why some of the scenes seemed so thoroughly researched.“The book touches on my experiences with jail, illegal after-hours spots, and the complete chaos of addiction,” said Miller, who is now the director of enforcement for the New York City Conflicts of Interest Board. “Basically, that means I’m the chief ethics prosecutor for the city.” She’s aware of the irony. Before getting clean, Miller ran in the same circles as hitmen, such as the infamous Tommy Pitera.“Yeah, we got high together,” said Miller. “People knew him as Tommy Karate because he was into martial arts. But it wasn’t until a book that I found out he was a brutal killer who cut people into little pieces. I was traumatized. We hung out, getting high. I don’t know why he didn’t kill me. I guess he liked me. Maybe because I was an accomplished martial artist?”Miller is proof of how much your life can change when you get sober. She's lucky to have survived her druggy past that included hanging out with murderers. Lawrence Block said, “Michele Miller has had more lives than a cat, and they’ve made her a writer of passion and substance.”After you read Widows-in-Law, check out Miller’s first novel, The Thirteenth Step: Zombie Recovery (HOW Club Press, November 4, 2013). It’s another fast-paced doozy and a finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards. Kirkus Reviews wrote, “A humorous and surprising satire of both the zombie apocalypse and the culture of addiction... wholly original... satisfying.... The care taken in both characterization and prose earns the reader’s time. A well-written, thoughtful treatment not just of a popular literary trope but of a nagging social issue.”The Addiction Spectrum: A Compassionate Approach to Recovery by Paul Thomas, MD, and Jennifer Margulis, PhD. (HarperOne, Sept. 4. 2018)Paul Thomas, MD, is board certified in integrative and holistic medicine and addiction medicine—he’s also in recovery.“Addiction isn’t about willpower or blame,” he said. “It’s a disease that, like many other conditions, exists on a spectrum.” The spectrum is about how severely you crave your substance of choice when you don’t have it. It’s about how serious your health consequences are. Death, of course, is the worst end of the spectrum.The Addiction Spectrum offers a system that bases the individual’s needs on where they are on the spectrum. Thomas offers seven key methods for healing, whether you’re active in addiction or already in recovery. “Doctors need a new approach to treating pain,” said Thomas. He mentioned the hazards of painkillers within the medical community, “My wife is a nurse and recovering opiate addict,” he said. The book is about any addiction—alcohol, marijuana, opioids, meth, technology. Co-author Jennifer Margulis, PhD, is an award-winning science journalist who’s been writing books about children’s health for over 10 years.“Making love, eating delicious food,” said Margulis, “these activities release dopamine and make you feel good. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel good. But using heroin or abusing prescription opioids or even excessive computer gaming or binge eating will harm your brain. Too many young people think, ‘Hey, I’m just having fun.’ But there is nothing fun about dying from an overdose.”But what is it about right now that can explain the drug epidemic?“We’re animals, wired to avoid danger and seek pleasure,” Thomas said. “We scan for threats and have an immediate fight, flight or freeze reaction. We’re talking about dopamine and epinephrine (adrenaline) responses.”Margulis agreed: “with cell phone alerts, video games, 24/7 news and high stress from work or school, we are overloaded. We can become addicted to food, social media, cigarettes, and a bunch of other substances and behaviors.”Both Thomas and Margulis agree it is time to start looking at the root causes. Why is there an increase in mood disorders, fatigue, and addiction? The book answers so many questions and I learned a lot about how to treat my body and mind better. The writing style makes it easy reading—nothing too tough to get through and very practical.The most anticipated book on my list isn’t out yet, but I’ve been lucky enough to read a sample chapter.Strung Outby Erin Khar (HarperCollins|Park Row Books, Feb. 2020)Erin Khar’s much-anticipated memoir will hit the shelves in early 2020. It’s the story of Khar’s decade-long battle with opioids, but it goes even further by searching for answers. Why is it that some people can do drugs and stop, while others become addicted? She explores possible reasons for America’s current drug crisis and its soaring death toll. The CDC statistics are staggering. From 1999 to 2017, more than 700,000 people died from drug overdoses, and 400,000 of those died from an opioid overdose. This epidemic is devouring our nation.Khar’s writing beat includes addiction, recovery, mental health, relationships, and self-care. She also writes the “Ask Erin” column for Ravishly.For a decade, beginning at age 13, she kept her heroin use a secret from friends and family. When she was caught by her then-fiancé, she went to rehab and her book describes her harrowing withdrawal. Three years later, at age 26, she relapsed. Four months later, her using had dragged her to the bottom.Khar, who has written for The Fix, told me, “I’ve been clean from opiates for 15 years!” That’s an enormous achievement for any addict, and in that decade and a half, she’s completely changed her life.From Khar’s essay in Self magazine:“If you had told me 15 years ago that I would be a happily married mother, living in New York City, doing what she loves for a living… I would have laughed.”She hopes that her book will help shatter the stigma; stop the shaming. She describes its genesis: “I wrote the short story 'David' for Cosmonauts Avenue. Agents contacted me about writing a memoir.” After reading her essays, and following her writing career, I’m eager to read a book by this heroine about heroin.Every one of these books is written by a sober writer. They are living proof that people’s lives can change at any time.Mine sure did.Do you have favorite sober authors? Please share them with us in the comments!

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[oovitus]

Guilt and Determination

Quote of the week: “Guilt is useless. Determination is important”. One of my department faculty members is leading a day long seminar of Community Health. She adds “If you really need guilt, keep it like a cat at home. Pet it every once in awhile, let it know you know it’s there - but when you leave the house, take determination with you.” I love it. Even before Toddler came into the world, I told myself I would NOT be a guilty mom. I would logically know I was doing the best I could, logically know that I could not be in three places at once. I was going logic myself right out of guilt. Because we all know logic always wins. I’ve been trying to be mindful when spending time with Toddler - no phones, no distracting screens, just him and me together. It makes me think of this post from Mrs Md PhD which is best characterized by the meme saying I WILL DO ALL THE THINGS WITH MY TODDLER!! (which is definitely due for a revisit if you haven’t seen it in awhile). However since Toddler currently has the attention span of a small flea and likes to entertain himself a lot, a little too much mindfulness can send me off the deep end. So we’ll play legos together but a little podcast in the background goes a long way. Now that we’ve had a long awaited golden weekend together with minimal leaving-the-house plans, I was able to put that guilt aside for now. One of my coresidents was feeling guilty lately about working her first week of nights while leaving her baby at home and I told her “you’re a better mom because you’re a doctor, and a better doctor because you’re a mom”. It took me awhile to realize that I really did mean it (at least about myself) and wasn’t just saying it to make her feel better. I appreciate the time I have at home without Toddler, but I also have a small glimspe now into why the nurses I work with who have 4 kids at home come to their busy shifts and sometimes consider it a “break”. I also think guilt is ingrained into us in medical school. Guilt we didn’t present our patient perfectly. Guilt we missed that lab finding. I was with a second year medical student today, who kept saying “sorry” for things she couldn’t help - like the computer not loading or not having access to charts. It made me remember sitting with a co medical student on our internal medicine rotation watching her beg for an afternoon off for an appointment and constantly apologizing for having to leave. I’ve managed to cut out “I’m sorry” out of my vocabulary if it’s something I can’t help (unless expressing empathy for a patient). My feedback to her was to catch herself when she is going to say “I’m sorry”, see if it’s something she could have actually done anything about, and cut it if she can’t. I’m sure there are still going to be times I feel guilty, especially if we have another day care drop off melt down tomorrow, but I’m going to do my best to pat Guilt on the head and leave with determination in hand. Kicks Guilt and Determination published first on https://storeseapharmacy.tumblr.com

[gencottraux]

Unlike the father in the popular Twitter feed, book, and short-lived television show starring William Shatner, Sh*t My Dad Says (Justin Halpern), my mother was never gross or profane (God forbid!). But she still managed to fill my head with some real stinkers.

  My mother was raised in a fairlt strict, upper middle-class home in the 1940s and 1950s South, where manners and social standing were emphasized. Although my maternal grandmother was a Vermont farm girl, once she and my Alabama-born grandfather moved to Atlanta when my mother was a toddler, you’d never have guessed that my grandmother had ever been north of the Mason-Dixon line.

My mother was sweet, hospitable, polite. Things I think I learned from her. She also taught me to love reading, to be kind to animals, and to always have Kleenex within reach. That’s important. We tend to drippy noses in my family, and you don’t want to be caught without a tissue! Of course, in her youth, it would’ve been monogrammed handkerchiefs.

My beautiful mother in 1969. Note the red shoes. This is important.

  She taught us well. My siblings and I are all excessively polite, maybe not by Southern standards, but we tend to seem goofy anywhere else in the country. We are all neat and tidy. Although I am less neat and tidy than I used to be since I work full time, am working on my PhD, have 5 animals in the house, and live with a wonderful guy who isn’t so neat and tidy (love you, Bob).

She also imparted words of supposed wisdom that she honestly believed to be true, but which I have found have either messed with my self-image or made me wonder if I was adopted. Yes, there are baby pictures of me, and yes, I look like my mother, but still…

Every woman should own at least one pair of red shoes. She believed this, most definitely, and my sister Ellen will defend that statement with her last breath. But I beg to disagree. I have survived fine with nary a pair of red shoes in my closet. I wore red Keds as a child, so maybe that counts, but I had to wear boys’ Keds at the time because of my short, wide feet, and in the 1960s there probably weren’t a lot of color choices. I wore them because they fit, not because they were red. Ellen talked me into buying a pair of red sandals a few years ago, and during a recent closet cleanout, I realized I had NEVER worn them and put them in the charity collection bag I was filling up. I work in an animal shelter and tend to spend my spare time in my old shabby clogs that act as bedroom slippers. My shoe choices are dictated by comfort and the fact that I have bad feet (bunions, corns, hammer toes; TMI, I know) so red shoes–don’t need ’em, have no use for ’em. Sorry, Mom. And Ellen.

I think these shoes are darned cute. Not buying them, though.

Change your purse to match your shoes. Not going to happen. Ever. EVER. My mother’s closet had special shelves and cubbies for her shoes and purses. She had purses to match every pair of shoes. She kept the purses in silk bags. She paid a lot of money for the purses. When she was in  hospice, one of the things she insisted on was that I take her purses. (We didn’t wear the same size shoes, or she would have made me take those too, I am sure.) I have the purses, and they are very nice. I never use them. One of them is red; she probably hoped against hope that I would buy some red shoes to go with said purse. I don’t have the time or patience to be switching purses. And again, I work at an animal shelter. I haven’t found a purse that matches my grubby black shoes I wear to clean dog kennels and cat habitats. I have 2 purses that I really like and I might switch them out every year or so, if that. In the late Nora Ephron’s book I Feel Bad About My Neck: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman, she wrote a whole chapter about hating her purse and not understanding woman who spend large sums of money on collecting them.

She had the same purse “failing” that I have. I felt so much better about myself after I read her book. Just find me a bag that my stuff fits in and let me go. I’ll never find my keys on the first try no matter what magic the purse offers.

My current purse. Practical and makes a statement (Crazy Cat Lady!). Good enough for me until it wears out.

Women over 40 should never wear sleeveless attire. I bought this one for a while. Her point was that women shouldn’t expose the jiggly droopy bits that arms develop with age, unless you’re a gym rat or Michelle Obama.

The kick-ass former First Lady. Intelligent, well-spoken, poised, beautiful, and the most toned arms ever to grace the White House.

Getting old isn’t for sissies, as it’s been said. Your body changes. As noted in the title of Nora Ephron’s book, necks get crepey. Arms get droopy. Laugh lines appear around the eyes and mouth. And I do consider them laugh lines. I earned those suckers with my polite smiling. Some people call that arm fat “batwings”. People (women, really, it’s only women) even get arm lifts, or brachioplasty, from cosmetic surgeons. We’ve been made self-conscious to the point of obsession about our arms.

I spent many years living in a hot climate and avoiding tank tops and only wearing pretty sleeveless dresses if I had a cardigan on at the same time (just to cover my arms). I say, “No more!”  Maybe if I had extreme, super droopy batwings, I’d feel differently. But I see a lot of people out in the world who don’t seem to care how they look. I haven’t quit caring; far from it. But if it’s hot or if I’m going somewhere fancy and want to wear a sleeveless (not strapless, that’s a different thing altogether) dress, I will.

Too cute to cover up. Okay, she has pretty arms. But still, the dress is too cute to cover up with a cardigan. (Image from ModCloth.)

Similarly, she said women over 40 shouldn’t go out in public bare-legged. Panty-hose at all times with skirts, dresses, even shorts. Hell no. Pantyhose are hot and itchy. They get runs in them. They sag around your ankles. They are expensive and don’t last long. Unless we are talking about either appropriate dress for a job interview or super fun colors and patterns of hose and tights, I am out.

You’d be prettier if you cut your hair/pushed your hair out of your face/kept your hair short. I still hear Mom’s voice telling  me to cut my hair. Hey, Mom! It’s MY HAIR, not yours. This has caused me endless insecurity about my hair, the shape of my face, my eyeglasses once I had to start wearing them, my looks in general since I was a little girl. Mom used to take us to a place in Atlanta called David of Paris for pixie cuts back in the 60s. I think Monsieur David only knew how to do one hair cut. Short. Yes, it was cute when I was 5.

The David of Paris look.

Still young enough for the sleeveless look.

I’ve had short hair much of my life, and at times it has been a good look, mostly when I was thinner and going blond.

A thin-with-blond-short-hair stage. But I’m wearing a sleeveless dress and no hosiery. Not sure if Mom would approve.

Then I’d let my hair grow out because I wanted to, and Mom would start on the subtle and not-so-subtle hints for me to cut my hair, or at least pull it off my face. But preferably cut it. I’m trying to tune out that Mom voice in my head when it comes to my hair. I am mostly succeeding these days, mostly, kinda sorta…Should I cut it?

Bangs, shoulder length hair, glasses. It’s a look I am happy with. And if I have Pugcat with me, no one’s looking at my hair anyway!

If you can’t sleep, close your eyes and lie still. You’ll at least be rested in the morning. FALSE. I still try this. It does not work. Mom would tell me this most often when I couldn’t sleep the night before the first day of school every year. I would lie in bed, eyes squeezed shut, and imagine all the awful things that might happen in the upcoming school year, dread filling me, my stomach hurting. I still have sleepless nights, and I lie there, looking at the clock once in a while, thinking I’ll rest, when I’m actually a churning ball of anxiety over whether I’ll ever get to sleep. During one really bad spell of insomnia, I would throw in the towel and get up and bake in the middle of the night. I went on a quest to make the perfect morning bun–those flaky twists of buttery croissant dough, coated with cinnamon sugar and baked in muffin tins. This took quite a few batches to perfect (which I did, thanks to Nancy Silverton’s Pastries from the La Brea Bakery.

Each morning I would take the resulting pastries to work. I was exhausted, but popular. Now if I get up, it’s either to read or to write. The insomnia is generally now a case of too much caffeine in my system, but it’s just as exhausting as the dread-filled kind.

If you feel a sore throat coming on, gargle with warm saltwater. Maybe there is some truth to this, but I hated it. I suffered from a lot of sore throats growing up, and I still wish some doctor had ordered a tonsillectomy for me. But they quit doing them routinely to kids around the time I was born. My Vermont farmgirl grandmother had trained as a nurse and worked in a hospital in New York, where she met my doctor grandfather. The warm saltwater gargle was her thing. Mom would make me take a big glass of the stuff into the bathroom to gargle with anytime I mentioned a tickle in my throat. I’d still get a sore throat, and my mouth would taste of salt. Maybe it is what led to my weird love of salt now. I’ll put flakes of it on my tongue to suck on, and I adore Dutch salty licorice. Maybe I’ll try sucking on salty licorice next time I feel a sore throat coming on.

    I’m sure there are gems of my own I would impart to the daughter I never had. She’d probably roll her eyes, and do just the opposite. What are my truths?

Dark chocolate makes everything better. Maybe not literally. You’ll still be ill or broke or alone. But the chocolate will make it just a little bit better somehow. I swear.

Medicinal chocolate. (Image from Scientific American.)

If you don’t believe me, do you trust Scientific American? Writer Katherine Harmon Courage descibed the health benefits of chocolate in scienctific terms in the article “Why is dark chocolate good for you? Thank your microbes.”

Your feet are too important for cheap or uncomfortable shoes. That was something my ever-wise maternal grandmother said, and I totally ignored her about this topic until I started to have trouble with my feet. Somehow my grandmother managed to wear good shoes that still looked stylish, but I haven’t managed that. I’ll stick with my flat, sensible, square-toed shoes. Have I mentioned that I work at an animal shelter?

Skechers, my shoe of choice these days.

Read every day. Pretty simple. I will brook no argument on this one.

You wouldn’t argue with this guy, would you?

Everyone should have a creative outlet. Whether it is writing, drawing, sewing, music, cooking, making models of castles out of matchsticks, whatever floats your boat. Do something that makes you happy and let’s your mind drift away from your cares and worries.

Bob Ross, The Joy of Painting, as seen on PBS.

I’ll finish with a quote from the writer C. S. Lewis (1898-1963), sent to me on my birthday by sister Ellen.  “You are never too old to set another goal or dream a new dream.” Lewis was a brilliant man. Don’t doubt that.

C. S. Lewis

  I intend to follow his advice to the end of my days.

Dream. Dream small, dream big, but dream. Don’t stop.

Mom is not always right (lies my mother told me) Unlike the father in the popular Twitter feed, book, and short-lived television show starring William Shatner, …