#I’ve got my presentation next friday so I live in dread until then but I still have to be in full panic writing mode | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cicinicole-14 · 4 years ago

Text

it’s always the darkest before dawn

hey listen, the entire jolexgroupchat fucking bULLIED ME into writing a part two for ‘denial isn’t just a river in egypt’ and that was very rude, but y’know it yielded results somehow, so like ??? take that what you will… anyway here’s this. enjoy.

Relief floods her entire body as soon as her eyes land on him. The feelings of dread and worry that had been wracking her body at the thought of returning to an empty loft with a baby that she had nothing for, by herself, terrified her. But just the sight of him brought relief through her.

She couldn’t cross the loft fast enough, practically catapulting into his embrace, grateful he was on the couch, fearing she’d knock him over if not.

She melts into his arms, burying her head into the crook of his neck, holding him so close, so tight.

The feeling of his arms wrapped around her waist and back, holding her against him, just like he used to. She inhales his scent, letting it flood her senses and relishes in the fact that he’s real; he’s here, for her, for them.

She pulls back, with tears in her eyes, but still, a sad smile on her face. “Come meet our son.” She says, pulling him up as she stood, leading him over to the bed where his carrier lay.

Meredith gently unclips the straps from his chest and between his tiny legs, adjusting the hat from covering his eyes and carefully lifts him out, presenting him over to Jo. Jo cradles him gently against her chest, tucking her head down to look at him and then back up at Alex.

“This is Luca. Luca, meet your Daddy.” She says, passing off the baby to Alex.

Meredith takes the moment to excuse herself, wishing the two a congratulations on their baby before slipping out of the loft, leaving the new parents to themselves.

Alex takes the baby from Jo, supporting his tiny, jello-y body in his massive hands.

Jo takes a step back, taking in the sight of how tiny Luca looked in Alex’s arms, the sight of Alex holding his son, the sight of seeing her family together. It resonates through her and she lets out a breath she’d seemingly been holding in, letting the calm feeling course through her.

She was happy. She felt whole. Everything was right.

Until it wasn’t.

Until Alex mentioned he was leaving the following week, on Sunday morning. Because he had a job, and kids, and an Izzie, and a life, all back in Kansas, where he didn’t belong. A life that she didn’t fit into.

And the feelings of dread resume. The feelings of denial come back, except this time, she isn’t able to deny the fact that she has a child, not with the way that he’s waking her up in the middle of the night every few hours to nurse. His constant crying to be held or soothed, or changed. The need of just being a newborn, and she just doesn’t have the energy anymore. Her world is cracking and crumbling, threatening to fall apart, only three days left until her shred of happiness will disappear again.

The three days pass in a blur, and she deteriorates even further.

The knocking at the loft door is almost concealed by the sound of Luca’s cries, but she doesn’t care. Whoever’s on the other side will go away eventually, she hopes.

Her hopes are crushed when there’s a key in the lock and the door slides open, and she can hear Meredith talking to her, but she doesn’t listen to her. And then Luca’s cries grow quieter, into soft whimpers and then smooth sounds of suckling.

“Jo! When has he last eaten? How long has he been crying?”

She doesn't answer, only clutching the pillow closer to her chest, taking a deep breath and inhaling the lingering scent of Alex still left on the pillowcase where his head lay, just that morning, mere hours ago.

Meredith paces the loft, feeding the baby and quietly getting him to sleep before putting him back in the crib across the loft, Ellis’ old one.

Meredith stays, the day, the rest of the week, stays every night, sleeping right next to Jo in the bed and seemingly takes care of them both, watching Jo slip further. She watches as Jo’s routine of getting up with Luca to feed him, clothe him, bathe him, all falter. She sleeps longer, harder. Her appetite fades and her mood fluctuates between being alright and conversing with Meredith to downright anger with her.

Meredith watches the light drain from Jo’s eyes, further and further every day. She watches as Jo starts refusing to take Luca from her for feedings, thus resulting in her having to give him formula. She watches as the bond she knew Jo had with her son, slips right out from under them.

She calls in reinforcements, in the form of Link, who Jo just ends up yelling at them both and barring Link from even being in the loft entirely after stating he was worried about her and concerned for Luca’s well-being.

She yells at Meredith for having the audacity to call Link in the first place, but ultimately decides to let her stay, having no energy to continue fighting with her, or energy to deal with the screaming child in the crib due to the influx of loud voices in the tiny home.

Meredith steps out late that night, calling Alex to inform him on what’s been going on. To ask him for help, to see if he would know what to do.

They gave Jo until the end of the week, gave her room to improve on her actions before Alex returned, but she hadn’t.

She had still been withdrawn and distant. Her son had barely seemed to know her by the end of his almost first month of life. And it broke Meredith’s heart to see such a close friend of hers going through so much heartache.

Alex returned on a Thursday, late in the evening, with a suitcase in hand, to see for himself just how worse for wear Jo really was.

“You left, again.”

The sound of her voice makes them both freeze as Meredith looks up at Jo just as Alex settles himself into the loft, ready to take Luca from his friend.

They both turn and stare at her, not knowing what to say. She’s still lying in the bed, unmoving, not even looking in their direction, he’s surprised she even knew he was there due to the lack of acknowledgement.

She doesn’t say anything else after that, and he apologizes, but there’s really nothing else he could say other than sorry.

He leaves early Monday morning, and Jo’s slight rise in demeanor fades again, and she goes back to the detached shell of a human she’d been.

She doesn’t eat again, doesn’t speak, doesn’t even flinch when Luca cries anymore, and Meredith’s grasping at straws, looking for answers at this point.

“She’s got PPD, Mer. I’ve seen the signs in parents in the NICU. It’s hard, but she was a huge candidate for it. The history of depression, the abandonment issues and past trauma I forced upon her by leaving her, pregnant and alone. The medical complications with his birth. Almost every risk factor I could name, she’s got.” He says into the phone.

“What do we do? I can’t keep doing this. I can’t watch her as she throws away her life like this, Alex. I can’t watch her become this shell of a person when I knew how happy having a family with you would make her. I know she loves Luca, but I can’t watch her do this to herself anymore.” She’s got the phone wedged between her ear and one shoulder while she props Luca up on the other, patting his back to burp him.

She knows Jo can hear her, and she feels bad, initially, but maybe hearing how this was affecting her too, maybe it would spark something in Jo, she hoped.

“I’m coming back on Friday, I’m taking them both here. I can’t keep missing work, or leaving the kids, but I’m worried about her. I know she does better when I’m around. I don’t know if it’ll help, but they’re both coming here to live with me.” He says, “She doesn’t have a choice. I can’t watch her go through this, knowing I’m the reason why.”

“What about the twins? Have you told them? Izzie?” Meredith questions.

“Iz knows. I told her everything once I came back from the last trip. She’s the one that suggested moving Jo out here, since she’d seemed to do better with me around. And we’d sat the twins down together the other night to tell them about Jo and their baby brother Luca coming to stay at Daddy’s house, and they’d get to see them both when it was my days with them.” He sighs, and Meredith can only assume he’s rubbing his hand over his face, thinking about the upcoming adjustments for them all. “Izzie even pulled out boxes of old baby things she still kept from the twins. And the new crib will be here on Thursday before I leave. I just need her here, them here. I need her to be okay.”

“She will be, it’s always the darkest before dawn. It’s Jo. You know she’s going to be okay. She just needs a little help.”

Friday hadn’t come fast enough for any of them. And it left Alex in a whirlwind of emotions and things to accomplish and do before the very short weekend was over.

Meredith had helped him so very much. Even Schmidt and Link had too, helping get things from the lot packed quickly, all while Jo had yelled and protested about leaving her home. About how she didn’t need anyone’s help and that she hated each and every single one of them for doing this.

But the moment that Sunday afternoon had rolled around, and Alex stood at the loft door, baby carrier in one hand and suitcase in the other, all hell had broken loose.

Jo had screamed at him, yelling how he couldn’t just take her son away from her. How he was ruining their family and how she hated him.

But Alex had just calmly set the carrier down onto the ground, careful not to wake his sleeping son, and reached out for Jo. He was careful of his actions, making sure she knew he wasn’t going to grab at her making her think he’d hurt her, but instead, he reaches out his hand and rubs her upper arm before she stills, and he takes the moment to pull her fully into his embrace.

He holds her, firmly, yet gentle, as he begins to swipe wisps of hair from her face that had fallen from the tangled bun on the top of her head. “Jo. Jo, listen to me.” He says softly, trying to get her attention. “I’m not taking him from you, I told you this, I promised you this. You’re both coming with me. I can’t be in two places at once, but you need me with you, so I came back here for you, to get you. We’re going to Kansas. We’re going to be a family there, together, remember? Remember what we talked about last night? You’re going to get to meet Eli and Alexis, and they’re going to get to know you, and grow up with their baby brother. They can’t wait to meet you.” He promises.

Her shaking anger starts to dissipate, and his tight embrace loosens as he backs away from her, just enough to look into her eyes. “Can we go now? We don’t want to be late for our flight.” He says softly.

She only nods in response, wrapping both her arms into his, fearing to even let go. He struggles for a moment, wondering how to juggle the baby, Jo, and the suitcase at the top of the loft stairs before ultimately deciding to leave the bag to walk Jo and the baby down to the car before returning to put the suitcase in after.

They return to his house later that evening, and he welcomes her home, hoping that the change of scenery might help.

He settles her in, showing her around before leaving her suitcase in the guest room, watching as the first thing she did was crawl into the bed to sleep.

He lets her, knowing that just traveling alone could wear her out in this state.

He decides on making dinner, her favorite boxed macaroni and cheese, in hopes it would entice her to put something in her body besides the protein bars they’d all been forcing her to eat just to basically survive.

He walks up the stairs with a sleeping, full Luca in one arm and a bowl of the macaroni in his other hand, leaving the bowl on her nightstand before putting the baby in the new crib in his room.

He turns in for the night a few hours later, and just as he’s drifting off to sleep, he feels her slip in bed next to him. He doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her close, inhaling her scent as he begins to drift off to sleep.

A cry startles him awake, and he turns to roll over and slip out of bed to sooth the baby, but she’s beating him to it, already halfway out of bed.

“I’ve got him.” A quiet whisper into the night.

And he watches as she shuffles across the room in the dark, lifting the baby out of his crib and reaching for the water bottle and container of formula on the changing table next to them, preparing a bottle like it was second nature to her. He watches her pace the room, feeding their son in the dead of night, as if nothing had been wrong.

The three simple words echoing in his ears that change his world. Three simple words that gave him the hope that everything would be okay again.

#cici writes #jolex #jolex fic #alex karev #jo wilson

20 notes · View notes

anemonenemerosa · 4 years ago

Note

Oops sorry!! I just assumed with oknutzy! Maybe 17 for Wolfstar 🥰

No worries, anon! Since your request was already written by @mooncat457writing (read it, it’s sooo good) and no other prompt of the list was simliar, I thought of a new one and wrote something for you. I hope you ike it!

"The door fell shut behind me while getting the mail. Now I'm stuck outside on a windy October day"

The bright side of locking yourself out

It was 1 pm when the insistent ringing of the doorbell jerked Sirius out of his dreams. He grumbled for a few moments before his brain caught up and reminded him that he'd ordered a replacement for the broken gear-belt of his motorcycle. And Sirius really needed to get the bike repaired 'cause taking the tube to and from work was just the worst. So, he jumped out of bed and raced to the door of the building – there's no way he's missing the mailperson! Tough luck, Sirius was just in time to see the backlights of the delivery-truck disappear behind a corner.

"God, damnit!" He cursed loudly, mentally just warming up for a full-on rant when a particularly forceful wind-gust shoved half a ton of leaves in Sirius' face and caused an unfortunate bang behind his back.

No. Please no. Slowly, as if keeping off looking might undo what the dreadful noise promised, Sirius turned around, finally staring at the firmly closed door. It is just now that he realised that he's not only stuck outside on a rather unpleasant mid-October day, no, he's stuck outside barefoot, only wearing his pyjama bottoms and a worn shirt. No phone, no keys. It began to rain, no umbrella. What. A. Day.

Just two months ago, Sirius still lived with James and that wouldn't have been much of a problem. Back in the day, James was still writing his final assignment for his degree and stayed at home all the time.But since he graduated, found himself a paying job and moved in with Lily, Sirius lives alone for the very first time in his 25 years on this planet. And while he loved Lily dearly, Sirius couldn't always stop himself from feeling a bit abandoned and lonely, which was ridiculous, of course. Since they got together, James and Lily never let any doubt creep in that Sirius was anything but loved and treasured by both of them.

But the sentiment was of no use just then. In that moment, he needed to find a pragmatic solution. What does one do, trapped outside with no phone, no keys and no shoes? Sirius sighed in resignation. One does walk to the next cafe, beg them to use their phone without coming off as a complete nutter and call James to rescue him.

About five steps from the door, Sirius stopped dead in his tracks, quest forgotten. Walking right up to him was his neighbour from upstairs, the most intriguing person Sirius has ever met, or almost met, seen that they had never talked before.

The guy seemed very unassuming the few times he saw him in the stairway with his knit sweaters and washed out jeans. He was very quiet in the mornings as if he unknowingly considered that Sirius, as a bartender, worked during the nights and really needed his mornings to sleep. During the afternoon however, enjoyable music wafted down through Sirius' open windows together with the delicious smell of freshly cooked food.

The neighbour -Lupin, it said on the mailbox- stared at Sirius with wide eyes for a moment before he stepped closer, holding his umbrella over both of them.

"Erm." The other man said instead of greeting him.

"Please don't ask." Sirius implored him, completely done with this day already. But then again, Lupin had a nice voice.

"Right", Lupin laughed, "You live in the basement, right? Black? I'm going to ask anyway... aren't you cold?"

Not what Sirius expected to be asked. Naturally, his response was eloquent, he was absolutely not caught off guard, "Uhh -yeah, I live here. And- and I'm cold... but I thought you were-"

"-going to ask why you are out here?" Lupin laughed again, a really nice sound, "You clearly locked yourself out. No one goes around in the rain in October like this. Want to come in to mine? Dry off and call someone?"

With that he looked pointedly at Sirius, who took the glance as a clue to have a look at himself. So, summed up, he was drenched, with dirty feet and unkempt hair. Not the first impression he wanted to make on his neighbour. He's a proper adult now. Anyhow, this was by far his best option "That would actually safe my day."

Without another word, Sirius was led upstairs, offered a warm shower and some soft clothes, which were a bit too big for him (Lupin was at least half a head taller than himself). Clean and dry, Sirius sits in Lupin's little kitchen for his next task: calling James, who couldn't leave work for another three hours, meant that Sirius either waited for another four hours or paid 600 pounds for key-service to open his door, which he found out in the next call. He got a string of curses off his chest and was met with an astounded look of Lupin, who had poked his head though the door. Today, Sirius was impressively good at presenting himself at his worst.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled, not looking at his generous neighbour.

"Nah it's fine." Said one just shrugged, "What did your friend say?"

"Another four hours or 600 pounds." Sirius supplied, feeling a little miserable.

"Oh, unfortunate. Do you want to wait here? I have some work to do but you can hang out if you want."

"No, thank you. That would be too much" It really would.

"No. Really, it's no bother. I wouldn't offer if it wasn't alright." Lupin waved him off, "I'm Remus, by the way. And before you ask: Yes, Remus like in the Roman mythology"

"Nice to officially meet you, Remus, like in the Roman mythology." Sirius bowed mockingly, "I'm Sirius, and before you ask, yes, like the star and yes, I've probably heard all of the serious-jokes in existence by now."

With introductions out of the way, Sirius was sat on the big and comfortable couch in the living room with a nice cup of milky tea. He had no idea what to do now and felt a bit awkward, but his neighbour seemed unbothered by his surprise-guest.

"Sorry to be such a bad host but I have a bit work to do, I didn't get to do last night. If you like, feel free to take whatever book sparks your interest from the shelves." Remus apologised and put on some quiet music over his phone while settling in a cosy armchair across the couch with a stack of papers on his lap. It was only then, that Sirius realised how good-looking Remus was. His hair, light brown, wavy and a bit shaggy was falling slightly into his bright hazel eyes, focused on the papers in front of him. Suddenly, Remus huffed, scrunched up his slightly crooked nose (dusted with freckles that spread over his cheekbones) and lifted his left hand to his thin-lipped mouth to gnaw at his thumbnail.

"Displeasing literature?" Sirius heard himself asking before he could check the question in his mind for stupidity.

"You have no idea." the other man grumbled, "That one actually wrote that the inhabitants of Egypt are the mummies!"

Sirius couldn't help but bark a laugh at the affronted tone of Remus' voice,

"So, you're teaching history?"

"Yeah." Remus sighed and plucked a red pen from the little table beside him and began vigorously scribbling onto the paper.

The conversation felt to be over for now as Sirius' host seemed, indeed, quite busy. So, Sirius took up the offer to have a look at the bookshelves lining three walls of the room. The carped felt warm and soft under his bare feet while he strolled along the shelves. Quickly he recognised several of his favourites among the countless books and when his eye caught on The Little Prince, he couldn't resist to take it with him back to the couch.

When he was settled again, Remus looked up to see what Sirius had picked and smiled around a soft hum "I've read so many books and this is still one of my favourites."

Sirius couldn't help but smile back. "Mine, too."

From then on, they sat in a far more comfortable silence than before, both engulfed in their literature. Now and then, Remus huffed or snorted and shared some of the more entertaining mishaps of his students. It felt like they've been spending their afternoons together like this for years. Sirius was simultaneously at peace and properly creeped out.

After a while. Remus got up and returned with a fresh cup of tea for both of them. Steeped for exactly long enough, with the perfect amount of milk in it.

"It's wild that I've been living here for a little over two months and we barely even saw each other, isn't it?" Sirius commented, cradling his new cup in his hands while Remus got once again comfortable in his armchair.

"No, not really." The other man supplied with a slightly sad smile, "See, I teach evening classes from around 7 pm to midnight, get home around 1 am and because I'm an absolute night owl, I usually do my grading and preparations right after until 4 or 5 and then sleep 'till noon. And while I thrive in my rhythm, it's a bit hard to meet, or just come across, people... or get to go out for breakfast. It's silly but I love breakfast and until I get up, most places have switched to the lunch-menu already."

What are the chances. "And here I thought that you were so quiet in the mornings because you are psychic and just know that I sleep during that time." Sirius couldn't help the chuckle bubbling up his throat at the puzzled expression of the man across him. "I'm a bartender and work from 8 to 3 in the morning during the week and until 5 on Fridays and Saturdays." He elaborated, "after that I'm often too riled up to go directly to sleep, so I often go to bed around 6 and sleep until 1."

Remus just stared at him. "Our schedules are nearly identical."

Sirius opened his mouth to reply when the sound of the doorbell interrupted them. Remus got up to open the door to a hurried James, who handed Sirius the spare-keys, kissed his cheek and stormed off again.

"So, this was James. Is he your boyfriend, then?" The cosy atmosphere dissolved with the appearance of a wary look on Remus' face.

"Nah. He is my best friend, practically brother. I know, kissing is rather uncommon between two male friends, but we've been doing that since we met fourteen years ago, and I don't give a shit about convention." Sirius explained with a fond smile on his face.

After that, they parted rather quickly as both men needed to get ready for work, but a lot still lingered in the air, unsaid. His shift went over much too slow for Sirius while he brooded over the change in the atmosphere at the end of his stay with his neighbour.

The next day, Sirius woke up with a plan. A potentially humiliating plan, but worth the risk. He got up much quicker than usual, fired up the oven and began preparing. Around 12:30 Sirius knocked at his neighbour's door and was met with a sleepy Remus in pyjamas.

"Hey- erm... good morning! Here are your clothes!" Sirius began far too loud. All he achieved was a furrowed brow on the other man's face.

Get a grip, Black! "Uhh...OK. Listen, I really like you. Would you like to have a breakfast-date with me?" He tried to put on a winning smile while lifting the tray in his hands a bit.

Remus, who had blushed furiously during Sirius' rambling, blinked at him once before a wide grin spread on his face and he stepped aside to let Sirius and the warm croissants in.

39 notes · View notes

gustafsnightangel · 4 years ago

Text

Shattered Lives Ch 31 Pt 1

The days following Sildie’s birthday passed with the usual pre Christmas rush, work, and kids. Sildie and Gustaf got caught up in the holiday spirit, buying presents, squaring away the legal paperwork, working out the logistics of moving. It was a little daunting for both of them. Then there was the Christmas party and dinner with his family Christmas Day. Out of the two, Sildie didn’t know which she was dreading the most. At least she was on vacation until the kids went back to school mid January and had the time to chew on it all. She needed this time with them, with Gustaf. The time to make sure the six of them could coexist together.

“I have some good news.” She said sitting down at the table with a fresh pot of tea after the kids had gone to bed.

“I like good news.” Gustaf smiled, and tugged her into his lap. “I like good news and you in my lap for Friday night tea dates.” He kissed the nape of her neck and lingered, the scent of her grounding him. They had reinstated their Friday night tea dates as a way to talk about anything and everything, a designated weekly vent and purge session. She’d missed them.

She reached over and grabbed her messenger bag and pulled it into her lap.

“No work.” He growled, and it wasn’t his usual playful tone. “You’re on vacation Sildie.” And he’d see that she’d get the rest and relaxation she needed.

“It’s not work. It’s my good news. Our paperwork came in today. Approved by your lawyer and mine, all we need to do is sign and I can file on Monday.” She said quietly, she still wasn’t sure this was actually happening.

“Get me a pen.” He said without hesitation and she chuckled as she held one up. She stopped him before he took the pen by gripping it tightly.

“Read it first. You know it as well as I do but read it before you sign, just in case.” She said gently. He was being rash and stupid and he knew better, read before you sign and read everything. Kissing her cheek he started to read.

“Just excited.” He mumbled. She leaned back as his arm came around her.

“I know you are but read first.” She sipped her tea and snuggled into him staring at the tree, all lit and sparkling. They were about to move in together, be a family. Her gaze rested on the digital frame that held a Christmas photo of when the twins were still babies. Quinn and Dana happy, the pang of grief echoed in her chest. Whatever it takes Quinn, she thought, I’ll see them all happy and cared for if I meet the same fate as you. Please don’t hate me for it, she said silently, he’d a good man.

After reading through it he signed the bottom and handed her the pen. She felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders once pen had been put to paper and her own signature had been placed next to his. The kids would be safe, whatever happened to her, they would be safe and cared for.

“Can I ask you something?” He said kissing her on the spot below her ear.

“Of course.”

“Move in with me?” He grinned against her skin as she chuckled. He felt suddenly alive and excited.

“Not wasting any time are you?” She laughed

“Fuck no.” He kissed her, long and slow. “I want to be in our bed. Move in with me.” He murmured.

“After Christmas. We have the party tomorrow and then dinner with your family. Boxing Day we can start moving.” She said softly. She was excited but it terrified her. They hadn’t told the kids yet, and what if they hated the idea.

“So that’s a yes?”

She giggled. “It’s a yes. Yes I’ll move in with you. Yes we can tell the kids. Yes to sleeping in our bed.”

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” He grinned kissing her hard. It was like all his Christmas’s had come early.

“Repeatedly.” She was smiling so hard her cheeks were hurting. “At least every hour.”

“Then to keep that winning streak going, I love you Sildie.”

“Sweet man I know you do.” She placed a hand on his chest over his heart. “I love you too.”

“You’re moving in with me.” He said quietly as if the thought hadn’t really sunk in yet, that shit eating grin spreading across his face.

“Yes I am.” She whispered. His kiss was other worldly, nothing short of mind blowing.

“Are you ok to sit with the kids tomorrow? I have some shopping to do that I didn’t get a chance to do last weekend.” She asked as she filed the legal paperwork back into her bag.

“Sure. What time��s the party again? Six right?”

“Yes, and you’re sure Bill is ok with all of them?”

“He offered. I was on the phone with Alice and overheard she was booked. I think Alida and Oona are coming over for a bit too, so Lily will have a playmate.”

“I need to make sure I have something nice for them.” She said as if making a mental shopping list of things to get and do tomorrow.

“No you don’t.” He said firmly.

“Gustaf.” She sighed.

“You don’t Sildie. He’s doing it because we’re family and because he wants to.” He said gently, it would take her a while to get used to that, to be able to depend on family without feeling guilty for it. “Let him help. The poor guy has been wanting a rematch with Finn on Mario cart anyway. He’s still in disbelief that he was bested by a seven year old.” He snickered.

“Is he ok with it being overnight?” She asked sipping her tea.

“He’s fine with it. He has all the details of the hotel and the party. Things will be fine.” He reassured her, and he’d have to do it again a thousand times over before leaving tomorrow night. He kissed her neck, lingering, tasting. “I know we’ve been busy as hell the past week or so, but I miss you.” He murmured, that low tone making her belly quiver as his hands roamed under her silk blouse to find the gorgeous black lace beneath. “I’ve missed touching you.”

Between her work schedule, court, and the kids Christmas parties with friends and school camp activities they’d had a dry spell. Then there was the legal paperwork and moving in, they were both a little stressed, a little anxious. Sex hadn’t even crossed her mind until just now.

She turned in his arms to straddle him. “It’s been a rollercoaster. So much crammed into each day, I’m fucking exhausted.” She chuckled.

“I feel much the same. I like being with the kids but it’s taking a bit to adjust.” His huffed laugh was humorous. “It’s full on, all the time with them. Will your work and court schedule get easier in the new year?”

“To a point, unless I take partner and then it’ll be much the same. Which reminds me.” She fished around in her bag again and handed him her legal pad. She had the most elegant writing he noticed. “Would you take a look at this? It’s my list for Oliver and I want to make sure it doesn’t sound too demanding or ungrateful.”

“Of course.” He kissed her. “You’re considering it.”

She shrugged. “Still on the fence. I need to get past Christmas and revisit it again once we’re all moved in with you. I need to see it with a clear head.” Her kiss was tender. “Things will change when you’re out of town and I want to be sure I can handle it.”

“You’ll have my family as backup.” He said softly and twirled the loose wave of hair around his finger. “And we can always book Alice to take the pressure off you. Or we can hire a housekeeper and or a nanny. You’re not alone anymore love. If I can’t be here physically to help then I’ll find another way.” He kissed her sweetly. “When are you going to give Oliver the list?”

“In the new year. I’ve already told him I need to get past the remainder of this year, especially with all the changes. He understands and partner isn’t something they want to rush into either, even though they want me to start yesterday.” Her chuckle made him smile.

“That’s a good plan. Can I read this tomorrow?” He asked as he glanced at the pad. “I don’t think I’ll comprehend much tonight.”

“Whenever, there’s no rush.” She kissed him sweetly, her hands wandering to dip into his sweats and stroke him.

“Sildie.” He breathed. “My Sildie.” His hands streaked up her thighs and pushed her skirt to bunch at her waist before his mouth took hers tenderly.

“I need you.” She whispered. “Right here, right now.” She kissed him, mouth hot and hungry. “I want to ride you.” He hooked her g string to the side as she slipped his tip along her wet heat.

”Take what you need love.” He murmured, mouth claiming hers roughly.

It was that soft cry as she impaled herself on his cock that always made him weak for her. She rode him slowly, his massive hands on her ass grinding her into him as he stretched her, filled her.

“So big.” She moaned as she threw her head back offering him her throat. Not wasting the opportunity he savaged it, her release cresting. “Gustaf.”

“Take me with you.” He groaned as he felt her body bow before she came hard, her pussy clenching him tightly as she rode him. “Sildie.” His breath caught as he held her onto him buried deep inside her as he came, spilling his seed.

“I love you.” She said softly, his face cupped in her hands. “So much.”

“I love you too.” He held her close as they caught their breath.

She yawned. “Sorry, now I’m beat to hell.” She chuckled.

“To bed love.” He said gently with a smile. “Big night tomorrow.” He leaned his forehead against hers.

“I’m still not too keen on going.” She huffed, but she also wanted to get it over and done with so she could move on.

“I know, but I’ll be there. We can get the business end done and then enjoy a night out.” He kissed her slow, lingering to take it deeper as she relaxed.

“It’s not the dedication that’s freaking me out, it’s all the people coming up afterward to tell me how sorry they are, or stories of his time in court. I don’t know if I can handle it all being shoved in my face all night. Sorry I’m rambling and...” She closed her eyes and took a calming breath as his lips pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering to help her find that calm she desperately needed.

“Will there be dancing?” He asked against her skin, hopeful.

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll just dance with you for the rest of the night so they can’t talk to you.” He smiled.

“That’s not a bad plan.” She looked at him, kissing him quickly. “It beats getting shit faced and blubbering in your lap outside my front door.” She grinned at the memory.

“And we have a room in case it gets too much and you need to get the hell out of there.” He had created a safety bubble for her. A quiet space where she could retreat to because he knew at some point tomorrow night a panic attack was highly likely. “Speaking of a room. Bedroom, let’s go, because I need some damn sleep too.” He laughed. Lily had decided that 5 am was her new wake up time regardless of the holiday season and for the past week Gustaf’s sleep had been cut short. He’d made sure Bill was ok with the kids for most of Sunday because he was getting a damn sleep in after the party.

She curled into him and plummeted into sleep, exhaustion and relief that there was no work to rush off to for a few weeks taking her under hard. She’d been better since getting past her birthday. The grief was still there but it seemed manageable, like she’d turned a corner and was able to exist without it constantly consuming her. He was slightly worried that it would rear its ugly head in spectacular fashion at either the party tomorrow or with his family, he’d prefer it to be with the latter. They at least would understand and she’d have the space to distance and collect herself if needed. It felt like a ticking time bomb just waiting for her guard to be down before blowing up in her face again.

His own anxiety was a little high too, she was moving in. He wanted her with him, in their bed, under one roof, comfortable, as a family. It did not negate the fact that it was scary as hell, especially if the kids hated the idea. He’d dropped a few questions to feel them out, what they were thinking and they seemed like they’d be ok with it. He was hoping the work he’d done on their rooms made it easier. Sleep took him a little while later and it felt like he’d only just passed out when Lily was up chattering to them.

“Morning little lady.” He slurred, the cobwebs of sleep still addling his brain.

“I’ll get her.” Sildie mumbled and stretched out on top of him before kissing him sweetly. “Go back to sleep love.” She murmured. “You’ve had her and her crazy ass wake up schedule for the past week.”

“K.” He breathed and sleep took him under again.

Sildie changed a somewhat grumpy Lily and headed out to make some tea. “Well little lady if you’d just sleep longer you wouldn’t be such a grumpy pants.” She chuckled, snuggling her in and kissing her head. She would let Gustaf sleep, the man had been up with the kids and keeping them occupied for nearly two weeks while she’d been plowing through work and a mentally taxing court case. She felt a little guilty for leaving the house and kids for him to deal with and knew it wasn’t a habit she could fall into. She never forgive herself if she took advantage of him, or made him feel like she was.

Once Brendan had surfaced she left Lily with him cuddled on the couch and took a shower, Gustaf was still out cold. After spending most of the morning with the boys, she changed Lily and sat of the edge of the bed.

“Dad dad dad. Sooch.” Lily said softly.

“Time for dad dad kisses huh?” She set Lily down on the bed and stroked a hand down his chest. He snapped awake with a sharp inhale and blinked at her.

“It’s eleven love.” She said gently as he looked around wondering where the hell he was.

“Shit I didn’t mean to sleep that late.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry I know you have shopping to do.”

“It’s ok you needed it.”

“Dad dad.” Lily squealed and his low chuckle made her smile.

“Hello Lily bear.” He said and lifted her up the bed to kiss the tiny girl before snuggling her in.

“Would you like some tea?”

“I would, but first.” He tugged her hand and she chuckled as she curled up with him. “My two best girls.” He murmured, the familiar sentiment choking her up. Damn it she thought, she couldn’t get emotional now, she’d never get through the night. His kiss chased that thought away, slow and loving. “Morning my love.”

“Morning.”

“You heading out shopping?”

“I’ll make you some tea first, but yes I’m about to try and do shopping.”

“Brave girl.” He chuckled. “It’ll be madness.”

“Yes but I have stuff to get.” Like for tonight, she thought. She had her dress, she just needed the underwear. And she had a plan for that underwear. She kissed him tenderly and got up to make a pot of tea.

Gustaf came out carrying Lily as she set the teapot on the table to steep for him. Her belly did a little flip at his disheveled look, all soft, warm and rumpled, still half asleep. Damn she wanted to go back to bed and snuggle with him, do erotic things to him.

“Bye love, have fun.” He kissed her softly as she grabbed her bag and left for a few hours. She’d done most of her Christmas shopping online and had them wrapped and under the tree, but needed stuff for tonight, something for Bill and something for his parents even though Gustaf had said it wasn’t necessary. For him it wasn’t, for her however, she needed to, she couldn’t turn up empty handed.

Gustaf goofed around with the kids, he’d shower before they went out tonight, but it was nice to just have a pajama day. It was relaxed and carefree, and he’d noticed that the kids had settled since he’d been staying in the apartment with them the past month or so. That was a good sign he thought, moving next door may not be as emotional or stressful.

Sildie came home around 3:30, arms full of bags. Some of it was wrapped and the kids were more than happy to place it under the tree, shaking boxes as they went to try and determine what she’d purchased.

“You look like you had fun.” He chuckled, taking one of the bags from her hand and placing it on the table before kissing her.

“I did actually. But now I have to get ready, go get my Christmas glam on.” She kissed him chastely.

“Do you want to do that here or in our room?” He asked.

“Here. All my stuff is here.” She said quietly.

“Ok, Bill texted and he’ll be here at five or so.” He kissed her tenderly. “Once you’re out of the shower I’ll go home and take one and bring my monkey suit back here.”

“Sounds good. I’ll need help with my dress at some point.” She said wickedly.

“I think I can help you with that.” He winked at her as she took her bags to her room and disappeared.

In all honestly he loved the way Sildie looked with no makeup and in sweats but he couldn’t help but fantasize what she would look like all dolled up. He went home and showered, grabbed his tux and headed back to Sildie’s in clean sweats. He didn’t want to have to put it on until the last minute. Bill arrived just after five and he sat talking to him until Sildie called out.

“Gustaf? Can you come help me please.” She called from her room.

Nothing prepared him for the sight of her in black lace and deep Christmas red heels. He shut the door and leaned on it, pinning his hands against it with his ass.

“Fuck me.” He choked and her giggle was wicked. She walked to him slowly and he shook his head. “Nope. Kitten if you touch me we aren’t going anywhere except to our bed.” He growled.

“You’ll just have to control yourself.” She purred. “Remember on my birthday when you said you wanted to see me in black lace and heels and that blindfold, tied to our bed?”

“I remember.” His voice strained, he was close to blowing his load in his fucking sweats like a teenager.

“Looks like Santa got your message. I don’t want to stay overnight at the hotel, I want to come home to our bed.” She walked her blood red nails up his chest and stroked one over his jaw. “I want you to do things to me.” She purred and kissed him sinfully. “All night long.”

He was struck speechless. He’d never had someone that played this game so fucking well.

“Cat got your tongue?” She smirked, those ice blue eyes sparkling mischievously.

“My kitten has.” He growled and her seductive chuckle make his cock twitch. “Fuck I love playing this game with you.” He breathed as she leaned a palm on his chest and kissed him.

“You need to get dressed.” She purred and palmed his erection making him groan.

“So do you or I’m going to fuck you where you stand kitten.” He growled.

“Patients daddy.” She breathed, nipping his bottom lip before sashaying over to where her dress was hanging.

He stood there and breathed, willing his cock to calm down at the mention of her endearment for him. It was difficult considering the vision in front of him. Black lace corset, g string, suspenders, lace top thigh high stocking with a red seam running up the back of those incredible pins she called legs. The red heels were four inches so they would be the same height tonight, and screamed fuck me.

She stepped into the dusty gold column sheath dress and wiggled her hips to get it on. A simple cut, figure hugging, plunging neckline, thigh high split. Modest for a formal party, devilish enough to tease Gustaf all night. She felt him stand behind her and help zip her up and secure the clasp for the deep Christmas red sash that cinched her waist and draped to the floor with the rest of the skirt. He rested his hands on her hips and kissed her neck seductively.

“You do realize I’m going to need a defense lawyer after tonight.” He said softly as he started to dress.

“Why’s that?” She asked a little confused, walking back to the bathroom to touch up her makeup and apply the 24 hour deep siren red lipstick she’d bought as a why the hell not.

“Because I’m going to have to kill every man in the room that looks at you.” He smirked pulling his tux pants on and zipping them up.

“I hope we can get a two for one deal then.” She huffed.

“Why?” He chuckled as he buttoned up his shirt and tucked it in.

She stood in front of him and ran a nail down those buttons, half tempted to strip him naked and take him in her mouth.

“Because you’re fucking royalty for one.” She scoffed. He watched her as she tied his bow tie, that bottom lip sinfully red and beckoning to him. “And every woman there is going to want you, I’m going to have to beat them off with a stick.”

He chuckled at her words and her smirk tugged the corners of her mouth. “I love you Sildie.” He said softly. “You’re the only one I want.”

“I know. You’re the only one I want too.” She kissed him, his brain melted as her tongue teased his. “Seeing you in this makes me all tingly.” She moaned biting her bottom lip.

He gripped her by the chin gently and teased his thumb over her bottom lip before kissing it, slowly. “Mine.” He growled, his eyes met hers as her pussy tingled at the possessive tone. “Are you ready to go kitten?” The intimacy swamping them both.

“Yes.” She choked breathlessly.

“Let’s get the business end of it done. Then...” He kissed her longingly. “Then kitten, I’m going to do all kinds of delicious things to you.” His low tone caused and involuntary shiver to ripple across her body. “Mmm, you like the sound of that don’t you.” It was a statement more than a question. The man was able to bewitch her with his words, his tone.

“Mmm hmmm.” She was already drunk on him. “You smell so good.” She purred. He kissed her again before pulling away, a cocky smirk on his face.

“Let’s go lovely lady.” He chuckled, sitting to slip his shoes on. Standing he held out his hand for her, his gilded goddess, her halo of molten copper cascading down her spine. And that dress was something else entirely and he knew what was hidden under it. That was going to be fucking torture all night, he thought, the little minx.

Bill almost choked on his drink when Sildie came out, the boys all standing around gobsmacked.

“Piddy.” Lily squealed pointing at Sildie from the safety of Bill’s arms.

“Yes little lady, she is very pretty.” Gustaf said and kissed her until she giggled.

“You’re sure you’re ok with this lot?” Sildie asked, still a little nervous as Liam hugged her.

“More than ok, besides I have a rematch with Finn to take care of.” He grinned. “Have fun. I’ll text you if I run into any issues.”

“Thanks again Bill. You bailed me out.”

“Anytime, they’re great kids.” His grin told her he was having just as much fun as the kids were.

Gustaf helped her into her coat and the pair set out for the hotel. She was nervous, her hands wringing in her lap as he drove was a dead giveaway. He took a hold of her hand and brought it to his lips kissing her fingers. “Just breathe love. I’ll be right here, all night.”

“Sorry.” She chuckled. “I’m on edge.”

“As expected.” He pulled up to the hotel and looked at her. “Deep breath. Together love, you and me.” He kissed her fingers again and stepped out of the car to walk around and open the door for her. Holding his hand out, he helped her to her feet, the top of her stockings peeking out from the split. Fuck me he thought, she would be the death of him. Giving the keys to the valet he slipped a hand around her waist and held her to him. “Breathe.” He said, lips at her temple. “Let the lawyer surface and take care of business.” He kissed her cheek sweetly and looked at her, his courtroom lawyer looked back. “There’s my girl.” He growled as they walked into the hotel ballroom. “I’m proud of you. You’re so fucking strong.” He kissed her, not caring who could see them. She was moving in with him, he loved her, and he wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

Her firm had spared no expense, and there were tables for at minimum 300 people. The room had a massive dance floor and stage, blue and silver glittered everywhere to turn it into a winter wonderland. Snowflakes and fairy lights, fresh flower centerpieces and silk festoons.

Gustaf took her coat and he felt his arousal spike again at seeing her, his gilded goddess on the outside, his erotic sex kitten beneath. They were met by Oliver and swept up into the throng of introductions and small talk. For Gustaf working a room was second nature, it was just like a press junket, but for Sildie it was anxiety central and to compound matters her grief was hovering waiting to pounce. Thankfully Oliver had kept them moving quickly before he could be too overwhelmed with people figuring out there was a celebrity in the house. It was one of the downsides of his chosen profession. He didn’t want that overshadowing the party, he was just along for the ride, to support Sildie.

“I owe you one Oliver.” He said as Sildie stepped away from him to talk to Dana’s partner in family law.

“How’s that?”

“For shielding me.” He chuckled.

“Thank Sildie. She sent a memo to everyone before tonight and talked to me specifically. She wanted you to feel comfortable with her family.” He smiled.

The penny dropped, this was her family, the only one she had left now that Quinn was gone.

“Ah! I see she didn’t forewarn you.” He said quietly.

“No, she didn’t.” He said wistfully, looking at the gorgeous woman just out of reach, he found his fingers itched to touch her. “She’s had a lot on her mind.”

“It’s none of my business, but I’m glad she has you, glad the kids have you.” Oliver said carefully, not wanting to overstep.

“I’m so ridiculously in love with her.” Gustaf said shyly. “And she’d kill me for telling you that.”

“Your secret is safe with me. I know the feeling.” He said looking at his husband of six years.

Oliver hesitated. “Is she doing alright?” He asked gently. “I don’t like to pry it’s not my business, but I think of her as my own daughter and she’s been through hell.”

“She’s doing better.” Gustaf said quietly, keeping his gaze fixed on Sildie. “Her grief and guilt is substantial.” He didn’t want to divulge her painful moments, it was none of anyone’s business and he wouldn’t betray Sildie’s trust by spilling it to her boss, father figure or not.

“I can only imagine.”

“I’m sorry Oliver I can’t elaborate. Her grief is her own story to tell.” Gustaf said gently, trying to be as polite as possible.

“I completely understand and apologize if that put you in an awkward position. We all felt the loss, no one more keenly that Sildie.”

“She’s doing better, so are the kids. I love her Oliver, and I’ll move the world to see her and the kids happy.” He said, feeling a need to make his intentions known.

“You’re a good man Gustaf.” Oliver said as Sildie walked back to them with Elsa.

“I’m trying.” He huffed a chuckle.

“Your past is just that, the past. We all have one and we’re all far from perfect.” Oliver held out his hand for the man walking over with Elsa slipping it around his waist and kissing him as Sildie introduced Gustaf to Dana’s partner in law.

By the time they were asked to sit for dinner he’d been introduced to probably half the room. Pulling the chair out for Sildie he had to contain his groan of disappointment, Lucas and his date had made their way over to their table.

His entire system froze as his gaze landed on her, the quick polite smile on Lucas’s lips as his eyes focused on Gustaf. The familiar prickle and wave of heat as his fight flight response kicked in at seeing a threat. You vindictive asshole, Gustaf thought silently. Throwing his sobriety and addiction in Sildie’s face was one thing, but an ex girlfriend, that was just cruel.

Sildie sat and saw where his gaze had landed.

“Hey.” She said softly and his eyes snapped to hers, concerned ice blue looked back.

“Hey back.” He smiled, he would not let this asshole get to him and ruin her night. He’d promised to be on his best behavior around Lucas and although tempting as it was to stalk over there and press his fist to his face repeatedly in an abrupt manner, Gustaf knew how much it would embarrass Sildie, she’d never forgive him.

“You ok?” She asked gently. Something was up she could feel it.

“Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting Lucas to be at our table.” He shrugged, trying not to let the woman sitting next to Lucas get under his skin either. He wouldn’t think her name, he wouldn’t say her name, she was just a blip in his life.

“Gustaf I’m sorry, I should have told you.” She said apologetically. “There’s been so much going on I forgot.”

“It’s fine love. I just don’t want him upsetting you, especially.” He let himself get lost in her for a moment, calming the white hot rage at the man across the table by running his fingers through her hair, watching it shine.

“Let me handle him. He’s just bitter and jealous.” She said quietly trying to contain her own irritation. She’d tried to get him to sit at another table but in the act of goodwill toward all men she’d let it slide, now she wished she hadn’t.

“Of what?” He chuckled softly.

“Of you love.” She kissed him tenderly, she needed to set his mind at ease. “You have the one thing he wants, the one thing he’s never going to get.” Her kiss was sultry, that hot seduction burning him from the inside out.

“I love it when you kiss me like that.” He grinned.

“I know. I’ll handle him if it comes to that, ok?”

“I know you will, but if he upsets you like the last time.” He toyed with a wave of hair she’d meticulously curled just for him. “We will have words.” His tone was unmistakably equal parts, protective and possessive. “Tonight is difficult enough for you, I won’t see him, or anyone for that matter, make it worse.”

“Fair enough, no punching him, no making a scene.” She said seriously, she didn’t need them getting into a fist fight over her in the middle of the office Christmas party. “Remember, I still have to be able to show my face in court with everyone in this room.” She said flatly, the lawyer had surfaced and was in complete control.

“I’ll only need words love. I promise I won’t do anything to embarrass you or lay a finger on him.” He kissed her tenderly not giving a shit who saw, especially Lucas, especially his ex. Lucas was the one with a problem, not him and he wouldn’t jeopardize what he had with Sildie over a few snide remarks and bringing his ex to a party. He would just ignore them, in his mind they weren’t here, he had other things to worry about.

Dinner was exceptional and she found herself enjoying the time to catch up with Elsa. She couldn’t help but flick a glance to Lucas’s date, she looked oddly familiar. They hadn’t met but she’d seen the woman somewhere before and it was irritating not to be able to place her.

As dessert hit the table she felt Gustaf’s finger stroking her thigh where the split in her dress had revealed silk lace and bare skin. His touch both calmed and aroused her. She smirked at his soft tone as he talked with Vera. The poor girl was beyond it, her voice meek and shaky as she spoke to the Scandinavian god beside her.

“Stop breaking my admin.” She whispered and Gustaf chuckled as Oliver took the stage.

“Just making small talk. She’s a good kid and very shy.” He said kissing her temple. “Deep breath love.” He murmured, his lips lingering. “Together, you and me.” His words grounded her as Oliver started speaking.

It was the usual spiel, the recap of the year, the high and lows, achievements and gains. “Tonight we start a new tradition.” He said gently and his gaze fell on Sildie. She felt her gut plummet as he continued. This was it she thought, just sit and get through it, you just have to listen and smile. “Tonight we honor the tireless work of two of our greatest attorneys, their lives and careers cut short, their compassion and humanity greatly missed.”

Gustaf stayed where he was, his hand on her thigh, an arm casually around her shoulder, his lips at her temple. He’d felt her tense, her body preparing to take flight the moment she was pushed, the moment her anxiety threatened to overwhelm her. “Easy kitten.” He growled, the tone and endearment enough to snap her out of it, her breath shuddering out. “Breathe love, I’m right here.”

“Dana excelled at family law, courageously fighting for the rights of families, mother and father, and most importantly children. Quinn was the complete opposite.” The room chuckled, including Sildie. “Quinn O’Rourke was ruthless in the courtroom, an adversary many of us here tonight faced on a daily basis. Although ruthless and stubborn, a man that could skewer holes in defense counsels case like Swiss cheese while he was prosecuting, Quinn held the same beliefs, the same compassion as Dana when defending. A rare soul that believed there was always some goodness left in a person if you took the time to look.”

He heard Sildie choke back a breath at Oliver’s words and gently squeezed her thigh. “I’m here love, you’re ok.” He whispered and kissed her temple. “Deep breath.”

“The Swedish Bar Association, in recognition of Dana and Quinn’s commitment to justice have founded an achievement award for exemplary conduct by an attorney inside the courtroom in their honor. To be awarded to someone that shows the same tenacity and compassion, the same humanity and dignity toward others as they showed, in the pursuit of justice.”

That just described Sildie to perfection, Gustaf thought silently.

“It was therefore only fitting that the first recipient to harness these qualities of such a prestigious award be Quinn’s sister, Sildie O’Rourke.”

*************

@hausofobsession @ill-skillsgard @grandpa-sweaters @authentic90skidd @tuckersgirl @fairlyfallacy @flowers-in-your-hayr @raewritesfiction @stinkerbelle007 @kamie-b @mrsaugustwalker @skrsgardspam @loliwrites @trippedmetaldetector @lihikainanea

#gustaf skarsgard #gustaf skarsgard fanfiction #shattered lives

8 notes · View notes

tooanxiousforrivers · 4 years ago

Text

been struggling real hard since the start of the year (2021, not academic year or whatever (although let’s be real the academic year as a whole has also been pretty bad)) and this culminated in me deciding to take a leave of absence from my research as of this week. I am already struggling to honor the things I was feeling that led me to this point, so here goes a diary post

first of all, I am increasingly convinced that I was just never really trained properly for the project I ended up working on. last year, prior to COVID shutdown, I was being trained on separatory techniques for carbon nanotubes. I was starting to independently push forward on new nanotube separations when COVID hit, and I spent all of shutdown reading papers about carbon nanotubes... But then when I came back to lab I was suddenly working on organic synthesis, which utilizes precisely zero of the skills I had been developing beforehand. There were a few reasons behind the change, and I initially gave it an ok when another grad student double-checked with me that I even wanted to do this new project, but what I didn’t realize at that time was that my in-lab mentor would not be able to help me with the majority of the work (basically she knew how to make one half of the molecule I wanted to make, but not the other half). that other half of the molecule turns out to be NOTORIOUSLY difficult to work with, and the only way to make any progress on it is to just work at such large scales that even a 5% yield is “good enough.” But no one working with me had the wherewithal (or cared enough) to tell me that, so all my newcomer enthusiasm died with months of failure trying to make that molecule.

so I’m working really long days, not really making anything other than “an earnest effort,” and then in November the most senior member of the lab who is a week away from defending his dissertation fucking loses it at me and one other second-year about how we are wasting time, etc, etc. We have since moved on from that as people, but it still sort of traumatized me and left me very very uncomfortable existing in that space. ended up feeling like I was under a microscope, any second not actively spent with my hands on something was a criminal offense, not eating/taking breaks... this was obviously not very sustainable and I ended up working even fewer hours, which made showing up at all even more agonizing, as I anticipated eventual future blowout. rinse and repeat. losing sleep and not getting anything done outside of lab with the anxiety of it all.

by January, I’m seriously losing it, and finally make a meeting with my advisor to try to explain things to him. I also disclose having ADHD and pin a lot of my struggle on “working on a treatment plan.” He is sympathetic and wants to help however he can, but I can’t think of anything he can do for me, so we leave things unfinished. A week later, he sets up a meeting with me (and two other second-years, all separately) to tell us we’re not spending enough time in lab, we are going to delay our prelim exams, and we’re now going to work one-on-one with a post-doc in the lab. While it was not very cool of him to do it the way he did, I actually did feel genuine relief at the time. Like maybe I would finally be able to fill in the gaps in my technical abilities with this change

HOWEVER, working with this post-doc was... not it. The first thing he suggested to me was to stick with one synthetic target (as opposed to the three I had in total), and just keep pushing on that front until it was done. This resulted in me making intermediate, purifying it, trying the next step in the synthesis, having it fail, and having to go back and make more intermediate OVER AND OVER AGAIN for weeks. It was about this time that I started uncontrollably weeping in the lab on a daily basis. (side note: the corner of lab I work in is pretty thinly populated, so no one ever saw me cry despite weeks of this going on! hooray isolation!) oh, and let’s not forget that the second-years are all TAing this semester, which conveniently chops of my schedule beyond the point of usefulness.

last week, I suddenly felt like this just wasn’t worth it anymore. could not even recognize what “it” was that was supposed to be worth it all along. professorship is a) extremely rare, b) very arduous to attain, with possibly a decade or more of grueling research, and c) possibly not even the dream job I thought it to be, once attained. I was thinking about how my husband is a fucking lawyer and can provide for us if needed. I was thinking about how this is the only life I get to live and I can’t justify spending over a decade of it literally tormenting myself and inhaling/pouring carcinogens on myself with no real promise of substantial payoff. spent all day Friday talking things out with senior lab members (actually the same guy who screamed at me in November, he’s an odd one), as well as the director of graduate studies. I resolved to get back on nanotube work, and just try to better manage my stress by getting support from others... by Sunday when I met with my advisor again, I had convinced myself that “I have all the resources I need to succeed, I just need to utilize them.”

Monday, I met with my psychiatrist, who literally asked me why I wanted to be in grad school at all. I floundered and said something vacuous, and she kinda nodded then prescribed me Prozac. I also spent Monday and Tuesday trying to get back into nanotube work, but by midday Tuesday I was already feeling the dread creeping in... and my threshold for adversity was just nil at that point, I guess, because I literally went and found both my the senior people I was working with and just flat out told them I quit. My friend helped me pack up my desk that day, and I was out the door by 3:30. Emailed my advisor after I got home. by the end of the day, I rationalized that the “precipitating event” was realizing that I don’t want to be on antidepressants, since I’ve been down that road before, and that this is not worth that.

so, spending the last couple of days talking to others and thinking about what to do next, I still don’t have an answer. everyone’s first piece of advice was to find some masters-level industry job, but right now I still feel too close to it to even see myself doing chemistry at all, or a 9-5 at all. like, part-time tutoring is the most I can entertain in my mind right now. but I know it’s better to keep the door open, and my advisor is still SOMEHOW my #1 fan, so this is just a leave of absence for the time being. the details of that will be hammered out once I meet with the director of my program, but right now I know I’ll continue my TA work (since I hope I’ll get to still be paid) and I’ll finish the class I’m taking since my advisor told me the whole grade is just going to be some 30 minute presentation at the end of the semester, and I am pretty sure I can pull that off rather than end with a W on my transcript.

the main things for me to figure out are: (1) do I want to pull together a non-thesis master’s defense in the next month, to secure a master’s in case I decide not to return after my leave of absence? (2) do I feel that a leave of absence will make a difference at all? Will coming back to the lab after some time away resolve the problems I’ve been having, or will it all just build up all over again? and (3) do I still want a Ph.D-dependent career? What do I even want to do?

3 notes · View notes

a-day-in-the-life-of-a-brotha · 4 years ago

Text

5-21-21 Manifestations

9:05a.m I’m at the plantation, my co-workers Friday=My Monday. It’s a peculiar day to start your work week...it always works out for my benefit, starting my work week on Friday. It’s lax when I get here...people are ready to end their workweek. It being lax...propels me to be lax. When Omar walked up today we greeted each other. “Sup Bro” I said, “Ain’t shit, sup with you” he said....”Shit...I’m aggressive today” I said. “Yeah, can tell by the way you patted my back, Booby Big Hand ass nigga!” I laughed...out loud and said “You right”...then I went back to concentrating on a video I was making for my straight up philosophy page...via inspiring drummed up. So I’ve know Omar (O is what most call him) for almost 30 years now. We met tumultuously, at The University of the District of Columbia...High School part 2, or the University of Dumb Children as we ironically called it. Long story longer...I didn’t like I when I met him, I moved to S.E. eventually where he lived, and that’s where we became friends. Since im aggressive today, I met O with some aggressiveness. “Yung, could you get the back of the bus please” he asked. Aggressively I responded “Why!” We then had a mild heat exchange as would two bull Bisons meeting on a field. That quickly was subsided, we remained quite for a bit then we slowly ease into talking to embrace other again. This is a normal occurrence. So today...I’m a tad bit anxious. I’m getting my twins and I can’t wait...I haven’t had them next to me in 3 weeks...but it’s back to the regular schedule...weekends with them until summertime. We are going to different spots to get food and we are reviewing the food...Chas is getting jerk chicken, Larry a burger from Red Robin, and I’m going to this vegan soul food spot. I’m truly looking forward to them and our adventure this evening. What’s got me truly up in arms is the job I manifested yesterday. Whilst on the phone with My Dani, I was speaking about needing to acquire more money...welp...about an hour later...my ancestors so it fit to help manifest that thought. Black and Reds called. Black presented an opportunity to become a bouncer again...a profession I let go over 10 years ago, give or take. $120 for 6 hours...I need the money. I dread going back into this business though...I swore off bouncing, and I’m not young anymore...staying up all night could potentially fuck with my mental health, shit I work weekends at 6a.m. and the bouncing gig is over at 3a.m.. The dilemma...

1 note · View note

melodious-madrigals · 5 years ago

Text

of communication and cats

Written as part of @wondertrevnet‘s Lock Out Bingo.

Fandom: Wonder Woman Pairing: Diana/Steve Prompt: texting Word Count: 2552 Rating: T Summary: Steve and Diana adopt a cat. Steve is exceptionally bad at texting. The two converge more often than you'd think. (Aka miscommunication, but like. Low stakes.) Mostly fluff. In-universe for lost love (sweeter when it’s finally found) which you can read here.

Find it below the cut or on AO3.

***

Notes: not really a texting fic, just a very loose definition of "fulfilling" the prompt because it includes some texts, lol.

***

Don't be mad, but says the preview on her push notification from Steve's latest message. Not exactly an auspicious start, given his propensity for doing reckless things.

Diana massages the spot between her eyebrows where tension headaches start, and decides she needs to just bite the bullet and look at the text. (It can't be too bad if he's still able to text about it, right?)

Swiping down, she taps on the message.

Don't be mad, it says, but I found this little one abandoned, and I was *going* to ask if we could keep it but then I fell in love. Sorry, no takebacksies, but I will let you help me name it.

Attached is a picture of a fluffy black kitten curled up against Steve's chest. The angle is funny—clearly an attempt at a one-handed selfie while also holding the kitten—but it's one of the most precious things Diana has ever seen. The kitten's tail is wrapped tight enough to be gently touching its own nose. It's so adorable that Diana thinks she might cry.

The message is a little over an hour old, and Diana goes to text back when more messages come through.

Vet says: It's a girl! 🎈

Then, She has a great big personality, with a photo attachment of the kitten—vet office clear in the background—looking extremely indignant at her current circumstances.

I look forward to meeting her, Diana types back.

When Diana gets home, she finds a veritable explosion of cat toys and products across their living room and kitchen. At the epicenter, on the couch, is Steve, asleep, with a tiny little ball of black fur tucked up under his chin. If Diana had previously had any reservations about their new kitten (she hadn't, really), they would have been erased upon seeing them like this.

She snaps a quick picture, and then goes into the kitchen, pulling out vegetables to start dicing for the evening meal.

Twenty minutes later, Steve wanders in, the kitten now cradled against his chest.

"She's about six weeks," says Steve. "Which is a little early, but the vet says that other than needing to be fed, she looks healthy. She didn't appreciate her first round of shots, but she did appreciate the salmon pâté slurry I gave her afterwards."

"Poor thing. She was abandoned?"

"I think so," says Steve. "I actually saw her yesterday, hiding in the same spot, but they say not to move kittens, you know? because sometimes the mother is just off hunting. But she was alone yesterday and crying, and she was doing the same when I passed by today, and I couldn't just leave her there."

"You did the right thing, Steve. So, about her name."

Steve looks away guiltily, and Diana just knows that he's already named the cat.

"The vet needed a name to start her file," Steve mumbles. "I thought Bast would be cute."

Diana purses her lips, trying not to smile. "She already has you worshipping her like a goddess; it fits." Then she breaks, and starts laughing. "I'm not mad, Steve! About the cat or the name."

Steve looks relieved, like he didn't really think this would be a fight, but wasn't sure. They've talked about getting a pet before, but have always decided against it because of how much they travel.

"I already talked to Aisha and Marguerite," he says, referring to the couple who lives across the hall. "They said that they would watch her when we go out of town, as long as they also get to play with her while she's still a kitten."

"That reminds me, we should have them over for dinner this weekend. Or next, if they aren't free."

Steve shakes his head. "Next weekend's bad. I've got a work thing Friday night, and we're going to the concert at the Madeleine on Saturday with the Giraudets."

Diana makes a little humming noise as she pulls several spice jars from the cabinet. "Am I coming to your work function?"

"Only if you want, but I'd love to have you. You can't hit Floyd, though."

Diana wrinkles her nose at the mention of his co-worker. "We can go out for late night kebab afterward," she decides. "As a reward for putting up with him."

"Génial," says Steve, at the same time that Bast wakes up and meows loudly. "Apparently we haven't been paying her enough attention."

"Hello, Bast," Diana says, and the kitten meows again.

"Here, take her; I'll finish supper," offers Steve.

The kitten squeaks as Steve transfers her, then settles into Diana's arms, looks up at her, and slowly closes her eyes and falls asleep again.

They're cat people now, apparently.

Bast, as it turns out, is a very affectionate cat. She wants to be held, constantly, and when she isn't being held, will toddle up to one of her people and scream until they finally do pick her up. She also likes sleeping tucked up under Steve's chin, which Diana finds absolutely hilarious because Steve is not—and has never been—a back sleeper, but now, more often than not, she finds him falling asleep on his back so as not to disturb Bast.

Bast is most definitely Steve's cat, but she likes Diana well enough. Often, she perches on Diana's left shoulder when she's working on her laptop, and peers at the screen like she's reading the artifact dossiers too.

Sometimes, if Diana is very lucky, Bast will curl up in her lap instead, nose still tucked into the curl of her tail, and purr. Most of the time, Bast perks up as soon as Steve gets home, and prances over to greet him with an affectionate headbutt.

"I see how it is," Diana says, one day, when Bast lifts her head at a sound outside the door that turns out not to be Steve, and Diana swears she looks disappointed. "You like him best."

Bast simply looks at Diana with her big round eyes and blinks once, which Diana suspects is cat for 'duh'.

"Oh, all right, I cannot blame you," Diana sighs, "I like him best too."

Bast presents her chin, and Diana obliges her with a scritch.

("That was a cat-kiss," Steve says later, of the blink, laughing. "Bast was basically telling you she loves and trusts you, and you thought it was sass.")

It's a perfectly ordinary day, and perfectly ordinary days are very easily ruined.

For the day in question, it's the We need to talk that shows up from Steve, causing Diana's nerves to go haywire. She really doesn't think they're fighting about anything, but 'we need to talk' is universally a bad thing, right? They're usually pretty good about handling their problems in constructive ways, and they're excellent at talking through things, but there's a certain permanent ominous quality to 'we need to talk' that fills her with dread.

But when Diana unlocks her phone, she finds: We need to talk about how adorable Bast is right now, along with a picture of the cat in question with her paws crossed over her eyes, and the tiniest tip of her tongue visible between her teeth, like she didn't quite pull it all the way in when she closed her mouth.

Diana laughs, shows the picture to her interns, and sends back She looks so angelic. Like she didn't start caterwauling at four a.m. this morning and wake me out of a dead sleep.

She's a cat, replies Steve. They're always perfect little angels, even when they're not.

"That cat has you wrapped around its paw," Diana says that afternoon, when she comes home to find Steve making a special meal for Bast. "That had better not be the hake I bought at the market this morning."

"Of course it isn't. I filleted that and have the rest cooking down in the stock." He tilts his head toward the lidded pot on the stove. "This is just a little treat for being three months old." He says the last bit to Bast in a slightly sing-song voice.

She loves this man, she really does.

Diana is having a very long day and thinking about Bruce Wayne in a rather uncharitable way. (He is, after all, the reason she had to extend her business trip to the States and is not currently home with her husband and their cat.) She's dirty and tired, and trying desperately not to be bitter about it, because she doesn't approve of feeling bitter about things, when her phone buzzes.

The setting it's on means that the text can only be from Steve, while everyone else is filtered out by 'do not disturb'. Checking her surroundings surreptitiously, she pulls out her phone.

Diana help I'm dying reads the preview and Diana's heart drops into her stomach, body immediately prepping for a supersonic flight and going into panic mode because she's too far away, an hour or two at least from whatever Steve has gotten himself into now—

Diana help I'm dying at how fricking cute Bast is and I need you to be too, Steve has written. I can't even. Underneath is a minute long video of Bast, and Diana nearly hurls her phone across the room before the relief takes over. She almost throws up as she comes down from the adrenaline spike, too.

After a couple of deep breaths, Diana hits the dial button, and Steve picks up on the first ring, right as rain.

"Did you watch it? Isn't she just the best?" he exclaims.

"You need to work on how you start your texts, Steve," she says instead of answering. "Do you know how it popped up on my phone? 'Diana help I'm dying.'"

Steve sucks in a breath sharply enough that it's audible even across the tinny connection. "Oh, Gods. I'm so sorry, Diana."

Between his contrition and the fact that he's clearly okay, Diana feels her anger evaporate. She can't count the number of times that Barry—just for example—has used 'I'm dying' or 'DEAD' or 'deceased' to indicate various emotions that are not death-based. It's only normal that Steve would pick it up.

"No, I also overreacted," she admits. "I have not slept properly in two days and was not really thinking."

"I'll still work on it," Steve promises. "Seriously, watch the video; she's such a weirdo. It'll make your day better."

"Okay, I will."

"Hey, are you okay? Do you want to talk?"

"I am just ready to be home," Diana says. "I really shouldn't talk now, but hopefully I will be home before morning."

"Okay, Angel. Love you."

"Love you too."

The call disconnects, and then Diana hits play on the video. It's shot in their kitchen, and it's dark enough out that Steve has the overhead light on. Bast is in the middle of the floor, spinning in circles chasing her tail, or maybe the shadow of her tail, Diana can't quite tell. She suppresses a laugh as Bast starts spinning the other way. Dammit, Steve's right. She really is cute.

Day brightened, Diana taps out. Give her a kiss for me, we both know how much she loves those.

Two minutes later, a photo pops through of a very disgruntled looking Bast with the caption 'post-kiss', and Diana squashes down another laugh.

She's home by one in the morning, their time, and only has to move Bast a little bit to climb into bed next to Steve.

One of the reasons Diana was originally hesitant to get a cat was how much they both travel for work, and this month has been absolutely non-stop for her. In the past three weeks, it feels like she's only been home about three days. Fortunately, this is her last trip for another month (or at least, her last scheduled trip; JL business has a nasty way of popping up at inconvenient times), and Steve's job has been largely quiet on the travel front, lately.

She's got one more day to get through, and then it's just her normal job. She might even take a personal day or two.

She's just about to go into another meeting when her phone buzzes. Urgent! Read me NOW says the preview of Steve's message, and Diana immediately thumbs open her lockscreen, pausing before she enters the room, just in case she needs to dart back out.

We love you! ♥️💕 reads the rest of the message, and underneath is an attached photo of Steve and Bast. He's holding her up so that their faces are pressed together, and Bast has decided to be a perfect angel for Steve, looking directly into the camera. Diana swears she's even smizing next to Steve's own grin.

I know we talked about this, says another message that pops up while she's looking at the picture, but we wanted to make sure you saw that right away.

And then, We miss you.

A smile inches its way across her lips, and she sends back a quick selfie with a cat ears filter and a miss you too scrawled along the bottom before ducking back into the meeting.

It's Bast who hears her first, because when she opens the apartment door, Bast is sitting squarely in front of it. She lets out an indignant yowl, and then puts her front paws up on Diana's legs, asking to be picked up.

Diana shoves her suitcase inside the door, closes it, and obliges, and Bast settles in against her chest.

"She's clearly forsaken me," says Steve, who's just come out of the bedroom. "Hey you," he adds, leaning in over Bast to give her a kiss.

"Give it five minutes," Diana replies, because even though the cat looks comfortable now, her moods are mercurial.

"Mmm," Steve hums, clearly in agreement. "Hey, before I forget: can I see your phone?"

She shifts Bast (who looks up at her reproachfully) so that she can free a hand and pull her phone out of her pocket to give to Steve.

"I've been fiddling with mine, and I figured out how to turn the preview off of the push notification," he says.

Diana lets out a startled laugh. "That's probably a more secure setting anyways," she says. "Go ahead. I look forward to the moment when every third text from you will no longer induce panic."

"The future is now," Steve deadpans, and Diana has to set an affronted Bast down so that she can give Steve a proper hug, because she's glad to be home.

The next morning, Diana sneaks out early to their favorite boulangerie for a couple of pain aux raisins. She's in line when her phone pings.

Swiping it open, she taps on the notification and sees (in full, this time, thankfully): Mayday, mayday, mayday, the cat has taken your spot. There's Bast—stretched out so long across the bed that it almost looks like someone put her on a medieval torture rack—looking very pleased with herself because she's taken up the entire half of the bed that is Diana's.

A small smile creeps over her face as she steps forward to order. She's got a spot to reclaim, a cat to snuggle, and a husband to kiss good morning; she hasn't got any time to waste.

***

#wondertrev #wondertrevbingo2020 #wondertrev fanfic #steve x diana #diana x steve #fluff #lenci writes

17 notes · View notes

debbie-tanthorey · 5 years ago

Text

65 DAYS IN MAY

CHAPTER ONE

Cosmic irony. A dentist saved me. You read that correctly – saved my LIFE, albeit inadvertently. An action as mundane as having one’s teeth cleaned, set fate in motion. Was the week of Thanksgiving 2019, bi-annual check-up. Dentist does his thing after the hygienist finishes. You know the drill (pun intended). Only this time he uncustomarily offers me a hand-mirror, tells me to look in my throat, asks me if I've had my tonsils out.

“No”

“You have a white spot back there, see that?” My eyes shift toward the mirror – I LIE – say I see it (don’t have my glasses on, PRIDE won’t let me admit I can’t see any white patch) He continues, “If you don't mind, am referring you to an oral surgeon for a biopsy.” The nefarious B-word; brain fires a warning shot. B-word leads to the C-word.

Alone now in my car, I fall apart. Hi, I'm a hypochondriac; I don't handle health challenges well despite the jovial persona folks see. A paralyzed-with-fear hypochondriac. Foremost in my thoughts is a long-time friend from high school, currently dealing with a devastating throat cancer diagnosis; I know not to minimize this. (R.I.P. Grady, August 8, 2020 😔) Get to my desk, dial my primary physician immediately, which is a big deal for introverted-me; set up an appointment for a second opinion. The Thanksgiving holiday means I can't be seen until the following week. What is normally a fun, family-gathering time of year, is effectively fogged in with dread, I go through the motions. All-consuming thoughts ruminate incessantly - I'm dying. Yeah, it's what hypochondriacs DO, we ‘dive off into the deep end,’ thrash, drown in ‘what if’s??’

The next week, my doctor smiles after he peers past my tongue into my throat, “Where?” Looks twice, insists I relax, “It's nothing.” He knows me well, adding, “if it would make you feel better, let's follow-up in three months.” His reassurance tempers my panic . . life resumes.

CHAPTER TWO

December 2019, January, February, 2020 the winter that wasn't. Work that was. Mid-February Housing fair at Ohio University's Walter Hall Rotunda. Event coordinator, Donna, introduces herself to Dave and me at our display table. Lively-soul, (I admire extroverts) she explains she recently transferred to this area from Columbus and, among other things, is a Stage 4 breast cancer survivor. Woman is spunky. Piques my interest. I share my sister's email address with her, explaining Cheryl is an 18-month soldier waging the same battle.

March approaches and the little nagging voice in my head reminds, “3-month follow-up, Deb, just do it.” Did. Friday, March 6. Confirmed, no dumb spot. Ha!! Your basic normal appointment. Crisis debunked. As visit concludes, Hillary, his nurse, scrolls through my medical record, turns to mention it's been more than a couple years since my last mammogram, they’ve all been clear, but I'm due, and would I want to set up one.

“Sure”

My youngest, Leah, works in this same medical facility, stop at her desk near the lab to say ‘hello.’ She’s my last to leave home, miss her in my house still. Always good to see and talk to her. She and Ian were married 18 months ago. Her desk-mate, Jordan, coincidentally one of Leah’s friends from her high school days, sets up my mammo appointment for Monday.

MONDAY, MARCH 9. Say ‘hello’ again to the girls at their desk. Check-in. Take a seat, wait my turn. Have had plenty of these 'grams in my lifetime, no big deal, no dread. Bare 'em, squash 'em, and get back to work. This time though, the tech knows my sister, and as I dress when we are done, from behind the screen she casually asks how old Cheryl was when she got her diagnosis and how’s she doing. (60. She is doing remarkably well, maintaining) 10 minutes later, I’m back at my work desk, phone rings, the mammo-tech is on the phone, needing me to return the next day for “a couple more, 'maybe clearer' pics, and an ultrasound.” That’s never happened before. A fleeting shot of panic surges, but since my most recent dread has been unfounded, I attempt to not over-react.

TUESDAY, MARCH 10. Keenly study the radiology-tech’s face for clues when she comes to fetch me from the lobby, I examine her demeanor as if I’m a police detective on a high-profile murder case and she’s my prime suspect. She's calm. So I'm cool. Rescan first, ultrasound second. Not especially pleasant the latter, (idiotic thing to say, was wholly unpleasant ) having your chest unceremoniously smashed in a circular motion against your ribs. The techs are studious, the room silent, I stare at the ceiling. Last time I had an ultrasound was 26 years ago and I was pregnant. Today, no fun at all. Understand now why my sister mentioned she is not a fan of these during her breast cancer struggles.

CHAPTER THREE

SATURDAY, MARCH 14, a knock on the front door, mailman is standing on my front porch and in the time it takes me to scribble my name on a card, I'm staring down at a certified letter in my palm, the return address of the clinic lunging off the paper at me. There's a low, barely-audible, foreign sound in my head. It's 'control', in human form, and is protesting/whining as she’s being forcibly dragged away from me. Remind myself I'm somewhat sane, an adult - just open the envelope. I do. And there it is, in black and white, the word -

ABNORMALITY

The rest of the weekend is a blur, debunking the need for concern with my daughters. Every excuse, every plausible explanation of why a letter like this would be mailed. A mistake, surely so. Just a glitch in the system. “Mom, if it was bad, they wouldn't notify you by letter,” Leah insists.

MONDAY, MARCH 16, my primary physician calls in regard to my somewhat-panicky email fired-off to him on Saturday, the day the letter arrives. He speaks in calm tones, explains he was on vacation the past week, is sorry he could not talk to me before the notice arrived, he's seen the offending spot on the film, offers it's so small, unlikely any cause for concern. “Indistinctive,” he assures. Forwarding to a surgeon for review.

CHAPTER FOUR

TUESDAY, MARCH 17, mama-daughter call . . normal stuff .. she’s working today at the clinic. She mentions the aforementioned surgeon has office hours today, maybe I could be squeezed in. I’m in luck, they can. So in a couple hours, I am shaking the hand of the head of surgery. Personable guy, he tells me he's reviewed my pics, if the radiologist had not circled the area, he would not have noticed it right away. Optimism duly noted. He thoroughly examines that body part, pokes and prods, asks me if I feel a lump. “I have not.” Today he doesn't either. Every woman knows about lumps. I absolutely know about lumps. I would never ignore one. Fact of the matter, there is NO lump!

We go over my less than stellar immediate family history of C. (HATE that word). Lung, breast, leukemia. He recommends biopsy to rule out any true problem. The B-word again. This day I say, ‘ok'.

Right here is where COVID-19 makes it's bizarro presence known, personally impacts ME. Doctor advises local surgery center is now closed due to the virus and procedures are limited to emergencies only but he is willing to go before the Board to plead my case. ???? While thankful he is willing to intercede for me; I am tamping down anxiety fighting to rise up, mentally jumping up and down, stomping on it, both feet.

Couple days later I get the call the Medical Board approves me for a needle biopsy. Control-of-my-life, she is sitting on the floor in a fetal position, rocking, whimpering in a locked padded-room somewhere.

CHAPTER FIVE

TUESDAY, MARCH 24, Jess drives me to Jackson. I don't need driven. Appreciate my oldest’s company though. COVID rules necessitate only a patient be permitted to enter any facility; Jess has to wait in the car. At the door, am screened for symptoms, this is the Twilight Zone. And it's too quiet in here. The place is dark and weird and I don't want to be here. I'm the ONLY person in the entire surgery center, I overhear the staff talking, they weren’t on the schedule today, I’m the only patient. hhmmmm, why am I so important?? Creepy.

Am ushered into the procedure room, nurses are professional, put me at ease. Entering, it’s impossible to miss my film aglow on the lighted-box on the wall; she asks if I want to see it. (NO!! I don’t want to see it!!) In reality, robotically, walk over to look. There it is, plain as day. The previously described small-likely-nothing indistinctive spot. Yikes, it's a glaring, ominous, bright white glob with literal tentacles reaching out, it’s in the middle of my precious flesh. No denying this now. Thing’s staring back at me. The only way I know how to describe the rest of the appointment, is that I am having an out-of-body experience, it’s not happening to me. No . . . is not.

You know the lifts in a garage of an auto repair shop? That's what this is. Clumsily climb aboard, assume a face-down position. There's no delicate way to explain the procedure. There's an enormous hole in the table, chest area, your beloved body part dangles and the table is raised, surgeon accesses it from below. Area is securely taped, prepped and numbed. Needles are fun, aren't they??! (eye roll) Am told the table will vibrate, surgeon cautions me to lay perfectly still or the laser will slice me. (no problem, I float away, not even present in the room) And it begins. Computer guides a gatling gun of needles as it commences to stab the tumor, withdraw specimens of cells. Sounds horrific, but it isn't, numbing tends to that. Divert my eyes from the red, fleshy goop siphoning into the container, my eyes clamped shut much of the time. Lasts just a few minutes, dress, then am on my way. Visit the same surgeon in a week for the results. Will not come back to this location, by then this center will also be closed by the pandemic mandate, next appointment is at a nearby hospital.

CHAPTER SIX

APRIL 1, 2020, APRIL FOOL'S DAY. First time I have ever visited this hospital, enter alone, virus protocol at the door. Surgeon’s office on the second floor, take the elevator. Few folks in the building, those that are, like me, are wearing masks. As I wait, pilfer on my ipad. Name is called, off I go. Today I find out this thing is benign, that I have been spazzing for weeks over nothing, naturally. Don't wait long for the Dr., I remain seated as he enters, greets me. He begins talking as he walks across the room, lays down my chart, then turns, making eye-contact, “you are so lucky to have had this test, mammogram did what it was supposed to do; we've caught it early.”

“...(I go effectively deaf) blah-blah-blah-blah-blah CARCINOMA.” A cataclysmic concoction of consonants and vowels strung together into syllables, words, in sentence form, delivered matter-of-factly. What happens here is nothing short of BIZARRE. Always imagined if I heard the words, “you have cancer,” I would react BADLY.

I would -

be angry

weep

go to pieces

vomit

all of the above

In reality -

I did not cry

I did not faint

I did not scream

Instead, sit calmly, silently. Stoic. Utterly, absolutely, wholly dumbfounded. ( this isn’t real - my head hurts - is this a stroke!?) REALITY Brain cells scramble to focus, I listen intently to every word, nod occasionally. Hearing all, absorbing little, during this a crash course on three types of breast cancer and treatment options available. (drifting off - I like him, he gestures with his hands as he speaks of surgery options.) Reconstruction; their plastic surgeon is top notch. The decision is mine. The doctor adds simply, “you know what will happen if you do nothing.”

I do

Unceremoniously and without a second’s hesitation, I react, “Get it off me,” hand on my chest. (subconscious protesting, “I feel FINE!!!! THIS. IS. STUPID!!”)

He nods in acknowledgement of my words, continuing, discusses recurrence rates on the opposite breast. Fuzzy math. Right here I interrupt him with the wave of a hand, “Get them both off me!” For good measure, I repeat it. Decision made, bilateral mastectomy it is, ASAP. Hands me a print-out with my diagnosis, I roll the paper up like a diploma and slip it in my bag. Stare down at the bag I take to work everyday . . (new-reality thoughts commence) or did … back when life was normal.

“Lousy April Fool’s Day, ya gotta admit.” I mutter out-loud to him as I rise to my feet, reach for the door. (how am I walking??!)

Ah, but COVID-19. Global pandemic, if it were a person, he’d be a cold-hearted, merciless jerk. I have to wait 14 days, be symptom-free in order to be permitted in their surgery unit or risk contaminating the whole place. Condemned to live with my killer for 15 more days, let it sleep with me, go to work with me, hang out with me while I visit my kids, grandkids. Melodramatic? You betcha, but the truth. All the while knowing the beast is growing.

I don’t exit the building until I am pre-registered for surgery, receive copious instructions, am assigned a day, APRIL 16. Next to the radiology waiting room, there I message my sister, she is the first to know. I have breast cancer. There’s lab work, x-ray, EKG. Am a zombie. A polite zombie with cancer making idle chitchat with techs who have no freaking clue my unremarkable and average life has evaporated in the last 45 minutes.

Poked, prodded, scanned and x-rayed - my walk across the parking lot is a 1,000 mile trek. Open the door, slide into the seat, fasten the seat belt, inhale deeply, fill my lungs with air just so I feel alive and less numb. Stare at my hands. Wish I could scream without attracting attention. Vomiting would be a blessing about now. I seem to be the same person that got out of the vehicle two hours before. No, am not the same at all. HOW do I do this????! Any of this??

HOW??????????!!!!!

In the days that follow, I will unroll my biopsy report, familiarize myself: invasive lobular carcinoma, 1.6cm, grade 1, ER+PR+HER2-. (translation = hormone fed) I will become versed about the enemy within, that if left untreated, would put me in the ground. Knowledge is power.

CHAPTER SEVEN

How do you tell the people you love, you have cancer? How do you toss a live emotional-grenade in a room? As terrifying as it is for me, I have to watch the realization sink in, the fear in their faces. Jess and Leah, my girls, having initiated a video chat with me as I wait for labs at the hospital. “Mom...well, how’d it go??” Not necessary to share details out loud, I crack, my eyes said all there was to say. Tough to hide that. Awful is the fact I’m in a public waiting room as they ask, am trying to hold it together, not disintegrate, explode into pieces. Watch them absorb what they now understand. I can’t help them.

Morning of April 1, the plan was to go back to work after the appointment. I don't. I aim the car toward home.

But first, I stop at my mom's house, to reveal the diagnosis to her and George. This is the first time I will say the words. Standing in the middle of her living room, my mouth opens and the emotion-less words fall out, “I have cancer too.” It is weird to hear it voiced and I feel bad for her. (her sister, my dad, my brother, my sister, now me) Explain to her what I plan to do and comfort that it'll be alright. She supports my decision: show no mercy to the beast.

Head home.

Turn onto my county road, Jameson calls, asks how the Dr. visit went. Avoiding answering, instead, ask if they are home, that I will be right there. Am thankful I am not them. He ‘knows’ from my tone, detects from the question. My son and wife, Patty, live 1/4 mile from my house, I arrive at their place in only a couple minutes, walk into their living room where they both were, learn the kids are upstairs, state the fact to the both of them, and I sit down for a bit. Just like that. Keep it light and matter of fact.

Life is insane.

CHAPTER EIGHT

What follows is 15 days trapped in a state of in-between. Desperate for normalcy yet knowing I can’t have it. What to do. What. To. Do. Staying right-minded is the aim. Crave it. C-word rarely leaving my thoughts. Every day ‘hospital Jessica’ calls me to ask a series of Covid-19 related questions and asks my body temperature that I am tasked with taking each morning upon waking.

What I CAN maintain right now, is routine.

COVID locks my office door in mid-March, am the only one staffing there. OU student move-in/move-out day is May 3. I’m the one in charge of this, making sure everything is ready. Can’t cancel it . . it goes on with or without me. Scheduling surgery mid-April, slashes two weeks off my prep time for this once-a-year event. Realize the timing could not be better, if there IS such a thing, I have little free time to ponder what’s coming, am too busy. Every day I plow through my work to-do list. Go home too tired to indulge doom and gloom.

Away from the office too, I quickly find another diversion, researching and shopping for items I might need after the surgery. Soft tops with inner pockets for drains management, ice packs, hot packs, special propping pillow. A miracle they all arrive on time because Amazon Prime has been waylay-ed by the corona virus. A sick and twisted ‘Merry Christmas to me’ as each package arrives. In some small way, gives me a semblance of control.

Sleeping is not an issue during these days. It’s my safe place. Sleep deep and well, courtesy of a little purple pill discovered years ago. (thank you, menopause) Each and every morning, have about 30 seconds of ‘normal’ before I remember what demon is living in me.

An entertaining activity during this time is staring in my lingerie drawer at the start of every day, choosing which style, what color bra for one last travel in the rotation. I waffle. At first, suffer pangs of melancholy while looking at the neat row of vibrant colors and lace. Then chuckle, cups are large enough to be made into hats for small children. No one wants to discuss my boobs, but this is an important part of the process of letting go. Acknowledgement. A girl spends what seems like her whole life waiting for these body parts to materialize; coveted, we dress them up, suspend them with steel reinforcement, make the best of them. They feed our children, we rock our babies/grandbabies against them. They’re part of who we are. Mine are set for execution. It’s them or me.

Time ticks by.

CHAPTER NINE

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 15. Mastectomy Eve, am something I have never been, radioactive. True. This day go into the hospital ALONE, pass through the covid-19 gauntlet; escorted to a quiet room with a massive machine, bet it was a CT scanner, I don’t ask, I lay down on a metal table and a needle is inserted in my chest region, right side (still find it weird to use the word ‘breast’) and a radioactive tracer is placed in my body at the sight of the tumor. I’d researched the procedure a little (LIE . . I researched a LOT) beforehand, and read it would be EXCRUCIATING. So expect the worst. Naturally. Tech is kind and reassuring; small talk. I notice what great hair he has. Stare at the ceiling as I lay there. Then the doctor comes in, says I’ll feel a stick (had read the area is numbed first) expect that. Did. Not horrendous - that’s an exaggeration, barely felt anything. Assume we wait for the numbing to take effect before he drills through to the core. What I DIDN’T expect, is him to say, “you’re done.” Meaning that tiny prick was it. Say what now? Before the morning’s surgery, I’ll come back to this table, and will find out if the cancer has leeched into any lymph nodes. I dress and exit the building.

ESCAPE! The rest of this day IS MINE. I take my dreary thoughts, my diseased chest, the ‘DD girls’ , and we hit the road, took the long way home. Gave ‘them’ the best darned last-day-alive you could ask for. Was the least I could do considering what I was consenting to do to them. Pitied them and wanted them DEAD at the same time. Them or me.

Flowers waiting for me when I got home, the first time I sobbed in earnest. A torrent of tears.

CHAPTER TEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 16, 2020. DtoDD DAY. Death to DD’s Day. (and my Mom’s 81st birthday) Eerily calm. I grab my packed bag, stare at my freshly-made bed as I turn to exit the bedroom. Oh here comes one of those bizarro thoughts I have at times like this. Glancing around, mutter, “when I return, nothing will be the same. Gee, I hope I come back.” Melodramatic to a fault I am. Patty drops me off at the hospital door at a ridiculously early hour. Did I mention this is during a pandemic so no one can come in and that the hospital is spooky-empty and hushed?? Well, it is. Apocolyptically-quiet. Surreal. Check-in is swift and efficient and a surgery-nurse retrieves me promptly, accompany her to the prep area. this is real?

This unit has a circle of several cubicles, all but three are empty though. Settled in, changing into hospital gown, then I have three hours to ponder the fact that the last time I had surgery was 26 years ago and I am not as young as I used to be, and nowhere near ready to die, and lordy, I am no fan of pain. I feel FINE . . how can something deadly be in me yet I feel this HEALTHY??

In the hours I wait, return to scan-room to see if this thing has reached my lymph nodes. Dark room, humming machine. Same tech lets me watch the screen, bright lights like tiny fireworks become visible. No clue what I am watching.

My appointed time arrives, was about 9:30 a.m. Accompanied by a surgical nurse, I walk down the hallway to the O.R., my IV pole in tow. this isn’t real Three surgical staff are busily prepping. Funny how apprehension makes one awkwardly talkative with strangers, more so than normal. I greet them and cannot shut up, blather, “you know how kids took home tonsils in a jar?? (clutching my chest) you have a gallon jug I can take these home with me?” (yes, I really did say it) Laughter from them, that’s good. Am offered a stool to climb onto the table. I do. My God, to the gallows, ‘girls’

Jettisoned into the Twilight Zone right here. In the time it takes me to scoot, get comfortably horizontal on the table, sterile people descend on me, all over me doing things. Arms, legs . . belt around my abdomen. Am picturing masked-ants. Busy, busy. Big light on the ceiling lowering, settles above my upper torso and head. I feel FINE Am here, but not here. Oh God. Gentle voice to my right, as a mask is fitted over my nose and mouth, “take a couple deep breaths.”

Blackness.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I’m struggling in deep water, not diving down - but up, shooting to the surface of the water, I need air. Regaining consciousness, a jostling, repeating, “Debbie, wake up. Can you hear me?” Awake. Literal first conscious thought, drenched in relief -

“... NOT DEAD”

Body is being tugged, moved, but I’m not doing it. Realization hits me, where I am and what's happened. Conscious, I no longer feel fine, unrelenting waves of nausea wash over me. I give myself over to whichever medical professional wants to tend to me. They can have me, I don’t want me. Not this me.

End up in a hospital room, no recollection whatsoever how. Silence interrupted only by BP cuff on an ankle, inflating noisily at intervals reminding me I’m alive. Not moving. Lord, what have I done? Ice packs under both arms. Detest feeling this gross. I hang onto the sheets for hours, ride out the nausea.

As terrible as that was, and it was horrendous, it ends abruptly once I am fully awake later in the afternoon. In fact, feel remarkably good - considering. Any pain is well-managed. I can move, even lift my arms. I can walk to the restroom, tend to myself. Am hungry and eat a good dinner. Pleasantly surprised at this half of the day.

Curious. Here’s where I gingerly lift the blanket to get my first look. DD-girls are gone, replaced by a thick layer of bandage all across my chest, tubing, two drains, and . . . oh my lord . . . HOW long has my belly been that size??????! God bless boobs, they divert one’s attention from a myriad of flaws. Geez-louise.

Thank you, Covid-19, for the hospital stay’s solitude, I don’t mind, I welcome not having to share this day with visitors. Am only interrupted intermittently by nurses and the doctor. No big deal. Not much to tell. Post on facebook that I survived. Was released to go home the very next day with surgeon’s, “no restrictions. See you in a week, will have lab results for you then.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

FRIDAY, APRIL 17. HOME. Here’s where it gets funny. Seriously. Humorous. Reality. My youngest, Leah, volunteers to stay for the first few days. Plan on not needing much in the way of assistance. Stubborn. Not too uncomfortable, prop on pillows, watch tv, pain meds. First-night, decide my bed is where I will sleep, let her have the couch. Undeterred in the middle of the night, manage to get myself to the bathroom alone. Good for ME!! Ah, but then the sun comes up. Right here I discover Super Woman I am not. Attempt the same maneuver and the stabbing pain angrily asserts, “NOT THIS TIME, SISTER!” Ah, bladder is bossy and insistent. But Pain is in charge. “#*&@*#&$}” a little too loudly (translation) “Leah!! Help!!” She comes trotting and I’m laughing, trapped in my own bed. Arms frozen at my sides, literally cannot move under my own power without an instant excruciating reaction. With urgency (full bladder loudly protesting) instruct her to wring a bed sheet, get to the foot of the bed, hold the ends, let me grab the middle . . . PULL!! It works!! Whew, lesson learned, until I could get up and down on my own unaided, I didn’t sleep there again.

Drains. Grateful to only require two. Three times a day they need emptying. Unceremoniously, Leah’s job. When large portions of flesh are removed, one’s body compensates by attempting to fill the space with fluid, drains are typically inserted to draw off this fluid, speeding recovery. These ‘things’ (drain hoses) are just under my skin across the width of my chest, a stitch holding them in place at the hole (yikes) where they exit on either side. The bulbs at the end of the 12 inch lines are clear grenade-shaped receptacles collecting wound-juice. (you winched at the visual, didn’t you? haha) They get full. Necessary to milk the line first, with sterile gloved fingers of one hand, she grasps and steadies the line where it exits my body, with the other, she slides her pinched fingers down the tubing, pushes the ooze and any clots to the end. Pops the top of the bulb, empties 'ick' into a measuring cup, and logs the amount and color. Squeezes the bulb as she closes the lid so siphon will commence. My only job is to 'enjoy' the vigorous suction. eek

I sit dutifully still on a stool while she goes about her ‘work’, chit-chatting about this and that, am intentionally not watching the gore slipping, dripping into the bulb. She's not hurting me but every now and then will feel a subtle tug, a movement of the tubing. (shudder) Sunday evening she taps the bulb’s bottom on the table, remarking, “darned clot won’t fall through.” (rap, rap, smack) “Eww, that’s gross,” she says, “clot (tap) won’t (tap) let go ( jiggling it, the dangling, stringing bloody blob just hanging there, swaying back and forth).” My skin is warming . . . interesting sensation . . getting hot. Really HOT. She is sitting right next to me, is talking but her voice is fading. Am looking her direction, but she is drifting away in a misty vapor . . . waaaaaaaaaaaay over there now, voice, can’t hear her. Vision going and the room is moving ever so slightly.

I see my girl in slo-mo, she realizes what is happening, "Mom, Mom ... MOM!" (my mouth no longer works, cannot respond) hear her excited, “DAD!!!! Come quick!! Help! Mom’s passing out!!!”

Didn't. (did get to the couch . . sat still for an hour, feet up . . w/ice pack alternating on my neck, forehead) Didn’t vomit, so that's a 'WIN" for the day.

I learn to do it myself once she goes home. No big deal.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 23. A week passes, mostly uneventful. Sick leave, lounging, medicating, tracking excretion of Deb-juice, healing. Tough to remember the days in March and early April when I felt GOOD. I feel terrible. Blah - which to me, IS terrible. No fever, no signs of infection, just a general feeling of malaise. (such a descriptive word, ‘malaise’) Post-op visit, a follow-up with the surgeon. Oldest daughter Jess, chauffeur for the day. The entire drive down to Gallipolis, I imagine they’ll take one look at my sorry self, react in horror, re-admit me immediately. I have to be dying, something has to be terribly wrong. No one can feel this bleak and survive.

Mull my life over for that hour drive, did I live it adequately, what is left that I have not done, am I going to throw up IN or OUT of her car . . oh woe is me . . my thoughts are rambling, disjointed, grim. (BEYOND melodramatic) LOL Get to the hospital, I have to admit I cannot even walk in under my own power. I have no power, drained dry. Jess requests a wheelchair and I feel how I imagine being 150 years old and feeble feels, reliant on a stranger for transport up to the waiting area. Pitiful. I hate this. Too puny to care.

And remember COVID . . Jessica can’t come in with me. My mummified remains parked in a desolate waiting room. sigh I need a transfusion. I need a transplant, I need SOMETHING . . want my life back. Where’d Debbie go??!!

Eventually wheeled into the exam room (decrepit thing that I am) to wait. Surgeon enters, his normal perky self, smiles my direction. I lament the state of (absence of) well-being and inability to go to the bathroom for DAYS. (how embarrassing) “Sweetheart (NO, he did not say 'Sweetheart’) it’s your pain meds doing this to you. STOP THEM.”

huh?????!

Examines the 12-inch incisions on either side of my torso. Both doing well. No stitches to remove, interior stitches will dissolve on their own. Exterior sterie strips will fall off in the next week. He studies my drain-log, then simply remarks, “looks great, amounts are decreasing steadily. You want them (drains) out today?” (glimmer of hope) Instantly agree, so without ceremony and with a quick snip of a stitch and a wiggle of the tube and a firm TUG, one Jackson Pratt drain is out. Nasty thing now coiled on the exam table. OUT!!! The other follows swiftly. Oh dear lord . . feels soooooooo good to be rid of those things. Best part . . expected to have them at least another week, that the extrication of same, would be horrendous. Wasn’t. Didn’t hurt actually. Bandaids applied to my newest holes. No stitch, no nothing. “See ya in a month. No restrictions.” Surprised he didn’t pat me on my sorry head.

Trip home is infinitely better, envision the tunnel and light shining in the distance. aaaahhhhh

Not another pain pill crosses these lips . . the man is a genius. (epilogue: my decline was indeed induced by the pain meds . . out of my system - recovering was a breeze. TIP: get off them as soon as you can)

P.S. Almost forgot the most important part!!!!! Lab results!!! Geez . .the tunnel, the light . . THIS IS WHY!!! TODAY I learn I am CANCER-FREE‼️‼️‼️ Well, I would hope so!! Nearly six pounds of flesh sacrificed / removed . . CLEAN MARGINS around the tumor. Lymph nodes are CLEAR!!! Sentinel node removal a bit messy, seven others unable to be separated from it, come out as well. Sobering fact is that I, nor the surgeon, felt a telltale lump - but it was there. In black and white, sobering words, “STAGE TWO”. Appointment with oncologist in May to discuss options. Why??? Here's the thing about breast cancer, sometimes IT COMES BACK.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Want to tell you the euphoria was warmly welcome and long-lasting. Yes and no, in that order. Sharing with friends that surgeon ‘got it all’ was met with copious genuine exclamations of ‘thank God!’ and ‘hallelujah’. For good reason. Pathology report of clean margins and clear nodes is a positive outcome. IT’S GONE!! And like me at this juncture, believe that’s the end of it. Too few days of relief pass swiftly - the reality that it may not be over, steadily seeps back in as I educate myself. But with a stubborn childlike optimism, trust the oncologist will study my diagnosis, pronounce my journey with this evil thing over. “Deborah, congrats, you’re finished with it and it with you. Have a nice life.” Let’s go with that. I want it.

Just a couple more weeks to find out.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

In the meantime, at home I’m getting bored. ‘Bored’ is WONDERFUL. It’s normalcy. And a strong signal that it’s time for life to go on.

I am well enough to attend to work emails, becoming more frequent as students prepare to leave Athens officially, the stalwart diehards who came back after Spring Break despite the lockdown that commenced mid-March. Boredom, the impetus, that gets me out of the house.

TUESDAY, APRIL 28, 12 days post-op, several days free from pain-killers and feeling almost back to my old self, I slide behind the wheel of my car, new precious pillow between sensitive chest and the seatbelt and drive to work. Man oh man, how I missed 70′s radio . . sing all the way. I last at my desk for 4 hours this first day, mindful to recognize limitations, cut the day short, but go home triumphant.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 30. Meet-my-oncologist day. (mentally mark off THAT on my ‘Life’s List-of-Dreads’) First things first, why am I here??! Surgeon recommends I have a chat with the man . . rule out the need for anything further. Youbetcha. Today is THE. DAY!! Fully expect to be ‘blessed’ and sent on my way . . “Debbie, you were lucky, it’s all gone. Your cancer journey was intense and brief and now it’s over. Go live your life, girl.”

Check in. Hunker down at the back of the vast lobby, comfy chair. I absorb the room. Oh you know I don’t want to, but I do. A few patients are here. One unhealthy looking older lady on a hospital stretcher over there. Another slightly-weathered woman near the wall, wearing a turban. And there’s me. Odd-man out, pain-killers now out of my system: (yes yes, am minus the ‘girls’) full head of thick hair, kinda sorta minimally wrinkly, feeling strong and healthy . . . like me again.

Name called. BP and weight. Perks of the day . . bp is good, especially good for me. Literally-asked-the-nurse-to-repeat-the-numbers good. And am down 10 lbs. I’ll take it!! Gee, this visit is headed in the right direction!

Lead to an exam room, given a questionnaire. Ugh. Bottom of the page. Please list details of immediate family members . . . health issues, explanation. Here we go . . Melvin / dad / died in 2000 @64 / lung cancer (scribble to the side ‘life time smoker’ . . like it somehow negates the dying) Tim / brother / died in 2000 @39 / leukemia (again, the scribbling, master mechanic, hands in chemicals) Stephen / brother / died in 1957 @6 weeks / S.I.D.S. Bottom of this page is an OCD nightmare, ink scribbles in every direction, sad that I ran of space. Add, “Cheryl / sister / is 61 / @60 stage IV breast cancer (’maintaining’ . . didn’t add, but wanted to, “THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!”) Janice / mom / is 81. Terry / brother / is 55.” Finishing up, as MY oncologist enters the room.

Brief introductions . . Cursory physical exam of surgical site.

Oncologist reviews the information I provide, studies my chart. Two verbal inquires of me -

do you or have you ever smoked? “no”

do you drink alcohol and how much? “rarely”

He pauses. He can ascertain I’m not fudging the details. “Never?” he queries again. Shake my head in the negative. Sincerely he adds, “this makes NO sense. Risk factors are not there for breast cancer. No sense at all.”

Dr. Hamid relates there is a genetic test that can be performed using my tumor tissue, (eewwww, they still have it!!) the results determining whether or not chemo therapy would be of any benefit to me. Again - I am confused why a person who is now disease-free, minus seven pounds of her best flesh, needs ANYTHING additionally. I consent. He jots down for me the chemo recipe that I would receive if it’s indicated. Metaphysically burns my fingertips as I take the slip from him. (chemo??! stifling a scream) If not, I would be prescribed a pill to stop my body's remaining production of estrogen. Anastrazole is the drug of choice, there are a few common side effects: bone/joint pain, fatigue, etc. Majority of women experience no side effects of any kind, he assures. (mental note of an over-achiever: I will be one of THOSE) Dr. adds, “Lab work takes about two weeks to get back. Come see me in two weeks please. Oh wait . . you drive quite a distance to get here, right? Just call my office on May 13, we can handle this over the phone.”

uh huh . . . so much for being blessed and sent on my merry way. CHEMO, sub-set item under 1. CANCER on ‘Life’s List-of-Dreads’. TRULY . . . there is nothing I enjoy MORE, than waiting on test results. (epic eye-roll right here, stomach twists in knot)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

This is the last chapter of ‘65 DAYS IN MAY’ (today it’s February 25, 2021) I am a procrastinator. Am still me, after all. My instructions were to call oncologist’s office on Wednesday, May 13, 2020, to learn whether or not chemo therapy was the next step in my cancer treatment. By now I have little recollection of the blur of days between April 30 and when Dr. Hamid called me with my genetic testing results, my Oncotype score. Every day seemed endless, recovering well, feeling progressively more like myself. I let work duties bulldoze me through those days, thoroughly occupied. I was thankful to have nearly 300 college students moving-out and moving-in on May 3rd. Grateful to be bone weary at the end of each day, having little time to thrash about the prospect of chemo - that, and staying safe as COVID rampaged.

TUESDAY, MAY 12, at my desk, alone in a pandemic-locked-down office. One last day not having to call, know anything. Ignorant bliss. Phone rings, spy caller I.D., uh-oh, cancer center. I stop breathing. Lift receiver, ‘Hello, this is Debbie.’ Not breathing. HERE WE GO (9+ months later now, still recall the catch of my breath and pounding heart. Am not exaggerating when I tell you time froze.) Dr. Hamid’s voice was soft, he wasted no time relating my Oncotype score plus chance of recurrence is low and chemo is not necessary in my situation. He’ll call in an Anastrazole script for me, it cuts my chance of recurrence to less-than 5%. Only question I had, “what exactly was my number?” 17 “See you again in 6 months,” as he ends the call. Stare at the phone receiver clenched in my hand.

NO CHEMO . . with exorbitant gusto, I EXHALE

Celebration fireworks in my head, both hands in the air, stifle an audible, triumphant HALLELUJAH! For the moment, issued a reprieve. I soak it up. Once composed, swivel chair to my right, run my palms slowly, purposefully over the desk calendar, lift the pages, studying, absorbing. Begin to count . . . .

STINT IN PURGATORY - 65 DAYS IN MAY

EPILOGUE

(stay tuned)

1 note · View note

megamanxfanfics · 5 years ago

Text

The Hiatus

I’ve been dreading the idea of writing this, but the fact that I am at all means that I’m coming out of my funk and am looking onward towards moving ahead, and hopefully forward, once again with this project in the future. I’m afraid I’ve got a lot of explaining to do. Wouldn’t you know it? Life got in the way again.

It seems that every new Writing Season, something always happens to me to shift things around and make it near-impossible towards writing Mega Man X. I’ve been mulling over how to talk about all of this without getting too personal on an MMX blog. But the fact is that what happened to me is very personal. And very complicated. So I’m gonna just go for it, while keeping it in simplest terms.

I broke up with my girlfriend last month. Which means I had to move out...

I can say that with dry eyes now, and without a heavy heart. It was a smooth break. Very mutual. We both knew it needed to happen, because we weren’t happy at all. (Always doing our own thing, making separate plans... etc. etc. etc.)

But back to this.

I recall back in November I had posted a Writing Exercise - What X Remembers, in an attempt to kick-start my motivation for this project. Needless to say, it didn’t work. I can tell you right now that I wasn’t exactly busy. I was burnt out.

Yes, I’ve been wanting and wanting to start this thing, but in the planning phases, I’ve also been afraid of it. Because I don’t want to mess this up. Or it’s too confusing, or disjointed. And I know how I get. I harp and harp on things until it’s perfect, or feels good enough to present. And... frankly, I was in a position where things were so bad at home, that I just wanted to spend time with her to keep everyone happy.

I would also take advantage of ‘Me-Time Monday’ as I used to call it when she’d be out doing her own thing. Except my creative outlet for those days would be working on music, which is my first passion. I’ve taken on a massive project of adding vocals to a lot of old music I had written, and even now I’m maybe half-way through that. And there were definitely certain Mondays that I wasn’t even in the mood for music... I certainly wasn’t in the mood for X.

I was depressed... She was depressed... But why?

Well... this blog, isn’t exactly about that. But what I can tell you is that we were just going through this mundane routine every day. Even our weekends became routine. And neither of us were fun to be around any more. Even upon realizing it and trying to do different things. ‘Go out on a date, Dummy!’ That’s what I would tell myself. But even nice events didn’t work. She’d complain about being tired, or full or we wouldn’t talk at all. That... was the extent of our interactions. Outside of that, we’d just watch our shows, which would entertain us, and make us laugh. We’d hold hands and stuff, sometimes. But even then... it didn’t really feel romantic. As one friend put it best, “It sounds like a friendship...”

And we both realized that last month.

So you could say that from November-February, I had slowly been working at getting my motivation toward this project back up. Despite my daily toils, I was driven to bring myself to do the things that make me happy. I had even reread most of the Writing Diaries, all the way up to Season V again, which took me down a nice bit of Nostalgia Road. Reading about the Process of this Project is just as fun as reading the actual episodes for me. It’s the Journey, not the Destination, after all.

But like I said, then February happened and we just imploded. Everything immediately broke down. My living space, my comfort zone.. where I was going to be!! I didn’t know what to do.

In week 1 I took out the time to hang out with all of my closest friends. I told everyone who needed to know first.

In week 2, I started seriously looking for places. And that was equally exciting as it was exhausting. However, I did find one thing that wouldn’t be ready for the next 2 months! And that also freaked me out. Now I had a pseudo-time table on my hands, but it was a little too long.

In week 3, I cracked. We absolutely got into a fight in our shared space. Things were so smooth as friends and roommates. We had still shared our King Size Bed, and kept it completely civil, since nothing romantic was happening in the bedroom anyway... But, at some point, some Social Media Drama occurred and I actually started acting like an Ex. It was becoming very clear to me that living together any longer was going to destroy my Mental Health. So I made the choice to get out of there, sooner than anticipated. That Friday, I put a bag together and stayed at my parent’s house.

The original plan was to ride this out as long as possible and move into the 2nd Bedroom while I start to leisurely pack, as I keep looking for places. But instead, all this drama accelerated my schedule and forced me out of that house. That weekend, I came back to grab the rest of my clothes and relocate my TV back to my Parent’s house... Which takes me to week 4.

In week 4, I focused on helping my brother with an After-school play. I changed my work hours for him and everything, but on top of that, I had an unexpected interview which could’ve changed everything!!! You see, I’ve been looking for better jobs at the same time as looking for new places. And that’s what made this so stressful. That’s even partially what caused all this drama, because one night I tried complaining about it to her, and she didn’t really seem to care much. We were acting like exes to each other, and I really couldn’t handle it. So once we got into a fight, that was the wake up call. We’re not together anymore. We can’t do this any more! Literally. It was time to get out of there and move on. Well, the job interview wasn’t in the cards... but it’s for the best, because it would’ve made this new place that I’ve been hoping for, not make sense any more. That weekend, I got together all of my books/movies/games/comics, electronics, pictures, etc. etc. while she had put together boxes of the kitchenware I get to take. By Sunday Night, basically all of my stuff was out of there. I couldn’t believe it. It was very therapeutic and bittersweet.

This takes us to Week 5 - last week. The commotion has slowed down to an abrupt halt. I’ve been very tired. Technically I have all the time in the world for MMX now, but I’m just not there yet. And I probably won’t be for another month. And I say that now, because I’m literally in between places. All of my stuff is in boxes at my Parent’s house, but this other place that I saw is in the process of coming through. Their time table accelerated a little bit. I got news yesterday that the place has been painted, and that new carpets will be installed on 3/23. As I am basically move-in ready, but also really want this to be the place, I worked with my new Landlord and asked him if I can start to leave boxes this weekend.

And that’s what I did today. Today I left the first installation of boxes into that house’s basement. It will be the new location I call my home, and the best part about it is that it’s only 5 minutes from Work. That’s HUGE. [But that too is temporary, as I still need a better job.]. One day at a time though, right?

This is primarily the reason why I’m writing today. I feel that the brunt of this Transition Period has reached it’s Apex, and from here, it’s gonna be pretty smooth sailing into the next place, as I become acquainted with my New Normal of 2020.

I’m also writing, because admittedly, I have been thinking about MMX6 again, and rather than catch up with the rest of the diaries, I just read the last one. Where I actually regressed into plot points again and still couldn’t answer certain questions, like what those stupid teleport portals are. I mean, how much of an explanation do I really need? It’s Mega Science!

I’ll be honest. I could start tomorrow, and I’d probably feel pretty good about it, until I hit my first slump. Which will most likely be the Central Museum stage. And then I won’t want to do anything.

No, my heart’s just not in it yet. I don’t want to start MMX6 on my laptop. I want to be fully set up and Comfortable in my New Place when I start Season VI properly. The silver lining is that I have all the time in the world for this and my music, now. And I’ll have to feel out that situation too, because I desperately want to do both. And that’s part of the conflict too. Both projects literally interfere with each other, because I only have enough time and energy for one or the other on any given night.

Keep in mind, once I have my own place, everything’s on me. That’s cooking, dishes, laundry and of course self-care, right? So that involves the necessary shower, and of course entertaining yourself. And that means yes, actually pulling myself away from my hobbies that I tend to wrap myself in so much.

I’m not blaming this project for losing my girl, or my music. Hell, I’m not even blaming myself. We just weren’t a good fit for each other, but we sure tried to be. For 5 Years! There was a lot of good in those 5 years too. But she changed a lot. Me too. But her, more... In a less fun way. Very easy for me to say, of course.

These things happen. People change. And we truly made the healthiest choice to end it when we did. It was really just a logical conversation about what isn’t working, and both of us literally agreeing that this doesn’t make sense any more. My friend last night put it best. “I think your relationship just ran its course. You both saw it through to a complete end, and it was really good that you chose to end it when you did, because neither of you were happy any more...”

And there it is. I suppose I’m ending this on that note. One day I’ll be ready for MMX6 again. But today is not that day. And instead, I’ll be playing the MMZ/ZX Legacy Collection in the meantime. =P. And no. Don’t get any ideas. I have NO intention of writing an MMZ Anime.

#The Hiatus #Season VI Diaries #writing woes #inspiration failure #burn out #life

1 note · View note

detroitbecomevenom · 6 years ago

Text

Investigated (3)

It was Friday morning and Miles dreaded every waking moment of this entire week, knowing that he was forced to go to school while Y/n wasn’t alongside him. It wasn’t even like he could be in an atmosphere where he didn’t have to hear about her, considering the fact that she was the talk of the school. He trudged into his history class that happened to be his second period. Fridays in that class were just an excuse for the teacher to do nothing and put on the news, calling it “current event day”.

They were talking about how social media can lead to an increased risk of depression in teenagers when the broadcast suddenly stopped. The class looked around in confusion as the tv screen stayed showing the static until it suddenly produced a clear video again. This video wasn’t what they had been watching before, but an empty room with the one and only Kingpin standing in the frame.

The class was silent, eyes glued to the screen in the front of the room, Miles was finally wide awake and focusing. “Good morning Brooklyn. Hold your applause, as I can’t really hear you.” He started speaking, forcing Miles into an intense state of concentration of all of the things that he could actually see in the frame. “This message is most likely not for you, but you can help spread it. With that being said, Spider-Man needs to show up at the address shown on the screen by tonight or there will be consequences.” Miles felt his heart drop into his ass. He was being directly spoken to, yet he couldn’t actually make any incriminating reaction to it. His secret was still something he needed to keep, even if he was being called out in front of everyone.

When Kingpin stepped to the side, Miles’ heart was out of his body completely. He saw his girl, in the spotlight. She looked like she was in pain, who knows what had happened to her in that week. His classmates gasped and whispers of “That’s Y/n” spread around the room, along with some of them recording it for Snapchat. He watched as the crime lord place his hand on Y/n’s head. How dare he even touch her?

“Your little friend is waiting, so why not stroll on by alone. No cops or all they’ll see is a dead body,” Anger built up in Miles as he watched a gun being put to her head. He scribbled down the address on his notebook and looked back up at the horrific sight. The screen switched back to that static while the class murmured about what they had seen. Miles was conflicted, he needed to save Y/n, but how the hell was he supposed to do it?

The news station returned to normal, with the reporters now talking about the hacked broadcast that was apparently shown on every channel in New York City. This was about to make national headlines and he was the only one that could actually save her. The bell rang and instead of going to his next scheduled class, Miles ran to his dorm to try and find some answers.

It took almost an hour of sitting in different parts of his room and thinking to come up with his plan, but first, he needed a little help. Within minutes, Miles was explaining the entire situation to Peter, Gwen, Peni, Noir, and Ham. It was always a comfort knowing that your interdimensional friends would be there to help you.

The night got closer and the Spider-plan had been all set, with each of them suited up and ready. They stood on the rooftop of the warehouse building directly over the address, wondering when was a decent time to start. Noir seemed to be brooding in the darkness, wind somehow appearing for him although there was no wind present and Ham played an odd game on what looked like a Nintendo DS. Peni sat on top of her newly repaired SP//DR, listening quietly to Peter rambling on about the last date he and MJ had gone on, making Gwen smile as well. The little reunion of the Spider-gang seemed unrealistic in Miles’ mind, but he was too worried about the plan to enjoy the moment.

A truck drove by the entrance of the warehouse that they stood upon and the silhouettes of Fisk and a few other figures were clear in the dim street light nearby. Peter stopped his story, which was a good thing for the sanity of Gwen. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the relationship, but that he was on the second minute of describing all of the different types of bread that he was able to get his rekindled love.

“Alright gang, masks on.” Miles ordered, slightly surprised that they actually listened to him, “You all know what to do?” He made sure that each spider-person nodded before taking a deep breath. “We got this.”

~~~

Anxiety built up inside of Y/n as she started the wait for Spider-Man, a gun pressed to the side of her head. She knew that there was a very small chance of her actually living or the hero coming to help her. Her whole life was flashing before her eyes, each big moment playing out as if it were a movie, only they felt like it was about a person that wasn’t her.

A figure dropped down in front of the open door at the other side of where she stood and slowly started to walk forward. As they made their way into the light, she saw the pattern on the outfit and realized that it was Spider-Man. He actually came for her.

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to show up.” Fisk’s voice had a different type of venom in it, something that Y/n hadn’t heard before.

“I’m here, now let Y/n go.” She wasn’t exactly sure whether it was just auditory hallucinations, but the voice sounded odd. Sure, she only talked with the hero a few times, but this was different.

“You know, I’ve never seen such a devoted couple ever since I knew my own wife.” Y/n raised a brow, did he really think that she was dating him? Maybe in her dreams. “I made her life a living hell and she still didn’t tell me the one thing I needed. That’s why if you want her to live, you’ll take that mask off and we can settle this like men.” The barrel of the gun had been pushed further into the side of her head, almost enough to make a mark.

Spider-Man stood still, his movement slow and steady. He reached up to his neck and found the edge of his mask and the rest of the suit, grasping it in his gloved hands. He almost wanted the dramatic reveal, as the neck was finally bare and the pale skin peeked out. It took a few seconds, what seemed to be the longest in Y/n’s life, and then the mask was off completely. Y/n squinted, realizing who the person behind the mask really was. “Gwanda?” her voice was raspy as she studied the familiar blonde that she had only known for a few days six months ago.

Even Fisk was taken aback. Spider-Man wasn’t even a man! He kept the gun on Y/n and regained his posture. “You know me, now let her go,” she held the mask firmly in her hands, the black material making her light hair stand out even more. Nobody moved. “Bagel Time,” she shrugged, the phrase confusing everyone else in the room. There was another moment of silence and no movement.

A spider web was shot at the barrel of the gun Fisk was holding and was yanked in the opposite direction of where “Gwanda” stood, who was supposedly Spider-Man. Another figure swung in and kicked Fisk over, leaving Y/n with no guard. The girl tried running away but collapsed on the concrete. She scanned the scene in front of her: A Spider-Man in the Peter Parker suit and another Spider-Man in what looked to be black and white kicking the shit out of Fisk. A mechanical spider fighting the goons with a pig-spider? Gwanda/Spider-Man ready to fight if she needed to, keeping an eye on everything around her.

There was a sixth Spider-person that looked to be hiding in the shadows, which proved to be rather difficult considering the suit was all white and pink. When she locked eyes with them, they just vanished into thin air. She managed to back up using the little strength she had. The white and pink Spider-man suddenly appeared in front of her, making her almost scream.

“It’s okay, Y/n. Hold on,” this spider-man picked her up and they swung away from the fight all the way to the rooftop of a nearby building. He placed her on the ground gently, his hand stopping at the end of her hair as if he knew the length it used to be. He quickly searched for the edge of the mask and pulled it over his head.

“Miles? What are you doing here?” tears now fell from Y/n’s eyes as she pulled him into a tight hug. She was shaking in his arms, her eyes spinning and trying to focus on the boy in front of her.

“I’m actually Spider-man,” he felt a small smile grow on his face when he finally saw her face up close again. The black under her eyes was prominent and she smelled of straight trash, who knows when the last time she had gotten a proper shower. Her (e/c) eyes finally met his own and the only feeling was peace.

“Can you take me home, please?” she asked with the raspy voice that was almost the opposite of her normal. Miles let the spider-gang know to meet him at his apartment, where his parents were luckily out for the night. Both of them had night shifts and Miles would have the time to recuperate with everyone.

Miles sat on his couch with the rest of spider-gang in his own living room. Y/n had showered and was currently laying on his lap in his sweatpants and sweatshirt, hands intertwined. They were watching the news channel report on the arrest of Wilson Fisk, who was now being sent to the Raft instead of a normal prison. Everything felt right for one moment.

Y/n leaned up to kiss Miles, knowing that it would be okay. She knew that going back into the real world and school would be tough, but she had Miles and that’s all that she really needed. She was finally in control and no crime lord could do anything to harm that.

It was okay.

#miles morales x reader #miles morales #spider-man x reader #spiderman: into the spiderverse

75 notes · View notes

la-vita-in-arancione · 6 years ago

Text

Killer Queen: Chapter 7 - Bohemian Rhapsody

Summary: Arabella Ruth White is the fifth member of the Marauders. And life at Hogwarts certainly isn’t easy. Especially when you have alcohol, relationships, unhealthy music obsessions, a fake stage persona, weird ass friends with weird ass problems and actual school all thrown into the equation. (This story is also on Wattpad and AO3 of the same name. I will always update on Wattpad first.)

A/N: Sorry I didn’t post last week even though I said I would. Half term ended up being busier than planned. We are now up to date with the Watttpad version of this story so that’s something! Enjoy!

Warning(s): swearing, mention of babies because that might be triggering for some people

Word Count: 2.6k+

Taglist: @missqueeniewrites

Ask to be on my taglist!

I don't often receive owl mail. I just don't. No idea why. My darling bastards of siblings can never be bothered to write to me, claiming that if they send me loads of letters then we'll have nothing to talk about when I get home. Which is fair enough. Even if it does seem a bit rude. But oh well. What are you going to do?

The only good thing about it, however, was that when I did get owl mail, it was always about something important. Some of my favourite letters have been from Rhea telling me that she never intended to speak to Luke ever again, only for her to reverse this statement only one day later; one from Mum telling me that the lady who owned the chippy on the pier had had a baby; and one from Luke telling me that said baby had shat on the carpet of his bedroom and that he now had to share with Rhea.

So, going by this logic, every letter I will ever get while at Hogwarts is guaranteed to be either important, amusing or both. This means it's worth my time. I reminded myself of this when I acquired my first letter of the year on a misty Friday morning which just so happened to be Halloween. As it was a Friday, I was naturally exhausted after the long week we had had (our OWLs must have been catching up with me). This was why I felt the need to remind myself that I absolutely had to read this letter. It could remodel my entire life my life for all I knew. The untidy bordering on illegible handwriting on the envelope clearly told me it was from Mum. I ripped it open and not one but two things were inside: a short letter from Mum and a small parcel which was the unmistakable size and shape of a single vinyl record.

Hello Ruth,

I actually apparated to just outside the school gates to owl this to you as it couldn't wait any longer. This morning Queen released a new single and you'll find it enclosed in the envelope. It's called Bohemian Rhapsody and the B-side is called I'm In Love With My Car. God knows what inspires them to make these songs. Steve from the record shop down the road says both songs are superb and that you'll like them if not love them. No news as to when the album is coming yet.

I hope everything's been going alright at school. How is the "project" going? Please tell me you've started by now, it's not fair on Remus to keep him waiting for this long. Sorry for not owling you sooner but to be honest, nothing much has happened in the two months you've been gone. The only thing really worth noting is that someone tried to shoplift some things from the shop so I threw a bucket and spade at them. They haven't come back since.

Luke and Rhea send their love of course, not that they would ever admit it in the presence of the other. Trixie from next door also asked me to check up on you as she hadn't seen you much all summer. I can't wait for Christmas so you can come back, thankfully it's only less than a couple of months. I'm slowly losing my mind without anyone else here to have an intelligent conversation with.

Love you lots,

Mum xxx

Fuck yes, Mum.

She is an actual savage and I love that so much. Only she would get away with throwing kids toys at thieves. Sounds like he deserved it though. What kind of crackhead would assume they could steal from my mum and get away with it. I made a promise to myself to reply to her after lessons had ended for the day.

But on a more important note. Queen released a new single.

Two new songs.

Holy shitting fuckity fuck on a crumpet.

FINALLY NEW MATERIAL.

AFTER A FUCKING YEAR.

YES.

The gods must have been smiling at me that day for this was a glory that not even Clotho could have foreseen. I unwrapped the record, more carefully this time as to not scratch it, and, true to Steve's word, there was the vinyl: Bohemian Rhapsody. Whatever the fuck that meant. Sounded pretty epic though.

"Are you OK Ruth?" Remus asked, mock concern lacing his voice. He'd given up on trying to teach us how to stay alive years ago, now he merely observed and occasionally saved our lives. Honestly, bless that boy. However, it wasn't until he had asked this question that I realised this wasn't the first time the boys had tried to get my attention since I received the letter.

"I'm fan-fucking-tastic, darling. Never been better," I grinned.

"Now here's the thing, I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not," Peter chuckled, causing me to lightly whack him around the back of the head.

"No, you bloody wanker, I am genuinely joyful."

"Well that's new," Sirius muttered, earning him also a small smack. I would never properly hit any of my friends unless they had absolutely betrayed me. Which was unlikely.

"What's so good about this letter then?" James asked earnestly, just a tad confused.

I smirked at him, "If you come and bunk this lesson with me then you'll find out."

So that's how the boys and I ended up in the Room of Requirement, listening to Queen's latest song, instead of being in Divination.

At some point during my first year, I found out about the Room of Requirement when I overheard a conversation between some 7th years. Upon discovering this, I promptly went to the room's location, wishing for a space for music. A bit vague, I must admit, but at the time, I had merely been searching for a place to keep my record player and vinyls. The room itself was not as plain as I first visualized. Many wooden, modest-sized crates and boxes filled to the brim with my records were scattered around - more of an organised mess than you might expect. Each crate was dedicated to a certain artist who I loved: Queen, Elton John, David Bowie, The Beatles, etc. My scarlet, black and gold record player sat proudly on top of a dark oak cupboard that existed for purely decorative purposes. A grand piano stood on the other side of the spacious room next to a throne of sorts that I felt was necessary to have. A crimson, old-fashioned sofa was positioned at the back of the room with an identical ivory one opposite it. Fairy lights were tangled in just about everything in the room, adding to the general aesthetic rather than any form of assistance. If anything, it was more of a nuisance but I would never sacrifice the atmosphere it presented.

The boys plonked themselves on the leather sofas as I crouched down, carefully placed the record on the turntable and adjusted the speed from the usual 33 RPM to the 45 setting. I put the needle on the rim of the record and sat cross-legged on the floor next to the speakers. I loved to have them right next to my ears whenever I listened to a record for the first time. Especially when it came to Queen – it didn't escape my attention that the sound often went from one speaker to the other. I closed my eyes softly when I heard the familiar crackle that always made me grin like an idiot. There was something about focusing on just my hearing and giving my other senses break. That was how music was supposed to be – for your ears.

Is this the real life?

Is this just fantasy?

The strong harmonies rang throughout the room, almost echoing.

Caught in a landslide

No escape from reality

Open your eyes

Look up to the skies and see

The piano started to creep in, gradually getting louder as the song progressed.

I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy

Freddie's effortlessly recognisable voice sung alone for a moment, only for the harmonies to make a comeback.

Because I'm easy come, easy go

Little high, little low

The lyrics filled both of my ears, left then right. It was so stereotypically Queen; it was like their seal, their stamp, their trademark that said 'Yeah, we did that'.

Anyway, the wind blows

Doesn't really matter to me, to me

The repetitive notes of the piano and John's wonderful bass sound played alone for a couple of bars.

Mama, just killed a man

Put a gun against his head

Pulled my trigger, now he's dead

Somewhat taken aback by the dark turn the lyrics had taken, I felt goosebumps up and down my arms as a reaction to the melancholic feel of the song.

Mama, life had just begun

But now I've gone and thrown it all away

The song as a whole rose to a crescendo. I could hear the emotion and passion in Freddie's voice – it was almost ethereal.

Mama, ooh, ooh

Didn't mean to make you cry

If I'm not back again this time tomorrow

Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters

The volume suddenly decreased. Roger's drumming became more prominent in this verse.

Too late, my time has come

Sends shivers down my spine

Body's aching all the time

Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go

Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth

Mama, ooh (anyway the wind blows) I don't want to die

I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all

The lyrics got darker if that was even possible. The clear, sharp sound of Brian's guitar solo filled every inch of the room. After about half a minute of glorious guitar, all of the instruments were cut short by quiet, staccato piano chords.

I see a little silhouette of a man

Scaramouch, Scaramouch will you do the fandango

I wasn't exactly expecting a full-on choir that was truly just Freddie, Roger and Brian's voices on top of each other, over and over again. I dreaded to imagine how long that must have taken to record.

Thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening me

Galileo, Galileo, Galileo, Galileo,

Galileo Figaro magnifico

The 'Galileo's made me giggle: how the fuck could Roger sing higher than me? I understand that I'm an alto but he's a bloke!

But I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me

He's just a poor boy from a poor family

Spare him his life from this monstrosity

Easy come easy go will you let me go

Bismillah, no we will not let you go, let him go

Bismillah, we will not let you go, let him go

Bismillah, we will not let you go, let me go

A tiny smile crept its way onto my face at hearing 'Bismillah'. It was a word that I had heard Dorcas say on numerous occasions.

Will not let you go, let me go (never)

Never let you go, let me go

Never let me go, ooh

No, no, no, no, no, no, no

Oh mama mia, mama mia, mama mia let me go

Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me

For me, for me

Roger's ridiculously high voice filled my ears once again, even higher-pitched this time around. Louder, more rock-orientated music blasted out of the speakers of the record player. I couldn't help but bang my head along to it. It was like being hypnotised; you couldn't control your movements.

So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye

So you think you can love me and leave me to die

Oh baby, can't do this to me baby

Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here

The song quietened down again, not unlike how it had been at the beginning.

Ooh yeah, ooh yeah nothing really matters

Anyone can see nothing really matters

Nothing really matters to me

Anyway, the wind blows

The last line was barely audible but fortunately, I could make out Freddie's voice from my spot next to the speakers. When I finally opened my eyes again, I could see the boys had been straining to hear it. A gong sounded throughout the room, marking the end of the song.

I glanced at the boys, wanting to observe their reactions to the near enough six-minute masterpiece we had just had the privilege of hearing.

"That was definitely worth missing Divination for," Remus chuckled and honestly, that was the best I could have ever hoped for. We spent the next 20 minutes gushing about the song and listening to it again about 2 or 3 times. Only after this did we realise that we hadn't yet listened to the B-side: I'm In Love With My Car. Unsurprisingly, it was written and sung by Roger and was indeed about him being in love with his car. Not quite sure what I was expecting if I'm honest. It turned out to actually be a brilliant song and the boys and I had a blast rocking out to it.

Suddenly I had an epiphany. That absolutely, completely, positively could not wait a moment longer.

So naturally, I had to tell the boys.

"Guys, guys, guys!" I exclaimed, everyone turning their heads to stare at me like they were a clan of meerkats, "Remember our Halloween prank tonight at dinner? Change of plan."

**********

The rest of the day was a fairly normal affair. I could hardly concentrate because my mind was buzzing with thoughts about Queen and our prank tonight. Nothing out of the ordinary then.

By the time dinner came around, the excitement was radiating off us in waves. Somehow, this was the first prank we had done all year, which was certainly saying something. Just as Dumbledore stood up from his seat to give one if his famed speeches, I tapped on the table to signify the start of the prank. Peter took his cue and murmured a charm, making all of the candles suddenly blow out and plunging the Great Hall into darkness. Hushed whispers from confused students were suddenly silenced by the sound of a microphone whistling. This meant Remus had executed his part of the plan, now it was time for James's. Being the best at Transfiguration out of all of us, his job was to transform the metal torches at the tops of the walls into various different instruments - guitars, basses, drums, pianos, gongs, wind chimes, etc. Now for my part. I charmed all of the floating pumpkins in the hall so they would sing. Which song you ask? Bohemian Rhapsody, of course, my dears. I smiled when the familiar voices of Queen echoed all around the Great Hall. Once the acapella part of the song was over, Sirius charmed the newly made instruments so they would play their respective parts when needed. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing: even in the darkness, I could make out some facial expressions that could only be described as a mixture of confusion, annoyance, glee and defeat.

The song seemed to be over before it had even begun, which was a shame. Everyone applauded as we reversed the spells and Dumbledore actually congratulated us in his speech! McGonagall, however, reprimanded us and gave us detentions for disrupting the dinner or some bullshit like that. I personally believed she secretly loved the prank. Maybe the eye roll suggested this as she trooped back to the teacher's table. Or maybe I had imagined it.

Who even knows any more?

8 notes · View notes

obfuscobble · 6 years ago

Text

SO I got my hands on the Japan Animator Expo 2015 collection and I thought it a good time to rate each short because I have some very concise opinions.

1. Dragon Dentist 4/5 Girl volunteers to be a dragon's dentist in the midst of a war. Inventive, compelling, beautiful. Works incredibly well as a short, managing to tell a story far longer than its timeframe without leaving us wondering what happened or what will happen. A very strong start to the collection.

2. Hill Climb Girl 3/5 Girl wants to be a great bicyclist, and the first step is beating her friend up the hill to school. Pretty good for cel-shaded computer modelling. If you like Yowamushi Pedal, you'll like this. Not stand-out but it's an endearing.

3. ME!ME!ME! 4/5 Boy gets dunked on by his own objectification of women. A truly stand out music video not just for this collection but within the genre. That said, you do have to rewatch it closely to glean its themes and true place as a condemnation of misogyny as seen through the self empowerment male fantasies used by the boy to combat his own misogynistic fear of female desire and deep shame over his otaku life. And there is quite a lot of female objectification in his life.

4. Carnage 3/5 Gunslinging girl seeks revenge for her family and her arm. Great attention paid to the one armed gunslinging. The conclusion openly and somberly lays out what will happen next as this old town must pay for its sins, even if it perpetuates the cycle of girls losing those they love.

5. Gundam key animation 1/5 Literally the key animation drawings from Gundam shown side to side with the classic footage. Pretty cool for animation nerds and gundam fans but otherwise not really compelling as a storytelling vehicle. I have to take off points on that account, but it is really worth a watch to see the keys.

6. 20 min from Nishi Ogikubo Station 0/5 not actually 20 min long. Just kidding! 4/5 woman turns into a cockroach, much to man's dismay. The sketchy art style, soft colouring, and jittery movement add perfectly to the piece's theme, making them obviously intentional choices. The piece is still fluidly put together, with inventive plays on human/cockroach interaction and the how's of being so small. The woman as cockroach is envisioned naked, but I feel that this is presented in a naturalistic (ie she just shrunk out of her clothes) and not at all prurient way. Didn't think I was going to like it as much as I did!

7. until You come to me 1/5 Oh Shinji boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling. Shinji silently misses Kaworu or five minutes. I mean I don't blame him but... Nothing happens, and if one has no inkling about Evangelion, this short has absolutely NO meaning.

8. Tomorrow from There 3/5 Woman avoids responsibilities, calls from her mom, and the creeping sense of adult dread, until she reconnects with her inner sense of joy. A wonderful counterpoint to ME!ME!ME! that focuses on universal human fears and dilemmas, without objectifying women. Uplifting with a powerul backing song. But I have to be honest and say that its visuals aren't going to stick with me as powerfully.

9. Electronic Superhuman Gridman 3/5 You are a human with the capacity for joy and wonder, so you will appreciate this heartfelt ode to super sentai live action and robot anime. Comes complete with character design details to reflect the rubber suits and even the tiny screw to hold on the back of a model's head. Has nice internal logic about the Gridman.exe who fights monsters with the power of the electrical grid, such as circuit power ups and smashing a tv screen to get at the enemy. Even for those unfamiliar with the tropes, it's just a fun 6 minutes.

10. Yamadeloid 3/5 An ode to historical fighter anime with neat brush-line visuals and fitting soundtrack. But it just didn't grab me by my heart's cockles like Gridman did, probably coming entirely down to what shows I grew up on. It was also a lot more fourth wall breaking, which is entirely subjective for one's enjoyment, even from one short to another as you'll see. So I'd like to give it a 2, but I know that nostalgia was the only thing inflating Gridman to a 3, so I'll be fair.

11. Power Plant No 33 2/5 What if we just... turned off our millenial facebook phones... and really lived.... yanno? The instantly gripping visuals of a society powered by a beast that creates electricity, which must then go on to fight a space robot, are immediately undermined by the totes not subtle digs against modern technology. I get it, technology is literally a destructive beast. I get it, we should unplug and learn to live freely. The animation was great but the moral was giving me the feeling that I should get off a luddite's lawn.

12. Evangelion Another Impact Confidential 2/5 Tall woman looks for her daughter, finds hostile wasteland. But what a woman!

13. Kanón 3/5 A Japanese take on a Slavic philosophic parody of Jewish folk mythology, or, "On Solipsism." Actually fascinating as a piece. It moves very very quickly though, leaving little time for the jokes and philosophy to set in, but I feel the frantic pace was meant to reinforce the confused, overworked, utterly helpless feelings that the main character was experiencing. The fourth wall break right at the end completely charmed me and even elevated the piece. Loses points for the inherent misogyny of the novel it was based on, but otherwise worth a watch for the curious, and one of the most interesting Japanese takes on Judaeo-Christian tradition I've seen.

14. Sex & Violence with Machspeed 0/5 Just because you admit that you're being gross for gross' sake doesn't mean you're not gross. Look I could get into it, but I just hated this one. If you liked Panty and Stocking, maybe give it a try.

15. Obake-chan 3/5 A series of charming shorts about a girl who wants to be a spoopy ghost.

16. Tokio of the Moon's Shadow 4/5 Boy who has, I goddamn assure you, THE. SHINIEST. eyes in the universe saves earth and his radio penpal from a space creature. Come for the innovative mix of animation styles, stay for the dance sequence. Just watch it.

17. Three Fallen Witnesses 2/5 Ambition: the Anime. Like seriously, this is the 3d animation equivalent of the Ambition games. It's also a very ambitious premise, based on prosecuting attorneys using "DNA time travel" to gain evidence on a murder case. Alas, I really feel it should have had longer to play in its world and the case itself.

18. The Diary of Ochibi 3/5 Edible stop motion is here!

19. I Can Friday by Day! 5/5 Tiny space squirrels fight tiny space rabbits, each piloting robot teenagers. Highly creative, wondrously fun, and yet with a good plot and even characterisation to hold it together past the visuals. I'd love to see this as a short series, as I feel the premise, world, and character sketches could easily be filled out into a humourous and yet compelling larger narrative.

20a. ME!ME!ME! Chronic 1/5 Basically a remix. Lacking the narrative of the original hurts it because then its just boobs and yonic symbolism and the guns that shoot them. Still good music.

20b. The Making of Evangelion Another Impact Confidential 1/5 Interesting if you want to see how the short was designed and technically compiled.

21. Iconic Field 2/5 Never try to fit 13 episodes into 6 minutes. This is obviously angling to become a longer syndicated series but not only did they rush too many of their ideas and subplots into it, but they obviously ran out of money and production time. Some shots are replaced with concept sketches, and there was no voice acting when clearly it was intended to be present. It's creative in its character and mecha design, but the plot is another riff on the seeded earth hypothesis whose unanimated conclusion you can still see a mile away.

22. On a Gloomy Night Nippon Banzai! Nippon Banzai! Nippon Banzai! Nippon Banzai! Nippon Banzai! Nippon Banzai! Nippon Banzai! Nippon Banzai! Nippon Banzai! 1/5 Never try to fit 13 episodes into 6 minutes using Auld Lang Syne as your backing track.

23. Memoirs of Amorous Gentlemen 1/5 Honestly not sure how to classify this one. It's about a sex worker, it's presented with a quite effective animation style, but in the end it's all about the sex worker accepting abuse from another as her tragic role in the world. Ehn.

24. Rapid Rouge 4/5 In the world of the techno-daimyo, there is only loss. BRILLIANT use of a limited colour palette. Loses one point due to not fully delivering on the emotional character-sacrifice punch it wanted and for being unartfully open ended. If it delivers on a second episode like it promises, I might amend my opinion. It was so close to being perfect, yet didn't manage to get me to care enough about its characters in its short run time, unlike...

25. Hammerhead 5/5 Highly violent, yes, but emotionally impactful to the extreme; I cried both times I've watched it. Update: three times. Wonderful traditional animation, powerful emotional centre, and perhaps the best animation I've ever seen to portray a human's physical demeanour in deep emotional distress. I absolutely recommend watching this.

26. Conte Hitman 3/5 Manzai routine with clever twists and turns. Porque no los dos, the sketch.

4 notes · View notes

reekierevelator · 6 years ago

Text

On the Eve of the Wedding

Finishing up at work on Friday nights was never easy. There was always one last thing to do. And then another last thing. And another. It was never easy ensuring all the vans had returned from making deliveries and all next week’s orders were fully processed and ready to be loaded first thing Monday morning. And presentation was important. If the vans came back filthy a quick hose down was necessary.

Being loading bay supervisor was a reasonable job but I was hoping to make transport manager before I hit thirty. After that I figured it might be time to settle down. But that Friday all I was thinking was at least it was the end of the week. So, at last, time for a pint at the local, the works’ crowd gathering in the Sheared Sheep, just to be sociable and wind down, reducing the week’s stresses and strains to old war stories, something to make each other laugh about.

And Friday nights I liked a drink. Didn’t take the old jalopy in on Fridays. So later I’d generally pick up fish and chips or a pizza, or end up in an Indian restaurant with some of the gang. If I got the early bus back to my little bachelor pad on the outskirts of town I’d maybe get something delivered. But this Friday night was different.

It was Rebecca Ralston, the red head from the marketing department. I seemed to have been bumping into her for the last few weeks. The main offices were at the opposite end of the site to the loading bay but somehow she’d felt the need to come over several times, wanting to talk to me about planning new adverts for the vans, different colour schemes, scheduling printing, application to the vehicles and so on. And this even though the current advertising contract still had almost a year to run.

Not that I minded. She was a bubbly sort of girl, an effervescent personality. Irregular teeth like pushed over tombstones but still easy on the eye. She brought a little brightness into the windowless little office in the dark cavern of the loading bay. She liked to talk with a hand on my arm or my shoulder, making sure she had my attention. And that day she hinted that after work on Fridays it wasn’t unusual for her to find her way to the Sheared Sheep. As it happened it suited her, she said, living close enough to just walk home if she happened to stay late.

Unfortunately, it was nearly eight when I finally got everything wrapped up and made that watering hole. The pub was already in that in-between phase where most of the early evening ‘couple of pints after work’ crowd had already been, drunk their quota, and gone off to catch buses and trains, while only one or two of the genuine locals had as yet made an appearance.

But Rebecca was there, sitting on the edge of one of those leather sofas they’d refurbished the place with, the typical modern décor reflecting the changing functionality; more coffee shop or restaurant these days than the traditional beer-swillers’ second home.

The sofa was angled towards the door and as I entered she looked up at me under her curls and neatly shaped eyebrows and I could see she already had a glow on. She smiled that girlish crooked teeth smile and raised her hand in a nominal gesture of welcome. The black jacket of her office trouser suit was slung over the arm of the sofa. Her pretty powder blue blouse and black trousers looking fetching.

Two of the new young recruits to Accounts sat beside her. They noticed me as they followed Rebecca’s gaze. She introduced them as Jerome and Melissa but as I joined them they both rose to leave, even refusing my offer of a round, insisting instead that they had other obligations and had to rush home. But they would be sure to see me around the office – sometime. People from the main office don’t mix much with the van loading fraternity.

Rebecca held out an empty glass saying she wouldn’t mind another double vodka tonic with lemon and ice, and when I returned from the bar the pub was even emptier. Rebecca made a show of looking around all points of the compass, her short red curls bouncing, before she declared the Sheared Sheep mutton.

‘It’s really dead here, isn’t it?

I nodded and took another swallow before concluding the guest real ale, Crafty Brown Cow IPA was something less than acceptable. It seemed fermented from liquidised mince.

‘There’s another place up off the main road that’s livelier,’ Rebecca was saying, and I’d hardly had time to sit down before she’d grabbed my hand and we were on the move.

The Hardened Artery wasn’t my usual kind of place but it was certainly busy. A three piece guitar band was playing 50s rock n roll on a tiny stage and there were even young trendy types trying to dance. I rooted around and managed to scrounge a couple of stools and we proceeded to shout at each other, exchanging inane pleasantries over a medley of Johnny B Good and Hey Bo Diddley.

‘I like your shirt,’ she shouted, making me glance down at my red and blue striped button-down Ben Sherman.

‘I like your blouse Rebecca,’ I shouted back.

‘Call me Becky,’ she insisted.

‘Ok,’ I said, ‘call me Steve.’

The band were roaring into Promised Land as Becky drew her stool much closer to mine saying she couldn’t hear, and I picked up floral notes from her eau de cologne as she pressed her legs up against mine. She waved her hand around ostentatiously like a fan in front of her face and undid the top buttons of her blouse as she complained about the heat. I felt myself definitely getting very warm too. I might not be quite God’s gift but I was sure I was picking up signals and the sap was rising. I wasn’t wearing a tie I could loosen but I took off my jacket and instead undid a few buttons of my shirt revealing the pecs and heading to the six pack.

Another few drinks in that sweaty room and the long working week was catching up with me. I was dreading the long cold bus journey home and found myself glancing down at Rebecca’s newly revealed cleavage with a certain amount of wishful thinking.

‘After a final couple of brandies we fell out into the cold dark street and, saying how late it was, Becky suggested, as even in my increasingly inebriated state I somehow thought she might, that I spend the night at her place and leave off travelling home until the morning.

After a twenty minute walk, or rather stagger, including various impromptu stops for clinches and kisses, her place turned out to be a bedsit in a big old converted house, part of a street of big old converted houses. The furnishings were Spartan. A lack of chairs meant I had to sit on the bed while she retrieved a couple of bottles of beer from an otherwise suspiciously empty cupboard. After she’d applied the bottle-opener and handed me mine she plonked herself down across my knees, draping her arm around my neck. I only had time for one more sip of beer before her lips locked on mine and we toppled backwards on to the bed.

She was wildly enthusiastic and I wasn’t complaining, but that degree of gay abandon did engender a certain sort of ‘last time before the end of the world’ feeling. It was a long time before I was allowed to sleep.

Afterwards, in the morning, I commented that of the various women I’d known she was unusual in not living amid a clutter of clothes, shoes, accessories, and a jumble of make-up jars and bottles.

She said ‘Well, to be honest, that is usually me too, but I’ve already moved almost all of my stuff to Denis’s place.’

‘Denis?’ I queried cautiously.

‘My fiancé. I’m moving in to his place after the wedding.’

For a moment I thought, hoped, I’d misheard. But Becky rambled on, unselfconscious and unconcerned. ‘The wedding’s at three o’clock tomorrow. Well, three o’clock today now, of course,’ she said peering at her little bedside alarm clock and giggling. ‘The dress – floor length, dazzling white and lacy - is laid out at my Mum’s, along with all the other stuff. The cake’s a beauty – three tiers. I’ve got to get to HairWays at eleven. Full hairdo and manicure treatment. I’m going for cherry red nail-varnish to match my lipstick. The make-up will take forever. Sorry, it’s a bit late to send you an invite. But there are still one or two things no-one’s chosen yet on our gift list – I mean, only if you really wanted to…’

‘You’re… you’re… getting married - today?’ I managed to stammer.

She stretched her arm under the bed and brought forth a little box. ‘Yes, I am,’ she said, opening the little box and putting the ring on her finger. She held her arm up in the air to watch the diamond sparkle.

‘And Denis?’

‘Oh, he plays rugby, professional now. And he’s been working nights as a doorman, mainly the Jacaranda Club, - to help pay for the wedding.’

‘Ah... he sounds like a great guy.’

‘Yes, but I’m not married to him yet, am I Steve? And you’ve got lovely blue eyes and you’re really quite firm and muscular too – it must be helping to load all those heavy boxes. You know the girls up at the office have been talking about you for a while. We like to see your hose on the forecourt. I thought, well, I might as well make use of my last legitimate opportunity. At least that’s what they all told me when we were out on my hen night last week.’

‘Oh really?’ was all I could find to say.

Maybe I looked a little disappointed or pensive because she peered into my apparently lovely blue eyes and bit her lip with her unusual teeth. ‘Oh dear, I hope I haven’t offended you.’ she said. ‘Steve, you don’t feel I’ve just been using you, do you?’ She burst into a big smile. ‘I mean, it was good fun, wasn’t it?’

‘Well, yes,’ I had to admit. ‘Really, it was great. And no, I suppose… I mean, I was as keen as you were… It’s just…’

‘Oh, well that’s all right then, isn’t it?’ Her eyes shone brightly. ‘And it’s only nine o’clock. I won’t be Mrs Denis McGlone for another six hours. We’ve still got at least another hour before I have to be going.’

And as she fell into my arms I tried hard to clear all the frightening images of giant prop forwards and burly bouncers from my mind.

#Reekie Revelator #edinburgh #wedding #humour #humor #short story

1 note · View note

nookishposts · 7 years ago

Text

Identity in Words

When we meet people, when we are reintroduced to those we haven’t seen in many years, when we draft a cover letter, one question that must be answered repeatedly is: “What do you do?”

I am discovering that for me, it’s a question increasingly more difficult to answer with any accuracy. And I am too old to answer with a shrug and “I don’t know.”

A recent series of changes have caused me to think more deeply about the whole idea of identity; we define ourselves so much by the company we keep and how we make our living. Usually there’s a certain amount of crossover between the two; the after-work drink of a Friday evening, the birthday celebrations over lunch hour, the common themes of cheering babies and mourning parents, as we travel together proscribed hours per week, cover one another’s sick leaves, and nod in general understanding at both the news and the gossip.

Sudden employment dismissal felt like somebody whopped me across the face hard with a large cold fish (deliberate melodrama for the sake of the point here). The accompanying tang of salt sea air was bracing, but my jaw remains tender. Amid addressing the resultant practical matters, I find myself thinking about how to tell the story. Which is where I am going with this.

My Mum instilled a love of stories in me; she read to me constantly and encouraged me to ask people about themselves, watch classic films with her, and wonder always about the ‘why’ of things. Her parents and siblings, if you wound them up just right, could tell stories for days. They were not people who read classics or attended live theater (grandchildren’s school plays notwithstanding), but I grew to do those things myself.

I have written for as long as I can remember, pretty much as soon as I could form letters with a pencil. I recall understanding I had hit the jackpot in Family Brownie Points when I answered a primary school fill-in-the-blank question: “Happiness Is_______?” with: “When Grandma comes to visit.” I meant it. Grandma was no-nonsense but made it plain she loved me, and she had a deep, dirty laugh that was totally at odds with her otherwise very lady-like demeanor. I could get lost in her cornflower eyes and the powdered wrinkles that framed them when she smiled at me. It was hard to remember sometimes that her life had taken her to the rim of Hell and back multiple times, such was her open tenderness. She had her flaws of course, but I could always get her telling stories. She laughed hardest at herself. She died when I was 31; we spoke by phone several times per week until then no matter where I was; how I wish now that I had stuck a voice recorder next to her teacup.

I wrote a Remembrance Day skit when I was in Grade 4. Later, reams of dreadful poetry full of adolescent angst and self-righteous scorn. Tried songwriting with interesting results. As many teenagers do. In my 20s I wrote a novel just to see if I could. In long-hand, on foolscap. Pure crap, but I still have it somewhere…because of the feelings I had when I was working on it; shutting the world out and letting my imagination fly. Frustrated at not finding the right combinations of words to say what I thought I meant. Just hating to not be able to be clear, to risk the possibility of being misunderstood. I didn’t know then that I was simply trying to be heard, by my own self. (Therapy eventually took care of that.)

Highschool, College, and University English courses were fun. I loved the exchange of ideas in class, enjoyed Shakespeare, mangling Middle-English, deliberately chewing the scenery in recitation. Spent lots of time with little theatre companies, onstage and backstage, wrote scenes and articles, newsletters, and reviews. Then grown-up life got in the way, making a living took priority, and for many years I didn’t write anything more than the odd cranky Letter to The Editor.

Those 25 years took me through various types of recreation and social service jobs, a couple of relationships, lots of soul-searching. My creative urges found other outlets in body therapies, gardening, home renovations, volunteering. I made the mistake of showing that first fledgling novel to someone, who read it and pronounced: “Well, it doesn’t suck.” It hasn’t seen the light of day since. I am such a coward sometimes.

When we moved to Winnipeg in 2009, I began a new novel, sent a few chapters to a friend in Ontario, who liked it, a lot. She regularly threatens to beat me to death with those pages if I don’t finish the thing. I have left her hanging for 9 years. Because the story began to ring a little too true, and I ran away. Again. Some of us are slow learners.

Becoming 50 started an interesting series of awakenings; like a cascade of pebbles loosened by a casual slip at the top of a mountain path. They skitter and bounce, gathering momentum, altering the landscape in subtle ways as gravity wins. I’ve spent 56 years carving that path up the mountain, resting along the way in shallow caves, on sunny crags, occasionally knocked on my ass by storms. The view from here is quite something, but I look at those tumbling pebbles and realize they are knocking loose some inhibitions and falsehoods as the debris they have become. On my way up, I’ve taken things out of my survival kit; lightened the load by leaving worn out shields and masks on the side of the track. I’ve shed any number of illusions, and it’s such a liberating feeling. I lack the time or the patience for things that used to take up too much space in my consciousness; if I am clean and presentable, who cares if I remain forever in blue jeans? If I come from a place of kindness, who cares what others think of my opinions? They are still subject to change after all. Life will do that, right up until the final moment.

The last couple of years have involved carefully calculated risks. I’ve been blogging steadily, and become involved with a local story-telling series. Both have been incredibly gratifying, and I am delighted to discover that while constructive feedback and compliments are wonderful and sometimes surprising, the real surprise is discovering that I have been doing it all for the pure joy of writing. Didn’t see that gift coming, even if it may have been obvious to people who know me. They shake their heads a lot, with good reason.

I’ve been tentatively promoting a small business in personal biographies for 5 months, and its growing, thanks to the cheerleading of key friends and mentors. It is to be my retirement income, and I can do it from anywhere, including the middle of nowhere if we find the right acreage at the right price. Simple sustainable living, mortgage-free, and writing down the stories that other people tell me, for a basic remuneration. Paradise found. That big hard fish-slap means I have been set as free as I am ever going to be, to make those words pay.

I don’t have it in me to be an innovative journalist. I’m not particularly good at fiction, unless its under a tree or by a campfire with little kids begging for a whopper; a different kind of fish-story. I have two strengths: to listen and to observe, then put those things into written words. Softening the edges of the world around me allows pictures to form in my head, brings the taste of delicious, playful prose to my mouth, sends my fingers skittering over the keyboard like those pebbles down the mountainside path; revealing stuff I never knew that I knew. It’s humbling, and also cautiously exciting. Full-circle. Happiness is: ________.

I’m not sure what makes someone a writer. Is it when they have been published (yes, in small ways), won awards (yes, a couple)? Or is it when we realize we have done it all our lives in some way or another and aren’t likely to stop any time soon? Is it a professional designation or a personal one, or shifting degrees of both?

From this place two-thirds of my way up my mountain, I am hereby kicking a big rock in the direction of letting others dictate my job description. I release myself to the joy of just doing, hoping my words might also give others some pleasure and make it easier for them to tell their own stories about whatever the heck they choose. We meet one another in the shared experiences; the public embarrassment, the secret fear, the unavoidable loss, the happy surprise. #MeToo is the most poignant and powerful example of this collective tapestry-weaving I have seen in my lifetime. Our stories can change the world. One word at a time until the ground swells beneath our feet and false mountains are shaken till they crumble into dust. I have decided that what I “do” is write. Which makes me a writer.

Well, that was easy.

2 notes · View notes

thedivinefish · 5 years ago

Text

TGIWednesday and a download for protection from the virus

TGIWednesday News

It's April 1st..... a new month, Spring has hopefully sprung in your area too. Now more than ever is a great time to relax, go for that walk in nature or a nice bike ride. My Northern neighbors sent me a picture of their catch from ice fishing. How cool is that? Maybe we all needed to hit the pause button and take a time out, maybe spirit did it for us. To those folks that you know of that got sick or are especially at risk or may have even passed away, our thoughts and prayers are with you now more than ever. When I check in, I get that it might be like this til about mid-May (a few weeks back it tested as July). So since there’s not a whole lot we can do other than take precautions, stay calm and out of fear/panic and by all means take care of yourselves and each other and know that we are here to help/guide and dare I say entertain you. So far worldwide not a single person on our My Daily Prayer service has gotten COVID-19 - Click here if you’re not on it already. If you’re reading this now, we’re asking for protection and guidance and heaven’s grace upon you as well. We will be releasing a COVID-19 themed MyBeliefWorks™ audio in the coming days and it will go deeper into addressing related health/wellness/work/financial issues, worries, stresses and anxiety about the future that are coming up due to the coronavirus crisis and response - so look for that very soon! We're working on making it FREE with ANY purchase of ANY ITEM in the shop when it's ready - including all products or services ie: sessions, prayers, books, or audios. Fishing prayers for you as you read this now. Also, last Wednesday's Live Zoom call was very potent and we got a great response from listeners! So much came through from Spirit and I channeled in some very strong clearings that I know will make a difference to all who hear it. Turning On Your Unlimited Luck Switches Replay available in the shop now. Here's what folks on the call had to say:

"That was a great call. I had this nice connected sensation at the crown of my head throughout. I wondered if it was maybe the spearmint gum I was chewing, but I think not LOL. Take care and stay healthy and well! Also, the Windfall MP3 is wonderful. I very much appreciate and am so grateful for your generosity in keeping things affordable." - Teresa D.

"Thank you so much for this replay. You were on fire! I don't know what will come of it but I can say for sure that I feel 'changed'.

Much appreciated!" - Diane P.

"Jimmy, great session/zoom meeting tonight! Thank you for all you do! Feeling Awesomeness! ️Blessings of Love and Light."- Phyllis Ann

"Another wonderful switch session! I'm deeply grateful for your time and effort putting together and presenting "Turning On Your Unlimited Luck Switches", I'm feeling lighter and luckier after listening, and I can't wait to play it for a family member in my house who has had bad luck experiences! Looking forward to the next one. Many hugs and many blessings." - Susie "Just letting you know, even through my Massage business is shut down for a few weeks, a client jumped on line and bought a 6-pack of massage from me. Totally unexpected because she already had a package. WOW! Right after that I walked my front porch there was a Red Box that said OPEN FOR EVERYDAY MAGIC! I know that is coming from spirit!!!!" - Lynn P.

TGIWednesday Download

~ PROTECTION FROM THE VIRUS ~ I believe, think, know and feel that I am protected from this virus and see my immune system as strong. I am ready, willing and able to take steps and precautions to remain healthy and safe during this time and always. I know when, where how and why to be divinely guided by spirit to boost my immune system and to remain safe during times of uncertainty. I am asking in all languages and throughout all time lines and so it is.

Fish Food

The Daily Bread To Feed The Fish

Tell The Fish: 365 Daily Inspirations & Affirmations

APRIL 1st "Today I will let go of fear and the feeling of dread. I will forecast ahead of time only that which is good and beneficial. I will acknowledge that which will propel me forward instead of setting me back. I will overtake the need to have control and by letting go, I will find, not search, for peace yet peace will find me."

From the Fish Box

Q) "Hello there Jimmy since I discovered MLF a week ago I’m absolutely astonished how well it works for me. Like you, I’ve spent 20 years or more in the university of healing and nearly every penny I have :) What way can I use MLF to help my hormone balance menopause etc. is my main concern . I have got some of your books and downloaded Level 1 instead of booking a one to one as I thought I might find some information on it there." - Linda / UK A) "Very cool..............working on hormones is endless... but I would get clear to yes, unclear to no and running forward to YES. Fish the statements, 'My organs glands and systems are in balance' if no, fish to yes.'My hormones are functioning at 100 percent.' if no, fish to yes. I would drop my body age in half until it had my hormones functioning better/faster/deeper/younger.... you get the idea, it's endless........... Finish the course and let's play together or schedule a session some time soon." - Jimmy

LIVE Appearances - Free Healing

Wed. April 8th - You Wealth Revolution w/host Darius Barazandeh 4pm Eastern / 1pm Pacific Breaking Through Your Hidden Plateaus to Progress - special super-charged prayer! Get access to this show, all speakers and special bonus gifts >> Register Here! Wed. May 13th The Alara Canfield Show - Register Here Thurs. May 21st Soul Talk with Patty Malek - Register Here

The Jimmy Mack Healing Radio Show

EVERY TUESDAY at 9pm EDT / 6pm PDT CALL (206) 806-9965 https://www.freeconferencecall.com/wall/goldylocksproductions

Click Here for Previous Weeks' Show and a full archive of past guests & replays.

Yesterday's Show - Special Guest Rev Debbie Visit her Facebook page Our resident trans medium communications with your loved ones in spirit.

April 7th Psychic Joanne Leo www.PsychicJoanneLeo.com Astrology, Numerology, Angel cards. Readings from the heart!

April 14th Judi Thomases http://www.starladyastrologer.com/ Astrology Deep but gentle cosmic guidance

April 21st Mark Hernandez http://www.peopleandpetsenergetics.com Healer and Intuitive Message

April 28th Rev Debbie Dienstbier Visit her Facebook page Our resident trans medium communications with your loved ones in spirit.

The Jimmy Mack Healing Show is LIVE on Tuesday Nights at 9pm EDT If you want to Listen in only, go to this website: https://www.freeconferencecall.com/wall/goldylocksproductions OR If you want to call in & ask a question CALL (206) 806-9965 No need to press #1, just dial in and you'll be in the queue. If the Call in Number above doesn’t seem to work, please use this back up Call in Number: (425) 535-9149 when prompted, enter 206.806.9965 followed by # International Callers, click the link below for the International call in list for your country. If you're using the Free Conference Call App, it automatically re-routes the best call In number for you. Please unblock your phone number if you wish to speak with Jimmy and or his guest host. Blocked, Restricted and Private Callers are not brought on air.

Sessions at the Tampa Office

FRIDAY KODAWARI YOGA STUDIOS *Appointments are either phone or Skype until further notice

I'm scheduling 15 and 30 minute appointments at Kodawari Yoga Studios from 10am-2pm EVERY FRIDAY.*IMPT! You must call Kodawari directly to schedule times and dates with them AND pay them directly at the front desk prior to your appointment Call Kodawari's front desk directly to schedule (813) 773-4017 and pay at the concierge desk PRIOR to your appointment - 15 minutes 38$ or 30 minutes 68$. 3965 Henderson Blvd Suite C Tampa (813) 773-4017 http://www.kodawariyoga.com/

SWANN HOLISTIC HEALTH TAMPA *SPECIAL DATE* FRIDAY APRIL 10th 10-5pm (no Kodawari that day) I’ll be offering sessions at Dr. Charla Tempone’s office at Swann Holistic Health Solutions at: NEW LOCATION! 403 S. Habana Ave. Tampa, FL 33609 Just south of Azeele next to Skin Savvy Please call their office directly at (813) 873-7773 in order to get on the schedule for 15-minutes 38$ / 30-minutes 68$ http://www.ctholisticsolutions.com

Receive 24/7 Prayers from Jimmy

Nightly prayers include COVID-19 known as the Coronavirus. Each night we work on scrambling the frequency for everyone on the prayer list. Your name will be added to a special VIP Prayer list where Jimmy will use his intelligent computer software, src4you which runs 24/7, to delete the negative and increase the strength of the positive creating a higher probability of favorable outcomes for you.

In addition, throughout the full 30-days, Jimmy will be dialing into your energetic signature each day upon rising and make certain that you are a clear yes, unclear to no and running forward before you start your day. He is doing the heavy lifting for you around 3am NY time while most of you are asleep in order to smooth out your way and increase your most favorable life outcomes.

The 30-day service is now being offered exclusively and you also have the option of selecting an ongoing subscription ($95/month) which is managed through PayPal only.

Upon written email request, for each new order we offer a one-time email analysis via the intelligent healing software that Jimmy uses on your behalf. Most clients have had amazing results and outcomes!

You can add yourself and those living in your immediate household and yes you can include pets! Merely include everyone’s names and Jimmy will add them to his daily prayers. *NOTE if the MDP Service was purchased via a special telesummit or radio show offer, prayers will be limited to BUYER ONLY - and will not include family members or pets.

You can run this monthly and stop at any time after the 30 days is up, you will have the opportunity to renew and update your list each month but are under no obligation. I believe you will experience magical transformations and make progress every day!

**Can't See The Full Email? Click Here to View Online**

Go deep sea "fishing" with Jimmy!

Level 1 is open to ANYONE at anytime! All Mastery Students: Check your email & Login to view all the newly upgraded content including new books and audios!

"Jimmy's My Liquid Fish Change Made Simple program is AMAZING!!! He gives you not only videos so you can see the changes within people, but also the books he's written as well! On top of that he's provided all the links and visuals you need so ANY type of learner can do it!! I appreciated having it to download in a PDF so I can go back to it any time, plus the books and ACTUAL healing sessions so you see, know and understand the whole process even better!!Highly recommend to ANYONE looking to change and make not only their life... but everyone's around them better as well!!" - E.J. / Florida

The Certificate of Mastery Program includes 2 best-selling ebooks and 2 clearing audios plus written & video instructions, AND one-on-one time with Jimmy ALL for about the cost of a single 1-hr session! This online course is for anyone who is familiar with OR new to "fishing" and is ready to dive into the deep end & get results that are beyond the ordinary! It includes The Tackle Box & The Dowser's Handbook ebooks PLUS 2 MP3s "Clearing Dark Energies" & "Increasing Your Intuition" to help clear, strengthen and prepare your energy field for optimal “fishing” results. This is a work-at-your-own-pace curriculum that will TEACH & CLEAR you at the same time! In under 2wks you will be finished with the program and ready to fish on your own with greater results! Level II offers Practitioner Certification for those who qualify.

LEARN MORE HERE

For those who aren't familiar, here's the list of the MyBeliefWorks™ audio library.

Find a topic that addresses your issue(s), click on the link to read more. We had a lot of help downloading & channeling these over the years & they keep getting better. Don't forget... you can share these with you immediate friends and family.

Abundance Abuse Addiction Body Scan: Head to Toe Daily GPS Reset Dark Energies/Fears Decision Making Diet & Exercise Education & Learning Family & Relatives The Gold Coin Healing Physical Body Healing Mental Stress Holiday Stress

Increasing Intuition IRS & Tax Time Love & Romance Money Mindset Moving Forward Pain Relief Pet Healing Sales & Success Improving Sex Improving Sleep Traveling w/Ease Work & Career Weight Loss Windfall Youth & Vitality

TGIFunny

Forward

Jimmy Mack | Appointments Skype: Jimmy.Mack55 Clearwater Florida USA Book a 15 minute session Book a 30 minute session Book a 60 minute session Transformational Healing of Body, Mind & Spirit, People, Places, Pets & Situations! Download the My Liquid Fish® Starter Kit (*Updated May 2019) Audio MP3 Downloads and books to improve your life! Get Certified in My Liquid Fish® Change Made Simple® Watch Free Videos on YouTube Weekly Radio Show Archives Shop for Supplements http://www.jimmymackhealingshop.com www.jimmymackhealing.com Copyright ©1998-2020 All Rights Reserved

-------------------------------------------------- TGIW newsletter managed by: Sandy Bidinger Digital Marketing Specialist at SMBeConnected Solutions www.smbeconnected.com

Stay connected!

Our mailing address is: Clearwater Florida 33756 USA

0 notes