#and so I am taking all the garbage bags toilet paper wipes paper towels and soap with me

[sweet-as-kiwis]

And thus my Petty Bitch arc begins

[splendidlyimperfect]

Social distancing sucks, and Natsu's ADHD is going into overdrive being stuck in the apartment for a month with the other three.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fairy Tail Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Natsu Dragneel/Sting Eucliffe/Gray Fullbuster Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Polyamory, Crack, Fluff and Crack, Dancing and Singing, Taxes, Drinking, Tequila, Tequila-drunk Rogue likes country music, they're all gay and bad at math, they listen to Kesha, Kissing, Cuddling & Snuggling, they're in quarantine, Natsu has ADHD and is bored, Sting's a sweetheart, gay dorks in love, they drink tequila and do origami together

-----

“Can you turn down your music?”

Natsu turned from where he was washing dishes to look at Gray, who was sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands as he stared at a stack of paper.

“I just turned it on,” Natsu argued.

“I know that,” Gray said, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Everyone in the apartment complex knows that. Can you turn it down? I’m trying to focus.”

“I thought you were done work at four,” Natsu said as he reluctantly lowered the volume. The clock on the oven read 5:23 p.m.

“Yes, well, I’m theoretically done at four,” Gray said. “But I also thought it was Saturday, so…” He shrugged.

“Isn’t it Thursday?”

“Tuesday.” Gray yawned. “And this isn’t work.”

Continue reading on AO3

Natsu raised an eyebrow at the stack of papers sitting under a calculator. “Looks like work to me.”

“It’s our taxes,” Gray said. He leaned back in the chair and rubbed his face. “It’s ridiculous, I don’t understand why it’s fifty-three pages long. It’s way too hard.”

“That’s what she said.” Natsu grinned but Gray just glared at him. “Oh, c’mon, babe.”

“Don’t ‘c’mon, babe,’ me,” Gray grumbled. “Look, because Rogue is self-employed, I have to calculate the depreciation of—”

“Babe.” Natsu stepped forward, grabbing both of Gray’s hands and pulling him up from the chair. “I love you more than anything except possibly Sting’s cookies, but right now, you need to shut all the way up about taxes and let me listen to Kesha.”

“But—”

Natsu shook his head, interrupting Gray’s protests with a quick kiss and pulling him close. “Fifty-three pages is way too many taxes. The apartment’s gonna explode; I’m doing us all a favor.”

“That’s…” Gray huffed. “I wanna be mad but honestly I’m sick of all the math.”

“Then come dance with me,” Natsu said, letting go of Gray’s hands and settling them on his hips instead. “Or you could help me with the dishes.”

Gray hummed, then frowned as he looked over Natsu’s shoulder. “What is that?”

“A salad spinner.”

“I didn’t even know we owned a salad spinner.”

“Me neither,” Natsu said, slipping his hands under Gray’s shirt and running them up his back. “It was in the cupboard under the microwave.”

“Which you aren’t supposed to touch.”

“I didn’t! Just the cupboard.”

Gray raised an eyebrow. “So, why are you washing the salad spinner from under the microwave cupboard where none of us have looked since we moved in here?”

“Because I’m fucking bored. Sting’s not here, you’re working, and Rogue threatened to tie me up – and not in the good way – if I kept bugging him. I can’t sit still long enough to read, it’s raining so I can’t go for a walk, we’ve watched all the Star Wars movies, I can’t bake any more cookies ‘cause the pantry is full, and I’ve unlocked literally every character in Smash Bros.” He sighed, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to Gray’s shoulder. “’m sorry for bugging you.”

The frustrated tension in Gray’s neck melted away and he wrapped his arms around Natsu, kissing the top of his head. “No, I’m sorry,” he said. “I know this is harder for you than the rest of us.”

Natsu shook his head. “It sucks for everyone,” he insisted. “I just feel like it’s been eighty-seven years since I’ve seen anyone other than you guys.”

“I know. I’m honestly even starting to miss Chad.”

Gray stared at the calendar over Natsu’s shoulder. What was normally a rainbow of color-coded appointments was now mostly blank, with the occasional “call maman” or “garbage day” penciled in. None of them – except Sting, who was their designated grocery and errands person – had left the apartment for anything other than short walks in nearly five weeks.

“All right,” Gray said, pulling back and squeezing Natsu’s hands.

“All right what?”

“Turn your music back on,” Gray said. “I’ll dance with you.”  

~

Sting could hear country music playing before he even opened the door to the apartment. He frowned as he shifted the grocery bags and tray of coffee cups into one hand and unlocked the door, then pushed it open and was welcomed by four purring cats.

“Hello, darlings,” Sting said, nudging them all out of the way and closing the door behind him. Soleil meowed loudly at him, rubbing herself against his leg. “Poor babies, has nobody fed you?”

“They’re dirty liars,” Natsu said from the kitchen, turning around and giving the cats an unimpressed look as he turned down the music. “We fed them an hour ago.” He wiped his hands on the dish towel and moved toward the door, then sighed and backed up at the last second.

“Gimme a sec,” Sting said apologetically, stepping past Natsu into the kitchen and setting down the bags and the coffee. “And yes, before you ask, I found pizza pops and Oreos.”

“Yesss.” Natsu hopped up on one of the stools on the other side of the counter and peered eagerly into the bags. “You’re the best.”  

“I try.” Sting started wiping down the containers as he pulled them out of the grocery bags. “Where are the other two?”

“Gray’s on the balcony,” Natsu said. “He’s not smoking, I checked. I heard him yell ‘fuck’ at one point but I’m pretty sure he’s fine. I mean, as fine as he can be.”

“Mm.”

“And Rogue is—”

“Right here.” Sting frowned and it took him a second to realize that Rogue was sitting at the kitchen table, head in his arms, hidden behind a pile of paperwork.

“Ah.” Sting raised an eyebrow at Natsu. “Who gave him tequila and why?”

“That’s profiling,” Rogue said absently without looking up. “You can’t say that.”

Sting rolled his eyes, tossing the bags in the garbage and closing the fridge. “You’re listening to Shania Twain, babe. How much have you had?”

“Four shots,” Natsu replied helpfully as Sting washed his hands.

“Slander,” Rogue said absently. “It’s…” He frowned and finally looked up at Sting, gaze slightly unfocused. “Hm. Maybe you’re right.”

Sting shrugged. “That’s four less than the first time you filed our taxes,” he said, then turned and reached out to Natsu. “Somehow he actually manages to do math better when he’s drunk.”

“Am I allowed to hug you now?” Natsu asked, pulling Sting close and sighing happily as he pressed his cheek to Sting’s neck. “What’s the outside world like?”

“Dystopic,” Sting replied. He kissed Natsu’s temple. “Zombies everywhere. Without toilet paper, order has been lost.”

“Hm.” Natsu nuzzled Sting’s cheek. “Luckily they left Starbucks intact.”

“It’s a known fact that caffeine repels zombies,” Sting said, nodding.

“In that case I think I’m safe.” Gray appeared behind the two of them and wrapped his arms around Sting from behind. “Thanks for the coffee, love.” Sting tipped his head back and kissed Gray’s cheek, then squeaked as Gray slipped cold hands under his shirt.

“How much tequila have you had?” Sting asked, leaning back against Gray.

“None,” Gray insisted. Sting raised an eyebrow and Gray added, “Well, no tequila. I had a couple beers, though. Taxes are stressful.” He pressed his face into the crook of Sting’s neck.

“That’s why I hired an accountant,” Sting said, reaching out to pull Rogue into the group hug. “Because you’re all ridiculous.”

“’m not,” Rogue argued, letting Sting kiss his cheek. “We did all the maths.”

“All of them, huh?”

“Yep.” Rogue giggled as Natsu and Gray both wrapped an arm around him. “Don’t need help. Throw the whole accountant away.” He snorted with laughter and leaned against Sting’s shoulder.

“You,” Sting said, laughing, “are very drunk.”

“Look,” Rogue said. “I was dealing just fine until Gray stopped getting mad about Kesha and started singing along instead. It was a… like a different dimension. The tequila made it less real.”

“Oh my god,” Gray grumbled, at the same time that Sting asked Natsu, “You got him to sing Kesha?”  

“He knows all the words to ‘Your Love is My Drug,’” Natsu said proudly as he grabbed Gray’s hand around Sting’s waist.

Sting hummed happily in the embrace, then gently nudged all three of them away and moved over to look at the paperwork on the table. “I love you all dearly,” he said, grabbing the stack, “but I’m taking this away before Natsu sets it on fire.”

“Hey!” Natsu protested. “I was gonna fold you a beautiful paper crane!”

Sting frowned. “I… think that’s illegal? Can you do that with tax forms? Also this is like… fifty-seven pages.”

“Fifty-three,” Natsu corrected eyes, reaching out for the stack. “We’re stuck in the apartment, we have fuck all to do, and I’m pretty sure there are at least fifty-three animals for me to make out of paper.”

Sting was about to argue when he noticed the way Natsu’s nails were bitten down until they were almost bleeding. “All right,” he said, handing the paper to Natsu and gesturing to the couch. “I’ll make drinks because I am not drinking tequila.”

“Good,” Rogue said, grinning as he cuddled closer to Gray, “’cause I drank it all.”

“Go help your boyfriend make origami,” Sting said, rolling his eyes as he headed back into the kitchen.

When he got back to the couch, Rogue and Gray were curled up against each other, nearly asleep with Frosche and Soleil cuddled between them. Happy sat at Natsu’s feet, batting at the balled-up paper Natsu tossed for him, while Lector lounged on the coffee table with his eyes closed.

“Here,” Sting said, sliding down next to Natsu and handing him a beer. Then he grabbed a sheet of paper and nudged Natsu’s arm. “Now show me how to make a crane.”  

[hangmanshands]

Hangman’s Commissions #1

Here it is! My first commission ever. A big thank you to @hicsaster​ for working with me through this process and, of course, for commissioning me! This series was a lot of fun to work on, and I hope we work together more in the future! Please enjoy! Summary: Soraru returns home from tour. Mafumafu's been having a hard time since he's been gone. Established relationship. TW: Mentions and discussions of self-harm, stalking, threats of various kinds.

Home, Sweet Home (1684 words) [Mafu, I’m Comin' Home Part I]

Soraru has been on his latest tour for three months. The rush of playing directly for his fans, digital avatar on screen for their amusement, is nearly unparalleled. It’s better than any drug, any rollercoaster, any thrill--except one. He loves his job, just like he always hoped he would as a child, but he’s beyond excited to finally be going home. He lands at four p.m. and has his bag by four-fifteen, impatient to get home to a shower, to his bed, to Mafu. He rushes out to find the car they’ve sent for him. 

It’s easy to find. They always send a nondescript silver car, something like a Volvo, a vehicle middle-class middle aged white men might drive. Nice and vague. Surely nothing that the face behind a famous Vocaloid would ever be caught dead in. Soraru’s team arranged for it to take him from the airport directly to his home. His driver is the retired father of one of the members of the marketing team this time. They change it up frequently--even more often now, considering the threats Mafumafu’s been receiving lately.

Soraru frowns.

He feels guilty, having left Mafu to field such a dangerous--and, to be frank, treacherous--time alone. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to be done. Contracts are contracts, and he’s got to honor them. They won’t get anywhere if they’re not selling music; the harassment and the protection have the same origin. He sighs. He wishes there was more he could do about it. But, he’s not police or security, after all. He’s just a concerned boyfriend.

It takes an hour to get home because of the traffic. Despite pleasant conversation with whoever’s father this is, it leaves Soraru in a sour mood. He thanks the older man shortly, and heads up to the apartment he shares with Mafumafu. His heart feels heavy as he inserts his key into the lock, but joy creeps in as his door creeps open. “Mafu!” he says. “I’m home!”

He closes the door behind him, dropping his bag and stretching. Home smells like peace, like quiet. He stretches, satisfied. The lights are off, so he makes his way to the bedroom. He needs to freshen up as much as he needs to see his boyfriend’s sleeping form. He’s sure he’d have heard if something had happened to Mafumafu while he was gone, but it’s infinitely better to see him in person.

He walks in the room with a big, loud greeting ready, but Mafumafu is very much a curled lump on the bed. Soraru imagines that this is the result of Mafu not watching his diet as closely as he should. As much as Mafu likes to say that it’s under control, but he’s as guilty as anyone about being lazy when no one holds him accountable for how his eating impacts his health and this causes him to end up in bed feeling sick more often than he’d like. Sora is used to this.

The bathroom light is still on, illuminating a single stripe that crosses Mafu’s body. He aborts the greeting and heads to the bathroom instead to freshen up before waking his boyfriend up.

Sora takes the state of the bathroom in, and comes to a very simple conclusion. His normally picture-perfect bathroom strongly resembles a fucking crime scene.

At least, the kind of romantic, stylized crime scene Sora’s seen countless times in movies and on television--there’s signs of a struggle: soaps knocked off of the edge of the sink in a hurry, cracked caps spilling pearly soap in pools on the tile, skidmarks through the wreckage. There’s a pile of disheveled towels, the top one stained crimson and turning maroon with half-dried blood. There’s discarded bloodied toilet paper and ripped bandage wrappings in the garbage. They half-obscure discarded glass shards. The sink is coated in rivulets of dried, cracking blood, smeared and half rinsed away. There’s blood on the box of band-aids and gauze threads stuck in the residue caking the basin. There’s a bloody thumb impression on the medical tape. Tweezers. And the mirror. Cracked in a spiderweb pattern around a singular impression--sized for one small, bony fist.

Sora very easily pieces together what kind of struggle took place in the bathroom before he got home. Mafumafu knocked the soaps to hell. Mafumafu threw a punch. Mafumafu shattered the mirror. Mafumafu used the broken glass to hurt himself. Mafumafu tried to fix it. Mafumafu went to bed.

Sora reaches under the sink for the Clorox wipes. He cleans the sink first, tossing everything bloody in the trash. He uses a towel to clean up the soap and throws away the unsalvageable bottles. They can always buy more. When he’s finished, he throws the towel in the hamper and the wipes in the garbage. The bloodied towel joins the trash.

Soraru leaves the light on and the door wide open when he exits the bathroom. He sits on the edge of the bed and runs his hand over Mafumafu’s side. “Sweetheart,” he says softly. “Are you awake?”

Mafu flips over and wraps his body around Sora’s in the fetal position. “Thank you for cleaning up,” he responds, voice just as hushed.

Ah, so he’s been awake.

Sora pets Mafu’s white hair. “Want to tell me what’s happened?”

Mafumafu sighs quietly and presses his head into Soraru’s hand. “Suzumu called me while you were gone. A lot of times.”

Sora feels his stomach turn over and over, as if in the dryer. “What did he say?”

“He threatened our home. Our cars. My family.” He swallows, closing his eyes tight. “He said he’d spread rumors about how terrible I am to you, discredit my work, say that I believe in horrible things and hate women. He said he’d turn all of our friends against me, and then you.” 

Sora feels Mafu tremble under his hand.

“He said he’d have people find me and hurt me, Soraru.”

Anger blossoms, explosive, in his chest. Every cell in his lungs is a match head, aflame. “He won’t,” Sora says, vehement and venomous.

Mafu continues, “I started to panic after his last voicemail. I know I shouldn’t listen to them, but I can’t help it. I have to know.” His voice is weak, apologetic. “I locked myself in the bathroom and saw myself in the mirror. I looked so scared and helpless. I looked so....” he makes a disgusted noise. “I looked like a child, useless and reliant on his mother. I couldn’t stand it. I... I punched myself in the mirror.”

Mafu snakes his hand out of the blanket and shows Sora the damage. There’s gauze wrapped around his knuckles like boxing tape, lightly stained with blood. Below that, a large brown bandage needs changed, a red rose bud soaking through the pad. It’s not nearly as bad as the bathroom looked, and that alone makes Sora feel better.

“I’m sorry, Sora,” Mafu says. “I know I promised I would stop. I didn’t mean it, I-I just needed to ground myself! I was out of control--he’s driving me crazy. A bird flies in front of our window and I scatter like a cockroach.” Mafu clenches his fist and lays it on Sora’s leg. More red stains appear on his gauze. “I couldn’t take it--I still can’t. I had to, Sora. It would have been worse if I hadn’t.”

Sora pulls Mafu up and holds him tight against his chest. “I know,” he whispers. “I know. I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” Mafu leans back, his unharmed hand on Sora’s chest so Mafu can look at him.

“No,” he promises. “I’m just glad you’re okay, Mafu. I know how hard all of this has been on you. I’m not mad at you. I’m not disappointed in you. You’re getting better still, and doing your best to do so. This is a hiccup. I’m glad you could control the situation to the extent you did. I’m glad I came home to you, alive. That’s what’s important to me. Recovery isn’t linear, and I’m so proud of you.”

“You swear?” Mafu asks, red eyes big and teary.

Sora nods. “I swear. I’m very angry at Sumuzu. No one should treat another person like this. Especially not one that I love. But, you have to know he’s full of hot air by now. He’s all threats and no action. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, and it’s going to take a lot more than that... that... soulless copycat to take you away from me, Sweetheart. I promise you that.”

Mafu throws his arms around Sora, pulling him tight. The dam--full of three months’ dread and fury, helplessness and loneliness, and pure, cleansing relief--breaks. He cries with his cheek against Sora’s shoulder, ugly and too-hard. He can’t control this, either, and it’s freeing. The catharsis of falling apart in the place you’re the safest is unlike anything in the world.

Sora kisses his head, tender. He rests his cheek against the back of Mafu’s head and speaks softly. “I’ve got you,” and “I’m here, now,” and “I won’t let anything happen to you,” and “Let it out,” and “It’s okay, Sweetheart,” and “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

When there’s nothing left inside of Mafumafu but the calm, he leans back up and wipes his face. He looks up at Sora and smiles. “Thanks,” he says, almost embarrassed. “I needed that.”

Sora runs a hand through Mafu’s pretty hair. “Feel better?” “Much,” he agrees. He pauses. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” Sora says with a shrug.

Mafu smiles. “I’ve been so nauseous-anxious for the last couple days, I haven’t really eaten.”

Sora’s eyes are the size of tea plates. “Mafu!” He peels the blankets off of his boyfriend. “Get to the kitchen! Go!” He pulls Mafu off the bed by the uninjured hand. “What do you want?”

“Something spicy?” he asks, playful.

Sora makes a disgruntled noise. “I said I thought you were doing better!”

Mafu laughs, following Sora into the kitchen.

[carrotnosewitch]

feeling blah? check your space. (long step-by-step)

my husband, who is probably the smartest and most spiritually awesome person i’ve ever known, has been trying to instill this kind of mental acuteness within me for years. sometimes i remember it, sometimes i forget. sometimes i remember it but it’s a high pain day. y’know how it is.

this is a little things kind of thing at first. a lot of my time is spent in front of my computer and a lot of it is spent on the sofa or in bed. but wherever i am, i try to keep my surrounding area clean.

why? well let me explain, both in a spiritual way, and for practical reasons.

in a small space, like my desk and on my side table of my bed, it’s imperative to feel open and spacious. if my side table or desk gets cluttered, i feel claustrophobic, or overwhelmed by Stuff. even if it’s things that are there to give me positive thoughts. If there are too many, it’s time to declutter.

a lot of people (anxiety sufferers, a-spec folks, adhd people) have this thing that makes them block out things that stick around for a while. things that stay in a static place for too long become background noise, but they give a feeling of clutter. it also sucks when you’re looking around you and you’re hit with a wave of knowing it’s there to make you feel better, but you’ve gotten mentally weary of that exact thing that’s been there for a long time.

So, go over this checklist with me.

 Things up on the wall near you. How long has it been there? Is it helping? Is it mental/visual clutter? If it’s not stimulating it you how it should, it’s time to take it down.

Your horizontal space beside you. Does it have a bunch of unnecessary clutter? Are there things in that space that don’t have any important or special reason for being there? If you can, remove all the clutter, and re-arrange the important things to suit your space better. Don’t move things you have a reflex of it being there. (Y’know. tissue boxes, meds, your tablet pen, etc) 

Your outer bubble. Are there things in your immediate area beyond where you’re sitting which is distracting you or making you feel nervous, claustrophobic, or overwhelmed? Do your best to find a solution to this problem. Clean up, brighten the area, and put something there that helps you relax. 

Another big help is getting your whole area clean. Don’t push yourself to do everything at once. Take your time to do a little here and there, don’t rush yourself or stress yourself out about it. This is an in-depth reason for keeping things clean, how to feel super accomplished even in the littlest tasks, and respecting your own area. Here’s YA BIG ASS LIST.

Your bedroom: Clothes. are there dirty clothes around you, or clean clothes that haven’t been put away? Do yourself a favor and unclutter this first. Take all the dirty clothes you’ve been tripping over and sort them into light and dark piles. Put those light and dark piles. now you can start putting your clothes away. how i do this is i sort my clean clothes by what they are and which drawer they go. then i fold them and put them away. it gives me a chance to stretch and pop my back between the steps. And that’s like, six whole steps. now you’ve got two clean baskets (presumably) that you can use to put your dark and lights into for easier laundry. This is usually the worst and most draining job of the bedroom. break it into easy to do steps. drink some water while you’re doing it, just to make sure your joints aren’t getting tired while sorting and folding and putting away! Dishes. Are there any dishes in your room? Even if they’re stinky and weird, bring them into your kitchen. Get a clean glass for your water. Hey! that only took a few minutes, I’m sure. Give yourself a rest. A+ cleaning, and I’m not being condescending. That’s a great job! Garbage. I’m sure you’ve got some papers or snack wrappers, or drink cans/bottles/disposable cups. go from the door of your room with a plastic bag, gather stuff up as you pass by it. bring that out of your room, and suddenly you don’t feel like you live in a landfill. Bedding. How long have you been sleeping in between the same top cover and sheet? When’s the last time you changed out your pillowcase? It’s time for a change. remove them, throw them in a pile, and put some clean ones on. If you don’t have other ones, wash those and once they’re dry, put them back on. You’ll feel cleaner and get to sleep better. Clutter. Hell, this is me all over. I’ve got too much cool stuff and paperwork cluttering my shelves. I follow the six month rule with paperwork, clothes, and useful stuff that barely gets use. Are you going to need it or use it within six months? If no, get rid of it or pack it away. Bring the clothes to your local thrift store if you can. If you’ve got decorations that have gotten dusty or grimy, take one of your bored days to clean them up. not only will you be doing something that makes you happy, but it’ll make your room far less apt to accrue negative energy. Your knickknacks bring you joy. Treat them respectfully! Floor: Vacuum. get the dust, dead skin, and whatever else up out of there. Side note: If you are having bad dreams, there’s a few neato things you can do to help you sleep. Some people swear by amethyst under your pillow. Some others suggest other stones. idk about y’all but stones under my pillow are somehow worse than troubles with dreams or sleep. I prefer sachets for in your pillowcase. even if you aren’t the best at sewing, you can do this. Just get a tiny white fabric baggie. whatever works for you. Just make sure it’s secure, so the herbs don’t get loose and make your bed an itchfest. lavender is the primary scent people go with, though I’m not the biggest on that scent. anise is another one that works, because this is silly but true: it’s shaped like a star. cedar, since the middle ages, has been thought to cure persistent nightmares, and open you to lucid dreaming. jasmine is such an awesome flower and scent, so mellow and enchanting. i’d suggest this because of its calming and kind vibe. find dried jasmine and add it to the bag. there’s a ridiculous many herbs worth exploring here. If you want to get spicy with it, I suggest adding a sigil or even an amulet of the one you want to look over you in your sleep. I use an amulet of the archangel Gabriel, who presides over dreams and sleep.

Your Bathroom: Your area rugs. These little buggers need to be washed. They’re usually made of fabric. Fabric that hangs out in your dampest room, no less. You probably don’t think of it often, but mildew is not a good thing for your health, and those things get mildew like crazy. Time for the washer and dryer again! Your towels and washcloths. How long has that washcloth been chilling there? Okay, if it dries and becomes a stiff nasty mess? Time to switch them out. Towels (especially hand towels) need to be washed frequently, too. Not only because the mildew thing is still y’know. a thing. but you deserve to be cleaned by clean things. it’s better for your body, and it’s so good for your spirit, to know that you’re doing right by yourself. Your place you keep things. You know, that place you keep your products, makeup, whatever. Is it in disarray on a messy shelf or counter? Time to fix that up! Set all those things aside, clean the surface they’ve been chilling on. Then you can get things sorted and aligned. Did you know straight lines are satisfying? Try it. Also if you have a candle in there, just light it for a little bit. Not only is it trés romantic and luxurious, but it burns the stank out of there, not just physically, but otherwise, as well.  Your toilet. Not only the bowl. The bottomside of the seat, and the hinges that attach the seat and lid. and back behind those hinges, where the shitter meets the tank. Goodbye stink goblins! Also bye that general gross feeling.  Your tub. You dissociate there a lot, think your thoughts, and get clean, but that means your dead skin, hair, and oils are all over that. I personally use either orange cleaning solution or magic erasers, and those fucking rock that shit out. Oh, don’t forget to de-hair your drain. Gross nasty gluck. Personally, my mom told me to stop associating those oils, hair, and all that other stuff with yourself. (and nail clippings.) This makes sure you don’t wind up getting hexed. (Those nail clippings and that nasty hair can VERY easily be used in a hex bag.)  Your sink and mirror. First off, how the hell are you going to take bathroom selfies if this makes you always internally go “yikes”, and not at yourself. Scrub the toothpaste grit from around and in the sink. Side note: If you don’t like what you see when you look in the mirror, you can set rose incense near the mirror, use that hypothetical bathroom candle, and turn the light off. Speak into the mirror, “I am the best me so far.” or something similar. Remind yourself that you are okay, no matter what kind of imperfections you think are there. You are incredible. Nobody’s seeing your flaws because they’re too busy fretting about their own. It’s cool. you’re cool.  Floor. while those stinky area rugs are out and on their way to the large cloth water vortex, take a minute to sweep. Envision yourself sweeping away not only the garbage and grut, but the anxiety and bad feelings. Dustpan, garbage, good. Trash. I left this for last. You’ve got a lot of stuff you’ll need thrown out.  If you use a plastic shopping bag in a tiny little garbage pail like i do, it’s time to clean it out. If you’re also a nasty bitch like me, you’ve gotta also put the stuff that missed the garbage can in there too. Go take that to your main trash to go out with you next time you leave your place. Well now your bathroom is flawless and won’t make you subconsciously make you anxious. You’ve got things looking like they’re almost meant to like, exist in the fictional world Jenna Marbles apparently lives. 

Kitchen: Fridge: Clean out all the nasty shit. Wipe it down. Put the containers over near the sink to wash. Dishes. Do you have piles of these nasty bitches fucking up your day, every time you go on a raid for sustenance? First step is to gather them, then take your time for each step. Wash them. Put them away. As you do this, speak to yourself, chant to yourself, or just think to yourself, that by cleaning these, you are doing right and fair to your body. a clean dish is a healthy dish. a clean pan is a pan that will cook happy foods. This whole room is capable of so much, and can do so much for your joy and health.  Sink. After you’re done cleaning the dishes, you can unstink your sink. Again, I’m all about that orange solution, but if you like another scent that makes you feel energized, go for it. This is the part of the kitchen that shares like, a third of the work. This is where all the negative and gross goes. Down the drain both physically and emotionally. Get the fuck out of here, nasty! Counters. Just wipe them down until they’re not nasty and crumb-laden and have spatters on them. tell them that they’re going to do great things for you. If you’re a kitchen witch, you’re making all your cool shit on them. Stove/microwave/the heaty thingy. Ungrut it. our friend the stovetop is the unfortunate victim of nasty cooked on things. So is our screwy science friend, the microwave. Scrubby dubby! sometimes you’ll need to soak ‘em. Whatever makes it easier for you.  Floor. It’s time to sweep! again, take that broom and use it, not just to get rid of sugar, cereal and even the dried corns nibblets that fell under the fridge, but the negative energies. again, be firm about it. Fuck outta here, dark spookies! carefully pour the stuff in your garbage. Ya Cabinets. Before you pull out the mop and bucket, don’t forget the surfaces of the cabinets. A Happier kitchen is a kitchen that doesn’t tell you the story of the ill-begotten incident of the chicken parm. You see that squidge of marinara on the cabinet door and have been annoyed by it since it was made. Time to get it gone.  All the while, think about the things these cabinets have seen. All the weird utensils you never use that live in this drawer. The fondue machine you bought with the aspirations of having a 70s night get together, as told to you by that very convincing guy at IKEA. Think of all these cool things in your kitchen. Focus on the positive moments you’ve spent in here. Picture the future of this kitchen. And thank it for the memories to come. Floor 2: Slippery Boogaloo. Mop and bucket time!!! No seriously if you don’t like mopping, idk what to say. Do your kitchen a solid and scrub away all that nasty crap that didn’t make it into the dust pan. Once you’re done and it’s drying, feel fucking awesome about a job well done.  Side note: Hey y’know what kicks ass in a kitchen? The scent of the season. A lot of people get down with the welsh calendar, and that’s a great way of cycling through the seasons comfortably for people. then there’s the regular four seasons, but do it how you want. It’s imbolc as of the time I’m writing this. I personally love cinnamon and sandalwood, since they’re both wonderfully warm scents, to balance out the wintry shivers of the outside. You can use essence oils, or like, airwicks, or candles, or even make a wreath with those fun things in there that are aromatic on one of your walls. 

Living room Seriously, all these hot takes can be used in the living room now. Clean under and between the couch cushions. clean your decorations. declutter. Remember the good times as you clean. And then to cleanse it of all the gross energies, do what you do. Use white and sweet flower/herb scents to reset the most important room of your house’s energies.  Side note: If you want to keep your stuff from disappearing, place a pin safely deep under your couch/chair cushion. This is called pinning the devil. you’re literally pinning down whatever it is that’s keeping you from finding - or straight up disappearing - your stuff. If you have guardians - decorations of animals of some sort - make sure they have a full spy of the room. I prefer putting one on each corner of the room so everything can be seen. This makes sure the energy you want in your home is respected. If someone has bad intentions, this will give off a vibe of them being unwelcome and feel your guardians’ eyes on them. If they’re someone that you appreciate, and you feel comfortable around, these guardians will keep things nice for you and give your home a welcoming feeling. don’t forget to dust them. 

[thecoroutfitters]

Written by Guest Contributor on The Prepper Journal.

Editors Note: A guest contribution from David Hoes to The Prepper Journal. I love this. Goes well as a supplement to the recent post on Prime Locations for Post Disaster Salvage. As always, if you have information for Preppers that you would like to share then enter the Prepper Writing Contest with a chance to win one of three Amazon Gift Cards  with the top prize being a $300 card to purchase your own prepping supplies, enter today.

Okay, I admit it. I am a scrounger. I don’t do it out of necessity; I do it because I enjoy getting a bargain and building my prepping stockpiles. Now, I need to clarify that I do not steal things. I do not take towels from hotels or silverware from restaurants. I do not find and keep items such as wallets, credit cards, or electronic devices that can be traced to an owner. I do not keep anything that someone is likely to try to reclaim. Such items I will turn in somewhere. If I see someone drop something, I will tell them.

I’m also not going to discuss using coupons or discounts. These are both good ideas, but have already been covered.

That said, I do take items that are unlikely to ever get back to their original owner, and things that I am allowed to take or that are come with something I have purchased. If in doubt – I ask. Here are some ideas:

Personal protective equipment: Most hospitals and some doctor’s offices now offer free respirators to visitors. I’ve picked-up several of these. Protective gloves are often available in the ER or in patient rooms, and some give-out small bottles of hand sanitizer. I have a little psoriasis on my hands, and they are happy to give them out. In the quantities a hospital purchases them, they are almost free.

Wipes and anti-bacterial solution: Doctor’s offices and medical facilities often have solutions or wipes available for free. They bill your insurance $150 for a few minutes with a doctor. They don’t sweat the little stuff. Heck, ask your doctor for appropriate medical samples while you are at it. You never know what you may get.

Gauze, wipes, Band-Aids, and surgical tape: I have asked if I could take a few gauze pads, alcohol wipes, and mostly used rolls of tape when I have gone to labs and imaging facilities. They are normally okay with it.

Salt, pepper, sugar, condiment packets, and straws: These all have survival and medical uses. Grab a few each time you go to a fast-food place. During the depression in the 1930’s, those down on their luck would go to a diner and order a cup of hot water for a few cents. They would then add ketchup and other condiments to make a sort-of tomato soup. There is actually enough vitamin C in a few packs of ketchup to prevent scurvy. Is this stealing? If taken in reasonable quantities, I do not believe so. If I order a cup of coffee, part of the price I pay goes to cream and sugar. My ex used to take her coffee with 4 creams and 4 sugars. I do not use either, so I do not think taking one or two of each is stealing. Now, taking a handful? Yes. That is stealing. Asking for salt and condiments at a drive through? Nope. What they put in the bag is yours.

Soaps and shampoos: Yes, in a motel I take what they put in my room. I do not consider it stealing; I believe that I have paid for it and can take it. When I or a loved one is in the hospital, I take whatever they give as well. Hospital staff has told me on numerous occasions that insurance paid for it and if I don’t take it they will throw it out. Also, many hotels provide courtesy tooth brushes, tooth paste, and combs upon request. If they give it to you, it isn’t stealing, even if you don’t really need it. But no, I don’t take towels or rolls of toilet paper.

Candles at church: Many churches toss-out candles after one or two uses, and may give-away the used ones for free if you ask. Although some now use propane or natural gas simulated candles, those that still use candles tend to use ones of very high quality. Small stubs can be melted down and used to create larger candles. My church had a Christmas Eve service where everyone was given a candle to hold. They were lit for about 10 minutes and not reused. Hundreds of good candles were thrown out.

Community events: Where I live, they have several free community disaster planning, home and garden, and wellness events each year. They give-out items such as samples of seeds, dental floss and toothbrushes, band aids, energy bars, bottled water, samples of vitamins, water bottles, and other swag. At one event, the first 50 people through the door got a bag with some very nice stuff.

Food banks: I have been fortunate enough to have survived without going to one. However, if you are looking to build a small emergency stockpile, why not go and pick-up a few cans of food? They will probably mostly have items near or past the expiration date, but canned food is generally safe to eat long after the expiration date. I have eaten MRE’s and canned foods that were 10 years past their expiration dates and suffered no ill effects. The exceptions are if the can is damaged, in poor condition, or if the can contains acidic products such as tomatoes. Is it wrong to take food from a food bank if you are not immediately facing hunger? I think the answer is, it depends. If you are sufficiently wealthy to purchase your food and have plenty of money to stock-up on prepping supplies, I would say that it is wrong. However, if you can buy all you now need but are unable to afford to purchase a enough for a 72 hour emergency supply of food to see you through a disaster, I would say not. I donate money to food banks, and I give so that people do not go hungry. As a donor, I am not bothered by those who use the food bank to prepare for future hard times.

Wooden Pallets: I live near a business that sells pools and hot tubs, and another that sells paving stones. They dispose of dozens of wooden pallets each week. I have used them to create raised garden beds, for firewood, and for woodworking projects including building a bed frame for a futon.

Road Debris: When I drive, I keep an eye on the shoulder and medians. I frequently find bandannas, bungee cords, tools and knives, Bic Lighters (still good), coolers, storage totes, thermoses, 5-gallon plastic buckets, gas cans, and a variety of other items. Bandanas are my favorite find; I have found 30 or more. Bikers lose bandannas like crazy. Wash and reuse them. They have lots of survival uses. One of my favorite finds took place a few weeks ago. I found a Camillus Titanium folding knife lying in the road. It was a bit scuffed-up and not very sharp, but I cleaned it up, sharpened it, and it has become my EDC knife.

Post-disaster giveaways: Here in Florida, following Hurricane Irma, the County and many different organizations gave-out a lot of food and water to anyone who came by. No questions were asked. A friend of mine got dozens of bags of cookies, boxes of Pringles chips, ten cases of Civilian MRE’s and ten cases of bottled water. It is unfortunate, but the ones who give and the ones who distribute often have very different goals. Churches, civic groups and charities may raise money for 1,000 meals. They want to see 1,000 different people get food. Those who distribute the aid may not care. If one person arrives with a truck that can carry 1,000 meals, they may let them have it all. They don’t want to carry it back at the end of the day. They will report back that the food was distributed and everyone will be happy. Don’t be a pig, but if you can put it to good use, do so.

Free bicycles: I am only speaking about Florida, but I think this is true for other areas. Law Enforcement departments recover a huge number of bicycles that have been abandoned, discarded or stolen and that are not claimed by owners. In some places jail inmates repair them as part of a work program. It is not widely advertised, but there may be periodic giveaways where serviceable bikes are distributed on first come basis. I once had two bikes stolen in a particular county. One of the two was recovered, but I had already replaced it, so I donated it to this program.

Why am I mentioning bicycles? Well, because I believe that in a TEOTWAWKI situation, they may become the most important method of transportation.

Complaining about lousy stuff: I wrote a negative review about a pair of gloves I bought on Amazon. I included a photo clearly showing the defect. They sent me a new pair without making me return the old pair. The old pair went into my preps box.

I have complained about the quality of canned or packaged foods. They sent me coupons for free products. I DO NOT invent complaints to get free stuff. In some cases, the original product was so nasty I did not want coupons for two free ones. That was the case where I bought a can of collard greens that contained a large cockroach. Still, if you pay for a product and you really get something nasty, complain. Then add it to your preps. If SHTF and you have nothing else, you may be willing to risk eating a cucaracha. Even sending a suggestion may earn you a coupon for a free product. I told a company that sells crackers and tuna snacks that the crackers crumbled too easily. They send me a coupon for a free package. I did not lie and I did not steal.

Garbage day: I’m not going to go into the finer points of dumpster diving, but the finds possible on garbage day are incredible. I have changed residences 18 times since leaving High School. Many were interstate moves. When your car and U-Haul are packed to the max and there is still more stuff, you put it on the curb. I once had a Saturn so overloaded it could barely make 50 mph on an Interstate. I left a lot of valuable stuff behind that could have really helped some prepper. If you see a big pile of stuff waiting for the garbage truck, most of it probably still works.

I realize that my suggestions may be distasteful to some. It is much more fun to purchase prepper items from Amazon or WalMart. In America, second-hand, discarded and used are bad words. Nevertheless, if SHTF, scrounging skills will become more valuable than shopping on-line with a credit card skills. And if you have some more ideas, I would appreciate hearing them.

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from The Prepper Journal Don't forget to visit the store and pick up some gear at The COR Outfitters. How prepared are you for emergencies? #SurvivalFirestarter #SurvivalBugOutBackpack #PrepperSurvivalPack #SHTFGear #SHTFBag

[im-still-writing-out-of-time]

It’s My Job- Lin x Reader

I’m not putting any warnings, because if period talk bothers you, you need to be educated on the female body. 

Masterlist

You were laying on the bed cramping when the bedroom door opened. Your husband of six years rushed into the room, barely looking up until he saw you still in bed.

“Morning, (Y/N). You feeling okay?” His hair fell against his shoulders, slightly wavy from where his hair band had been the night before. Stubble adorned his cheeks, and the ever-present bags under his eyes were a light purple. He stripped off the t-shirt he wore to bed and tossed it in the hamper before crawling over the bed to you.

“Yeah, just having some major cramps. I’ll be okay,” you said before wincing slightly. “I should get out of bed anyway.”

You went to sit up but he gently pressed you against the bed. “Stay here for a minute, I’ll be right back.” He pecked your lips before disappearing into the bathroom. You sat in the bed as you heard him bustle around the bathroom, starting the water in the bath. The cupboard doors began opening and closing and before you knew it, he was next to the bed, a couple of pills in one hand, a small cup of water in the other. “I got you some Midol. Here.” He disappeared back in the bathroom and the room became quiet.

“Lin?” you questioned.

His head popped out of the bathroom. “Just give me one more minute, princesa.” He disappeared back in the bathroom and you couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Alright,” he said, still behind the door. He appeared in front of you, holding his hands out. “Come, my beautiful (Y/N). I drew you a warm bubble bath.” He grabbed your hands and pulled you to a stand. You loved the feeling of his calloused hands surrounding yours. It brought you a comfort you couldn’t describe.

He pulled you to a stand and the blankets fell off your legs, revealing a bloody stain on the light-colored sheets. You blushed and looked at the floor, knowing your pajamas looked the same way. He dropped one of your hands and lifted your chin to look at him. “I’m sorry Lin,” you whispered. “I’ll clean that up. Just give me a minute.”

He brushed his lips against yours. “Nonsense, princesa. Come, get in that tub and soak yourself. I’ll start the laundry.” He led you to the tub and pulled your pajama top off over your head, rolling it into a ball in his hands. He stood there, waiting for you to take off your pajama bottoms when your cheeks flushed red.

“Can you turn around for a second?” He turned around and you stripped off your pants and underwear, wrapping the soiled pad in toilet paper, tossing it in the garbage. You blushed as you handed him your clothes. “You can turn around now,” you murmured, your voice barely higher than a whisper.

Lin turned to you and shuffled your clothes under one arm, grabbing your hand and helping you into the tub. “You sit here and enjoy yourself and I’ll go start the laundry and be right back.” He disappeared into the bedroom and you could hear him stripping the sheets off the bed. How much more disgusting could you get?

You sank beneath the bubbles, your head bobbing just above the water line. Lin had chosen your tub when you two had renovated the bathroom and you were more than happy with his choice. Your entire body fit under the water from toes to shoulders and it was as amazing as you hoped it would be. You were almost enjoying yourself, had it not been for the ache in your abdomen. You couldn’t believe you had made a mess like that, and in your bed nonetheless. That feeling of embarrassment engulfed you and you were ashamed that your husband was cleaning up your mess.

Just as you thought about him, his head poked around the corner. “Where’s the fabric cleaner?”

Your eyes dropped to the bubbles that stuck to your skin. “Under the sink.”

He walked in the bathroom and began rooting under the sink until he pulled out the bottle. He set it on the counter and stepped to you, sitting on the side of the tub. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, mi princesa. It’s not like you meant for it to happen, and I don’t mind cleaning up after you once in a while. Goodness knows you clean up after me enough.” He smiled before pressing his lips to your forehead. “I love you princesa. You never have to feel embarrassed around me, especially about something as natural as this.”

He stood and grabbed the bottle from the counter, disappearing into the bedroom. You smiled at his kind words. He said there was no need to be embarrassed, but you knew the embarrassment wouldn’t leave. The bedroom became quiet and you frowned. Where did he go?

Five minutes later, he was knocking around things in your room and you couldn’t help but smile at his clumsy awkwardness. He walked in and set a skateboard across the tub in front of you before hopping back out again. Seconds later, he sauntered in with a tray of French toast and orange juice. “My queen,” he said, bowing and playing the tray on the skateboard.

“Thank you, Lin,” you smiled. “Come. Climb in with me.”

“No, (Y/N), it’s your bath. Scoot forward.” You did as you were told and he wet your hair, massaging your scalp. He grabbed the shampoo and continued working with your hair, bringing the shampoo to a lather. “Lean your head back, baby.” He grabbed the shower head and washed the shampoo into the already-soapy water. “How’s the food?”

You threw your head back to give him a closed-mouth smiled, your cheeks full of French toast. “It’s good,” you said, swallowing. “Maybe you should cook more often.”

He smiled at you before grabbing the conditioner and worked it into your hair. “But then it wouldn’t be as special.”

You smiled and leaned back as his hands left your hair. You grabbed a handful of bubbles and placed them on his face, shaping them into a bushy beard. “It’s a cute look,” you giggled.

He turned and looked at himself in the mirror. “You think so? I could make it work.” He leaned in close to you and wiped his cheek against yours. You squealed as the bubbles clumped onto your face, leaving his cheek clear. He grabbed more suds from his face and poked your nose, leaving the bubbles in his wake. You laughed and scrunched up your nose and he took the empty tray and the skateboard off the tub and pushed it all into the bedroom. “Come on (Y/N), let’s get you rinsed off. How are you feeling? The cramps any better?”

“A little,” you said, pulling the drain plug and standing up. Lin placed the shower head back in its bracket and turned on the water so you can rinse your hair.

He runs out of the room, sliding in his socks across the bathroom floor. “I’ll be back!” He cried. “Stay right there!” You laughed at the padding of his feet running down the hallway, the slamming of a door, and the padding of his feet back into the bathroom. A towel was in his hands and another slung over his shoulders. “This one-” he said, tossing one on the counter. “-is for your hair. And this one-” he held out the one in his hands. “Is for your body. I put it in the dryer for a little bit so it’s nice and warm for you.”

You smiled and turned off the water, stepping into the towel he held out for you. His arms wrapped the towel around you and you welcomed the closeness. “How did I get so lucky to have you? To have someone who treats me as good as you?”

“I don’t know. I am pretty perfect,” he smirked, making you laugh.

You bounced up on your toes and kissed him. “You are perfect.”

Lin leaned down and kissed you, his lips molding perfectly with yours before he stepped back. “Get dressed, and get a clean pad and everything on, and meet me in the living room. We’re going to have a movie day.” He stepped out of the room and closed the bedroom door behind him. Pulling on a pair of underwear, you grabbed a pad from the bathroom cupboard. You snagged a pair of his sweatpants from college from the closet and pulled them on, digging through the dresser for a t-shirt. You swiped one of Lin’s t-shirts and walked down the hall, pulling it over your head as your chest hit his.

“Hi,” you breathed, your cheeks red.

“Hi,” he smiled back. “Stealing my clothes again, I see.” You looked down at the shirt that draped down to your thighs and the sweatpants that were pooled beneath your feet, dwarfing you. “You look good.” He kissed you, his hands on your waist and began to sway back and forth. He began to hum the song that was your first dance at your wedding. “Te amo, mi princesa.”

“I love you so much Lin. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” You danced the two of you over to the couch and you plopped down, pulling him down beside you. “So what are we watching?”

“Ladies choice,” he said, looking through the DVDs.

“It’s been a while since we watched Titanic,” you said. “I’m in the mood for sappy.”

He grabbed the DVD and pushed it in the player, grabbing the remote and sitting on the couch beside you. He leaned over the side and grabbed a heating pad and a bowl of your favorite chocolates. Turning on the heating pad, he placed it on your abdomen and held his hand there.

“Better?”

You leaned in, kissing him. “Much better babe, thank you.” You pulled your feel up on the couch and leaned your head on his chest, inhaling the scent that was just- Lin. It was comforting and reminded you of all the good times- times like these.

“I got chocolate too,” he mumbled, pressing his lips to the side of your head. “I’d hate for it to go to waste.”

You laughed and grabbed some chocolates, unwrapping them and popping it in your mouth. “You always know how to make me feel better, Lin. I don’t deserve someone as perfect as you.”

“It’s my job, mi princesa. And you deserve every bit of me, every bit of this treatment. I love you.”

“I love you too, Lin. You’re the light of my life.” You buried your head in his chest and settled in to watch the movie. “I love you so much.”

[ratthewrodent]

Ok, I love lifestyle bloggers but to be honest I can never really trust their reviews of things because there's just no way I can be that motivated, consistent, organized, or self-sacrificing. But oh lordy do I try.Here's some of the "zero waste"/ "buy it for life" / "Environmental" things and hacks I've tried and how they compare to the normal products I would have used. 5/5 is going to be exactly as good as a normal product.A disclaimer- I am a young, able bodied adult woman with no kids, no allergies, and non-sensitive skin. I'm also going to be referring to products very generically, because many I bought locally but have identical or similar items all over the market. Also there will be TMI for things like body care and butts and stuff so... yeah.Saftey Razor (5/5) - I genuinely don't know how disposable razors managed to so thoroughly usurp safety razors, it is a marvel of marketing. I bought a super cheap safety razor ($20ish) and a 5 pack of blades because I was nervous and yeah there was a bit of a learning curve but not more than normal shaving? I'd say the biggest difference is the fact that pressing harder doesn't change anything and if your shave isn't close enough you need to switch angles instead of just going over and over again. I am not a patient shower-er and I have not yet cut myself. I've used it to shave every area except the Brazilian wax area. No razor burn to be seen (but again I have non sensitive skin). I dispose of the blades first in any old plastic container or can I'm getting rid of anyway before the trash, but that process may be more difficult with children who have access to bathrooms.I could see how blade removal could be difficult for folks with shaky hands, and obviously self harm triggers from the blades are present.Shaving Cream Bar (4/5) - Not as satisfying as a foam, but equally as effective. Docked a tiny bit for being very slippery to handle, especially when on its last legs. Also tough to spread around bikini areas.Cardboard Tube "natural" deodorant (2/5) - I really wanted to like this one more because I loved the smell and the idea of it, but these suckers are fairly expensive and I also seem to like,,,, crush them???? I am not raging hulk of a person as far as I know but these suckers just have not managed to keep their whole shape and "push-up-ability" for me. Also I'm a real sweaty bastard and while it smelled nice it was not workday capable without a re-application. All in all it was just too much money for a semi-crushed nice smelling stick for me to buy again.Old tee-shirt cotton pads (4/5) - I was shocked, shocked I tell you, with how well this ended up working for me. I was completely unwilling to actually sew a hem around the squares I cut from a no longer wanted cotton shirt and so I felt crazy looking at these stupid little fraying bits of scrap cloth. But I put them in an old tissue box and they blended right in with my bathroom. Applying products to the squares and then my face is exactly as good feeling as a standard disposable wipe. I used a different small basket I already had for dirty ones so I could wash them in larger batches because my morning process does not leave room for me deal with them one at a time because my life is a mess sometimes.Washing them is... a process. At first I tried hand washing but then drying was not happening and my partner did not deserve the punishment of tiptoeing through a bathroom with like 50 cotton squares just around. Also cat hair got on everything. Eventually I ended up with the solution to use a mesh bag (like for bras) and added them to my laundry load that way so they dont get lost.Honestly I would try this one if only because you have nothing to lose. You're getting rid of the tee shirt anyway, rub your face with it first and see if you like it!Silicone period cup (4.5/5) - I really like mine and it takes a bit of practice, but I'd say it's well worth the learning curve. Once you know how to do it you can pop that sucker out, wash it and pop it back in in less than 3 minutes tops. Holds like 8 hours of blood no problemo.Old clothing "paper" towels (2/5)- I wish this worked for me as well as the bathroom squares did. But between the cats and my general messiness old clothes were just not absorbent enough to clean as well as my actual wash rags. I may just have shitty clothes though.They did work well for very specific instances like wiping up a spilled drink on a flat surface, but not enough for me to be willing to have a basket of old shirts just sitting in my house.Bamboo Travel Cutlery (0/5) - No shade if you like these but they were garbage to me. I bought them because I was tricked by green-washing and cool advertisements and I wish I had just packed a normal fork.Bar Shampoo/conditioner (2/5) - While these technically did a job, they did not work for me and my partner (and we share shampoo). He has thick curly locks and the shampoo and conditioner in a bar was just not able to permeate without some very meticulous showering and we are not meticulous people. Our showers are 10 minutes give or take, and we needed something more simple. I am also a clutz and would always drop them, losing whole dollars of shampoo at a time.Some crazy shampoo/conditioner that a local hippie delivers to me in a metal tin so I only needed one reusable pump (5/5) - Hell yeah! I can't really do a good recommendation on this one because obviously not everyone is as lucky as I am to have a zero waste shop in the same city as they are. But here is my plea - give your local hippie shop owners a chance, do some intensive googling for local businesses and you may be pleasantly surprised at what you find! (by the way, if you're in the Tacoma area A Drop In The Ocean makes my shampoo)Bidet (5/5+) - Honestly I tell people who arent zero waste to get a bidet. Just get one, they're so good. Mine was like $30 and it only shoots cold water and it's still the best thing that's ever happened to me. I still use toilet paper with mine but now it's like one square at a time for drying purposes.Cast Iron Pan (5/5) - Im in love with my cast iron. It just sits on my stove and I cook everything on it. That being said, I've never managed to get it truly seasoned to be non stick on its own, I add a lil oil to it for that. I also literally dont know what all these crazy care instructions on the internet are. My father used a cast iron for 40+ years and he cleans it with water, sometimes a little soap if it's uber gross and it's literally fine. I've seen him re season it once. Not a good pan for people who have muscular troubles with their hands though, these bad boys are pretty heavy.Also side bar: Advice about cast irons online is terrible it's all so pretentious and frightening to read if you don't have background knowledge but I swear, it's super simple. All those people using big words and crazy continuous care are just like, high on their own knowledge or something.You clean the cast ironyou rub that bad boy with some vegetable oil or criscoyou throw it upside down in the oven at 375 for an hour and let coolBAM all done. It is now seasoned forever. If for some reason you feel the seasoning getting thin somewhere (maybe because you're like me and accidentally left it in soapy water overnight because I'm a sinner) Just do step 1-3 again.A mason jar instead of a reusable cup (0/5) - I dropped my bag because I'm a moron and it fucking exploded because it's glass, maybe 5/5 if you're not a moron but I'm unwilling to attempt again.Keepcup TM (1/5) - Very cute but the lid stopped working after I kept putting boiling hot drinks in it. My friend's still works fine so maybe it's a fluke, but I didn't get another.A $2 reusable starbucks cup (4/5) - Because I broke every other cup I guess. I also beat the shit out of it with no visible damage so far, including microwave, freezing, dropping and dishwasher. They are pretty thin though so I use a knit cozy so I can hold it when hot. Also doesn't seal shut.Cutting open the bottle of my swiffer cleaner so I could refill it (5/5+) - Only thing that makes my swiffer worth it. The seal is a lie, there's threading under there. The instructions linked are a good way to do it, but I literally just hacked at the edge of mine with a knife until it came off. I refill using a cleaning concentrate and it works equally as well as the original cleaner. Throwing in that I got a reusable swiffer pad set of three as well and they work great too. Just throw them in with the laundry when they're dirty!Powder Toothpaste (1/5) - Again, power to you if you can use this. My teeth felt clean but I also wanted to barf while using it. I did use it all, which I am proud of, and I did gag every time, which I am not.And finally...A metal reusable straw (3/5) - It's fine I guess. I cant really take it places with me but it's nice for when I drink at home.I am so sorry this got so long. I don't know what happened. Quarantine is just so boring. Hopefully maybe other people can leave honest reviews of them trying to live normal lives with zero waste products too and add validity to this monstrosity or maybe just point out things I missed or something. via /r/ZeroWaste

[iamnotthedog]

EUGENE TO ARCATA: AUGUST 12-13, 2001

When I got to Eugene, Oregon, after only about four hours of driving, I was already sick of the interstate. I didn’t want to take the truck up over about seventy miles an hour for fear that it would fall apart, so driving on the interstate was not only boring, but pointless. I gassed up at a Shell Station on 7th Avenue in Eugene, then decided to head west to Florence and take the 101 south along the rugged Oregon coast.

Headed south from Florence, you can smell the ocean—you can even hear it off to your left, beyond the trees—but you can’t see it. A dense forest surrounds you for miles—a forest so dark that you can’t see anything inside it beyond the first twenty yards or so. I passed a few logging trucks—dozens of logs tethered to the beds, dreary-eyed men in dirty shirts and baseball caps behind the steering wheels. Just north of Reedsport, the forest opened up into a series of lakes, then I crossed the mouth of the Umpqua River and was back in the woods all the down to the Coos River and Coos Bay, when the 101 took me inland for a stretch until I got all the way down to Port Orford, when I got my first view of the Pacific. South of Port Orford, the drive alternated between views of flat, sandy beaches and dense forests all the way down to California.

So much for an afternoon spent driving along the rugged Oregon coast.

Driving into California, I had this strange sense of being home. It was my first time ever feeling like that about anywhere since leaving Morrison. I stopped in the small harbor town of Crescent City—it would seem just from passing through that almost half of the town’s population is inmates at Pelican Bay State Prison. I bought a cup of coffee from a very small espresso shop in a very large parking lot next to what looked like a warehouse of some kind—possibly a storage facility for boats in repair. Then I spent the late afternoon hours driving slowly down the Newton B. Drury Scenic Parkway and the 101 as they twisted through Redwood National and State Parks.1

At a paved pull-out for the Big Tree Wayside—a 304 foot-tall and 21 foot-wide coastal redwood just off the Scenic Parkway in Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park, I noticed a bathroom with closable doors and decided to stop and freshen up. The sky looked like rain, and I was going to have to find somewhere to stay that night or I’d be stuck sleeping in the cab of the truck again, so I wanted to make myself look presentable. My new sweater, jacket, and jeans were holding up fine, but I needed to change my t-shirt, and I still wanted to use those clippers I bought to shave the hair off my head.

I pulled the truck up alongside the bathroom, cut the engine, and yanked my pack out from behind the passenger seat. I took out my Buddhist Bible, an envelope with $186 dollars left in it, a small black bag of toiletries, eleven pairs of brand new wool socks, my underwear, a few old t-shirts, and my sleeping bag. In the bottom of the pack were my clippers. And that was everything.

I folded the envelope of cash and stuck it in my jeans pocket, grabbed the clippers, and got out of the truck. There was only one other vehicle in the parking lot—an aqua marine minivan with Oregon plates and a Clinton/Gore ’96 sticker on the bumper. No one was in the minivan as far as I could tell—they were probably off down the trail, looking at the Big Tree Wayside.

I walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind me.

There was one outlet in the bathroom, just below a small mirror above the sink. I took off my jacket, sweater, and t-shirt and draped them over the door to the stall, then plugged in the clippers and turned ‘em on. They worked, but rattled a bit, so I took out the little bottle of oil that came with the set, bit off the tip, and oiled ‘em down. While waiting for the oil to get down in there, I looked at myself in the scratched up mirror.

I had been growing my hair since Don had shaved it all off for me in our kitchen on Wall Street one late summer evening before entering my sophomore year of high school. I had grown out of the grunge look by then, and had unfortunately chosen to go with the short and spiky, bleached blonde look instead—a look that luckily didn’t last long, as my newfound love for marijuana soon had my personal aesthetic choices steered more towards the pseudo-intellectual hippies and au naturel styles of the late 1960s and early ‘70s. So basically, I had long hair. Then short regular hair. Then short “styled” hair. Then regular hair. And back to long hair. All of which is terribly boring, I know, but the fact that I hadn’t cut my hair since Don shaved it all off when I was still in high school and living under his roof meant something to me as I stood there in that cold bathroom in the middle of an old-growth redwood forest on the fog-drenched North Coast of California, completely alone and shirtless with $186 dollars in my pocket, an oily, buzzing set of electric clippers in my right hand, and a truck put together from pieces from a junkyard somewhere up in Washington waiting for me outside the heavy brown metal door.

I grabbed some toilet paper from the stall and wiped the excess oil off the clippers, then snapped a #2 extension on the blade—which would cut my hair down to a quarter-inch in length—and made the first pass right down the middle of my head. A good foot of thin blonde hair fell into the dirty porcelain sink in front of me. I moved the clippers to the right and swiped again, then again, and worked my way down to my right ear, then started swiping up the back, which I couldn’t see. I had to rely on touch, pushing the clippers up my head with my right hand, and following with the palm of my left. After several minutes, when almost all of my hair was in the sink and I was working back around the left side of my head, getting all the last hairs I had missed, someone pounded on the door and I about jumped out of my skin.

“Hello?” I yelled, brushing hair from my face. “It’s unlocked!”

A tiny little man in a pastel overcoat with glasses as big as the entire upper half of his face pushed open the heavy door about a foot and peeked at me. I smiled at him. “Odd place to give yourself a haircut!” he said. “Mind if I come in to have a wee?”

“Not at all,” I said, turning my attention back to my work. The man came in the bathroom and went into one of he stalls to blow his nose. Satisfied with the evenness of all my now-quarter-inch-long hair, I popped the extension of the end of the clippers and began using the bare blade to clean up the edges, just over my ears and then in the back, which I again had to rely on touch in order to do. “I’m sorry about all this,” I said to the little man. “I had to do it.”

“Well, you’re looking good!” he said, exiting his stall. Sidling up to the urinal on my left, I noticed his overcoat was soaked.

“Did it start raining out there?” I asked.

“No, no,” he said. “I got wet rambling around in the forest.”

I turned off the clippers, blew the hair off them, and put them back in their plastic box, then turned my attention to getting all the hair out of the sink and into the garbage can. I grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser next to the sink.

“These are some beautiful woods,” I said. 

“Sure are. Have you and your friend been out hiking today?” The little man finished pissing, zipped up, and started washing his hands in the sink next to mine.

“I’m out here alone,” I said. “On my way down to Yosemite.”

He shot me a quizzical look. “Isn’t that your truck parked right outside?”

I threw a wad of paper towels and hair into the garbage can. “Yes.”

“Well, buddy, there IS or WAS most definitely someone in your truck not two minutes ago.”

Without thinking twice about it, I burst shirtless from the bathroom into the parking lot. My eyes scanned over first the truck, then the foggy redwood forest surrounding the lot. No one was in the truck, but the passenger door was wide open. As I approached it, I saw my Buddhist Bible, my toiletries, my socks, my underwear, and my t-shirts on the seat. My pack was no longer there. Nor was my sleeping bag. Quickly scanning the periphery of the parking lot, I saw a short, long-haired figure in baggy clothes—various shades of green and brown—slinking into the trees by the exit to the parkway. Leaving my jacket, sweater, t-shirt, clippers, and hair in the bathroom and my open truck in the parking lot, I took off like a madman into the woods. The long-haired figure took off as well.

I quit playing basketball—and all other sports, for that matter—once I started smoking weed and playing in a rock band in high school. I decided that I didn’t have time for sports—that it was a good idea to focus all my energy on learning how to roll perfect cone-shaped joints and playing seventh chords on a goddamned acoustic guitar with flames painted all over it instead. After my buddies and I got busted, though—and after Don took the apartment away and the band broke up—I began to miss the camaraderie offered by organized sports, and I had decided to join the track team. And when I had joined the track team, I had immediately regretted not running track for my entire junior high and high school career, because—despite smoking at least six unshared joints a day—I was a very good runner—far better than I had ever been at basketball.

My point is that when I want to be, I am pretty fast. So it wasn’t long after I took off through that parking lot and tore through the ferns—sprinting shirtless through the wet fog, under the dense forest of Douglas fir and Sitka Spruce and Western Hemlock, the Newton B. Drury Scenic Parkway on my right—that I started to gain on the long-haired thief, who I could by then see very clearly. He was a young man with not-very-well-kept dreadlocks—like thick, moldy rat tails on his head—and he was wearing a green hoodie and khaki-colored cargo shorts, with long brown socks pulled up to his knees and tall black boots laced up over his ankles. He had a dark red pack of his own tethered securely to his back with a grey bedroll tied to it, and my sleeping bag and pack were tucked under his right arm. He jumped and sprinted and skipped and twisted out of the underbrush, bursting out onto the parkway to the right, where I could then hear his footsteps on the pavement as I plowed forward through the forest, hoping to catch up to him while I was still under the cover of the trees, where he couldn’t see me until I burst out of the woods and...what the hell was I going to do then? I was hardly a fighter. I had only been in one fight ever, actually—back in high school—and that had ended pretty badly. So I just pictured myself throwing a flying tackle at the kid, just like a cop tackling a bad guy in one of those network television crime shows I currently watch but never want to admit to watching, and then he would drop my shit and run away. Easy, right?

The kid slowed and turned to look for me, so I cut back deeper into the woods, sprinting faster now, jumping over fallen, moss-covered logs and piles of dense ferns, and then I cut out onto a narrow dirt road and turned hard to the right, sprinting as fast as I could, knowing that if I beat him to the intersection of whatever service road I was on and the Newton B. Drury Scenic Parkway, I could either throw that flying tackle at him that I was thinking so hard about—really getting excited about, actually—or I could at least force him back into the woods to slow him down and catch him there.

When I got back out to the parkway, though, sopping wet and breathing heavily, the thief was nowhere to be seen. I was turning around in circles looking for him, completely exasperated, when the aqua marine minivan with Oregon plates and a Clinton/Gore ’96 bumper sticker came around the bend and pulled up to me, driven by the little bespectacled man from the bathroom. He rolled down his driver’s side window.

I decided to stop for the night and check it out for myself.

As the last few colors disappeared into the coastal night sky, I walked into a large grocery store on the western side of town called the North Coast Co-op and bought some bulk food—nuts and dried fruit and sesame sticks and chocolate—and I got an apple and a bag of carrots from the piles of colorful organic produce lining the northern half of the store. While waiting in a rather long checkout line, I surveyed my surroundings and actually ended up getting a little weirded out. Literally everyone around me—the apron-clad employees conversing loudly behind the customer service counter, the old woman in a sweat suit one check-out line over, the pimple-faced kid in a trucker cap rummaging through the empty cardboard boxes at the front of the store, the family of four picking through the produce in their cart (the father discussing whether or not they should put back the organic unfiltered apple juice and get a bag of apples instead), the aromatic geezer wobbling around in front of me in line with his one gigantic dreadlock coming off the back of his head—everyone had a certain feel to them. A certain “Summer of Love” kind of feel. They weren’t all wearing bellbottoms with flowers in their hair or anything, but they were all definitely red-eyed, all spacey and slow-moving, and they all had a tendency to stare at one other, or off into space, with faint smiles on their faces.2

When I got up to the front of the line, the girl at the counter who rang me up smiled at me and asked if anyone had ever told me I looked like Justin Timberlake.

“I haven’t heard that one,” I said, smiling back.

I paid and got the hell out of there, then ate my snacks in the Co-op parking lot, watching the hippies leave with their groceries. After I ate, I left my truck in the lot and went for a stroll around the Arcata Plaza. The plaza is a quaint, grassy square surrounded by local businesses—gift shops, art galleries, a photography store, a furniture store, some restaurants, some clothing stores and boutiques, an ice cream shop, a record shop. The square had several young people lounging around in it, smoking cigarettes and playing with dogs. The majority of them looked like homeless-by-choice types, and had the backpacks and panhandling signs to go along with that assumption. I saw several white kids with dreadlocks and knit Rastafarian hats, and I smelled a lot of dog shit. The grassy square also had a statue of President McKinley in the middle of it, and someone had put a paper bag over McKinley’s head.3

After walking around for an hour, I got a beer in one of four bars lining one side of the square, and asked the bartender where I should go to take a load off. She was Indian, with huge eyes, long, wavy black hair, and big hand-carved wooden earrings in her ears. Her skin was literally glowing in the dim bar light. I told her I had been driving for days. She suggested I go to the Finnish Country Sauna and Tubs—a café that apparently had a courtyard in back surrounded by little shacks with hot tubs and saunas in them.

“People fuck in the tubs a lot, which is gross,” she said. “You’re sitting there trying to relax, but you’re too busy looking for little drops of semen in the bubbles the whole time.” She stuck her tongue out. “But get a sauna! It’s well worth ten bucks. It’ll clean you out.”

“I could use a good cleaning out,” I said, sipping my beer. I leaned back and rubbed my hands over my newly shaven head. I thought about the checkout girl and laughed to myself. There weren’t many people in the bar—only about a dozen, including the bartender—but I was relieved to find that not everyone looked as spaced out as those nut jobs in the grocery store. The bartender washed a few glasses, then leaned on the bar rail and peered back into the back room, where a couple of older fellas in armless denim jackets were starting a game of pool. “Where should I sleep?” I asked. “I’d rather not spend money on a hotel.”

She smiled. “Sleep anywhere!” she said. “Seriously. The homeless basically run this town anyway. We have a homeless guy on our City Council.”4

She bought me a shot of Jameson and I thanked her, then went back to the Co-op, got my truck, and drove it three blocks to the Finnish Country Sauna and Tubs. I sat in a sauna for a half hour, took a cold shower, bought a cup of hot tea, and then drove to the Arcata Marsh and Bird Sanctuary, another three or four blocks away, where I slept in the cab of the truck, right next to a sign that said “No Overnight Parking.”

The following morning, I awoke to a blue sunrise and went on a short walk through the marsh to look at all the birds, finding their breakfast in the mud flats that had been exposed by the early morning low tide. Then I left Arcata, due east on Highway 299, through the Trinity National Forest and back out to Interstate 5.

 The Redwood National and State Parks—comprised of Redwood National Park and California’s Del Norte Coast, Jedediah Smith, and Prairie Creek Redwoods State Parks—protect some 133,000 acres of eerie and majestic coastal redwood forest, which include almost 40,000 acres of old-growth redwoods—the tallest and one of the most massive trees on Earth. Along with the redwoods, the forest is also home to Douglas fir, Sitka Spruce, Pacific Madrone, Bigleaf Maple, California laurel, the evergreen hardwood tanoak, and red alder. Ferns cover the understory of most of the forest, particularly the sword fern near ample water sources. And huckleberry, blackberry, and salmonberry provide food for many animal species, and were also a major part of the diet for the Yurok, Tolowa, Karok, Chilula, and Wiyot tribes who first inhabited the area, and the European settlers who moved in much later. ↩︎

 I know I’m sounding like a real dick here—like I’m some overly-generalizing Yankee, and there’s no way everyone in the goddamned grocery store was not only high, but also weird (etcetera, etcetera)—but I’m telling you, it really seemed that way. I tried to tell myself that it was just me—that I needed to loosen up a little—but I honestly felt like I was grocery shopping with the Manson Family. ↩︎

 The reason why there is a statue of the 25th President of the United States in the center of the Arcata Plaza is a reason all-too-fitting for such a bizarre town—a town that McKinley not only had nothing to do with, but also never even visited—not once. The reason? The statue was a gift. And that is all. The statue had been commissioned by 81-year-old George Zehndner in San Francisco in 1905, and sculpted by a young man named Patigian. It had survived the Great San Francisco Earthquake of 1906 before being shipped by steamboat away from the burning wreckage of San Francisco Bay and up to the port of Eureka. Zehnder than gifted it to Arcata, where it has stood for over a century, causing both tourists and residents of the peaceful little hippie town alike to ask, “Why is McKinley here, again?” ↩︎

 This seemed so crazy to me that I later looked it up. Arcata didn’t have an actual homeless person on their City Council. They have, however, had former homeless people, which I suppose is close enough. It makes sense, too: the homeless people hanging around Eureka, Arcata, and the verious beaches and harbor towns north of Arcata make up a fairly large portion of the Humboldt County population, and they have for the greater part of the last fifty years. I’m not actually sure if this is or has been proven, but it is the opinion of several Arcata residents that the first big influx of homeless to the area came after the Vietnam War, and the second came after the death of Jerry Garcia and subsequent disbanding of the Grateful Dead in 1995. ↩︎

[3192395]

here we go -- entry #1.

my life has changed quite a bit since my last journals left off. it’s funny because all i’ve wanted for the past three years was to get to where i am now and now that i’m there i’m pretty much the most miserable i’ve ever been. what should be the best thing that ever happened has been overshadowed by every problem and stressful event along the way and it’s just not how i pictured this to go.

so, yes, finally, i’m living with the love of my life in a cute little house on a hill with a big private backyard and no roommates and a bright orange couch and a spiral staircase leading to a loft with terrifying crawlspaces in the walls and two eccentric cats that are essentially our children. sounds like a dream come true but it has come at such a price and my mental state is not in a good place. let’s start with everything that’s happened since the end of july.

1. moving out of my house in boulder. what a disaster. packing is always a pain in the ass but one of my roommates, brittany, had her mom unexpectedly fly in from california to help her pack at the same time i had my friend from new york come to visit and it turned into us arguing over who was going to stay in the empty bedroom. i won because i had told everyone my friend was coming two months beforehand so after that it was a very uncomfortable week because brittany actually hates her mom and they ended up having to share a room. it didn’t help that i was the only one cleaning up the house and fixing chew marks in the molding from brittany’s shitty dog, and scrubbing black lines off the white walls from michael carrying shit down into the basement, and doing the things everyone forgets about like taking all of the food out of the cabinets and refrigerator and washing the fridge out. i even dragged all of the food to the homeless shelter around the corner to donate and got yelled at and chased by an old man with a cane for sneaking things into his garbage pails because we ran out of room in ours. people in boulder are very protective of their garbage and freak out if you go anywhere near it. brittany put a bunch of stuff out on the front lawn and posted a craigslist ad for people to come and take it before she left but people barely took anything so not only did i have to find a way to dispose of that but she also left rugs and broken lamps and giant flower pots in the garage. on the bright side, she left her crockpot behind and i managed to grab that before anyone else got to it and i use it all the time. i also stayed behind to help daniel re-pack his jeep because he had things overflowing out of the car windows until i took everything out and repacked it tetris-style. i’m a good roommate. i also don’t really miss that house or the people i lived with. i’m so glad that phase of my life is over. good riddance!

2. moving in with dan. we were hoping to find a place to move into immediately and make a smooth transition together but we couldn’t find an affordable place in time so i ended up staying with him and his roommates until we did. this is where everything started to get really stressful. not only did he not discuss this with them until the last minute but he also didn’t tell them i would be bringing a cat. on top of all of that, we ended up adopting a kitten which inspired them to adopt one of his siblings so we had two new cats in the house and he still didn’t mention the one i already owned. it ended up working out pretty well because my cat refused to move so he stayed behind at the old house and attempted to live with the new family who moved in. i had to drive back and forth to bring him food every other day so he wouldn’t die until i eventually captured him two months later. it was really difficult for me to live in dan’s house. i felt uncomfortable there and it didn’t help that i had to share a bathroom with three other people, plus the constant stream of visitors that stayed with them. i really just wanted to get the fuck out of there. even dan kept telling me that it was okay i was there, that i should be comfortable, but then he would give me an attitude for wearing shorts or a skirt in the 100 degree weather and accuse me of turning the air conditioner off so i could wear less clothing around his roommates. i’m sorry, but i was raised by a single mother who always told me “dress for the weather! we can’t keep the heat/air conditioner on all the time! turn the lights off! the bill was too high last month!” and i was staying in a house where the AC was blasting even when nobody was home and they had 30 different sources of light on at once during the day. it drove me crazy. dan drove me crazy. it’s true what they say about not knowing a person until you live with them. things just started going really terribly once we lived together.

3. he ruined all of my furniture. seriously. i’ve never asked dan to help me with anything except for moving out of my old house and he couldn’t even do that right. i told him beforehand that i could just sell the little bit of furniture i had -- a bed frame, mattress, ikea dresser, cube shelf, nightstand -- and put that towards a security deposit for when we find a house, or we could just save it all and use it for his son when he’s able to come and stay with us. he insisted i not sell it so i didn’t but when moving day came i needed him to pack it all into his truck because i didn’t have the strength or the room to do it myself. so he did. all of that furniture was a year old, and guess what? now it’s garbage. he left my unfinished dresser laying in the back of his work truck, totally exposed to the elements, along with the bed frame, nightstand, and two mattress covers. i kept asking him to take it out and put it in the garage or something and he kept saying “i’ll do it later!” and never did. it rained twice that week, plus he was driving around to all of these jobs and leaving his truck parked outside where anybody could have stolen things out of it. now, months later, i’m finding out piece by piece that all of my shit is destroyed. i found my mattress covers soaked and molded in the back of the truck. half of the pieces of my bed frame are missing and the ones that i found are chipped and warped and disgusting. the dresser is warped beyond repair and covered in mold. the nightstand is missing. my memory foam mattress is okay but has a piece ripped out of it from aggressive manhandling pulling the foam apart. the only things that are still intact are my lamp and cube shelf because i brought those over myself. it’s just not fair and he doesn’t understand why i’m seething with rage every time i think about it or why i can’t let it go. i don’t know, maybe because it’s 100% NOT OKAY that this even happened at all? because i’m finding out one piece at a time that the very few things i own are ruined for no reason? because this is a direct result of you ignoring me and not respecting my things? and instead of taking responsibility and being genuinely apologetic you first twist it around and say “well, you could have taken it out and you didn’t” or “i’ll just buy you new stuff” which isn’t the fucking point? because your first instinct is to justify your actions instead of just being a normal sorry person? and apologies don’t mean shit when you try to blame me first? i know that things are just things but when you’ve spent two years giving everything you have to a person and they take something away from you for no reason it really hurts, especially when you don’t have very much to begin with. so yeah, i’m still mad.

4. moving into the new house. i didn’t like this house very much to begin with. we went on a tour at the last minute and dan seemed to really like it. it felt so small and cramped and dirty to me. the location is nice, being on a hill above the street is nice, having a big yard and detached garage and back alley parking is nice, but the inside was basically a poorly constructed mexican brothel with the lumpiest walls i’ve ever seen in my life. we decided to skimcoat the living room walls to flatten them out, we painted every room, and we whitened up the trim because whoever lived here before painted it all grey. it looks so much better now but getting all of that done was torture. first of all, dan insisted we should put work into fixing the house up so the landlord would take money off the rent. this is why he went along with my idea of skimcoating the living room even though i said “we don’t have to do this, let’s just move into the house and deal with it.” it took almost a week of sanding down the walls and polluting our lungs before it was ready to be painted and even the painting took about five coats all together so it felt like an endless project. of course dan did pretty much all the sanding on his own because there was only one good sander, and the whole time he was doing that he kept complaining about how he had no time to do anything else because he works all day and then spends hours sanding down the walls and then goes to bed. we hadn’t officially moved into the house at that point so little me thinks i’m doing the both of us a favor by helping out in whatever way i can, so i go out and spend a shitload of money buying things we need for the house. i’m very good at remembering the little things that people forget, like loading up on paper towels, toilet paper, wipes, garbage bags, cleaning supplies, soap, ice trays, etc. i got a couple of bathroom rugs and a shower curtain. i spent a bunch of money on basic kitchen stuff that everyone needs, like condiments, jars of sauce, cooking oil, herbs, baking stuff, tupperware, baking dishes, mixing bowls, forks and knives and utensilis. there are so many things a person needs when they’re moving into a new place! i knew we were starting from scratch and had to stock the whole house. i even got pens, pencils, sharpies, tape, glue, tacks, safety pins, needles, detergent, tealights -- so much shit i knew we would reach for one day and realize we didn’t have. and on top of that i had bought things a few months ago that i knew we would need. this really great cookware set, towels and washclothes, a knife set, a keurig, and dishes. and guess what he tells me after i spend all of this money and fill the house with useful things? “you’re selfish.” yup. that’s what he said. why did he say that? apparently because “we didn’t do it together.” let me get this straight -- you’re complaining about how you have so much to do, you’re physically exhausted, you have no time to do anything, so i go to the store and spend hundreds of dollars making sure we have everything we need when we finally move in rather than move into an empty house and that makes me selfish? o - f u c k i n g - k a y. i can’t let that one go, either. i’m still mad.

5. the court case is over. dan did really well playing his own lawyer in this court case from hell and he WON. i got him a little cake that said “not guilty” and everything. it was a really great day and i cried because i was so happy for him. the happiness didn’t last long, though, because even though he won he still can’t see his son for two years because he missed one court date which is absolutely absurd. it sucks and i’m really heartbroken for him that he can’t see his own kid and just be the great dad that he is without everyone around him trying to take that away, but at the same time i’m relieved that his cunt of an ex isn’t allowed anywhere near us. it would be great to have a relationship with osiris and be able to hang out with him and take him on adventures but i don’t think this chick is going to stop making it impossible for us so i’ve kind of given up on that idea. any time we ever had fun together she ruined it by telling him he isn’t allowed to like me so what’s the point.

6. i have a really cute cat. look at him he’s just really cute. i can’t handle all the cuteness.

7. my anxiety has catapulted to extremes and i don’t know what to do about it. when i first moved to colorado i felt pretty anxiety-free because i was in a new place and didn’t know anyone and my brain didn’t have the opportunity to attach its anxieties to anything, but that has changed. i feel anxious all the time now. all of the stress over the past few months has shaken my nerves so much and now i’m getting panic attacks the same way i used to back in new york. any time i get in the car with dan i feel sick to my stomach. any time i think about finding a job or i have an interview it suddenly feels like my bones weigh a thousand pounds and i can’t move off the couch. i physically cannot bring myself to do anything. my stomach aches constantly. for the past 6 months or so i haven’t been able to eat anything without getting a stomach ache after or without my intestines swelling up. it’s not good. i feel so unhealthy and depressed every second and dan definitely adds to that, but when things are going okay with him it takes such a small thing to upset me and make me shut down again. i’m really struggling with how to deal with this.

8. i’m desperately, desperately homesick. i just want to go home. i want to crawl into my mom’s lap and drink a cosmo. i want to play with my sister’s kids, i want to get a drink with my cousin, i want to be able to see my doctor whenever i need to do, i want to see my brother’s shining face, i want to cook dinner for my dad and let him know i appreciate him. but i can’t. because i made the choice to move out here and pursue a colorado life knowing full well what i was leaving behind and not realizing how miserable my existence is without my family in it. i feel like i have to choose between my relationship and my family and it’s stressing me out so much that i can’t have them both together. i’m struggling  with how to deal with this, too. 

so, that gives you a general idea of where i’m at right now. i moved into a new house i didn’t really want to live in, a bunch of my things got ruined in the process, i fight with my boyfriend more often than not and he doesn’t seem to understand why, i miss my family, i don’t have a job but i do have a cat, and my depression has immobilized me almost completely. i think that writing it all out like this will help me verbalize my feelings and hopefully that will make it easier to talk to dan about it because talking to him has always been really difficult for me. i think when he gets home tonight we should have a talk. i’m going to go mentally prepare for that now.