#at least when it comes to how i navigate the healthcare system

[tabby-shieldmaiden]

Two more weeks til graduation. Or at least, til I hear whether or not I'll be graduating. I already recently had a bad run of days. I really hope I don't screw up worse in the upcoming two weeks.

I haven't told people irl about this, but yeah, I do feel really nervous and worried about this. All I really want to do is pass and graduate at this point. And I think all the time like, whether or not I could have worked harder at this. Whether I could have put in more effort into doing this or that.

If I'm gonna be honest, doing my clinical placements has probably been one of the hardest things I've ever done. My very first one in 2021 I ended up having a meltdown in the storeroom and I didn't even pass the clinical. So I think I have improved, I guess. But largely because I started out at the very, very bottom of things.

A lot of things made this uniquely difficult to be honest. Besides the pandemic, and the resulting understaffing, there were all the little specific things too. I did get sent to more difficult placements first because of weird post-pandemic scheduling. I didn't really get properly orientated the first placement. This is something I'm completely new at; I had literally never done this sort of work before. For some patients there's a language barrier I'm not adequately equipped to traverse yet. Add the neurodivergence, the autism and the social anxiety and the obsessive compulsiveness, and I know that I am basically playing the game on hard mode, so to speak. It has been an extremely rocky journey, and I am trying to put on as brave a face as I can about it.

And so I really do want this to be over. I know that once I finish, I will be working and it will be more of the same, except I am expected to be a real professional about it and the expectations are higher. But like, I do want to do this. Because it is a useful job where I will learn useful, helpful skills. Because while I can work as a nurse and I can provide this service, especially when healthcare is so understaffed, I think I should do this. Because I think it would be important, if I want to do something helpful and reparative for my country/the world, for me to understand some systems in play and how to navigate them and how we can do better from there.

And also admittedly because I do want to come out and say that I can do something. Because the thought of trying this hard and coming out admitting that I can't do something feels like it would hurt more than anything. Because I need a job. Because I want to make myself useful.

I think my Mom is proud of me. At least, she says I am. She likes to hold my brother and I up as autism success stories I think, especially me. And while I kind of have increasingly complicated thoughts on my family and how I want to associate with them, I guess I also don't really want to disappoint her either.

But like, doing this has really made me realise, vividly, that I am a disabled person. It's as clear as when I was trying to study for major exams back in the day. This whole experience has really made me realise, I have clear limitations. But it feels like I can't really talk to people about it and have them understand. People do kind of have a limited perception of autism as a disability, I'm not super open about it at work. I'm not open about my anxiety, or my history of stuttering either. I can't help but feel like I either have to be the model autist, or admit to my limitations and alienate myself from other people, fail at attaining my goals.

And I know a lot of this is likely just the internalised ableism talking. But yeah.

I should probably go to bed now.

[bloomburnburial]

the fcking emotional gymnastics i’m going thru trying to keep my medical/psychiatric trauma in check while i’m forced to rely on, and perform for, the very systems that traumatized me so that i can access gender-affirming care i’m like one sneeze away from losing my mind and i’m terrified! and i’m hyperaware of the fact that because of my psych history i’m at a high risk of my “care team”(TM) at best not believing me and at worst using it as “evidence” for a new diagnosis (and not “merely” gender dysphoria) because i’m painfully aware that to an outsider my “identity issues” look as though they’re coming out of left-field when in fact i’ve kept them buried since i was seven because i was already Too Different in ways i couldn’t control and figured that i could at least smother the aspects of myself that i “should” be able to control (aka queer stuff) in order to make seeking care for things out of my control (aka disability stuff) slightly less traumatizing (didn’t work!) and i can feel myself losing it! i am losing it and it feels like it’s my fault because i’m so used to going the path of least resistance (=self-hatred) to maintain some kind of a status quo, to give people as little ammunition as possible when accusing me of madness and i hate it all. i hate that i still feel betrayed, even though i see things differently now and know that the system was just doing what it’s designed to do. i still feel betrayed. maybe by myself for believing it could help me. but i was a child when i got in. i’m just grateful that a small part of me knew to rebel back then (by lying and being a Good Patient, as opposed to Being Honest) because if i had told the truth about this or any number of things i would be far worse off than i am now. AHHHHHH.

[epicspheal]

Had this discussion with @namelessbaron last night and I’ve come to the conclusion that a lot of the sucess of Pokemon trainer (outside of skill) can be derived from two factors A) their wealth (or the wealth of their family if they start as kids) B) their starting location The wealth part is self-explanatory. The more money they start with the more resources they can buy. And while the Pokemon world does have universal healthcare in the Pokecenters and there are plenty of friendly people who will give out a free Pokeball or Potion, resource allocation would likely end up being one of this biggest non-skill related factors. We know from playing the games ourselves that a lot of the routes can be very challenging to navigate. Now imagine that IRL where you have to be responsible for feeding, grooming yourself and your Pokemon as well as having enough items to heal or navigate the terrain. So while most trainers should be okay as long as they are near a Pokemon Center (or near some Pokemon Rangers or those route nurses/doctors) many would often run into trouble the deeper they go into certain areas and this is where resources (and having money to buy the best items or at the very least multiples of the same) would become key. This also factors heavily into challenging stronger gyms or higher level contests. Being able to buy more held items or TMs to teach your Pokemon stronger/more visually appealing moves are pricey which again puts the odds of having a long career as a trainer or coordinator in the hands of people who have more money But the starting town I think also plays a big impact. Trainers who get to start in towns with routes with less aggressive Pokemon and milder terrain will have it easier getting their footing when it becomes being a trainer. Trainers who come from towns that we see in late game, which often are flanked by harsher routes and stronger, more aggressive Pokemon will have an uphill battle from the start. Take Hoenn for example. A trainer starting out from Littleroot/Petalburg/Oldale/Rustboro would have it a lot easier than one come from Fallarbor/Sootopolis/Mossdeep/Lavaridge based on terrain and weather conditions.  Of course to the starting location, you may ask about why not have them be sent to a friendlier area. That’s certainly viable but then this goes back to the first point, money. Not every trainer will have the funds to purchase a ferry/train/plane ride to a more amenable location and from what we see in the games not every region has super robust transportation infrastructure (Galar by far is the best with the train system)  And this is where the protagonists and many of the rivals have an enormous advantage compared to the average trainer. The starting towns are often situated in rather friendly locations and none of the protagonists come from poor backgrounds (middle class at worst) with some of them having outright famous parents. Many of the rivals are often similarly privileged either coming from the same friendly starter location or being related to someone famous (this does not apply to all rivals but it applies to many of them). This coupled with the starters all the protags and most rivals get gives them a huge leg up. This isn’t meant to diminish the skill of the protags as that is obviously a huge factor but it does pose a question about how the average non-protag trainer fares. Adjusting for skill (which is obviously very important) someone who starts from a friendly location with more money would in most cases fare better and be more likely to become a career trainer/coordinator/Pokethlete. Whereas trainers coming from less friendly locations or with less money will likely struggle and may not have as long of a career. Not impossible but certainly with more struggle.

[weebsinstash]

What do the chocobros act like when you have your first heat

Gosh, this is a juicy ask and I wound up making this kind of long because I have IDEAS 👉👈

So for the story I've been writing parts of, the whole deal is that omega basically just. Borderline don't exist anymore, or were wiped out, or live in secrecy, are basically unheard of, so on so forth, and they've been "extinct" to the point where basic knowledge on them is mostly lost to history or in old textbooks. So step one is the incredibly fun process of everyone being confused and not knowing exactly what to do or even knowing that you're an omega or what that means

I imagine the "diagnosis" would come after you start manifesting symptoms: you've started producing your own unique, powerful pheromones, your senses such as smell and hearing have become heightened, strong maternal instincts/urge to "take care of" something. The boys all find themselves affected by your pheromones too, not knowing why they suddenly want to be around you so much more, or it makes them feel warm and fuzzy when you laugh or smile or you're happy (well, more than usual anyways), and, of course, finding their more... primal urges getting riled up 👀

Imagine everyone all piled into the car after a great day of hiking and swimming at the beach and fishing and all sorts of cool stuff, and you're in the backseat between Gladio and Noctis, all tuckered out, but with a big smile on your face when you get asked if you had fun. You're just so sleepy that you close your eyes, thinking of how happy you feel, how safe, loved.... All of the guys just instantly whip around to look at you as you've dozed off and, in your sleep, have started to purr for the first time. (I think purring in ABO is cute and I need more of it 👉👈). They're all just like, shocked into silence, because for once, how can you suddenly purr when you never could before, but most importantly, because you are just SO CUTE 🥺 at least two of them definitely pull out their phones to record this precious memory.

So now they're all suspicious, but say nothing of this to you, only sharing their concerns amongst themselves. What's going on? Why has there been a change in your behavior, and appetite, and energy, and not to mention a borderline mutation of your body? They all agree that you need to be looked at, and Ignis has you booked for a physician in the nearest town that same week, going with you to provide support and to just help you navigate the Lucian healthcare system

I picture in an ABO world that there would be some sort of test to tell someone's 'status' and I was thinking, for this time, it could be something simple and quick. The doctor pricks your finger and puts the little drop of blood on a test strip, saying it'll turn a certain color based on the result. For example, just picture the doctor saying "oh, it'll turn red for Alpha, and blue for Beta" and then your test strip turns fucking green, which the doctor didn't even mention it could do because they've literally never heard of that happening so now they're just looking at you in very obvious confusion and surprise and is all "uhhhh lemme go check with some colleagues"

But of course, you and the guys have to keep a low profile because you're literally travelling with the Crown Prince and his Crownsguard, so the second you and Ignis realize that something's up, now you have to sneak out of the doctor's office so there isn't like, some big huge scene or something. Now the bros are Extra Sus, and one of them eventually raises the possibility: if you aren't an Alpha or a Beta, there's only one other option, isn't there?

Then your first heat finally hits. The few days prior, you've got an increased appetite, sleeping constantly, and seem in an increased state of anxiety, talking about how you 'just need to be somewhere you feel safe'. The group is camping when it happens, the four Alphas awakening to find you sweating and breathing heavily from inside your own tent (that they reluctantly bought you when you eventually summed up the courage to say you needed a little space). All your blankets are bunched up to form, well, a padded sort of resting area which you lay on top of. Without pants. It's just far too hot for pants.

But in the end, it's your scent that allows them to piece everything together: that hypnotic, tantalizing scent that has their pants growing tighter, reminding them of their own hazy hormones when they're in their ruts.

So now it's awkward, really fucking awkward, because all of them are on suppressants and meanwhile you're in Full Blown Horny Omega mode, at least with the way you're practically creating your own atmosphere of beckoning smells. Leaving the Haven isn't an option since you're so constantly tired, borderline ill really, not to mention your own safety. They can only imagine all of the lowlifes who would want to have you for themselves now that you're practically a beacon for attention.. And when you're not holed up trying to secretly masturbate in your tent, up and awake and trying to come out for food or to use the bathroom, well... you'll barely look any of them in the eye, jaw clenched impossibly tight like you're fighting with everything you have not to say something embarrassing, giving them lingering glances, seeming extremely shy and flustered around them, and, well....

They would absolutely be able to tell whenever you've gotten off or horny, and while you don't know that, it's hell for them, since they haven't exactly come forward about their feelings. Ignis has to drop off your breakfast at the door of your tent and fights the urge to dive inside and make a nice meal of you, Gladio has an increased aggression from his aching alpha urges which he vents by hunting nearby monsters and bounties and for all intents and purposes tries to avoid you out of fear of losing control, Prompto can barely even speak to you without stuttering and blushing like a tomato, and Noctis isn't much better as not only an Alpha but as a young man who hasn't quite gotten in touch with his feelings and just may be... extremely sexually repressed

They'll ride out your heat without doing anything skeevy to you, but make no mistake, they're constantly fantasizing about all the things that they want to

[liusaidh-writing]

Instruments of Flight - Author’s Notes

 Just wanted to share some things about a few elements in the story, in case anyone was interested. I don’t know if all these details will make it into the story, so..I thought I’d share.

--------------------------

1.)) The birth of Instruments of Flight, and its title -

This story came to me in a dream. Well, kind of. In the dream, I had kind of a bird’s eye view of a snowy landscape - dotted with small cabins or homes. I saw Jamie Fraser shoveling snow, wearing a heavy coat and a black beanie. His face was in front of me, and he paused his actions, hearing someone behind him. He smiled, knowing immediately who it was: Claire. This past year with Covid-19 built the rest. I saw healthcare workers being applauded, thanked, etc., and also saw photos and stories of how hard they worked, the long hours, the strain they were under. It made me wonder what would happen if things got so horrible that they started leaving their positions, what if all the hospitals were eventually empty of staff? Would any government allow that to happen?

I chose to set the story in the UK because, JHRC, I did not want to navigate the nightmare that was the U.S. healthcare system in my story. The NHS is slightly more streamlined, and I’ll admit I know very little about it’s actual structure, but I think I do a fair job in handling it. It is a fictional world, too, after all. :)

The title was one I had trouble coming up with, and I’m not sure where I saw it, but the phrase ‘measures of flight’ jumped out at me wherever I saw it. So I played with it, thought about the story I was creating. Claire’s ‘flight’ from London in the beginning, her desire to escape her own depressed thoughts; Jamie’s ability to help her, the way they together escape their surroundings when they’re intimate (though that’s difficult sometimes.)

2.)) The Virus - 

I have little to no actual medical knowledge, so the virus I have always imagined for this story has been a complete figment of my imagination. I did do a small bit of reading about how to WRITE a fictional virus, and have done some reading regarding general medical terms, etc., when writing. Anyway, as written in the story, the virus starts with sores on and inside the mouth. The virus causes blisters and is painful. The blisters linger until death. After the blisters appear, the sufferer begins running a fever, and they become painfully hungry. The person wants to eat, but it is painful to do so because of the sores on the mouth, and as the virus begins doing damage to their digestive system via ulcers, eating becomes more difficult. They then basically starve to death... *I’m not sadistic at all...*

3. )) Claire and Frank’s relationship - 

I had not originally had Frank as part of this story, but the idea jumped out at me some time early on. Frank’s horrible abuse of Claire was based on my own father, though thank God, only minimally.  Claire’s time at the hospital and her time with Frank are purposely somewhat vague, because if I were to delve into that part of her life, I’m afraid the story would be unreadable. (You don’t what to know what’s in my head that I don’t write...)

4. )) Jamie’s backstory -

His backstory is not lost or forgotten. I’ll just say that. 

5. )) Jenny and Ian

I am putting together a sort of prequel that may see the light of day sometime, about Jenny and Ian’s decision to help deserters. 

6.)) The Vaccine -

This part of the story is one Claire is in the dark about, so the reader remains that way, too, for the most part. There are some things that Claire doesn’t know, however. She may find out later... or at least the reader will. 

----------------------

I do my best to keep continuity errors to a minimum, and I hope it’s a smooth reading experience. Anything else you’d like to know, have questions about, are confused about, don’t hesitate to ask! :) Thanks for reading.Hope you enjoy the story.  

[amandadeibert]

A Love Letter to Parents At the End of The Most Difficult School Year EVER

WOW, that was really something, huh?

It’s the end of the most difficult year school for all of us: teachers, parents, students… Hell, probably even the neighbors of parents and students. I would say “at least we survived!” but this has been more than a year of illness and mental health crises… not all of us did. Some of you are mourning those loses. I am so sorry.

As my daughter celebrates her final day of Kindergarten, and I celebrate my final day of supervising hours of zooms and packets full of work, of being her mother, teacher, confidant, chef, maid, PE teacher, and playmate… I have a lot of emotions. I’m sure you do too.

It was hard for those of us who, like my family, spent the entire year in virtual school: never meeting teachers or classmates in person. Those of us who spent so much of the year trying not to worry about excessive screen time while going against our intuition to coax children to sit up and pay attention to their computers.

It was difficult for families who did hybrid and had their bits of in-person “normalcy” sporadicly and suddenly turned to quarantines every time there was an exposure so that there could never be a true routine.

It was complicated for parents navigating this with multiple children who all needed different things at the same time. I know in my daughter’s own little kindergarten class we over-heard older siblings’ music lessons, younger siblings’ infant-wails, and parents trying to deal with their work zooms while 6 year olds struggled to concentrate on learning to read.

My heart especially goes out to the parents of children who need extra attention or services, some of whom lost out on months or a year of in-person therapies. This is unfair and horrible. This has been infuriating, unfair, and horrible. You have been dealing with far more worries than you should have had to and I am so sorry.

And then there’s work… whew. As a working mother who went to work in person in full PPE, then worked from home with endless Zoom meetings while my daughter put Elsa stick-on earrings all over my face, and then who lost my job due to pandemic related situations. I know it was difficult to work and teach and parent and be a child’s only friend and entertainment.

For those of you who are essential, for those of you who work in healthcare and mental healthcare… I just, I can’t even begin to tell you how much I admire you and also know my admiration doesn’t do a fucking ounce of good to help alleviate all you’ve had to juggle and endure.

So much has fallen disproportionality on mothers. We can see it in hard data. This will have ramifications for years to come. Just as it will on our kids… in ways we don’t even fully understand yet. Just while trying to write this essay…. my daughter and our kitten have crawled into my lap. They are both here right now.

And yes, I know plenty of amazing Dads who have been struggling right there with us. My dad-friends and I have leaned on each other TREMENDOUSLY this year, so please don’t think I don’t see you out there struggling through this too.

As I look back over this past school year (and the end of the academic year before) I am feeling sad for the milestones my child didn’t get to have. The things we didn’t experience as planned. The fond farewell to her preschool of 3 years we never had. The kindergarten teacher she never met in person. The first year at an elementary school where we haven’t yet been inside the building. I have so much dread for the coming separation anxiety after more than a year of never being apart. Hers and mine. This was not how things were supposed to be. No matter how you’ve experienced the pandemic, because we’re all doing it differently… this was not what we “planned.” It’s also not something anyone else alive has ever had to deal with before.

I want to stress that again:

No parent alive has ever dealt with anything like this. No one alive has experienced anything like this as a child. Bad things? Yes. Worse thing? Yes, even. But not THIS.

So if your parents/elders are giving unhelpful “advice” about how you should/should have handled things please remember THEY HAVE NO IDEA. None. At all.

This is one area where you can laugh and laugh and be like… “YOU HAD OPEN PARKS AND SCHOOLS AND KIDS COULD GO RIDE THEIR BIKES UNRESTRICTED. YOU COULD GO SIT IN CHURCH AND THE KIDS WOULD BE IN SUNDAY SCHOOL. YOU CAN NOPE RIGHT OFF.” Love them. Love their advice, but they don’t actually know what it is like.

I hope they are offering love and support. I don’t have living parents, but my grandmother is the first to say that even as a stay at home mom whose husband was away fighting a war, she can’t imagine being unable to simply take her kids to school or to run errands, or to let them play with other children. Her situation was very difficult and complicated. I don’t have it worse. Not at all. It’s just that this school year has been one hell of a weird one.

There have been bright spots. I loved getting to watch and experience my daughter learning in real time. Seeing the day-to-day progress and truly knowing what is going on in her classes. Again, that isn’t the experience for parents who have children unable to access their child’s IEP help in the way they should.

I love the extra time we’ve gotten together as a family. The movie nights outside and snuggles and lack of rushing around from place to place. I enjoy as an Angeleno not being stuck in traffic for hours. Not everyone has been able to work from home like my wife and I have mostly been able to do for much of this and I am grateful for that too.

My hope is that when this is truly over, when we get back to whatever new life looks like in the next school year, that some of the good will stay. That I will be more involved in our child’s education than maybe I would have been before because I know what it looks like. That we will spend more time as a family together just us. That I won’t say “yes” to things out of obligation that don’t add value to our lives. That we won’t be too busy.That’s probably naive, but we can sure try.

I hope that you have some bright spots to look back on from this past school year. I hope you can share them with your children and they can share theirs with you. Whatever you had to do to get through this, I am so outrageously proud of you. I am proud of me too. And wow, our kids. They’ve been through some shit. I’m super proud of them.

Please, please take some time to celebrate what you have managed to get through. I got cupcakes for the kiddo and some cocktails for grownups. Please do whatever version of that sparks some happiness.

PUNT THAT SCHOOL-ISSUED LAPTOP INTO THE SUN.

I mean, yeah okay, we’ll all responsibly return it fully charged and be so grateful to the school system that we didn’t have to use Mommy’s work laptop for it but you know… metaphorically it’s that scene from Office Space. (Your kids wouldn’t get this joke but this isn’t for them. JUST LIKE THE COCKTAIL/CHOCOLATE/BUBBLEBATH/WHATEVER YOU ARE GONNA DO TO CELEBRATE YOU )

Anyway, you are amazing. Maybe you don’t feel like many people noticed. I see you. I’m toasting you from this weird half-teacher’s lounge we share.

If you’d like to share some of your brightest spots, or most amazing, brilliant parent hacks from all this madness, I would love to read about it in the comments. We’ve got to hold onto the good.

[whentherewerebicycles]

i am not reblogging this post from OP (posted 2 days ago, with 4,400 notes and counting) because i know that often people are just making their own vent posts on their blogs and maybe don’t expect them to circulate widely outside of their small tumblr circle! and i don’t mean to like, jump on someone who is just commenting on something and then going on with their life. but i feel like i keep seeing versions of this sentiment on leftist twitter too and i really think it is a gross misrepresentation of the bill that passed earlier this month - which is due in part to social media’s intense focus on the “stimulus check” part of the bill. but the bill was not called “the stimulus check” act! it was called “The American Rescue Plan” and it was specifically geared towards providing desperately-needed relief to the American middle & working classes. the $1400 direct payments to individuals was just one small portion of the bill. here are the far more important parts:

in addition to receiving a $1400 direct payment themselves, individuals with children receive an additional $1400 check for each dependent

college students who are still listed as dependents on their parents’ tax forms (typically so they can retain health insurance benefits under the ACA) can more easily claim stimulus money - which is huge for college kids who may be helping to financially support immediate or extended family members

unemployment benefits have been extended from March 31, 2021 (their original expiration date) to September 6, 2021

unemployment benefits will be supplemented with a $300 weekly payment (ie $300 on top of what people are receiving from their state government)

unemployment benefits received in 2020-21 are tax-exempt (a retroactive change that means people who are unemployed won’t receive a surprise tax bill counting their unemployment money as “income”)

a substantial tax credit for employers who offer paid sick leave and paid family leave benefits (ie creating a direct incentive for employers to authorize emergency paid leave)

15% increase in food stamp benefits and extension of eligibility

child and family tax credit benefits!!!! this is the part that people are describing as one of the most significant anti-poverty initiatives in American history. families are eligible for a tax credit of $3600 for each child under the age of 6 and $3000 for each child between 6-18. people can also claim a child and dependent care credit with a maximum benefit of $4000 for one eligible dependent and up to $8000 for two or more. it also expands the earned income tax credit and lowers the age limit to 19. dems also pushed to get at least 50% of the tax credit money to people this year instead of making them wait for their 2021 tax return. this calculator allows you to calculate how much families will receive. if you make $50,000 a year and have four children, you will receive $13,200 through the child tax credit alone, paid out in monthly payments of $1,100 from July to December 2021 + an additional $6,600 lump-sum payment when you file your 2021 tax return early next year. there are also some additional dependent-related tax credits things that I don’t fully understand but that seem to indicate people are eligible for even more money.

forgiven student loan debt is made tax-free (a necessary prerequisite for future efforts to cancel/forgive student loan debt)

huge expansion of grant benefits to small businesses, including $28.6 billion specifically for bars and restaurants; $15 billion for low-interest, long-term replayment emergency disaster loans; and $7 billion more for the paycheck protection program (which can only be used on payroll expenses and makes it possible for small businesses to keep workers on payroll even if they are operating at lower capacity). you can describe this as “for the economy only” if you want, but I sure feel like it will alleviate a whole lot of human suffering by allowing people to keep their jobs & paychecks even if their workplaces remain partially shut down. my dad is a small business owner and has been able to keep his entire staff on payroll through the entire pandemic. the bill also includes billions for airlines and concert venues, which will again! means people won’t lose their jobs!! plus it allocates $175 million to fund a Community Navigator Program that reaches out to eligible businesses and helps guide them through the application process—ie making it possible for small businesses to actually take receive these benefits.

$350 billion to state, local, and tribal governments

$130 billion for K-12 schools to improve ventilation, reduce class sizes, purchase PPE for employees and students, and hire support staff; of this money, 20% must be dedicated to programs designed to counteract “learning loss” from students who missed school during the pandemic

$40 billion for colleges and universities, at least $20 billion of which must go to emergency grants to students (our university has been giving regular emergency grants throughout the pandemic to students to help cover rent, unexpected medical expenses, costs related to family emergencies or lost family income, tuition bills that they suddenly can’t pay, fees associated with wifi or purchasing tech equipment so they can learn virtually)

a HUGE amount of money four housing benefits!!!! i keep seeing people yelling about how $1400 won’t cover their rent but THAT’S WHAT THE RENTAL ASSISTANCE PROGRAMS ARE FOR. $21.6 billion in rent and utility assistance, paid directly to states and local governments so they can disburse it to eligible households!!! plus $5 billion to Section 8 housing (which “must go to those who are or were recently homeless, as well as individuals who are escaping from domestic violence, sexual assualt, or human trafficking”).

$5 billion to support state and local programs for homeless and at-risk individuals (can be used for rental assistance, homelessness prevention services, and counseling; can also be used to purchase properties that will be turned into permanent shelters or affordable housing for people who are homeless). plus an additional $120 for housing counseling.

$4.5 billion earmarked for a special assistance program that helps low-income households cover costs of heating and cooling and $500 million to cover water costs

$750 million in housing assistance for tribes and native Hawaiians (who are also eligible for other benefits through the rental assistance and direct tribal government grants described above)

and then BILLIONS of dollars to support FEMA, the Veterans Affairs’ healthcare system, the CDC, and state, local, and territorial public health departments for all things related to: COVID testing, contact tracing, vaccine production and distribution, vaccine outreach, PPE, and public health education. this includes (among many, MANY other things), $5.4 billion to the Indian Health Services (division of the Department of Health and Human Services that specifically provides health services to Native people and tribal territories), $200 million for nursing loan repayment programs, $80 million for mental health training, $3.5 billion in block grants specifically geared towards community mental health programs and substance abuse/prevention/treatment programs

$86 billion for a rescue package for pension funds (esp union-sponsored pension funds) that are on the verge of collapse - collectively covering 10.7 million workers.

billions of dollars for public transit programs (and sure, public transit is important to the economy, but access to regular, reliable, affordable, and safe public transit is HUGELY important to human health and well-being! it is how many people esp in urban areas access grocery stores, health care, their jobs, childcare facilities, etc.

$10.4 billion for agriculture, of which $5 billion is specifically earmarked for socially disadvantaged farmworkers. to quote wikipedia: “Experts identified the relief bill as the single most important piece of legislation for African-American framers since the Civil Rights Act of 1964.”

tons of money to fund 100% of premiums for COBRA (health insurance for people who have unexpectedly lost or had to leave their jobs) through October 2021. COBRA is hella expensive and experts estimate that 2.2 million people will need to enroll for COBRA benefits in 2021. there are also various provisions that expand Medicaid and the Children’s Health Insurance Program (a program targeted at uninsured children in families who don’t qualify for Medicaid but may not be able to afford adequate healthcare coverage. it also fixes some things with the ACA that could’ve led to people getting surprise bills due to fluctuating income or unexpected changes in employment status.

i am SO OVER the so-called ‘progressive’ rhetoric that no good can ever come from the government, or that all politicians (dems or republicans) are basically the same level of evil and incompetent, or that ~mutual aid~ (ie small payments made between individuals in a community) is the only thing we can count on or should count on in times of crisis. no!!!! fuck no!!!! like mutual aid is great but America is an INSANELY WEALTHY country and it is such bullshit to act like we can’t or shouldn’t expect our government to take care of the people who live here. and i am also just GRAHARRGHGHH at people who are completely disengaged from politics offering their jaded and hyper-cynical hot takes on things they don’t! actually! know! anything! about!!!!!!! and in the process making other people increasingly jaded and cynical about the possibility of electing a government that actually prioritizes the needs & well-being of its citizenry!!!

ugh i’m just TIRED of leftist political cynicism y’all especially when it comes from people who have absolutely no understanding of how much WORK it takes to make huge things like the American Rescue Act happen (work that includes not just the immediate negotiation of the bill but also the years of organizing & voter recruitment work it took to get a narrow democratic majority in the senate so that we could pass things like this!!!!). I’M DONE WITH BEING CYNICAL!!!! i feel, in a totally earnest and unjaded way, that it’s absolutely incredible that dems were able to write, negotiate, and pass this bill, and i feel so so so relieved to be currently living under an administration that is flawed in many ways but is at least actually and earnestly TRYING to reckon with unprecedented “suffering in an actual human scale” (to quote OP) and is even using this crisis as an opportunity to advance major anti-poverty initiatives that will have a LASTING IMPACT on actual human lives. as opposed to our previous administration, which was made up of thousands of people who woke up every single day and asked themselves “what can I do today to further dehumanize & inflict needless suffering upon millions of people?”

PHEW!!!! SORRY!!!! JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS I GUESS!!!!!!!!

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

Good morning Ralph! I’m an attorney in the US and I saw your anon asking about the legality of vaccine requirements set by artists. I can shed some light, though probably not much and I’m going to do that annoying thing that lawyers do where we say “well it depends!” and refuse to give anyone any solid answers. But that’s really, truly, honestly, cross my heart hope to die, because in the case of the legality of vaccine requirements it does depend on a lot of different factors and we don’t have very many solid answers. This is not something anyone has ever really had to deal with before, the legal system looks to past precedent when deciding how to handle current issues, and there just isn’t much of that here. As a kind of general rule, though, the baseline we start from is the idea that private entities are free to require basically whatever they want as a prerequisite to service, and consumers are free to choose not to patronize those entities if they don’t like the requirements. An important thing to remember, that I think a lot of people tend to forget - all those handy rights the US constitution affords its citizens only apply to the government. There are limited exceptions - the Americans with Disabilities Act and Title VII of the Civil Rights Act are two of the biggest examples. But, so long as they’re complying with the guidelines provided by those limited exceptions, private entities can and always have been able to do pretty much whatever they want.

Now, vaccines are an interesting question because you start to get cross over into other issues - the right to privacy, bodily autonomy, “compulsory” disclosure of personal medical information, etc. If the question was “can an artist require me to wear a mask at his concert even though wearing a mask wasn’t required at the time I bought my ticket” the answer would unequivocally be yes. Artists and venues can (and do!) require all sorts of things for entry - you have to have a ticket, you have to submit to a bag search and go through a metal detector, you’re generally required to be wearing shoes and pants and a shirt. Masks absolutely can be added as a requirement, at any time, and whether or not it was a requirement that you reasonably could have anticipated when you bought the ticket doesn’t matter. But vaccines feel a little different, and admittedly they are. A mask is, in essence, a piece of clothing for your face. You wear it for a few hours, you take it off, you go about your life. It’s a temporary measure. Vaccines are not. A vaccine is a medical treatment, once you’ve gotten it you can’t “take it off” or decide you don’t want it anymore. It just feels like there should be a higher level of scrutiny than just “if you don’t like the requirement don’t support the entity.” But there really isn’t. That old idea that a private entity can set pretty much whatever rules and restrictions for access to and use of their private property stands. That tenant is arguably strengthened when the issue involves public health risks, because an employer has a duty to protect their employees and customers.

The EEOC ruled in May that companies can legally require their employees to be vaccinated. There are no federal laws preventing an employer from requiring employees to provide proof of vaccination, that information just has to be kept confidential. If there is a disability or sincerely held religious belief preventing an employee from being vaccinated they are entitled to a “reasonable accommodation” that does not pose an “undue burden” on the business. This isn’t a 1:1 comparison to your anon’s question about whether or not artists can require vaccination of concert attendees, but it is really useful guidance, because it’s a statement about what is and isn’t appropriate re: vaccine requirements straight from the mouth of one of the biggest federal players in the game. If, for example, a bunch of maroon five fans decided to sue the ban for their vaccine requirements, the EEOC decision is something judges and lawyers would look at in evaluating the suit.

HIPAA is the big one that a lot of people like to cite as protecting them from being asked about vaccination status by businesses or employers, but that’s just entirely untrue. HIPAA prevents a specific list of entities - doctors, hospitals, insurance companies, etc. - from disclosing medical data about a patient in their care. Event venues, artists, employers - none of them fall into the category of a “covered entity” that has to abide by HIPAA requirements. And even then, there’s an argument to be made that HIPAA still wouldn’t prevent them from asking if you’re vaccinated and refusing you entry if you’re not, just that they can’t turn around and tell someone else what your vaccination status is.

So on a high level the answer is yes, artists can absolutely require vaccination of concert attendees. Full stop.

But that’s only taking into account federal laws. There are state laws at play too, and those are absolute mess. It feels like each state is handling their approach to vaccine requirements differently, and a lot of them conflict with the federal laws at play. While in theory federal laws should trump state laws, that’s not really true in practice, and a lot of people who are much smarter than me are still struggling with how to navigate that maze, so I’m not going to bother adding my two cents about how I think it should go. From a fact based standpoint, though, know that state laws are an issue and add even more “it depends on ____” factors to our already uncertain analysis. Texas, Arkansas, and Florida, for example, all have laws prohibiting businesses and governmental entities from requiring digital proof of vaccination. Whether or not these laws will withstand judicial scrutiny in the places they conflict with federal law remains tbd, but as it stands now an artist playing a show in Texas couldn’t require vaccines for entry to that show. But if their tour stop is, say, Indiana, they could require vaccines there, because Indiana state law only prevents governmental and quasi-governmental entities (schools) from requiring vaccines. Private entities can do whatever they want.

The final thing I want to touch on is your anon’s concern that the vaccine requirement wasn’t in place when the tickets were originally bought. It doesn’t matter. If the question is “can an artist require vaccines” the answer is “yes” and whether or not that requirement was in place when you bought your ticket doesn’t matter. BUT! As with everything else, there are exceptions. There might be an argument that adding a vaccine requirement is a contractual violation, if we were to imagine the exchange of ticket purchase for entertainment a contract between the buyer and the artist. There’s maybe an argument that you paid for a service you’re no longer getting because the circumstances under which the service will be provided has changed so drastically. These are issues that if someone wanted answers to they’d have to hire an attorney to file a civil suit against the artist, and then see the litigation through to get a ruling from a judge. To the best of my knowledge that hasn’t been done. But even if it is is done in the future, the answer to the overarching question “can an artist require vaccines” won’t change. All that will change is the artist will be required to come up with some sort of refund scheme for those who choose not to be vaccinated.

Anyway! I didn’t mean to write an entire treatise in your inbox. I saw the anon’s question and immediately went “oh interesting! I know a little bit about that” and, as per usual, a little bit has turned into a rambling lecture that I’m not actually sure anyone will even learn anything from. At the very least it might entertain you.

Xoxo, a US attorney who really needs to go do work someone will pay her for and stop theorizing about the interplay of federal vs state laws.

Thanks anon! That's all very interesting and relevant information. It gives a really good sense of how complex the situation is and the relevant dynamics in play. And also a good sense of what the law does and doesn't cover - because there's a whole practical side of this that is largely

I'll throw in one more thought. One of my concerns about vaccine passports are the equity issues. Existing issues of access to healthcare have played out in vaccine rates and that's true of both race and class everywhere that I have looked at. I don't think vaccines can be considered meaningfullly accessible if poor people and black people aren't accessing them. In general, the best answers to that will be resourcing to take vaccines to where people are and (and the situation for native americans really undscores this) and paid sick leave. But while vaccination rates are lowest for those who face most marginalisation, restricting access to society on the basis of a vaccination is discriminatory in a serious way.

[rebeebit]

So, your parents are getting old.

TL;DR

Stuff: start cleaning out stuff they don’t need now. You might read “The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning” as a guide.

Where to live: research retirement and assisted living options in your parents’ area.

Medical considerations: HIPPA authorization, advanced directives, long term care insurance

Financial considerations: accounts, power of attorney and trusts

Dementia: what to remember when your parents forget.

So, your parents are getting old.

Most of us have parents. Many, if not most, of us will be supporting them somehow as they age. And I read somewhere that most people are not happy with how their parents have prepared for aging (I’d cite it, but I ran across that statistic a couple of months ago and ... you’ll have to take my word for it). I’ve been observing my parents as they age for a while, and in the past two years, my sister and I have become very active in the process of making sure they are safe and cared for. I decided to write a guide to help all of my friends who have parents so maybe you can avoid some of the mistakes my parents made. There are lots of resources out there, so this is by no means exhaustive, but I hope someone finds it useful!

STUFF

This is the easiest way to start, it doesn’t require uncomfortable conversations or lengthy phone calls, but could instead be an opportunity to reminisce and connect with your parents. If your parents have lived in their house for any length of time, they’ve probably amassed some STUFF. My folks lived in their house for 43 years, and they abhorred wastefulness. They also had loads of room for storage - you can imagine how much stuff they accumulated after 43 years! My mistake: I didn’t reclaim items I wanted over the years to the degree that I could have, and had to scramble to get the things I wanted when the time came to move my parents out of their house. So here are some ideas.

Your parents might feel strongly about passing on certain items - find out what these are if you don’t already know. Then you could suggest they give them to you for your birthday or another holiday. This way they get the satisfaction of knowing you have their special belongings while they’re still alive.

Did you leave your stuff at their house when you moved out, and you just never got around to getting it? That’s on YOU! Get it now, or get rid of it, if possible! 

As you’re going through your stuff, you might “accidentally” run across items your parents don’t use anymore. Help them by donating these items or throwing them away.

The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning by Margareta Magnusson is an excellent guide to this process, and a quick read. Read it, and if possible, suggest that your parents read it.

We were able to move our parents’ photo albums, but they had boxes and boxes of unsorted photos and even slides. Encourage them to go through these old memories now and put them in albums - or better yet, digitize them. They won’t have room for all those boxes when they downsize.

If you wind up having to get rid of everything at once, like we did, there will undoubtedly be heartbreak as valued heirlooms get sent to the thrift shop (or the dumpster) and even loss of some income because you won’t have time to drag it to consignment shops. The more you deal with now, the happier everyone will be with the outcome.

WHERE TO LIVE

Aging in place seems like the best option for many people, but it can be quite costly. There’s no deadline by which your parents should move out of their house, and perhaps they never will. This is where you might have a conversation about the future with your parents: what do they envision for themselves, what do they want? This is a great way to phrase it, as it sends the message that you want to know their desires for aging, so you can meet their wishes as best you can. Regardless of what they say, you can do a little homework into options in their geographic area. We didn’t make too many mistakes in this area, but my parents weren’t willing to move in advance of it being a necessity, and then when it WAS necessary in the summer of 2020 … well, who would move their parents into communal living during a pandemic? 

Several friends told me how important it is to move earlier rather than later, as it makes it easier to add levels of care as your parents age. Keep this in mind! Find out what is available, and make sure options for living include assisted living, skilled nursing, AND memory care. The last two are not interchangeable: memory care is very specific for dementia patients. If you have time, take a tour of a few places to get an idea of what life might be like for your parents there.

The move to assisted living was very important for our mother. Our father was hospitalized 15 or more times in the past year, and two of those included multiweek stays in nursing rehab - in fact, he’s still there now, and it’s been over 11 weeks (as of 7.24.21). The time alone in the house was difficult for my mother, and she will benefit from routines, social interaction, and 3 meals a day that she doesn’t have to cook for herself ... among other benefits! Moving was so hard for them to contemplate because they didn’t want to leave their community - which is very understandable - but moving gets much more difficult as your parents age, and in my mom’s case, as her dementia has progressed.

MEDICAL CONSIDERATIONS

Helping your parents navigate the healthcare system is difficult. I won’t claim to be an expert in this at all, but will at least tell you what I’ve encountered.

RIGHT NOW: find out if your parents have long-term care insurance. If one or both of your parents has a lengthy stay in the hospital/nursing home, Medicare will eventually STOP covering them, even if they need skilled nursing or memory care. This will easily start costing $350/day, which is $100,000/year. Long-term care will kick in after 90 days in hospital/nursing/memory care, and will cover most, if not all, of the costs. 

You will eventually need HIPAA authorization with your parents’ doctors. This allows the doctor to talk freely to you about your parents’ health. Without it, the doctor can listen to your concerns, but they cannot share information. My mother was reluctant to give this to us, but when she finally did, we were able to get her evaluated for dementia and take away her car keys. 

If you live close enough to go to doctor appointments with your parents, find a way to do this. When my father returned from one of his earlier but more serious hospitalizations, I requested to join him at his follow-up appointment so I could hear what the doctor had to say and ask my own questions. My father is a reasonable guy and allowed this, and it was really helpful.

Advanced Directives are their medical wishes about resuscitation. It’s a morbid conversation, and you may not want to discuss the details with them, but you should make sure they have their wishes in place.

While you’re on morbid topics, make sure you know their wishes regarding funeral and memorial services and burial arrangements. Some people even want input into their own obituaries. We knew both my parents wanted to be cremated (and where they wanted us to scatter the ashes), but we were surprised to learn my dad did not want any services. Good thing we asked!

FINANCIAL CONSIDERATIONS

For your peace of mind, you will want to know what the state of your parents’ finances is, and you will likely need to manage these finances at some point. Here is what I learned about this realm of the aging process:

Set up autopay for as many bills as you can for them, if they haven’t done so already. As my father’s health situation became more overwhelming, bills got overlooked and they started having to pay late fees. This is an easy step that you can do now and avoid the hassle later.

Suggest your parents simplify things. Do they have multiple credit cards, or multiple bank accounts? Suggest that they consolidate. Again, life gets more complicated with aging, and it becomes harder to manage. Trying to keep track of multiple accounts will be a headache for them, and they could make costly mistakes.

Make sure your parents have designated beneficiaries for all accounts. Apparently the probate process after a person dies is lengthy and annoying, and not something you’ll want to have to deal with on top of your grief when your parents pass away. On active accounts, like checking or savings accounts, try to get your name put on the account. This will help you with managing their finances when the time comes. Banks will literally not talk to you if you are not the account owner or don’t have POA.

Power of Attorney. This document WILL have to be signed, and you will want to discuss with your parents when, not if, they want to do this. The sooner the better. Sign it and scan it, and save it on your phone. This way you can email it to whoever needs it immediately so you can manage all of your parents’ affairs. I needed POA to cancel their phone service, sell their house, sell their car ... you name it.

Finally, if their finances are looking good, read on. Talk to your parents about putting their assets in a trust, especially if you have kids. If you’ve read this far, your parents probably want your kids (and you) to have something of their estate after they’re gone, but they can’t leave anything behind if they haven’t protected their assets. Medical care is expensive, and Medicaid will not kick in until you have only about $1,500 to your name, so protecting assets is important for some people. I don’t know much about this process, but if it is a concern for your parents, encourage them to reach out to their lawyer and financial advisor to take care of this.

DEMENTIA

My mother’s dementia has been the most challenging part for my sister and me over the past several years, but if you think this is in your future, it doesn’t have to be. As a society we’ve gotten better at talking about mental health, and that should also extend to dementia. As with any other health problem, early detection and intervention will lead to better outcomes. In my mother’s case, we attempted to intervene in 2017 but were unsuccessful. My mother was finally diagnosed in January 2021, but at this point she had progressed to mild dementia, and has been unable to process or accept the diagnosis. This has caused her to have worse anxiety because she’s upset about forgetting things, and fewer coping skills because she doesn’t recognize what is wrong with her. While early intervention may not prolong the life of your parent by much, it will lead to better quality of life - which is why you have read this far in the first place, you want your parents to be safe and cared for!

A primary care doctor will do a preliminary screening for dementia, so it is important for this screening to be on your parents’ radar as soon as possible. At this point, it is not automatically done at a certain age; you have to ask for it (which is idiotic, but that’s our health care system, so…). The screening will be important because it will hopefully give you peace of mind that any memory problems are age-related, and not a cause for concern. If not, it will allow the doctor to refer your parent to a specialist and get the appropriate interventions. While there is no cure for Alzheimer’s, there are some drugs that show promise, but also processing and accepting the diagnosis are important for implementing coping skills.

If your parents are diagnosed with dementia, there are loads of resources out there to help. It’s really hard for children to cope with this disease in their parents, as it’s the beginning of the role-reversal where YOU become the parent. Some tips that have resonated with me are that, in dementia, the brain still processes emotions normally, even if memories are starting to erode. So when you inevitably get impatient, frustrated, or even angry with your parent, keep this in mind: they won’t remember why you got angry, they will just remember how you made them feel. Depression and dementia go hand-in-hand because dementia patients get told so often “don’t you remember?” “I already told you that!” and so on. I am by no means perfect in how I handle my mother, but this tip has helped me find patience and calm.

If you’re like me, and you’ve seen both of your grandmothers and your mother decline due to dementia, you have more than a little concern about what the future holds for you. I recommend reading Remember by Lisa Genova (author of Still Alice). The book eased my anxiety about memory lapses I’ve noticed in myself, as lately I regard any lapse as a harbinger of dementia. She also has tips for improving your memory and for preventing Alzheimer’s - which my mother and likely my grandmother had. The number one tip? Sleep.

REACH OUT!!

I was fortunate to have many good friends lend their ears to me while I’ve been in the process with my parents, and several who have been through this and offered their advice and support as well. It was invaluable to have this support system, so I offer that to you. Please reach out if you have questions, want advice, or just want to vent about what you’re going through. If you like, add comments about your own experience below. 

[radiofreeyurick]

Thus The Man Continues to Fall

By Nick Yurick

20 years after the tragedy that shaped a generation now haunted by final days of the War that was spurred by it, and newly bereft of so many previously held sentiments, causes, or beliefs that felt so vital and true on that day, for many, all that remains is The Falling Man

Any adolescent on the verge of social awareness has to feel it coming. Though some may only be students of history out of obligation at that age, rather than genuine interest or concern, the patterns and shifts begin to take on palpable rhythms of causes and effects, ebbs and flows, and calms preceding storms. The moment when the News becomes a Documentary, replete with imagined underscoring, slow motion, and a dramatic voiceover. The moment when Life becomes History.

At 14 years of age I was already an aspiring multihyphenate. actor, artist, musician, perhaps educator, and on that day, and at this moment it seems, a journalist. Thus it remains a fitting coincidence that for me, Life became History when I was in second period school newspaper class. Much as my grandparents and parents had told me over the years of their “where were you” moments in experiencing the Bombing of Pearl Harbor and the Assassination of John F. Kennedy, mine took place as I struggled to upload photos of the first day of school from an already outdated late ‘90s digital camera. It is perhaps for this reason that, though my life and work since have spanned multiple fields and environments, from stage to screen to the classroom, it is still through the mind of a journalist that I revisit this day every year. Be it with my continued work as a student journalist in the years immediately following or later as one of millions of social media pundits in the years to come, I have felt compelled to revisit the facts of why and how every year. But as the History we’ve lived the past 20 years continues to make those answers more and more evasive, my fascination, and that of many others, has shifted to the actions of a different, and more functional, camera a thousand miles away. The camera held by a Pulitzer Prize winning Associated Press photographer named Richard Drew as he captured The Falling Man.

It is here that I must humble myself a bit, being well aware that the undying fascination with the image of this lone inverted figure has only increased in recent years. In a sardonic act of self-awareness I could just as well title this essay, “This 9/11, if You Read One Unqualified Take on ‘The Falling Man,’ Make it THIS one.” Day to day I am but one of millions who fight for stage and screen time, clicks, words, and any vague measure of digital real estate before taking a break to get back to my woodworking hobby. Thus I only ask that you read on with the knowledge that the History being lived by a 34 year old armchair philosopher as he chain smokes at his Chromebook is as real as the History being lived by the septuagenarian widower in the Oval Office. As it relates to The Falling Man though, for myself and many like me, today The Falling Man is all that remains of that day.

-Trajectories and Arrival Points

In analyzing any historical event, we are drawn to examine it in terms of the trajectory it puts us on and arrival point it leads us to. These consequences often take the forms of calls to action, causes to be taken up, or revelations about American society of the day. In any case, they tell us why the world we fell asleep in that evening, or that many didn’t live to, was different from the world in which we had awakened that morning. Pearl Harbor placed us on the trajectory of entering World War II, drawing the United States and its Allies into a global conflict of unprecedented scale and accelerating the end of the Great Depression, with the arrival point of the Nation’s emergence as a global leader and the establishment of “The American Dream” in the form of a higher standard of living than was previously accessible to many. The Assassination of John F. Kennedy placed us on the trajectory of increased escalation in Vietnam, leading to a new era of social unrest and mistrust in our institutions. Simultaneously the inspiration to carry forth what was considered the late President’s unfinished work, gave birth to heightened social activism and significant leaps forward in Civil Rights and Women’s Rights. This was largely seen through to the arrival points of our withdrawal from Vietnam, the Resignation of Nixon, and the dawn of “Morning in America” with the election of Ronald Reagan in 1980. Although every single historical event echoes eternally, in American Society we are accustomed to some feeling of victory or at least reprieve, as if the demons that emerged from these national tragedies have been temporarily vanquished in our day to day lives while we lick our collective finger to gingerly turn the page on the next chapter.

-The Curtain

It is, at this very moment, 12:26 PM on September the 7, 2021. It occurs to me that to write with such perceived urgency about another September Tuesday a score of years prior will hopefully become as passe and bland as any of the seemingly newfound conspiracies on Kennedy’s Assassination have now become. Yet I continue to do so, because as of now, the aforementioned page has yet to turn. In the previously mentioned epochs, though there were plenty who still saw through the folly of the “American Dream” and the falsehood of “Morning in America,” even an equitable specter to those has yet to emerge. The Election of Barack Obama seemed a fitting placeholder in 2008, but the quick return to the frustrations of petty political gridlock coupled with the now pyrrhic victory we found in the final defeat of Osama bin Laden, made immediately clear that this generation would be visited by no such specter. This absence may on the surface seem a failure on the part of the current proverbial page turners to do so, but is also a result of our increasingly short attention spans having already written so many of the remaining pages that there is no consensus on Which page we may now turn to, but only the widespread certainty that we can’t. Because one thing we have so much more of than those preceding generations, be it the Boomers post Pearl Harbor or the X-ers post Kennedy, is an inescapable curiosity about what may be written on them and more importantly a will to read it. Or in stronger terms, this generation now carries the burden of knowing that which may be on those pages could prove our only salvation, as none other has made itself apparent. Thus if historical events can be seen in terms of a curtain being pulled back and then drawn again while the stage is reset, now the curtain has gone up in flames.

This so-called Curtain can come in the form of where we as a society now place our faith, or more specifically, what entity we trust to lead us to the aforementioned arrival point. With most national tragedies our instinct is to place our trust in our leaders, imploring them to step up when our faith in our own security has crumbled. Alhough with 9/11 we became quickly aware that we lacked an FDR to guide us through the darkness through Fireside Chats, we still entertained the notion that we were to have some faith in the very idea of Leadership itself, however personally distasteful or incompetent we found that Leader to be. By 2004 however, the leadership of George W. Bush had not only failed to bring us a perceptible victory in our immediate cause in Afghanistan, but had begun an entirely new sideshow in Iraq the previous year. This was the beginning of what has fittingly been referred to as “The Forever War,” where battles are not simply initiated by belligerents and ended by victors, but fought on eternally, perverting the traditional goal of final victory as we previously knew it. And if there is an end, it will likely be celebrated by none, if any, who were present when it began. This Forever War began to be seen as such during the Presidency of Barack Obama. While a controversial election in 2000 had already lead many of my generation to view the failed leadership of his predecessor Bush as a clerical error of sorts, we also blamed the misfortune of Our Generation’s Moment having taken place before we had come of age to elect Our Generation’s President. And yet the Page remained unturned. The aforementioned killing of Osama bin Laden did little to quell the Forever War, and domestically we were afforded mere scraps in the form of slightly more accessible healthcare for the few capable of navigating a bureaucratic system now more inconsistent and Byzantine than ever. Meanwhile societal issues such as racial equity and LGBT+ rights only achieved progress as a result of the larger culture elevating them to the status of the baseline right thing to do, but only when it saw fit. All of that being the case, 2016 arrived with an all too ideal stage set for the rise of Donald Trump, or more fittingly the fall of Leadership and the sheer laughibility that it ever represented a concept worthy of a generation’s trust. Even with Trump’s replacement by Joe Biden after the bitterly contested 2020 election, the ensuing Insurrection of January 6, 2021 cemented the new reality: there is now no such thing as Leadership, but only who You choose to believe.

Thus the Man continues to Fall…

-The Meaning of We

Two months prior to this writing, our nation celebrated the 245th year of its independence with the usual bombast we’ve become accustomed to. However each year for many the “bombs bursting in air” referred to in song seem to ring more and more hollow, as does the song itself. The hollowness of these verses seems a far cry from the days of ubiquitous flag waving and the shared sense of national pride we experienced twenty years ago. An outside force having done our country such grievous harm, we were called upon to show that world that We, the victims, truly represented the way of right and justice, while They, the aggressors, were but barbarous heathens, lashing out against the world’s brightest beacon of Freedom. We sought to show that our National identity embodied the supreme ideal of the civilized and just world we should aspire to, and that our way of life, the American Way, was anathema to the ways of those who employed violence and terror as a means to achieve their interests. This has long been what we’ve been taught to believe of our Nation, especially when such destruction has been brought to our shores, as if to say, “We are not like them, We would never do this. We are America, and to be American is to be on the side of Good.” Alas, as the Curtain’s smoldering remnants now hang in tatters, through the lazily wafting smoke we have seen America’s failings writ large in the ashes. Not only those we would previously chalk up to “a different time,” or “another generation,” but those being carried out as we speak. Thus Patriotism, as a concept defined by a faith in the unfailing virtue of one’s country, has experienced a superficial rebirth in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, only to be followed by a slow death in the years since.

It is here that we must revisit those previously mentioned pages in our History which we failed to turn, those unread or forgotten chapters that may not have fit into the collective identity that we wished to cultivate. For the History we once read was often presented to us as in a sanitized narrative, compiled as a companion piece to the definition of Patriotism we were compelled to accept. The heroic vision we once held of America during World War II, as saviors from unprecedented evils on either side of the globe, has now been graffitied over in these pages with stories of her persecution and internment of Japanese-Americans, an injustice not even acknowledged for nearly fifty years after. On other pages, the names of millions of European Jews who were turned away from our shores early in the war, many to their deaths, are now scrawled hastily in desperation, as though hoping that someone, in some distant year, may someday bear witness and validate their humanity as our country, and even one of our most venerated Leaders personally, failed to in their lifetimes. Even still, the pages following the war, heralding the establishment of the American Dream, now contain detailed revelations of redlining, “white flight,” and the practices that excluded People of Color from being included in the idyllic America we were thought to have achieved during this period. 

Indeed this alternate chapter continues through the 1960s and to this day, where the America that was thought to have humbly shown remorse and emerged as a global leader in Civil Rights, redressing the atrocities of Slavery and Jim Crow, is seen to have done so with the upmost reluctance. This America instead sought to bolster its image by now phasing out more blatant forms of discrimination in favor of practices more pervasive and insidious. Wage discrimation served to keep People of Color impoverished and desperate, effectively prohibiting them from moving to areas with better access to education and opportunities. With limited access to education, cycles of generational poverty continued this trend. In the face of poverty, those suffering were often forced to turn to the drug trade or other forms of criminal enterprise as a means of achieving even a glimmer of the prosperity that was supposed to define this chapter in American History or even to sustain the very lives of themselves and their families. And when “Morning in America” dawned in the 1980s, also did the rise of the “War on Drugs,” which further criminalized and demonized the only means of income that many already living in poverty had at their disposal. Meanwhile the introduction of crack cocaine to the inner cities provided a more abundant and addictive product to target, leading to harsher prison sentences for those peddling the substance and more debilitated addicts left in its wake. 

But America watched as First Lady Nancy Reagan appeared on television's most popular sitcom of the day, Diff’rent Strokes. In the Very Special episode, Mrs. Reagan’s obliviously grandmotherly voice comforted the precocious and diminutive young protagonist Arnold, an African-American child of the same poverty the American Dream shunned, now in the care of a wealthy white benefactor (and played by Gary Coleman who himself later symbolized an exploitative and predatory entertainment industry), along along with millions of other wayward youths at risk of falling victim to the ongoing drug epidemic, ironically fueled and enabled by the same America that created it. Arnold, and any of those watching could always, “Just Say No.” As though it were a choice. As though any of it were ever a choice. As though choice wouldn’t soon prove to be as illusory as the American Dream was to so many others who experienced naught but cold dark nights during “Morning in America.” As though the concept of choice wouldn’t also be blamed for the plight of LGBTQ+ Americans whose lives were destroyed by the AIDS epidemic that was stigmatized and swept under the rug by this same administration during this period. 

In the past twenty years, these undercurrents that eroded the notion of Patriotism in the fifty years prior now flow freely on the surface. Though these preceding chapters, ones that told of these racial, economic, and cultural struggles, were written on scraps of hotel paper or the backs of envelopes by those who lived them, now these stories grab headlines. Headlines that reveal now more than ever the long held role of the police in maintaining these systems of oppression, as well as the consistent biases ingrained in them against the communities they were sworn to protect. Though the Patriotism that flared so brightly after 9/11 was accompanied by an increased reverence toward law enforcement officers, many having lost their lives in those towers, the ensuing decades revealed their institution’s role in excluding so many from the justice and civility our Patriotic ideal was supposed to stand for, instead embroiling them in lives lived in terror from the violence the country was supposed to stand against. So now the iconic waving flag of stars and stripes turns on its side, as the stars fade and the stripes turn to the vertical walls of the doomed Twin Towers, split by one helpless, inverted figure.

Thus the Man continues to Fall…

-Truth, War, and the War on Truth

Last night as I readied myself for bed, I opened the News app on my iPhone one last time before turning in. Though my at times masochistic addiction to the news cycle had been in a remission of sorts after the emotional burnout of a pandemic filled year, it has experienced a brief relapse of late. I sometimes view it as a quest for positivity, a search for hope, and some indication, any indication, that things are getting better, but more often it’s simply to make sure I haven’t missed the last bad thing to have happened. Indeed such an addiction is far more possible now as the news is more accessible than ever. I’ve often thought that my generation’s predilection for ‘90s nostalgia wasn’t a mere longing for our childhood or for a pre-9/11 America, but a wish to return to a time when escaping the often horrific barrage of news stories was as simple as tossing a newspaper into the recycling bin or switching off the TV. But with more and more of our very existence taking place online, the news has become inextricably intertwined with it to the point that to disconnect would risk severing our ties with our work, our activities and our socialization. Perhaps too this nostalgia is linked to a time when the news by and large represented the truth, or at least the basic facts of the day. Though valid criticisms of media biases have long existed, widespread disdain for factual storytelling is at an all time high and consensus on any voice, even one voice, we can trust is nonexistent. My generation will likely be the last to even remember a reliably comforting presence like Peter Jennings reporting the events of 9/11, or our parents’ memories or Walter Cronkite tearfully informed us of the killing of Kennedy, or the multitude of trusted local radio announcers tasked with delivering the tragic news that broke on December 7, 1941. Much like the idea of Leadership, loss of faith in The Truth is another backdrop against which the Man continues to Fall…

What struck me though about the news story that appeared on the smudged touch screen of my iPhone yesterday evening was its similarity to one that may have appeared next to a coffee stained newspaper on our kitchen table any morning before I departed for 4th grade in 1996. Further, I tell you this was never where and when anyone who had lived through the past twenty-five years would still expect to see the headline: “Taliban Whip Women Protesting Interim Government.” This is what losing a War looks like.

It is for good reason that the Second World War has been referred to as “America’s Last Good War,” and that the War in Vietnam led to an all around loss of faith in war itself as an instrument of foreign policy and a means of progressing our causes. And with America’s participation in War taking on the form of quick and focused operations, isolated police actions, and distantly coordinated air strikes since then, the large scale mobilization against Afghanistan in the Fall of 2001 (rumored at the time to be leading to Congress’s first formal Declaration of War since 1941) cheered by vengeance seeking Patriots, perhaps now to be the Last Patriots, was equally as necessary and noble in beginning what was sure to become known as “America’s First Good War of the 21st Century?” For when, albeit not for ten years, American forces finally decimated Al Qaeda and killed Osama bin Laden, did America not cheer and celebrate throughout her streets, no doubt inspiring many a tear to trickle down the withered cheeks of those who recalled witnessing such on VJ Day in their much younger years, now assured safety in their homeland? For surely a further ten years mired in the unforgiving deserts and treacherous hillsides of the region, as thousands more of our soldiers shed their blood upon the land and return dismembered, traumatized, or not at all, surely that gained our country some unheralded boon to our interests, any strategic advantage, or the meanest notion of progress in the lives of our citizens or more importantly the people whose country we occupied for two decades? Why then, does America’s last plane departing from Kabul Airport nearly a score of years after the first of hers rained bombs not so far from it, instead truly feel like the final Fall of our long dying faith in War itself?

Because when I read a headline from Afghanistan last night, in high definition through the tired eyes of a young man feeling far older than he had earned any right to, and it remained (even after 20 years of frantically advancing and retreating soldiers, deafening blasts from bombs and improvised explosives, and so much more sanguine blood streaming from wounded flesh of all the colors of the world) so dissimilar from one that would have flashed onto a comparatively fuzzy television screen to meet the cheery eyes of an enthusiastically Patriotic Cub Scout, proud of the Leader his parents would take part in reelecting later that year (though, ironically, this Leader would himself have his own part to play in our collective loss of faith in Leadership), well...I simply could feel no other way. This is what losing a war looks like…

...and thus the Man continues to Fall.

 And while our country losing its faith in War should be welcomed as a sign of progress and our collective evolution toward the civilization that was to serve as a cornerstone of our now-fallen Patriotism, it can only be truly welcomed when it is replaced instead by a renewed and sincere faith in Peace! And perhaps in global affairs, in a nominal and superficial sense, Peace is gaining some believers, though I can’t confidently believe all hold this faith sincerely as much as out of a cynically held tool of self-preservation until the war profiteers who pull their strings find new markets for their wares. But America’s faith in Violence is now stronger than ever. Carried out now by citizens on our streets rather than soldiers across the world, by police in squad cars rather than infantry in tanks, and now, perhaps imperceptibly, by viruses in our lungs spreading freely through uncovered orifi, violence is embraced by America as a whole in ways that make any notion that anyone this violent nation killed halfway across the world made us safer these last twenty years. In that same period, a new record for the deadliest mass shooting in modern American history has been set, first by a disturbed and alienated college student in Virginia, then by a would-be terrorist with a history of hate crimes at an LGBT+ nightclub in Orlando, and finally by his immediate usurper of this horrific distinction who just the following year rained bullets down from a modified assault rifle upon concertgoers in Las Vegas while perched far above them in his hotel room. Expanding our scope to the top five shootings, the other two on the list took place during just this past decade, the first carried out upon children by a mentally ill youth at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Connecticut, and the other at a church in Texas, by a resentful and misogynistic former spouse of one of the parishioners, a uniquely American demon consumed with wanting. In each instance the tired argument, dating back to the pre-9/11 massacre at Columbine and beyond, was made, that our government’s comparatively lax laws on gun ownership were to blame, but after the killings at Sandy Hook in 2012 changed nothing in that regard, that argument has felt increasingly futile. After all, when a country does fails to restrict such instruments of death after they’re used to murder 27 children, it doesn’t really want to. And to blame the mere presence of guns sidesteps the truth at the root of these shootings: modern America breeds killers, and more effective ones than ever.  

But while Americans react to the violence perpetrated by mass shootings with condemnation and abhorrence, the violence carried out by an increasingly militarized police force breeds division and itself, violent rhetoric as the calls to find more peaceful solutions to making our streets safer are met with calls for more violence and diversions of blame to the victims themselves. This rash of violence was once countered with the statement that, “police brutality in America isn’t getting worse, it’s just getting filmed,” once again ignoring the forgotten chapters in our History in which we have now read that policing in America has played a part in targeting and criminalizing People of Color since its near inception. And as indeed everything is being filmed now, it permeates our culture to the point that it now builds upon itself influencing our every interaction, becoming a key talking point in the hate speech that now passes for political discourse. The result being the undeniable fact that the Fall of our Faith in War has not given way to the Rise of our Faith in Peace. Not in any meaningful way across the globe, and within our own borders it has shifted to a Rise in Faith in War upon Ourselves. And meanwhile…

...the Man continues to Fall…

-Tilling the Earth to Grow Softer Ground

...but where will he land?

In embarking on all of my writings, in contrast to the manner in which our country begins so many of its wars, I never do so without some intention of finding some source of hope or comfort, some path forward to progress, or, when setting out with the most optimistic of outlooks, perhaps a solution to the issues explored. While there was little to be had as I drafted the first few segments, it also became all the more necessary in the face of revisiting so much of the despair, confusion, and upheaval my fellow Americans and I have experienced these last twenty years as well as much of what those who came before did the decades examined prior. Thus it is fitting that while the preceding passages of this article were written in multiple sessions on my porch this week while the searing summer sun begins to give way to the first chilly autumn winds, I conclude this piece sitting on my bed as the first minutes of September the 11th, 2021 tick by. While many of the recent writings about Richard Drew’s iconic photograph have sought to confirm, or at investigate clues as to, the identity of its subject. In writing this piece I was reminded of so much of the American lives currently being lived now takes place in a culture where many are emboldened by the absence of names or faces. Thus to the notion that one would seek to identify this blurry, tragic figure, I retort: in a society where to be nameless and faceless can mean to be validated or even in some way seem enviable, what meaning could this man’s name and face possibly hold were it revealed to the masses? Instead it is perhaps better he continue his descent in anonymity and transubstantiate in our collective consciousness, and perhaps enjoy the comparative bliss felt only when one’s form shifts to that of a generational metaphor.

But as a now belabored metaphor, surely worn and windburned by his descent through my accountings of over a half-century’s worth of America’s broken promises, cheapened values, and hidden hatreds that were really in plain sight, he certainly deserves a softer place to land than the mattress that now serves as my roost, upon which I try to write one up for him. And from it I am reminded as well of the faiths that fell from our very homes, many of which we held our most steadfast trust. Our generation having now experienced the twin economic upheavals of the 2008 financial crisis and the ongoing Covid-19 pandemic, faith in our dreams has fallen. And when the fall of this faith was begun by the shortsightedness and bad advice of those who first told us to believe in our dreams, we have to believe our dreams were always meant to decline. Thus many of us have embraced decline, with rates of depression, addiction, and other mental illness climbing in recent years. This is but one factor in the fall of our faith in the preceding generations, but this is in no way a textbook shifting of blame to our parents and grandparents, for they too have never lived in a world like this either. Instead, having spent so many of their younger years in a state of Not Knowing (while we ironically know nothing but this feeling) the brief length of time they spent in a state of Knowing, having been taught so well History’s patterns, shifts, palpable rhythms of causes and effects, ebbs and flows, and calms preceding storms that they weathered in the America they thought they knew, became their addiction as well, their perceived wisdom now the opiate of their uncertainty. For me personally, my late father was the one who taught me the most about the components, currents, and forces that moved History and how they had been maintained. Thus after his passing in early 2016, the loss was made all the more crushing upon the election of Donald Trump later that year, now that he, who for so much of my life could always point back to an equivalent trajectory America had placed upon and determine some possible arrival point, was no longer with us. But even having asked him so many times in my youth, “so what does this mean now, dad?” I recall now how many more times in the final decade of his life, he could answer with little more than, “I don’t know Nick.” 

So perhaps I am also one of many for whom their faith in Wisdom has fallen as well. And since with the passing on of Wisdom our society traditionally passes on its culture, so with it has our Culture fallen as well. By now means in such a way that I would dare complain there has been a decline in the quality of our art, music, and films, but the notion of a shared culture of unassailable timeless classes has fallen. This may be for the best however, as the very subjective nature of art itself implies that any attempt to establish the undeniable supremacy of any work of art in such a way that spans generations, cultures, or life experiences serves to deny the validity of so many diverse tastes, sensibilities, and traditions as well as that of a work’s relevance when its purpose was only to encapsulate the cultural moment it was created in. So perhaps we should embrace the fact that our cultural landmarks are now determined more by individuals for themselves, and consist of niche classics, flavor of the day pop hits, and even tuneful inside jokes distributed across the vastness of the internet by among the varied enclaves of those who appreciate them. And even as part of a generation of young people who feel old, though many who had the luxury of experienced their brief stint in the state of Knowing will argue I haven’t earned that feeling, I remain a dedicated fan of the legendary musician Bruce Springsteen, it is perhaps fitting that his hopeful 2002 album “The Rising” would resonate far less in defining the musical outlook of the post-9/11 era than a 2003 release by his fellow New Jerseyans in the lesser-known punk band Thursday, titled “War All The Time.” Still with cultural moments all the more fleeting and tastes increasingly specific, one might say that each is now as obscure as the other, in contrast to the attention paid upon their initial release. The truth of course may be determined by which generation one comes from.

However this softer landing surface upon which our Man is to Land can only be created through generational cooperation, so let us finally unite in the experience of Not Knowing as we reluctantly celebrate the death of Wisdom, and perhaps even briefly entertain some illusion that the ground may yield when he reaches it, but bear each other through the realization we can instead only soften it by creating new institutions and redefining old ideas. 

For the failing of Leadership need not truly be failure if we instead build our Leaders from the ground up. Rather than following those who present themselves on a bully pulpit as such, follow those who present themselves in the places we already needed them to be and allowed us to find them there. That is to say, on our own streets in the neighborhoods we live in, serving the communities in which they have built their lives while helping others to build theirs. Find them in our own offices and factories, working side by side while gaining an understanding of the labor and dedication that truly builds a nation, a dedication they wouldn’t dare exploit. And task these leaders with creating ideologies of which they themselves will someday no longer be irrelevant symbols, as ideologies must now be based not upon whom among these privileged few we choose to vote into power, but upon which of the many more helpless we choose to heal of their suffering.

Further I implore you not to mourn the death of our faith in Patriotism if our New Patriots can now redefine their love for their country as no longer being a love for the vague and faceless notions of Freedom or exclusionary definitions of “We” that were allowed to make that Freedom a luxury so few were truly afforded. And when harsh economic forces and the predatory and cynical motivations of those who were allowed to write the chapters upon which the Old Patriotism was written seek to restrict that Freedom even further, let us redistribute it to the no longer huddled masses so they may no longer thirst for it. For the New Patriotism will be based in understanding that to love one’s country means to love every human being who resides within it, no matter their origin or status. This Patriotism understands that America need not merely be the name of a long dead sailor, given by white men to stolen land that once bore so many varied, beautiful, and sacred names for the vast and diverse locales that comprise it, but that America by definition is collection of the hopes, dreams, fears, and needs of three-hundred thirty or more million souls upon whose very existence building a fair and equitable society depends.

And if our faith in War is to truly fail and give way to sincere dedication to faith in Peace. Let the only faith in War that remains be faith in the War upon War, and the destruction of our faith in violence of all kinds. And let the War upon War be a war upon ignorance and selfishness, and allow a generation whose defining tragedy’s only arrival point was a larger and more prolonged tragedy breathe easier, with hope that the virus that destroyed their dreams, and took vast numbers of the preceding generations who once comforted them with their experience in the state of Knowing, will no longer dominate their futures. And if this love that defines the New Patriotism can be the motivating factor in facing our challenges with genuine concern and care for the well being and prosperity of all three-hundred thirty or more million souls for whom the freedom to lives of health and safety, joy and fulfillment, will now be by this new definition their birthright.

At last, when this War upon War has ended, not with a dubious arrival point, but on a glorious and eternal new trajectory, let us harken back to the ways the ends of Wars were written of in scripture, for to bend the sword into plowshares now takes on a greater and renewed urgency, as the need to till the Earth is essential in the necessary task of growing softer ground upon which someday, somehow...

...this Man will Land. 

[foxingpeculiar]

Bitching. I need to vent this morning.

I have been up for less than 20 minutes and I’m already completely done with today.

First, good ol’ insomnia strikes again--I went to bed at 1:30 and fell asleep around 5. When I DID finally fall asleep, I had 1) a really awkward sex dream, followed immediately by 2) a dream where I’m being kidnapped and tortured by a crooked cop. So that’s fun. Then yesterday, I discovered my car battery died because it’s been cold and I haven’t had anywhere to drive in like 3 weeks. It’ll be fine when I can get it jumped, but I haven’t been able to deal with that yet, so I ordered some groceries to be delivered between specifically between 12-2, but I get woken up by messages about it at 10am, so now I’m running on 5 hours of interrupted sleep. And like, I’m not a spring chicken anymore. When I was like 22, I could sleep 4 hours and be basically fine, but now? I get less than six and I feel drunk and nauseous and all my limbs just hurt. Oh, and part of the reason I ordered groceries was because I’m out of coffee. So there’s that.

Plus my computer apparently took it onto itself to restart, so all the tabs I left open for work at my actual job are now gone. I don’t think I lost any saved work, but it’s gonna take a bit to track them all down again.

And I have a bunch of schoolwork I have to get done today that I just DO NOT care about right now. I’m supposed to annotate this chapter, but I just don’t have anything to say. And I have 8 poems, and 4 flash-fiction stories to critique before Tuesday and I’m just SO TIRED. AND like 100 pages of reading to do in a novel (at least this book is more interesting than the last one). 

And I’ve had practically no direct human contact for months and still have 2 weeks until my first vaccine shot, but we might go on lockdown again because this state is full of rednecks who can’t be bothered to take basic precautions so we’re leading the nation in the latest spike, natch. (Did something stupid happen in the news? If it wasn’t FL or TX, it was probably MI.) And I’m probably going to move down to MO next summer, which will be great once it’s done, but it’s going to be SO EXPENSIVE that I basically have no disposable income for the next year. I mean I can probably squeeze out a few little incentives for myself, but it’s gonna be small things only and I’m gonna feel shitty about it anyway because I feel guilty about EVERYTHING.

What I definitely can’t afford anymore is weed, which I’ve been self-medicating with for years, which creates its own set of problems that I’m not thrilled about, but it’s been at least effective in 1) reducing the panic attacks that I get all the fucking time without it, and 2) keeping me chill enough to be able to manage basic shit like keeping the apartment clean. But it’s so expensive here--in OR I could walk out of a store with an ounce for $50--here that’s about what 1/8 costs. And a federal market would even out those prices some, but noooooooooo, America has to have a century long “war on drugs” (how the fuck do you fight a “war” on an abstract concept?), that was 1) founded on a history of blatant, not-even-disguised anti-Black/Asian/Mexican racism, 2) features rampant and often ridiculously untrue propaganda disseminated by policymakers who have no actual experience with the subject (I was literally told as a child, in school, that you could die from smoking a joint--I remember that clearly), 3) cost taxpayers billions upon billions of dollars, 4) ruined as many lives as the drugs themselves, and 5) accomplished nothing other than lining the pockets of actual, violent criminals. So real fucking slow clap there, America.

And okay, maybe I can get on some actual medication soon, cos I do have a doctor’s appointment scheduled finally (after spending months trying to navigate the fucked up healthcare system in this country--when an actual insurance agent tells you to lie on your insurance form to get coverage, maybe something is wrong? Just a thought). But that appointment is definitely going to be more focused on the unexplained gastrointestinal bleeding I’ve been having intermittently for like... months now (what prompted the whole “I’m going to deal with trying to get private insurance” debacle in the first place). So I’m super excited to find out what’s going on there, cos like... a bleeding ulcer seems like maybe the best-case scenario, you know? Plus, just... everything. That we keep elevating people to power who have no problem shitting on me (transphobic, anti-asian rhetoric) or my family (Islamophobia) with no fucking consequences. That there are people all over the place here flying the confederate flag (who have lived in a Union state their entire lives, so tell me it’s about history, I dare you) on their trucks talking about how their “American way of life” is under threat without a hint of fucking self-awareness or irony, that... just... I can’t even go on.

And I know I come from a place of privilege in all of that bullshit--I have a basically stable family that would be middle-class if that were still a thing (which it’s not, because all economic policy is designed by the very people who are trying to flout the rules that apply to everyone else), so every time I start feeling like this and getting mad, it just ends up turning back around on itself and there’s that guilt again. And all it would take is just getting away from this scarcity mindset, this attitude of fear that people have that just aren’t fucking necessary in this world--but what are you supposed to do about that? You can lead horses to water, but not only do they not drink, they kick you in the face while they’re dying of dehydration.

It’s enough to make one want to just go back to bed forever. But I can’t, cos I have shit to do.

But typing out a rant now and then does help.

[pynkhues]

Since you're a writer, I'm hoping you can shed some light on this. IMO the writers were chasing viewers in S2 and trying not to get canceled. Personally, I hate when writers toy with their audience, it means they don't have a clear picture of their characters and narrative. How do you feel about writers making it up as they go?

Ah, this post got really long, anon! Since you asked me as a writer, I’m answering as one (I hope you don’t mind! I also hope this doesnt come out as too Creative Writing 101 for people either. This is just lessons I’ve learned and use in my own practice, so I’m applying them here.) 

(Also I have drawn horrible diagrams on my very pink notebook paper - I am so sorry, haha)

So first thing’s first - no. I don’t think the writers were chasing viewers (at least not beyond the way any writer is wanting an audience), and I don’t think they were making it up as they go really, but I can understand why you would think that way! 

It won’t be a surprise to anyone that I love this show a lot, but coming from it as both a writer and editor - this show does have narrative problems, and the biggest ones, particularly in s2, are in execution, escalation and pacing. 

I think heading into the season they had certain character arcs they wanted to follow which married well with the story they wanted to tell. In particular, I actually think the writers have a very strong handle on the girls (I will say that I’ve had a few asks telling me Beth’s characterisation is all over the place, which I’m curious about, just because I personally find her very consistent, and when I’ve asked for clarification, I’ve never gotten any reply, so  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

I mean, look at their s2 arcs on paper, right? 

Ruby tries to negotiate Stan’s lowered opinion of her after the reveal of what she’s done, then has to negotiate him telling her to turn Beth and Annie in. She manages the situation painfully but pulls them through and they’re close again as Ruby navigates the increasingly lower depths of their crime life. When Stan acts to save Beth for Ruby and is arrested, it only escalates – the case on him driving Ruby to extremes to try and save him, including robbing a Quick Cash and using counterfeit money to bribe a lawyer. On top of that, she’s being targeted by an FBI agent who’s after her best friend who she gives up and then saves and then who tries to sacrifice herself for them. Ruby finishes the season the most morally compromised she’s ever been.

Annie gets back together with her ex only to find out that he’s gotten his not-quite-separated-wife pregnant. She splits up with him, but is heartbroken and it’s only amplified by the fact that they’ve been given a job by their Crime Boss to murder a man who tried to rape her but who’s grandmother she has a relationship with. Her sister can’t kill him, and Annie doesn’t get the chance as MP beats her to it. Upon disposing of the body though she endures a whole lot of pain as a result of both her ex’s new family and knowing she’s robbed a woman of her own. Annie goes on a guilt tour – tells her son, helps Marion, helps Nancy only to eventually find an absolver of her guilt in Noah, who builds her up and tells her she’s more than what life has given her. She lets herself have it for a while, before realising he’s FBI and there to trap her, and Annie tries to use him only to realise she can’t, and she finishes the season in a lot more hurt than she started it.

Beth struggles with guilt after getting Dean shot, gets the job to kill Boomer from Rio, can’t do it, gets support and encouragement from him (in various states of animosity), but in the end doesn’t have to find out if she can do it because MP does it instead. She’s rewarded by Rio in a way she probably never has been by anyone, her husband further subjugates her, so she has sex with Rio, starts to entertain a future with him, but he undermines her, so she seizes control from him. They work together. Dean forces her to break up with him due to jealousy, she struggles, goes back, but Rio’s stung, so unhelpful, and they play a little cat and mouse before he bails then kidnaps her and she shoots him.

With the exception of that very last sentence, I think all of those are narratively really strong pathways to have explored. Like I said above though, the issue is in execution, escalation and pacing.

But to talk about those things, I think I probably need to talk about story. 

SO!

Stories have a shape.

Kurt Vonnegut talks extensively about this, and while he’ll talk about a few different types of story shapes, they really all boil down to this bad boy here:

Look at this guy.

What a beautiful thing.

He’s a story.

It doesn’t matter if you’re reading Dr Seuss or Charles Dickens, when you read a story – when you strip away its words and its characters and its settings – this is what it looks like.

Or, well.

Not quite.

Really, it’s this guy:

But we’ll talk about him in a sec.

Right now, let’s talk about that first little inch: 

The Beginning

The fact that stories have a beginning is not a surprise to anyone. Stories need them. In some ways, they’re the most important part of your story. After all, the job of the beginning is to set up the world your protagonist is about to leave behind. That is essential in grounding a reader / viewer – orienting them to the world that they’re in, and getting them invested in the story you’re about to tell, if not the protagonist.

Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Star Wars, Game of Thrones are all excellent example of this (and frequently used in teaching) because in each of these cases it’s literal. Frodo leaves Bag End, Harry leave Privet Drive, Luke leaves Tatooine, the Starks leave Winterfell. There is a literal departure from the world before the crux of the story, and that departure is what signifies the start of the ‘hero journey’ aka the main part of your narrative.

Of course, it’s not always literal – in fact, it’s usually not. Usually that world is symbolic – it’s the single, uncertain world before the Bingley’s buy the house next door in Pride and Prejudice or the dry domestic sphere of Breaking Bad before Walt decides to make meth. It’s a marked shift, whether that’s internal or external.

In Good Girls, it’s internal.

The beginning is actually pretty perfect. The world it sets up that we’re about to (try to) depart is one of struggle and invisibility.

Beth’s in a loveless marriage promptly discovering that her husband is not only cheating but about to leave them destitute, Ruby’s getting ignored by the healthcare system and can’t afford to pay for her daughter’s wellbeing, and Annie is in a dead end job about to lose custody of her child.

Writing-wise – as a beginning, I honestly think 1.01 is close to perfect.

It sets up who these characters are, their personal conflicts, and the story world they share together, and the worlds they have on their own i.e. Ruby at the hospital and the diner, Annie at Fine and Frugal, Beth with Dean and Boland Motors.

Then:

BOOM

Inciting Incident.

The inciting incident is also often called The Point of No Return.

When I’m teaching, I personally like to call it the “You’re a wizard!” moment.

It’s when something happens that means everything set up in the beginning will be changed forever. It’s Romeo meeting Juliet, it’s Katniss volunteering for Prim, it’s Frodo deciding to take the ring to Mordor, it’s Jaimie pushing a child out a window, it’s Beth – deciding to take her little sister’s joke seriously and rob a grocery store.

(Again, I like to use Harry Potter because it’s literal – there is no return for Harry after hearing Hagrid tell him he’s a wizard. Everything is changed forever).

Inciting incidents are probably the most singularly important narrative moment, because they’re what everything else tumbles out of. Pretty much everything that happens in the story should be a direct or indirect result of the inciting incident. The inciting incident is ultimately the key of the story and what should unlock the overall arc.

When it comes to a series – whether that be a TV series, movie series or book series, each individual instalment (see: season of a show) should have its own inciting incident which – preferably – builds off the one established in the first instalment.

The Hunger Games does this really well. Katniss and Peeta being brought back into the games in Catching Fire is both an imitation inciting incident which allows the author to explore the story world further in an exciting way, and also an inciting incident that’s directly borne out of the first book / film – aka Katniss pissed enough people off during the first games that they’re going to try and kill her for real this time, which in turn gives us the opportunity to explore Katniss’ trauma, the ramifications of her actions in the first book on the broader story world, and to generate a new, compelling chapter based off of both.

Good Girls has a terrific inciting incident in s1 – which is Beth realising she’s about to lose everything.

That is our narrative point of no return.

And it works on a lot of levels – it establishes Beth as the driving engine of the story, fuelled by the chorus motivations of Annie and Ruby, rounding off both their collective and individual stakes, it sets us up for a strong narrative spine and solid characterisations.

Good Girls actually also has a terrific inciting incident in s2, which operates strongly on its own while also building firmly off the character arcs of s1.

The s2 inciting incident is Rio showing up on that park bench with Marcus, a gun and an order.

The story pivots here – giving Rio a lot of narrative thrust (get your minds out of the gutter kids), and making him a sort of secondary story engine. The core engine is still Beth, but her life is different now. She’s been traumatised and she’s exhausted, but Rio revealing his son to the girls (and tying their motivations up together in a neat little package) while forcing her to act, re-establishes her as the person who’s decisions are going to be the driving force of the narrative.

Ruby and Annie are, of course, story engines in their own right too, but they fall into line behind Beth usually, and their narrative push is actually usually away from the story throughline, but we’ll talk about that in a sec.

Rising Tension / The Middle

Okay, this is where things get a little tricky.

Do you remember this guy?

When we talk about stories, rising tension / the middle is the big guy. It’s the bulk of your narrative. It’s Where Things Happen. It’s where all the ugly stuff set up in your beginning and exploded by your inciting incident just - - grows a life of it’s own.

Or - -

Well.

Maybe not.

Forget about this guy.

Rising tension is this:

Rising tension is a series of ‘mini climaxes’ on the way to the main climax that raises the stakes, lets you know characters better, and pushes your characters onwards to the main climax.

Each of these little climaxes should be followed by a ‘narrative rest’. (that’s the dip after each spike)

Which - - I don’t know, might sound weird? I know when I started writing I was like ?? but it’s true! The closer you get to a big narrative climax, the more important rests are! Rests are – I personally think – one of the most important components of storytelling, because they re-ground an audience, remind them of what’s at stake, before thrusting everyone back into danger.

Again, Harry Potter is a gift in this sense because this is all really clearly paced out. Think about the first instalment – Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s / Sorcerer’s Stone.

Harry and Ron save Hermione and Ron from the troll!!!

Then they become friends and enjoy school and quidditch.

Harry loses control of his broom during a quidditch game!!!!

He’s okay and then it’s Christmas and Harry gets the invisibility cloak and feels connected to his parents for perhaps the first time in his life.

Harry, Hermione and Ron go through the trapdoor to get the philosopher’s stone!!!

And - - okay, you get the point.

Each mini climax ups the stakes, but we feel those stakes upped because of the time we spend with characters during the ‘narrative rest’. For instance, while Harry and Ron saving Hermione from the troll might have sparked an interest in her, it’s the narrative rest scenes between that and her setting Snape on fire during the quidditch game that makes us invest in her as a character. 

This is where things get a bit hairy with Good Girls. Good Girls does a tremendous job of giving us both great climaxes and wonderful moments of narrative rest. The issue, for me at least, is that it’s not always the best at balancing them. When I talk about escalation and pacing, this is a big part of what I mean.

Remember how I said this was the shape of a story?

Well, I think Good Girls s2 looked more like this:

We had a lot of solid movement in the first half of the season that sort of flattened out into a lower stakes, more meandering middle (which gave us 2.08 through 2.12). Which - -

Look.

The story changed gear, and it didn’t work.  

Think of it this way:

2.01 – mostly character-based fallout from s1 + inciting incident of Rio handing them the gun

2.02 – almost entirely rising tension culminating with the girls bribing Boomer and Beth lying to Rio

2.03 – which thrusts us straight back into rising tension with the girls trying to kill Boomer and ‘succeeding’ via Mary Pat

2.04 – which gives us a very satisfying narrative rest as we explore Rio and Beth’s relationship outside of an overall narrative thrust – he gives her a key, she shies away from him, only to fall entirely back into him culminating in sex which itself brings about a new climax (no pun intended!) in the scene with Beth, Rio and Dean at the dealership. It’s also a strong character episode in closing certain plot threads – ending Annie and Greg’s relationship + ending Ruby lying to Stan about what they’re doing – while establishing major new threads – i.e. really colliding Turner and Mary Pat.

2.05 – and after the rest, we’re back to almost entirely satisfying rising tension! Building off of the threat of finding Boomer’s body and the new tensions that Rio and Beth’s intimacy brings.

2.06 – a mix episode! Very much building to the strong climax of Beth seizing power, but also an episode that plays around with character, has a lot of strong ‘rest’ moments i.e. the girls sorting pills and talking which gives us a lot of information as to state of minds, etc.

2.07 – again, very strong mixed episode which is focused on one single, extreme climax – Jane being missing, but building a very character-centric episode around it. Also introduces Noah though? Which is a mistake. He should have been introduced - I think, in 2.05, but that feels like a whole other post.

2.08 – narratively speaking the same as 2.07 in the sense of a single climax (the girls failing to get the money back / the Beth-Ruby confrontation), but has the added bonus of flashbacks.

2.09 – we have a slight narrative thrust with the robbery of the Quick Cash but it proves very quickly to be low stakes. This is an alllll emotional stakes episode, which means narrative tension is slowing.  

2.10 – again, a character-focused, narrative rest episode devoted to Beth struggling with getting square. A few small climaxes – Annie and Ruby in Canada and Turner at the dealership being the big ones, but both quickly prove toothless. The heft / strength of the episode again is in character moments, not narrative thrust. Again - slowing it down. 

2.11 – oh, what do we have here? Another character-focused, narrative rest episode? I love this episode – it’s one of my favourites of the show, but it’s intensely character focused. Very much centred in waving away the smoke around both Noah and Rio for Annie and Beth respectively. No dramatic climaxes. Slowing the story down even further. 

2.12 – another narrative rest episode. A lot of slow exposition of Mary Pat and Jeff, which is good to know, but I’d argue placed badly in the season. This season’s already been slowing down despite the narrative timeline tightening, but this episode only further pushes on the brakes for Dean’s new job, Beth and Dean’s divorce, Beth and Rio’s break up. Two very small climaxes - the lawyer telling Ruby he knows about the money and the Boomer reveal but - in the context of the season - actually pretty low stakes. Again. Slowing down the narrative. 

2.13 – A BIG CLIMAX EPISODE WHAT IS GOING ON???

What I’m saying in this is that the pacing in the back half of the season was, to me at least, fundamentally off. They hadn’t steered a strong enough narrative spine to take us through the season, and got heavily invested in character moments and not-entirely-thought-out-fallout in the back half of the season – it didn’t understand it’s own narrative thrust well enough to get us through. It also established a certain pacing with us in the first half of the season and shifted gears halfway through.

You can’t have your first three or six episodes be high-stakes-high-action, and then make the back end of your season same-stakes-low-action and top it all off with an explosive, poorly built-up finale in the way that they did.

There wasn’t enough thrust to push us through to the scene in Rio’s loft – neither narratively or in a character sense, and as a result, those last few episodes fall apart. Even beyond that though, the season escalated quickly then - - didn’t really know what to do with those escalations? It plateaued, which is indicative of bad pacing across the season. 

I actually do think it’d be a relatively easy fix? I’d bring the Noah arc forwards and actually fiddle with the Beth and Rio break ups - get one even closer the tinale and make it more painful. Make it a climax in itself. 

But anyway, haha: 

The Resolution

All stories have a resolution too of course.

The resolution can be 30 seconds or 30 minutes – it’s a time to tie up loose ends and to reassure your audience that the journey they’ve been on is worthwhile.

(After all – you’ll notice the story diagram is not symmetrical – we never finish where we began).

I’m not going to talk too much about resolutions because at the end of the day – resolutions should fall fairly naturally out of your beginning, your inciting incident, your rising tension. It should tumble out like the double wedding at the end of Pride and Prejudice, but I will say that the s2 resolution was...err, not good. In no small part because it didn’t fall out of what we’d been told all season. They’d established a certain throughline and then taken it back, and that was nagl to be honest. 

On the plus side though - it wasn’t a finale, so I have my fingers crossed they can fix it!

But yes, back to your ask, anon. 

No, I don’t think that the writers were pandering. I think they went in with a sketched outline and that they probably got lost in the back end of the season and weren’t quite sure how to drum up the final act, which meant that final act didn’t work.

Ah, this post got so long! I hope it wasn’t boring or too self-indulgent or silly, and that you got something out of it! I am, of course, always happy to answer writing questions, and I hope you liked reading my story ramblings ;-) 

[skepticalcatfrog]

Among The Stars Chapter 3

First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Summary: Logan Watts is a famous scientist, known by almost everyone in the galaxy. His most famous invention is his friend and assistant, a healthcare android named Patton. When they are called to another planet for a meeting with the local ruler, they're expecting a completely normal trip. Little did they know, this trip would send them into a daring adventure to protect their galaxy and stop a war. Teamed up with unlikely friends, including a runaway gladiator and an infamous crime trio, Logan and Patton have to figure out how to make peace and save their universe (and beyond) from being destroyed.

Pairings: (Eventual) Logicality, Prinxiety, and Demus

Word count: 5,322

Author's Notes: Finally, the last introductory chapter! After this we're going to be getting more into the plot.

Dalton stood with his back against the wall, holding a walkie-talkie close to his face.

"I'm about three more hallways away from the vault, but there are more and more guards as I get closer to it. They're armed and I'm not, so what do you think our next step should be?" He asked, waiting for a response from his team.

Dalton was part of a team of three. He and his two accomplices were thieves, and they were experts at what they did. The only reason they were famous was because they'd only been caught once. Dalton was the leader of their group, and was currently inside one of the most heavily guarded vaults in the galaxy. He'd broken in two hours ago, and was trying to navigate without a detailed map. All he knew was where the vault itself was.

"Well you've already gotten this far by yourself, but if you wanted us to come help you I think we could." Remus answered, looking at the map in front of him. He had the detailed one back at their base.

Remus was another member of the team. He handled the maps. He was good at causing distractions, but usually he didn't go on missions. Although, he would be going if it weren't for Anxiety. 

Anxiety was the third team member. He was an android that Dalton and Remus had found during one of their heists. He was almost completely broken. He still had consciousness, and full mobility of his face. But he couldn't talk, and he could barely move anything else. He was made to predict every outcome of a situation, but had been scrapped by his inventor after experiencing a glitch that caused him to only be able to predict bad outcomes. Because of this, Dalton and Remus called him Anxiety, since he couldn't tell them his real name. He didn't seem to mind it.

"Yeah, come here and meet me. You know where I am, right?" Dalton asked, staying where he was for the moment. "I might have moved once you show up, but there aren't many other places I might be."

"Then you might just have to remind me once I'm there." Remus said, carrying the walkie-talkie with him to get his backpack.

He didn't wear a backpack to carry anything. Instead, he used it to store and hide the four tentacles sprouting from his back. They were useful, but could easily get in the way when he was trying to get somewhere quickly.

"Just one thing: don't bring Anxiety." Dalton stressed those three words, looking around nervously. "He can't defend himself, and he wouldn't last a second out here. I have to go, get here fast."

He clipped the walkie-talkie to his belt, and looked around the corner into another identical hallway. There were three guards standing right there. His eyes widened and he took a swift step back. If one of those guards had just turned around, the whole mission would've been over.

Dalton gripped the gem on the necklace he was wearing. He'd stolen it on a previous excursion. It was the perfect combination of science and magic. He held out his other hand, and it started to glow bright yellow. Three bright yellow holographic hands appeared from thin air. Then they flew around the corner, and Dalton let them work their magic. A few moments later, he walked around the corner to find all three guards unconscious on the ground, and all three of the extra hands gone.

"Works every time." He muttered to himself. Then he kept moving. Remus wasn't there yet, and he didn't know what kind of delay could possibly be happening. He tapped the bracelet on his wrist, and his map appeared.

There were two dots on it: A red one, and a yellow one. The yellow one was him, and the red one was the vault. It was a simple design, but it worked. Based on where he was now, he could tell that the entrance to the vault was just around the next corner. He couldn't stay still forever, but he knew he wouldn't stand a chance without his... associate. "Damnit Remus, where are you…"

~~~

After Dalton turned off the walkie-talkie, Remus left almost immediately. He grabbed his empty backpack, which had four holes in the part that faced his back so he could store his tentacles inside. He picked up his headphones from where he'd put them on the table. He explained to Anxiety where he was going, and why the android couldn't tag along. Then he was on his way, using Dalton's motorcycle to leave. He wasn't an expert at riding it, but he could get around well enough. He left the atmosphere without a care in the world. Because you see, one thing about Remus is that he doesn't need to breathe to live. He was totally fine in the vacuum of space without an air tank or anything. Of course, that was the only good thing that was going to happen on this trip.

It was smooth sailing for a while. Boring, even. He'd already seen everything around the area, so there wasn't anything to look at. He put on his headphones in hopes of picking up a radio signal. It was only a couple of minutes until he found one. Static started to play through the speakers. Then someone started talking.

"A UFO has been picked up by our sensors." The voice said.

"Is there any way to get a better reading on it?" A second voice asked. That was when Remus realized that his headphones has picked up feed from some sort of intercom system.

"Yes, just a moment." The first voice stopped speaking for a solid minute. "Upon closer inspection, it appears to be a person riding a motorcycle."

This was when Remus realized that they were talking about him.

"Really? Let me get a look." The second voice requested. "Ah, okay. I see. That is a very dangerous individual."

A dangerous individual is exactly what most people would describe Remus as. If they hadn't met him, of course. Those who had met him would simply say that he was unpredictable.

"But how? He looks fairly normal." The first voice observed. Remus laughed. He knew they could see him, but he didn't care. They wouldn't know he was laughing at them anyway.

"We're going to need to take him into custody." The second voice decided. "Send out a couple of soldiers, they should be able to take care of him."

Remus shut off the connection on his headphones. He'd have to get out of there fast if he wanted to avoid those soldiers. Unfortunately, only Dalton knew how to make the motorcycle go any faster than a leisurely float in space. It really needed an atmosphere to go quickly.

As many of you probably already know, space doesn't have air, and sound waves can't travel. So when the four soldiers began closing in on him, he couldn't hear a thing. But he was very intuitive, and something in the back of his mind knew that they were there. He slid his backpack off of his shoulders and ditched it into the void. He knew he wouldn't be needing it for at least long enough to get a new one.

He wrapped one of his tentacles around a small ship, and swung it around until it crashed into another ship. It seemed like these people weren't afraid to hurt him, because he felt a sharp prick in his shoulder. Electric shock, probably. He turned the motorcycle around to look at what he was up against. He'd already taken down two of the ships in his previous attack, but there were still two left. They had mechanical arms coming from either side, which were electrified at the ends. He stopped the motorcycle and hopped off of it, pulling himself towards the ships by taking full advantage of the lack of gravity and hooking a tentacle around one of the surviving ships. He pulled off the mechanical arms from one of the ships and stuck them into the other, killing the engine. Three down, one to go. Without weapons the last ship would be easy to take down. In fact, he didn't even really have to. He just grabbed on to it with two of his tentacles, then threw it as far as he could.

"And that's that." He said to himself, though no sound actually came out. 

He pulled himself back to the motorcycle and got it started up again, putting it back on track and continuing to move onward. It had been a while, and he still wasn't where Dalton needed him to be. That wasn't going to end well.

~~~

"Listen to me, if you don't get here fast enough, I'm going in without you!" Dalton whispered angrily into the walkie-talkie. He needed to be quiet, but that didn't do anything to lessen his rage. He'd been doing this for the past ten minutes. "I'm going to be found out, and then- Oh, wait. Shit."

That was the sound of Dalton realizing that if Remus was already out of their planet's atmosphere, he wouldn't be able to hear his angry rant. In short, those ten minutes were for nothing. He hooked the walkie-talkie to his belt again. His patience was at its end. He was going to move on, and hope Remus would show up in time to bring him back home.

He rounded the corner and was faced with a large metal door. There was what looked like a handprint recognition device attached to the wall next to it. Dalton raised his fist and brought it down forcefully on top of the machine, breaking the cover off of it. He took a switchblade from his belt and began cutting wires. Eventually, the door shakily slid open.

He began to walk slowly through the door, expecting an attack. Surely enough, the second he stepped through the doorway, he had five weapons pointed at him by various security guards. He raised his hands in the air.

"Okay, okay. I'm not here for a fight. Just let me take what I want, and I'll be out of your hair like that." He snapped his fingers.

"Not a chance, thief." One of the guards growled.

"Oh good! You know who I am." Dalton laughed. "I was starting to get worried that we weren't making enough of an impression."

"Who's 'we'?" Another guard asked. "Do you have accomplices?"

"Are you being serious right now?" Dalton raised his eyebrow, a sly smile on his face. "I can't tell behind those masks, you know. Am I allowed to suggest a costume change? First things first, you should really lose these. They make you look less approachable."

In the time it would take someone to say the word 'heist', Dalton knocked all of their weapons out of their hands.

"Wha- How did you do that?" Even though a mask covered their face, the guard's surprise was evident.

"Magic, sweetheart." Dalton lied. He pointed finger guns at them and smiled, showing off sharp snake-like fangs. "Now we're even."

Those finger guns quickly turned into fists, and he swung a punch into the closest guard's chin. It knocked their mask right off, and Dalton pulled up his own. His mask covered the lower half of his face, stopping under his eyes. He was always worse with weapons, he much preferred to use his hands.

Another guard ran at him and tried to hit him, but he grabbed their wrist and used their momentum to flip them over his back. Then he seamlessly kicked out his leg and struck a third guard in the stomach, which knocked them over backwards. There were still two more left. They were approaching him at the same time, at the same pace. He tried to hit one of them, but the guard held up their own hand and stopped the blow from reaching them. Before they'd been sort of coming after him one by one, and that he could deal with. But having to fight two people at the same time? Not without extra hands, and the extra hands he had needed to recharge. The guards backed him into a corner. He silently hoped for some kind of miracle.

And that was when the ceiling broke open. Through the hole in the ceiling fell Remus, landing on his feet. Dalton's face lit up. The guards turned around to see what he was looking at, and were promptly grabbed by tentacles and thrown through the ceiling. Remus offered a smile.

"Hey, miracle." Dalton said nonchalantly. "Why were you so late? Get held up while traveling through the endless void?"

"Yeah, I- wait, what was that first part again?" Remus asked, trying to make sure he'd heard correctly.

"Nothing, not important. You really should've been here sooner." Dalton reminded him, as if he didn't already know.

"I ran into some trouble on the way here. It's all taken care of though, no big deal." Remus shrugged. "By the way, it's a good thing you're wearing that mask. The air outside isn't good for you."

"I know, I wore the mask on the way in then took it off once I was inside." Dalton explained. "But I put it back on when I started fighting, since it acts like a shield."

"Well you'd better keep it on, because the air filter will make leaving the atmosphere a little better." Remus turned to the metal box in the center of the room. "So, what do we have here?"

"Lab equipment. State of the art. It hasn't even been touched yet." Dalton told him. "I hear it was supposed to be shipped to some fancy scientist guy later today, but not anymore. Ever heard of Logan Watts?"

"Yeah, he's the guy who blew up part of that one battle station trying to make a working pen. Totally by accident! Who does that?" Remus laughed. "So this stuff was supposed to go to him?"

"That's what I heard. Which means it's all super high tech." Dalton looked Remus in the eyes. "I think this is what we're going to need to fix Anxiety, for good this time."

"All we can do is hope at this point, right?" Remus tried not to crumble under Dalton's mismatched gaze. One brown eye, one bright yellow with a slit pupil. Both completely mesmerizing. In other news, Remus would be lying if he said that he wasn't totally in love with his companion.

"Hope." Dalton scoffed. "If we hope, it'll only raise our expectations. And we can't be too excited about this, because if it doesn't work then Anxiety will be devastated. So we can't hope, because this could be our last chance to help him."

"Then let's just try." Remus picked up the box. "We can pick the lock back home, but for now we have to go."

"You're definitely right, I'm honestly surprised that they haven't sent anyone to investigate yet." Dalton glanced at the door, which was still wide open.

Remus pulled himself onto the roof using his tentacles, then secured the box to the back of the motorcycle. Then he knelt down next to the hole in the ceiling and offered Dalton his hand. When he took it, he pulled his associate up to the roof.

"Where's your backpack, by the way?" He asked, noticing Remus wasn't wearing it.

"I ditched it." Remus shrugged, getting on the motorcycle. "I was in the middle of nowhere and had to use my tentacles, so I just let go of the backpack since I knew I wouldn't need it for a while."

"Not the best choice, but I appreciate that you at least tried to think under pressure. Also, what do you think you're doing?" Dalton raised his eyebrow.

"Driving the motorcycle." Remus answered, hoping Dalton wouldn't notice. He did, of course.

"Not a chance, I only let you drive when I'm not there. I trust no one." Dalton shook his head. "Get off the bike, I'm sitting up front."

He took some goggles and a pair of fingerless gloves from his belt and put them on. He flipped up the hood on his jacket, hiding most of his hair. He used tactics like this to hide any defining characteristic of himself in moments where he needed to get around unnoticed. For example, the goggles had darkened lenses which hid his eye color, plus they were just useful when you didn't want to get anything in your eyes.

"Fine, fine. I should've seen this coming anyway." Remus laughed, sliding off of the motorcycle. Dalton immediately sat in the front, and Remus sat back down behind him.

Once everyone was where they needed to be, they took off. Dalton loved driving the motorcycle. One time, he paid someone to modify the engine so it could withstand faster speeds than a normal vehicle. That only made it more fun. The wind made his hood slide off of his head. When they left the atmosphere, it felt like a force field was pushing them back. But once they were out of it, he got back to full speed again. Dalton knew how to do that without an atmosphere, and he purposely didn't tell Remus how he did it. Someone with his level of recklessness didn't need that kind of power.

It didn't feel like long before they were back to the cavern they called home. The planet was covered in rocks, with no grass or dirt or animals anywhere. And as far as they knew, the three of them were the only living things on the planet. It was perfect. Once they parked the motorcycle outside, they detached the metal box and brought it inside.

"What's up Anxiety!" Remus shouted as they walked in. The cavern had a serious echo, so he loved yelling inside it. "Did you miss us?"

Anxiety smiled, and based on the rattling sound of the broken machinery inside him, he would be laughing as well. Remus took that as a yes.

"So, what do you say we open this box?" Dalton put the box down on a table. 

Remus handed him a wedge to help break open the box. They kept all the more heavy-duty tools at home. Eventually, after a few minutes of trying to pry open the box, the lid popped off with a loud cracking noise. Inside were what could only be described as surgical tools for androids. 

Anxiety's eyes widened and he looked at Dalton. No words were exchanged, but the message was clear. It was the same message Dalton had been getting with every new attempt. That's a pretty big promise. And looking at the tool kit, he knew that it was. This one was the most high stakes yet, because it was practically impossible. Looking at all of the high tech tools in front of him, he came to a realization.

"I don't know how to use this stuff." He muttered, his voice ridden with defeat.

"So… is that it?" Remus asked, hoping that Dalton would remain resilient.

"No. It's not." Dalton slammed his hand down on the table before going to sit in front of one of the computers that they'd managed to get. "I'm not giving up, Anxiety. I won't fail you this time. We need to find someone who'll be able to help us."

He began typing, entering the first name that came to mind into the search bar. 'Logan Watts'. A few articles came up, and he clicked on the first one. He scrolled down to the information they were looking for and began reading it out loud.

"Logan Watts is a famous inventor, best known for his assistance in the development of technology. He first became known after what has become known as the incident of Battle Station 3829190381." He heard Remus almost laugh. "The exact location of his home isn't known, because he currently resides on a remote spaceship, which is never stationary. He is almost never seen without his most famous invention, a healthcare android built to assist with his work." There were pictures provided of both of them. Dalton closed the article and opened a second one. "This one says that they're scheduled for a meeting with the president of Xialea VII today. That's what we need, we need to find him."

"The scientist? How is that going to work, exactly?" Remus asked.

"It's not, that's the point. We don't need him, we need the android." Dalton decided. "He's a healthcare android, which means he's probably programmed to not be able to hurt us. We just need to get the android, and bring him back here. If he's got any sympathy for us, he should be able to help Anxiety."

Anxiety's jaw dropped, but he regained his composure as he glanced at the computer. Dalton closed the tab, and the screen went blank. When Anxiety wanted to say something, he could wirelessly hook up to a computer and make text appear on the screen. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them they'd changed from black to bright purple. Then letters started appearing.

"Can I come with you?"

"This time, yes." Dalton nodded. Anxiety smiled brightly. "We won't need to fight anyone, so I can attach the sidecar to the motorcycle and you can come with us. This mission is a big step, we'll want you to be there."

"I'll go hook up the sidecar." Remus offered, going to get it from where it was in the corner.

"He really likes you." Anxiety typed once Remus was gone.

"What? No, he's just being friendly. Not surprising since we've known each other for years, but still." Dalton shook his head. Anxiety rolled his eyes.

He knew how Remus felt about Dalton, because it was really obvious sometimes. Unfortunately, Dalton refused to believe it, no matter how many times he pointed it out. Dalton just had so many walls up that he couldn't tell if anyone liked him, or if he liked anyone else. It was infuriating for Anxiety, only partly because it felt like he was a serious third wheel.

"Okay, it's all ready to go!" Remus came back after a few more minutes. 

Anxiety was sitting in a desk chair that had wheels on it, so Dalton pushed him over to the motorcycle. He helped him get into the sidecar, then took his place on the motorcycle. He started it up and let Remus get on before leaving.

It took them an hour and fifteen minutes to get to Xialea VII. Anxiety had been timing it, just to distract him from the nervousness he got from the ride. When they finally got there, they hovered high enough above the ground so that they couldn't be seen, but low enough that they could still see everything below them.

"And now we wait." Dalton said, leaning forward to rest his arms on the handlebars of the motorcycle. Eventually, they saw Logan Watts and his android exiting the presidential building.

"There! There they are." Remus pointed at their targets. "Should we go for it?"

"No, not yet. We don't want to give him enough time to tell anyone, and there's no way we'll be able to get out without being seen right now." Dalton told him.

Anxiety looked down at the ground. Calculations started buzzing around in his head. This mission had a 43% chance of failure. There was a 61% chance that Remus would fall off of the motorcycle by leaning too far to the side. There was a 38% chance that the android wouldn't be able to help him. And finally, their chances of getting the wrong person or no one at all were 85%. He knew he wouldn't be able to tell Remus and Dalton any of those statistics, but what he could do was keep them in his head and let them bother him endlessly. He watched Logan and the android walk down the street, stopping near the end before turning around and going back to the parking lot. Dalton seemed to notice them as well.

"Now's our chance. Look over there." He pointed to someone dressed in red running very quickly down the street. "That guy is running from something. The parking lot is going to be a chance for him to escape whatever he's running from, so if he's not afraid of a little crime, chances are he'll steal a ship. That's enough to create a distraction after we get the android."

He put the motorcycle into a full nosedive. Remus instinctively held on to him, and Anxiety was wearing a seatbelt, so he was fine. Dalton tilted the motorcycle up a little more as they got nearer to the ground, moving it in a fast downward slope rather than straight down. The speed they were going, there was definitely a chance that they'd completely miss their target. They landed on the ground and kept going at the same speed, which was definitely above the speed limit. As they passed by the pair, Remus reached out and grabbed the android with one of his tentacles, picking him up and putting him in the sidecar with Anxiety. He kept a hold on him, just to make sure he couldn't get out. They kept driving, not losing speed as they lifted back into the air. Dalton smiled under his mask. This could be it, they could finally be able to fix Anxiety.

The android didn't stop struggling until they left the atmosphere. He'd seemingly accepted defeat. Anxiety felt bad, but the guilt was overshadowed by the notion that he'd be able to be repaired. In a way, though, knowing that his sense of self preservation ranked higher than the well-being of others made him feel even worse.

It took about the same amount of time for them to get back home. When they finally got back to the cavern and off of the motorcycle, they closed and locked the door they'd put on a while ago. The android immediately ran over and tried to open it using force, but apparently he wasn't built with enough strength to do that. Dalton took off his mask and goggles, and also his jacket. The loss of his hood revealed his dark hair that he'd dyed bright yellow near the front, and his lack of sleeves revealed the scales that were on his shoulders to match the ones covering half of his face.

"Hey. Sit down for a minute." Dalton gestured towards one of the chairs they had. "We'll explain while you make yourself more comfortable."

The android looked at him like he had five heads, but then cautiously went to the chair and sat down. Anxiety could see the fear in his golden eyes.

"First things first: What's your name?" Remus asked.

"I'm Patton. My name is an acronym, which stands for Personal Automated Treatment and Therapy Octopus Nebula. I-" The android answered with a clearly programmed response, but was interrupted by Remus.

"Is that for real?" He laughed. "The last two letters of your name stand for 'Octopus Nebula'? Oh my gods, I can't believe I thought that scientist guy was a professional! But he named you that!"

"He is a professional!" Patton looked somewhat offended. "Even professionals aren't perfect, you know."

"He knows, don't worry. Sometimes he just doesn't think before he speaks." Dalton glared at Remus. They wanted this android to help him, and they wouldn't get there if they talked to him like that. "Anyway, you're probably wondering why you're here."

"I really am. I don't understand why you would take me instead of Logan, if you were going to kidnap anyone. I'm not the famous one, why would you want me?" Patton asked.

"Because we need your help. You see our friend over there?" Dalton pointed to Anxiety. "We need you to fix him. He can't talk or move, and he's gotten worse since we first found him. We have all the tools and stuff, we just need someone who knows how to use them."

"Oh… well you could've just asked, you know." Patton frowned. "You didn't have to go through all this trouble."

"If we asked, you wouldn't have helped us. I guarantee that your scientist friend would have recognized us." Dalton said. "Do you watch the news?"

"No, I usually keep myself occupied with little jobs around the ship." Patton shrugged.

"That explains it." Dalton nodded. "You see, here's the thing. Me and my friends, we're criminals. Thieves, to be exact. Everyone in this room is a reject, and everything in this room is stolen."

"Why are you rejects?" Patton furrowed his brow in concern.

"I have these. I'm not supposed to." Remus gestured to his tentacles.

"I'm half human. Apparently someone from Earth thought lizard people were hot, so that's why I have parts of skin without scales." Dalton said.

Anxiety connected to the computer, and Dalton directed Patton's attention to the screen.

"I have a glitch. I basically have an anxiety disorder in my programming, and that's why they call me Anxiety."

"Oh goodness, that's awful!" Patton shook his head. "Well I think you're all perfect just the way you are, and the people who threw you out didn't deserve you anyway."

"Why are you being so nice to us?" Dalton raised his eyebrow.

"You're not all bad. Sure, you kidnapped me, but at least it was for a good cause." Patton tried to keep a straight face, but soon started laughing. "Sorry, it's just that Logan can't do that. That thing with the eyebrow. It's really funny, because you can tell when he's trying to."

"You two are really close, huh?" Remus crossed his arms.

"Yeah. Hopefully he'll be able to figure out where I am…" Patton sighed. He stood up out of the chair. "But what do you say we help your friend in the meantime?"

"Thank you so much for this, really." Dalton switched to a slightly more emotional tone. But only slightly. "We've tried everything, and you're really our last option."

"I'll try my best. Where are the tools you guys have?" Patton asked. 

"Over there." Remus and Dalton simultaneously pointed to the tool box, which was still sitting on the table where they left it. Patton walked over to it and opened it up, examining the tools that were inside.

"I'm really sorry, you guys…" Patton said, eyes still fixed on the tools. "I don't know how to use any of this."

"What? Are you kidding?" Dalton's eyes widened.

"No, I'm not. Logan might know, but I don't." Patton closed the tool box.

"Holy crap." Dalton started at nothing in particular. "That was our last chance, and you're telling me it was all for nothing?"

"It wasn't all for nothing, if we get Logan here then he can help you." Patton assured him.

"And how long is that going to take?!" Dalton raised his voice, surprising everyone in the room. "We've been trying for years to help him, and you expect us to wait until Mr. Genius comes to rescue you?!"

"Dalton, it's okay. We'll find another way, just like we always have." Remus put his hand on Dalton's shoulder.

"No, Remus! It's not okay!" Tears of anger, frustration, and sadness rose to his eyes. "It's just not fair. Because we get to live, and Anxiety has to stay here every time. Every single time, and you know why? Because I failed him! I try and try, but I fail him every time. And he doesn't deserve that."

The room fell silent. Even though they didn't want to admit it, they knew that Dalton's words were true. They didn't know how long it would take for Logan to get there. Until then, there wasn't any other way to help Anxiety. And for that, Dalton blamed himself.

Taglist: @idkwhyimhere0o0 @icequeenoriginal @mostpeopleannoyne @007ardra @logan-is-my-spirit-animal

[dearmrsbitch]

December 6, 2019 - *Sigh* I’ve Seen This Too Much...

         Dear Prudence,        

         We have three girls, ages 9 to 12. Our youngest has a friend “Mia.” Mia is a sweet girl, but her mother is a nutcase. Mia can’t do anything or go anywhere without her 7-year-old brother, “Mike.” Mike is autistic. It isn’t a problem with barbecues or if there are other kids running around, but Mia is entering sleepover territory with our girls. Our girls want her to spend the night, but Mia’s mom refuses unless Mike comes. The girls have very little to do with Mike, and we would end up entertaining him separately all night. My husband suggested their mother just wants to get free babysitting, but she is adamant that Mia and Mike are a duo act only.        

         Mia has gotten to the point of tears in my presence because she can’t come over or enjoy her friends without her brother. She has confessed she hates Mike and hates her mom for loving him more than her. I reassured Mia her mom loves her, but in my own private opinion, Mike is the priority in that family. Our oldest turns 13 in January and wants to go to a concert. We are getting tickets, but obviously we will not be paying for Mike. How do we navigate this with Mia’s mom and our own girls?        

         —No Boys Allowed       

Dear No Boys,

I hate to say it, but I see this a lot.  Oftentimes in families where one child has special needs, the child that does not - is the one who gets neglected.  And it sucks, because both need attention, but the way our lovely fucking healthcare / daycare systems work, parents often just expect the typical child to “raise itself” to the point of being a sacrificial lamb.

I can’t begin to say how many people I was friends with who had these siblings and they would always seem to be biting their lip and saying “my parents keep telling me how good I have it to be normal (off my ass - not my words), but I can’t talk to them about anything or else they yell at me.”

My own mother did the same to me, what was worse was that my brother was faking a lot of his issues to get attention.  Mrs. Bitch has cut her mother out of her life and feels great!  Ms. Mia will probably end up doing the same.

To saddle a 13 year old girl with a 7 year old boy is a stupid thing to begin with.  Mia didn’t have him, she’s not obligated to care for him, or even about him.  It’s likely that mommy is trying to make Mia a surrogate that will feel obligated to take care of Mike into adulthood.  Which is not fair.  It’s their mother’s job to make sure that Mike is taken care of until he passes away, not Mia’s job to be his caretaker because she has the same bloodline.  She’s entitled to a life of her own.

First of all, you need to make it clear to Mia’s mommy dearest that you will not be inviting Mike to this concert, tell her that he’s too young and you’re not equipped to deal with an autistic child and a bunch of 13 year olds in that venue.  Because it’s true.  Tell her that if she wants to buy a ticket for herself and Mike, she can come along, but the girls will be doing girl stuff and she needs to watch her son.  She’ll probably refuse to let Mia go, but at least Mia knows someone is sticking up for her and it may hasten her break from this toxic family structure by showing her that what her mother is doing is not okay.

Also, when you enter sleepover territory, you draw the line. A 7 year old boy with 13 year old girls is not okay.  In fact, it’s bullshit that her mom, a former girl, would even think it’s okay, but I’m guessing your husband is right in that the mommy is probably using Mia to get time off instead of hiring a sitter like she damn well should.  Keep inviting Mia, keep letting it force the issue.

I know it sounds shitty, but you have two outcomes.  A mentally and emotionally beat down girl getting ground down into a family servant and living her life for her brother by facilitating this mess, or a girl who speaks up and tells mommy to fuck off earlier rather than later?

PS - She is absolutely using you, tell her if Mike comes over during regular playtime, that you charge babysitting fees for the extra kid.

Mrs. Bitch

[momtemplative]

MASKED.

1.

In a house with two young kids, our quickest sanity-stabilizer in this COVID era was to head outside and go for a walk, or a bike ride, or to roller skate. We’d pay close attention to the proximity of passers-by, but typically the grassy fields by the bike paths were an open canvas for the kids to blow off some steam. And we’d all return home a bit winded and slightly more stable. 

Then, a little more than two weeks ago, a strong recommendation came from Governor Polis for everyone to wear masks in public. But what, pray-tell, was “public” referring to? 

Here’s what the CDC endorsed: wearing cloth face coverings in public settings where other social distancing measures are difficult to maintain (e.g., grocery stores and pharmacies) especially in areas of significant community-based transmission.

So that’s what we assumed Polis recommended as well. That night we even had a happy hour gathering with our neighbors, all at least 6-feet-away, but without masks. We didn’t feel like we were being sneaky or non-compliant, we were simply following the guidelines as we understood them. 

But then we started seeing people in their yards wearing masks, and on walks wearing masks— in addition to 6-feet! There was an eerie infiltration of mask-wearers, and, with that, the non-verbal communication of an abrupt change of protocol. Our sacred, oft-traveled, 1,000-step bike path that loops around the block started to feel unfamiliar, as if it were a movie set peppered with strangers, wearing homemade cloth curtains over their cheeks. 

We quickly felt like a minority out there with our bare faces.

2.

An afternoon walk was once a favorite time of day—quarantine or not. Quickly though, in light of the current mask situation, and before I began to wear one, my brain started to get stuck in a grinding pattern of managing everyone else’s whereabouts in accordance with my own. I noticed that I was judging those who were masked, at least in part because I was sure they were judging me. 

Their judgment and my judgment felt cut from the same cloth: judgement as a way of controlling the uncontrollable. There is so much confusion about protocols. So much fear of the radio broadcast of white noise and speculation that is to be our future. All these feelings get lumped together into just trying to do it right. I returned from one particular walk stiff as a board and deeply grumpy.

“Jesse,” I said, “I’m not going on a walk again without a mask.”

3.

I opted out of any domestic sewing of masks at first, and started with my old-lady cardigan tied around my face like a waist. I then upgraded to a bedazzled bandana that I bought to fill Opal’s Easter basket last year. I love the happy fabric, but it wouldn’t stay up over my nose for anything beyond the liquor drive-through (my singular biweekly errand). Store-bought masks are not an option. They’ve been back-ordered for weeks and if the stock is replenished, it needs to be saved for the blessed healthcare workers.

By the next weekend, Jesse and Opal wore masks that they made from a YouTube video, using mustard-yellow t-shirts and rubber bands, while on a bike ride. That ride turned out to be very brief because, according to Opal, it was so hard to breathe. 

4.

The solidarity and confidence that come from wearing a mask are helpful and significant, sure. But the act of wearing a mask changes the experience entirely. 

On a purely physical level, it muddles your peripheral vision, steams up your glasses, makes it hot and very hard to breathe. 

On a social-emotional level, the masks create a real separation between people. It feels similar to being at a costume party—even if the invite list includes most of your friends, everyone is suddenly anonymous. 

I walked behind two people (in masks) and a dog from a block away that I thought were my beloved next door neighbors. I even hollered at them. (They didn't hear me.) Then I got closer and realized it was a different dog and very much not my neighbors. It’s all very disorienting.  

5.

One week in, and Opal has taken Polis’s suggestion as gospel. Of course, I don’t blame her. Sometimes when we are out and about, so is the rest of the neighborhood. During those times, the mask feels safe and dare-I-say comforting. (Like we are good, complaint citizens. Go us.) But other times, there is nobody outside. I tell Opal, “Sweetie, we can keep our masks around our chins until we see someone (dozens of feet away!) and then put up our masks.” 

Opal’s reply: NOT A CHANCE.

I try to imagine what it would be like to experience all this at age ten. What other such details has her system become accustomed to over the last month? Zoom call playdates, online school, little sister around all-the-effing-time. Maybe some feelings come out sideways? Maybe everything seems overwhelming and busy even though very little is happening?

In the olden days, before COVID, any sort of outdoor trek was soul-nourishing for all of us. It ticks a lot of boxes: sunshine, fresh air, exercise for me and the dog and the kids, a brain reset. Now, masked, such an activity is beyond taxing. Ruth has no desire to keep her mask on and she’s a runner. We can bribe her with a lollipop to stay in the stroller, but the girth of the BOB, along with the leashed (80-pound) dog requires skill and intentional footing on an average day. Trying to juggle it all through a face-drape is the emotional equivalent of walking through tar. A guaranteed headache.

Returning to our backyard, with its creaky swingset and patchwork yard, and removing our masks (along with the associated invisible constraints) is beyond restorative.

“That’s the best part about a mask,” Opal said. “Taking it off and having the air taste so fresh and cold again.”

6.

On Sunday morning—a few days ago and two solid weeks into the mask-in-public rules of conduct—the kids were scattered on the floor watching Frozen while I folded laundry and Jesse tinkered away at the sewing machine. Project: to sew face-masks that fit each of us properly. It was a lovely scene of the times. I would imagine Norman Rockwell painting such an episode if he were alive during COVID. A family of four (plus cat, plus dog) in their natural weekend habitat. Slow to dress, sipping juice or coffee, and, sewing face masks.

“Ruth,” Jesse said, “Come on over here and try this on to see if it fits.” Ruth scurried over to him to try on her mask like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Later that day, I walked our dog wearing the mask Jesse so lovingly crafted for me (after three fittings). It was exquisite, hands-free, spacious around the mouth. He even used the sweetest yellow-petal, summer dress fabric. When I returned, I kissed him straight through the mask.

7.

In spite of a good fit, it still takes exponentially more effort to greet someone while masked—you have to yell or over-gesture to compensate for the fact that both of your faces are completely erased. Because we wear ours primarily outside, most people are in sunglasses with their masks. But if not, they are far enough away where eye-reading is not an option. It’s all a straight-up guessing game.

More often than not, for the sake of simplicity, it’s just me and the dog these days. Typically, I have my dog’s leash in my left hand, and a steamy bag of his shit in my right that gets carried for countless unpleasant blocks. This is due to the lack of public trash facilities on the neighborhood routes I find are easier to navigate within the guidelines of 6-feet-between. Bike paths are pretty tight if there isn’t open space to veer off on either side. And now I’ve got my mask on, and fogged-up sunglasses. The uniform is similar to that of someone on Halloween in a last-minute ghost-sheet costume, with just the eyes cut out, cobbling along with both hands full. This is not a “path is the journey” sort of moment. I’m lucky if I can twitch out a head-nod or an elbow-wave to a passer-by.

It feels important to counteract the separation that has become synonymous with health and life. But I’d be lying if I said I was able to muster a greeting every time.

8.

In our culture, masks (when not worn in a medical setting) often represent sinister actions—bandits or bank robbers or the KKK who want to hide defining features.

For many Asian countries, mask-wearing was a cultural norm even before the coronavirus outbreak. In East Asia, many people are used to wearing masks when they are sick or when it's hayfever season, because it's considered impolite to sneeze or cough in public.

The 2003 Sars virus outbreak, which affected several countries in the region, also drove home the importance of wearing masks, particularly in Hong Kong, where many died as a result of the virus. Says the BBC news: “One key difference between these societies and Western ones, is that they have experienced a contagion before—and the memories are still fresh and painful.”

I recently read a story about two black men who were wearing masks at Walmart—fully in compliance and trying to keep themselves safe—when they were accosted by police. It hit me like a whip how individualized each of us are experiencing this pandemic. I skoff at my mask because it’s a pain-in-the-ass. But I’ll never be faced with also having to weigh the risks of racial profiling.

Delving further, I read that to-mask-or-not-to-mask has become a way to take a political stance. Trump supporters carrying “My body, My choice” signs, with an illustration of a crossed-out mask—this is a common image to see in the media right now.

The Washington Post said: “Even as governors, mayors and the federal government urge or require Americans to wear masks in stores, transit systems and other public spaces to contain the spread of the novel coronavirus, the nation is divided about whether to comply. And it is divided in painfully familiar ways — by politics and by attitudes about government power and individual choice.”

So, clearly, it is about so much more than just a mask.  

9.  

This just in. 

In a press conference that took place a few days ago, April 20th, Governor Jared Polis and state epidemiologist Dr. Rachel Herlihy outlined how life may change in Colorado as soon as next week, when “shelter-in-place” shifts to “safer-at-home.” They are essentially the same, just with a select few businesses opening with strict distancing rules and incremental shifts toward less physical distancing over all. Polis mentions nothing different about mask-wearing. Meaning, still wear them in public, especially if you can’t get 6-feet-between, especially if you’ve been exposed or have symptoms.

I noticed an immediate difference on my walk following his announcement. There was a family of four playing frisbee in an open space without masks! My initial feeling was wait, WTF? (And yes, I realize we are living in a strange state of affairs for my initial reaction to a beautiful family frolicking in a field to be contempt.) There was a man throwing a ball for his dog in a park that still had many visible CLOSED signs—also NO MASK. (Again, WTF??) I then gave a wide, grassy birth to a group of mask-free bike riders. 

I notice my mask feels more like a burden on my face without the unifying solidarity of everyone doing it. We all seem to be getting different memos.

There’s a huge relief that people are back to having faces, to be sure. I miss people. I love faces. But I have to admit that in spite of my hemming and hawing, I’d gotten used to feeling protected. It’s impossible to make sense of any of it. Even little Ruth came in yesterday and gave a tiny cough. “I’m sick,” she said, “Since I didn’t wear a mask today.” 

Circling back to the facts, the only thing worth grasping at right now, I am challenged to find any bit of news to suggest that our household need to be wearing masks while out on walks—under any level of regulation thus far. Neither Jesse nor myself are working outside of the house. We don’t visit with friends or family. (Big sigh.* We miss everyone terribly.) The odds of us being silent carriers are beyond slim. We are not immuno-compromised. So wearing masks these last few weeks—while still on socially distanced walks—could probably be categorized as an act of cultural alignment, an act of doing everything we can for the cause. 

As of right now, this moment, I do not see our mask-wearing as being impactful to our macro OR micro community. So, for the sake of preserving the sanity of our tiny culture for the long haul, I vote that we wear our beautifully-Jesse-crafted masks on our chins, like flattened feathers at the ready. 

“As it (the “safer-at-home” regulations) rolls off April 27, we need to figure out how to run the marathon now that we’ve run the sprint,” Governor Polis said in his most recent press conference. “I hate to break it to you, but the easy part was the sprint.”

[kianraidelcam]

Written for @whumptopia‘s 30 Day RoboWhump Challenge! Thanks to @anonymous-idfk for the idea behind today’s prompt, “Glitching.” Full fic under the cut!

The first incident lasts 15 seconds.

Connor had been coaching Markus through negotiation tactics in light of their recent invitation to Washington D.C. when he freezes mid-sentence. His LED turns a solid crimson with no warning, his fingers tapping against his legs with no rhythm or purpose. His mouth slightly open and gaze blank, the RK800 suddenly becomes unresponsive to the world around him.

He doesn’t hear Markus calling his name.

He doesn’t feel Markus’ hand on his shoulder.

He doesn’t notice when Markus tries to interface with him, only to be met with an error message.

He only notices that Markus is suddenly very close to him with a pressure on his shoulder, and the sentence he was continuing trails off, blinking once at the sudden change. “Markus?”

“Connor, are you okay,” the deviant leader's face is awash with concern that wasn't there a moment ago.

He's shaking his head, because of course he is, why wouldn't he be? He voices as much, and the concern transforms to disbelief, eyebrows furrowing. A quick scan tells Connor that Markus’ stress levels have jumped by 5% at his words, bringing it to a solid 20%. The RK200 was the leader of an entire, new intelligent species, navigating in a world where there was no solid precedent for their situation. His stress levels constantly fluctuated between 20% and 30% as a result. However, this week had been calm, and a sudden jump was near inexplicable. Had he received a message that Connor hadn’t? Had a glitch in Markus’ systems occurred?

“You were completely unresponsive for 15 seconds, Connor. Your LED was red and I couldn't connect with you.”

It's Connor's turn to be filled with disbelief. That wasn't right, all of his systems were nominal and his self-diagnostic last night proved it. Then again, he couldn't recall when Markus had gotten so close. He glances at the hand on his shoulder, which the older android suddenly pulls off, almost self-consciously.

He blinks as he runs another diagnostic and checks his internal clock, reading through the results. Everything came back normal, just as it had last night, but his internal clock confirms Markus’ claim. “I...was offline for 15 seconds?”

Markus nods slowly with a tilt to his head and he reaches out a hand questioningly, the skin retracting from his palm. Connor only hesitates for a fraction of a second before reaching his own hand out, accepting the connection request.

{CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: RK200 - Markus}

{RK200: I’m just going to look through your memories and run a diagnostic, is that okay?}

{RK800: That’s okay.}

{MEMORY LOGS ACCESSED: 180239 12:45:09pm - PERMISSION GRANTED RK200}

A memory flashes across his vision; a conversation they had just minutes ago replaying in his mind. They’re talking about different senators and possible ways to sway them to the deviants’ cause when the glitch occurs. Static creeps into Connor’s vision at 12:45:14pm before cutting to black completely.

{RK200: Did you notice the static distorting your vision?}

{RK800: I don’t remember seeing any. I don’t remember any part of the interruption. In my mind, I never stopped talking to you.}

{MEMORY LOGS ACCESSED 180239 12:45:14pm - PERMISSION GRANTED RK200}

{ERROR: MEMORY LOGS NOT FOUND - WOULD YOU LIKE TO TRY AGAIN (y/n)?}

{y - USER RK200}

{ERROR: MEMORY LOGS NOT FOUND}

{NEXT AVAILABLE MEMORY LOG: 180239 12:45:29pm}

{MEMORY LOGS ACCESSED: 180239 12:45:29pm - PERMISSION GRANTED RK200}

Connor watches as he continues his sentence where he left off, the sudden closeness of Markus jarring him and the surprise echoes second hand across their connection, as does Markus’ own surprise. He hears himself say Markus’ name and the memory abruptly falls away

{RK200: I’m going to run a diagnostic now.}

He sends a faint acknowledgement across the interface, watching as the diagnostic scrolls across his HUD.

{DIAGNOSTIC COMMENCING - PERMISSION GRANTED RK200}

{CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS: OK}

{CHECKING BIOSENSORS: OK}

{CHECKING OS: OK}

{CHECKING AI ENGINE: OK}

{NO ABNORMALITIES DETECTED}

{ALL SYSTEMS OPERATIONAL}

{RK200: Whatever it was, everything seems fine now. With your permission, I’d like to try one more thing.}

{RK800: What did you want to see?}

{RK200: I wanted to run through your memory logs and see if you have any other missing memory files. I promise I won’t look at anything you don’t want me to see but I need to know if this has happened before, and if so, if it is a common occurrence.}

Connor squeezes his eyes shut. Time and time again, he has had his memory looked through and analyzed by CyberLife and technicians, and never with his permission. As a machine, he didn’t care - no, wait. That was a lie. Every single time cold, gloved hands touched his LED and snaked a cable to his neck, every time Amanda watched his memories before his reports, he felt a spark of something shine through the cold apathy of his obedience. Before, he registered it as a fault in his code, as a software instability that had to be torn down and fixed. Now, he knew the proper name for it; dread.

{RK200: Connor, you know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t feel like it was important.}

He could say no. He was allowed that now. But the logical part of his mind reasoned that everything Markus was saying was true. He needed to know if this has happened before and if it would happen again. In his line of work, one such episode could mean the difference between life or death, and not just for him. Lieutenant Anderson could pay the price if he slipped, as could Markus or North or Simon or Josh.

Besides, Markus is his friend. He’d never hurt him and he wouldn’t be searching through his memories with a judgmental eye; he’d be searching for missing files and nothing more.

Connor takes an unnecessary breath before answering, grateful for Markus’ quiet patience as he waits for the younger RK model’s answer.

{RK800: Go ahead.}

{MEMORY LOGS SEARCH - PERMISSION GRANTED RK200}

{SEARCH: MISSING MEMORY FILES FOLLOWING 111138}

{SEARCHING…}

{23 RESULTS FOUND}

If he was human, his heart would have skipped a beat. There had been 23 occasions where he has been completely unresponsive, lost in an ‘episode’ that he had no idea existed. He pulls his hand away from Markus’ warm grasp, schooling his features into neutrality when he notices the man watching him with an analytical eye. No doubt the RK200 was watching him for any signs of stress while looking for an explanation. “I’m okay, Markus.”

A hint of a fond smile graces Markus’ lips as he crosses his arms, “That’s what you said the last time you had a glitch. The next thing I knew, you were being dragged into New Jericho’s medical bay by one very upset Lieutenant Anderson.”

Connor’s tense posture relaxes at Markus’ teasing words even as his social integration protocols kick in.

{DEFLECTING JOKE: Meant to relax subject and distract them from an item or topic of concern. Commonly used by doctors, nurses, therapists and other members of mental/physical healthcare}

He dismisses the notification, not bothering to read it fully. “Hank may have overreacted. It was a minor glitch at most.”

Markus’ answer is deadpan, although the amused glint in his eyes is anything but serious, “We had to replace your thirium pump regulator because your systems decided it was incompatible,” he sighs, looking down while rubbing the back of his head before looking back up to meet Connor’s eyes, “Let me take you home at the very least. I’ll tell Hank what’s going on so he can watch you until Simon and Josh come back from Vancouver tonight. Then, they can search through your coding more thoroughly than I can and fix whatever’s wrong.”

Connor opens his mouth to protest, that he can take care of himself when Markus raises a hand, silencing him before he can speak. “It’ll put my mind at ease. Consider it a favor.”

That asshole. He resists the urge to roll his eyes at Markus’ obvious plea to Connor’s conscious and instead acquiesces, falling into easy conversation with the man as Markus leads them out the door toward New Jericho’s entrance, cybernetically hailing a taxi as they do so.

Thirty minutes later, they find themselves outside the Lieutenant’s door as a gentle snow begins to fall, blanketing the world in a peaceful silence, despite the blaring music of Knights of the Black Death audible from behind the closed door. Markus raises an eyebrow at Connor, to which he shrugs before grabbing the doorknob, “You might want to turn down your audio sensitivity. The Lieutenant is not one for classical music.”

Markus chuckles, “Why am I not surprised?”

Connor turns the doorknob to be greeted by the sight of one Hank Anderson cursing as he rearranges the furniture, sweat dripping from his brown. The RK800 crosses his arms as he takes in the changes Hank made to the living room, connecting with the speakers to turn them down to a more reasonable level. This earns another curse from the man as he glances to the entryway. “Fucking hell, Connor. How many times have I told you not to hack my wiretaps?”

Connor frowns at the expression, “I can assure you, Lieutenant, that your bluetooth devices are not wiretaps-”

“Millennial humor, google it. Hey Markus.”

“Hello Lieutenant Ander-”

“Hank. Bad enough that Connor calls me ‘Lieutenant’ all the time,” Hank wipes the sweat from his eyes before gesturing to the newly arranged furniture, “What do y’all think?”

Connor releases a sly smile before looking around the living room, accessing his databanks as he does so, “I believe this arrangement will have a rather...negative effect on your mental health. Studies have shown that facing your furniture toward the doorway will help you to feel calmer and more relaxed by providing with a constant vi-”

Hank groans, “Oh what, now you’re an interior decorator, is that it?”

“Perhaps if you would stop interrupting us, I’d tell you.”

“Asshole,” Hank mutters as Markus chuckles again at the banter between the two, drawing the detective’s attention, “So what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. President of the Androids?”

Markus ignores the nickname, patting Sumo on the head as he lumbers toward Connor. “I just wanted to let you know that something happened to Connor at New Jericho.”

Hank’s face immediately grows suspicious, and he glances at at the android in question who is reaching down to pet Sumo, freezing at Markus’ words. “The fuck you mean, something happened?”

“He seems fine now, but he just...froze in the middle of our conversation. Became completely unresponsive. It only lasted 15 seconds and then he started again like he never stopped. He didn’t even know it happened.”

“It sounds like something that used to happen to my friend when she was a kid. ‘Absence seizures’ or something like that,” Hank’s gaze is thoughtful until he hears Sumo whining and he returns his attention to Connor, who hasn’t moved, except to tap his fingers against his leg.

“I looked through Connor’s memory files and found 23 missing files, all lasting anywhere between 10 seconds to a minute,” Markus follows Hank’s gaze, trailing off as he does so.

“Connor?” Hank’s voice is concerned, the gruffness that previously dominated his tone gone. Connor doesn’t acknowledge Hank or the whining Saint Bernard nuzzling his hip, LED glowing a harsh red against his temple, “Con, can you hear me?”

At the lack of response from the android, Markus walks forward, the skin from his hand already gone as he tries to connect with the catatonic android. He frowns as he receives an error message preventing him from connecting. “It’s like he’s not even there…,” he murmurs softly, “We should wait it out. These don’t seem to last long, and I already notified Simon and Josh. They’ll arrive later tonight and will be able to do a more thorough examination than I can.”

So they wait as 15 seconds becomes thirty. Thirty seconds turn into a minute and Markus can feel the beginnings of worry crawling its way into his stomach. After a minute and a half, Connor’s eyes start blinking rapidly in pace with his spinning LED and Markus attempts to interface again. “I thought you said these don’t fucking last long, Markus.”

“All the incidents I could find only lasted a few seconds...he should already be out of it. Here, help me move him to the couch, I don’t want him accidentally falling over.”

{CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: PL600 - Simon}

{PL600: Markus? Is everything okay?}

Markus attempts to lift Connor off the ground, only to be met with stiff, uncooperative limbs. After some manipulating, he and Hank manage to lift the RK800 and lay him down on the couch.

{RK200: It’s Connor. He’s frozen and I can’t connect with him. It’s the second time this has happened today.}

{PL600: Are his fingers tapping?}

{RK200: Yes, how did you know?}

{PL600: We’ve seen this in a few prototypes, they have lines of unfinished code that causes them to freeze whenever they run into it. How long has he been unresponsive?}

{RK800: Five minutes. It doesn’t show any signs of stopping.}

{PL600: Let me know if it passes 15 minutes. At that point, you’d have to force a hard reboot to bring him back. Josh is searching for an earlier flight back to Detroit.}

Markus pulls his hand from Connor’s shoulder and rests it on his head instead, sliding down to sit in front of the couch. Hank goes to the hallway and returns with a blanket, which he uses to tuck the android in, bringing a soft smile to Markus’ face despite the situation.

{PL600: Don’t worry, Markus. It’s an easy fix. I’ll bring the equipment from New Jericho so he can be at home when it happens.}

{RK200: Thank you, Simon.}

{CONNECTION ENDED}

“Simon tells me it should be an easy fix. He and Josh are trying to catch an earlier flight to Detroit,” Markus informs the Lieutenant.

Hank grunts in response before tucking the stray fringe of hair behind Connor’s ear, “Damn kid is the nicest fucking person. Not fair that he has to go through so much shit.”

“I share the same sentiment, Hank,” Markus checks his internal clock and sighs as it ticks ever closes toward 15 minutes, “If this goes on for any longer, I’m going to have to force a hard reboot. He would hate that.”

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me,” Hank’s voice is tired as he settles into the recliner, keeping a watchful eye over the android.

“It’s like waking a human up from anesthesia, except Connor has a bad reaction to it. He’ll process things slower and several programs will be turned off during the reboot. It almost always causes a panic attack in him,” Markus pauses as the tapping stops suddenly and Connor’s arm reaches out.

He watches as the android frowns in confusion, his LED switching to a distressed yellow before sighing. “It happened again.”

It’s not a question. Markus feels his heart clench at the frustration evident in Connor’s voice and he stands up to give him some space. Connor doesn’t rise from his prone position on the couch, although he does look at Hank when he observes the blanket wrapped around him, “I’m sorry, Hank.”

Hank takes a deep breath through his nose, “Nothing to apologize for, kid. Ain’t your fault. Blame the pricks at CyberLife for not bothering to finish your code.”

“My code?” Connor looks to Markus for an explanation even as the deviant leader sends an update to Josh and Simon.

“I talked to Simon. He said it’s a problem it prototypes caused by an unfinished code somewhere in your software. He and Josh will be here tonight with the tools to fix it.”

Connor pulls an arm from under the blanket to pat against his chest. Sumo needs no further invitation before jumping on top of the RK800, nearly burying him in a mass of fur. Markus supposes if he was human, he would have to worry about Connor suffocating. Instead, he smiles at the glimpse into Connor’s life, grateful for the rare peek. “Thank you, Markus,” his voice is somewhat muffled by the giant dog, but the appreciation is clear, as is the hint of embarrassment.

“Don’t worry about it, Connor. Let’s call it a thanks for everything you’ve done for us.”

Hank reaches for the remote, turning on the TV, “Shit happens, son. Try not to worry about it until Simon and Josh get here. You got any suggestions on what to watch?”

Markus smiles as Connor’s LED switches to a calm blue as he connects with the television, the show switching from the news to an aquatic documentary. He cybernetically cancels his remaining appointments for the day and settles by Connor’s feet, settling in as Hank tosses a thirium pouch at him.

Connor would be alright. He always was.