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bladekindeyewear · 5 years ago

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HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-05-31

Mainline upd8 before the June break. More Terezi! That should put me in a better mood. (1 edit (2020-06-01) since posting)

> CHAPTER 10. 1 WOND3R WH4T TH3Y T4ST3 L1K3

Wait, fuzzily waking up seeing the new planet?

Wait, why is the site background still black?

Wait, is this one of the new alien race members just created?

That would explain the chapter title. (Especially if they were part plant, but Terezi would say that regardless, when you think about it.)

> ==>

Coming more into focus.

> ==>

Oh! Back to the normal background.

TEREZI: W3LL

She’s not the one seeing this, so is this an alien perspective or does Rose’s visual processing take a while to turn back on post-warranty-breach?

> ==>

Huh? It WAS her point of view?

So this:

--is just an attempt at rendering her smell-o-vision?

I know her sense of smell is supposed to be amazing, but this is MARKEDLY less paint-like than previous depictions of her smell-o-vision. See for comparison:

Was this an intentional difference in clarity? Laziness? Her scent-vision being sharper? They’re practically making us feel like her eyes are healed again, which would be disastrous, and not something even Ultimate Rose should necessarily be capable of.

(I’m inclined to give them less credit than usual today, though, so a poor visual choice most likely.)

TEREZI: TH4T W4S PR3TTY FUCK1NG STUP1D

Hate-screwing Rosebot? Why?

I guess it’d leave you sore.

> ==>

TEREZI: F4LL1NG 4SL33P H3R3 1S JUST 4SK1NG FOR TROUBL3

Oh. Are the new races - or their precursor “experiments” running around?

> ==>

TEREZI: NODD1NG OFF L1K3 TH4T UND3RN34TH 4N 4RBOR34L 4MBUL4TOR TEREZI: WHO KNOWS WH4T COULD H4V3 H4PP3N3D TEREZI: Y34H 4LR1GHT, 4LR1GHT TEREZI: G3T OFF MY C4S3 4BOUT 1T ALR34DY TEREZI: 1TS NOT L1K3 1 D1D 1T ON PURPOS3

Is Terezi talking to her other selves or something? Or another brain ghost?

TEREZI: W3R3 JUST LUCKY TH3R3 1SNT 4NY W1ND 4T TH3 MOM3NT TEREZI: 1V3 3ST4BL1SH3D TH4T TH1S 1S WHY TH3Y MOV3 TEREZI: TH3 4MBUL4TORS 4R3 PL4NTS IN THE STR1CT S3NS3, BUT EXH1B1T LOCOMOT1V3 B3H4V1OUR DU3 TO TH31R UN1QU3 CONSTRUCT1ON

Ooh, moving trees. Nice.

TEREZI: TH3 M41N BODY OF THE PL4NT CONS1STS OF A N3TWORK OF HOLLOW, TUB3LIKE GROWTHS THROUGH WH1CH 41R M4Y TR4V3L TEREZI: TH3S3 N3TWORKS 4R3 SO SOPH1ST1C4T3D TH4T TH3 SH1FT1NG PR3SSUR3 1NS1D3 TH3 TRUNK 4ND BR4NCH3S C4N C4US3 TH3 3NT1R3 PL4NT TO UPROOT 1TS3LF 4ND B3G1N "W4LK1NG", PROV1D3D TH3 COND1T1ONS 4R3 R1GHT TEREZI: TH1S PROC3SS, WH1L3 M4J3ST1C, C4N H4V3 DR4ST1C 3FF3CTS ON TH3 PL4NTS SURROUND1NGS

I know you like to eat them, but when did your analysis of plantlife get so clinical? Do you have Aranea blabbing in your ear or something?

Oh. OH, wait. They have a Command Station. Is Rose communicating with her remotely via that, and Terezi is just Dave-like vocalizing everything Rose punches into the terminal? Then that would be Terezi arguing with HER out loud. And the sudden transition of talk to “I’ve established that this is why they move.” is very Rose-sounding.

> ==>

That lil’ “hup” pose to jump over the gap Terezi’s making is adorable. Also, those are bad failed experiments y’all have created and you should feel bad, Rose and Dirk. (Rose is definitely to blame for this spider-bunny nightmare.)

TEREZI: HUP!

Hup

TEREZI: 1 WOND3R WH4T TH3Y T4ST3 L1K3 >:O

They look like they’d taste like bee spiders with inedible stuffing throughout.

Trolls do find grubs of most sorts appetizing though.

> ==>

TEREZI THOSE ARE NO REASON TO BE HAPPY

> ==>

Yeah, beautiful field-shot aside I feel pretty bad for that creation. Looks miserable.

> ==>

Now they’re just mashing up consorts. Are they TRYING to populate the planet with weird garbage for the final products to eat? (Or fight? Hard-troll-childhood style?)

> ==>

THAT THING IS NO REASON TO LOOK SO HAPPY EITHER REZI

Gosh, at least she’s having fun though.

> ==>

You’re ignoring Onionsan, Terezi

> ==>

I wonder what lazy name this Horsisaur has.

Fun abandoned. Survival instincts fully engaged. Terezi runs.

She throws backward sniffs over her shoulder as she tears through the scrubby cling of the planet’s undergrowth, catching fractured impressions of exactly what has decided to chase her. A shuddering, 20 foot monstrosity that somehow seems to both scamper and glide, like a centipede, rustling like foliage as it moves, as if an entire goddamn forest is bearing down on her.

Between the game and Alternia, you shouldn’t be TOO rusty at this, right?

The problem with using smells to navigate the world is that the unfamiliar can be difficult to parse. Every whiff over her shoulder gives her another blurry glimpse of what this beast is.

Yeah, smell is a little slower on the pickup than sight.

Rose shared her books with Terezi when she was on the ship, and her favorite by far was the compendium of the zoologically dubious. Everything contained inside was just so unbelievably unlikely. This creature appears to be a combination of all of them.

Really? What we see of it doesn’t look THAT weird. But we only see about half of it from this angle, so.

--Twisted ankle? Come on, you’re not THAT rusty.

> ==>

It’s fear, pure and simple. Unsurprising, when being menaced by a monster, but it also doesn’t last for more than a second. A cold flame that instantly burns itself out, and all of a sudden she is just deeply, impossibly, indescribably tired. Down to her bones.

You’re already giving up??!?

Honestly, she really has no right to feel this... this fatigue. This crushing embrace of endless struggle. Terezi Pyrope has not had an easy life by anyone’s standards, but so much of her thirteen or so sweeps has just been standing still. Waiting. Huddling blind and half dead in her recuperacoon, the sopor burning the hideous mess that the sun has left her eyes, alight with a hatred so layered and intense that she couldn’t make sense of it.

Dammit, do we have to go SO EXHAUSTINGLY DEEPLY into EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER’S PTSD?!??

It was horrifying--that pain or fury--but also, admittedly, very boring. Then there were the sweeps on the meteor, the endless, gelatinous stretches of time in the chaos of the outer ring, searching for... Vriska, ostensibly, but also maybe just for a chance to dry up. To disappear. Go extinct.

Terezi doesn’t know if it’s an attribute of her aspect, or the sheer psychic damage of spending so long in the company of two humans with god complexes. Maybe it’s just an inherited symptom of being conscious. But sometimes it feels like none of them are going to get out of this, alive or dead.

Fuck, apparently we are. These writers don’t know how to let up. Can’t we get a little more retroactive dwelling on how FUN some of their lives up til now were? And then... maybe NOT only do that to contrast with how depressed they are now?? There was SO much delight in Homestuck amidst the hardship, and if you’re going to show us more of the hardship you have to show us more of the delight, too, or everything just gets pointlessly dark.

--ah, Rose redirected the command console to point to the monster and stopped it that way.

ROSE: I am devastated to report that those are really more vines than tentacles, and even worse, they aren’t mine.

Pff.

...Poking fun at the terminology for Patron Trolls, at this late date of all times.

TEREZI: D4V3 4ND 1 H4D 4 LOT 1N COMMON B4CK TH3N, OR 4T L34ST 1T F3LT L1K3 W3 D1D ROSE: As I have come to understand it, for a while at least, we were all being steered in the right direction by a debatably benevolent force. ROSE: One imposed on us by the game itself, even if we had yet to enter it. TEREZI: ... ROSE: You don’t believe me. TEREZI: NO, 1 DO TEREZI: 1T SOUNDS 1NCR3D1BLY DUMB AND UNL1K3LY BUT SO DO3S 3V3RYTH1NG 3LS3 TH4T H4PP3NS TO 4NY OF US

Terezi, don’t you know at least half as much about Skaia as anyone else here? Isn’t that what she’s talking about?

TEREZI: SO YOU 4R3 DO1NG TH3 S4M3 TH1NGS TO TH3S3 CR34TUR3S TH4T SOM3 OTH3R CR34TUR3S D1D TO YOU 4ND YOUR FR13NDS ROSE: I suppose that is a fair assessment. Although we were not our own creators. It was John who— DIRK: I hate to break up the recap episode, but we need to deal with this situation before it gets out of hand.

Wait, she’s talking about the Exiles? Terezi TOLD Dave about the exiles helping them. SHE was the one who told us how that worked! Although I guess you could chalk her questions up to her not knowing one of those “terminals” was involved.

TEREZI: 4ND HOW 4R3 YOU H3R3 4NYW4Y? DIRK: I have administrative privileges. TEREZI: YOU H4V3 4DM1N1STR4T1V3 PR1V1L3G3S TO MY P4LMHUSK DIRK: Yes.

Was Terezi dictating to her palmhusk earlier? Why was she talking for Rose’s part of the conversation earlier, but not now? Was that a mistake? Or did Rose switch off the terminal, despite her apparent confusion with the terminal now???

Opinion of HS^2... dropping... keep it together stop judging the comic so hard... NOT dropping off in quality... shh brain! Shoosh!!!

(Seriously though, don’t put ANY asks in my inbox about HS^2 dropping off in quality, even as much as I’M starting to complain. Gotta keep my hopes up to keep enjoying myself as I keep going.)

ROSE: Don’t let it get to you. My father has a habit of appearing in places he’s not wanted.

You’re seriously just CALLING him that now?!??

DIRK: I was saying that we should get Terezi down from there before continuing our mining of the core themes in our personal narratives.

Ah, that’s why you used the terminology.

DIRK: I was saying that we should get Terezi down from there before continuing our mining of the core themes in our personal narratives. ROSE: Of course. I’ll take care of it. DIRK: Appreciate it. TEREZI: 1 W1SH YOU WOULDN’T DO TH4T WH3R3 1 C4N S33 1T DIRK: Do what? TEREZI: TH4T TH1NG WH3R3 YOU G3T P3OPL3 WHO 4R3 NOT M3 TO DO WH4T3V3R 1T 1S YOU W4NT TH3M TO TEREZI: M1ND CONTROL

Oh, damn. That was a creepy order, then. And is Rose STILL not wise to it? Can Terezi and Dirk just TALK about the narrative control IN FRONT OF ROSE and have her not recognize it because of said control??? :C

TEREZI: WH4T TH3 FUCK 1S GO1NG ON DIRK: You can make more boots. TEREZI: 1M NOT T4LK1NG 4BOUT TH3 BOOTS, NOOKBR34TH TEREZI: 1 MEAN TH3 M3N4G3R13 FROM H3LL DIRK: Well, we’ve encountered a couple bumps along the road. TEREZI: YOU DONT S4Y

This is fun, but I can’t help but notice that Rose has completely stopped talking. Fuck having Dirk flaunt this even harder just ups the creepiness even more.

TEREZI: YOU GUYS R34LLY SUCK 4T TH1S DIRK: Yeah, agreed. TEREZI: ... TEREZI: WOW, TH4T W4S MUCH L3SS P41NFUL 4ND LONG-W1ND3D TH4N 1 W4S 3XP3CT1NG 1T TO B3 DIRK: What was? TEREZI: CONV1NC1NG YOU TH4T 4LL OF TH3S3 "D3S1GNS" TH4T YOU H4V3 COM3 UP W1TH SUCK SH1T TEREZI: 1 THOUGHT YOU WOULD T3LL M3 TH4T 4LL OF 1T 1S P4RT OF SOM3 "GR4ND PL4N" TEREZI: TH4T TH3Y SUCK ON PURPOS3 OR SOM3TH1NG L1K3 TH4T DIRK: Well, it is a part of the grand plan. And they do suck on purpose. DIRK: But not on my purpose. DIRK: It’s Rose. She is remarkably bad at this. Voluntarily. TEREZI: DO YOU M34N TH4T SH3 1S TRY1NG TO S4BOT4G3 4LL OF YOUR GR4ND CR34T1ONS TEREZI: OH POW3RFUL GOD PR1NC3? DIRK: No, she’s playing the game. That part hasn’t been a problem. DIRK: I mean she is just making incredibly nonsensical decisions and refusing to back down, even when I up the ante to preposterous levels. DIRK: You should see some of the shit she’s come up with. I’m pretty sure I watched a vagina on legs walk by this morning. TEREZI: 1 DONT TH1NK 1 S4W TH4T ON3 DIRK: Despite her initial resistance, Rose has gone completely feral. TEREZI: YOU M34N TH4T SH3 1S H4V1NG FUN DIRK: Yes.

You loosened her morals so she’d be conscience-free to go full zoological playground, and she’s GOING full zoological playground. What did you expect?

TEREZI: 4ND WH4T 1S WRONG W1TH 4 L1TTL3 B1T OF FUN YOUR H1GHN3SS? DIRK: Nothing. I got absolutely no problem with having a good time while we see to the boring and altogether completely frivolous task of seeding the future of this planet. DIRK: But she really TEREZI: YOU 3XP3CT3D H3R TO B3 TH3 ON3 TO HOLD YOU B4CK, 1NST34D OF TH3 OTH3R W4Y 4ROUND DIRK: No, that's not it. TEREZI: YES, 1 TH1NK 1T 1S 1T

What? “Holding her back”? How did this suddenly become about Dirk’s insecurity at his ectobiological skill?

DIRK: By project, do you mean that I expect Rose to be too much like myself? TEREZI: NO, 1 M34N TH3 OPPOS1T3 TEREZI: YOU 3XP3CT H3R TO B3 B3TT3R TH4N YOU TEREZI: YOU W4NT H3R TO PR3V3NT 4LL OF YOUR WORST T3ND3NC13S. TH3 W4Y 1 US3D TO W1TH VR1SK4 WH3N W3 W3R3 MO1R41LS

--Oh, you meant hold them back from going TOO FAR. I see. And also, the way Terezi and Vriska were “moirails” is the WORST example, and thus quite fitting to relate to this situation. For their brief pale stint, Terezi never really STOPPED Vriska from doing ANYTHING. She just supported Vriska, while Vriska spewed some flattery Terezi’s way... and then proceeded to do whatever the fuck she wanted. Sometimes without telling her. It was an AWFUL example of proper moirallegiance, as I covered in the above link.

Dirk wouldn’t know about that, though. And neither does Terezi, apparently, unless she’s just not admitting it.

(EDIT: Also, Rose never had the slightest chance of ever holding Dirk back like she might have wanted because DIRK MIND CONTROL OVERRIDES HER EVERY TIME SHE HAS RESERVATIONS. The only way a moirallegiance can work at all is if the one being held back is WILLING to listen. Dirk has deliberately and continuously suppressed Rose's ability to even THINK about dissuading him from literally any course of action.)

TEREZI: YOUR3 3XP3CT1NG ROS3 TO C4TCH YOU WH3N YOU GO TOO F4R TEREZI: SH3 1SNT GO1NG TO DO TH4T, 1 DONT TH1NK TEREZI: 1N F4CT, 1 TH1NK SH3 1S MOR3 L1K3LY TO GO TOO F4R TH4N YOU 4R3 DIRK: What makes you say that? TEREZI: 1 DONT KNOW TEREZI: JUST 4 F33L1NG, 1 GU3SS. 1 M1GHT NOT B3 4 GOD-MODD3D DORK 1N COSPL4Y, BUT 1M ST1LL A S33R TEREZI: 4ND 1 H4VE SP3NT W4Y MOR3 T1M3 W1TH TH3 TWO OF YOU TH4N 4LMOST 4NYON3 ELSE, WH1CH 1S 1NCR3D1BLY D3PR3SS1NG TO TH1NK 4BOUT

Guh. A real pair of villains. Is that REALLY why you brought Rose, Dirk?

TEREZI: 4NYW4Y, 1F YOU DONT L1K3 TH3 W4Y ROS3 1S DO1NG TH1NGS WHY DONT YOU JUST NOT-M1ND CONTROL H3R 1NTO DO1NG 1T TH3 R1GHT W4Y TEREZI: PROBL3M SOLV3D DIRK: I’ve made the decision to freehand this one. I’m not planning to influence Rose’s decision in any part of the contest. Otherwise it’s too easy, and barely worth doing at all.

Obviously. And you can’t argue her down the normal way because she was NEVER someone to listen to someone like you in a direct confrontation without any misleading subterfuge. You would’ve had to Doc Scratch it.

DIRK: So you’re saying you want me to mind-control Rose. TEREZI: NO, 1M S4Y1NG TH4T 1 TH1NK YOU 4R3 4 COW4RD TEREZI: P3RH4PS 1 W1LL T3LL H3R TH4T YOU H4V3 B33N WH1SP3R1NG YOUR STR4NG3 L1TTL3 1NC4NT4T1ONS 1N H3R 34R OV3R TH3 L4ST F3W SW33PS TEREZI: L1K3 4 CR33PY W31RDO DIRK: No, you won’t. If you were going to, you would have already.

Are you talking about the narrative mind control or are you talking about something else? Something weirder? Because calling them “strange little incantations” sounds like he’s been doing some creepily Doc-Scratchy grooming to her like how Doc kinda rage-controlled the trolls to write his genetic code on their walls in their most vulnerable moments.

DIRK: Unless you think I’m still projecting my "image" of what I think Rose "should" do, and she actually won’t give a shit. TEREZI: NO, 1 TH1NK SH3 W1LL B3 CONFL1CT3D TEREZI: UNL3SS YOU M1ND-CONTROL H3R NOT TO B3 DIRK: Not mind control. TEREZI: WH4T3VER!

And that’s just it. Rose WOULD have been very conflicted about MUCH of this if you hadn’t used your narrative control to override all her inhibitions. So instead you get the version of her who would have gone with your plans without hesitation, which is the WORST version of her. And she doesn’t even have a choice to be better.

Alright, that’s the end of the upd8. See y’all! Maybe a bit after the commentary goes up for this (already has for the Influencers bonus) I’ll cover the commentary on both this and the bonus, but that’ll be in at least a few days. Ciao

#Homestuck #hs2 #Homestuck Liveblog #upd8 #Homestuck^2 #Homestuck Theories #Homestuck Theory #spoiler #spoilers #Terezi #Dirk Strider #Rose Lalonde

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mia-cooper · 5 years ago

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2019 fanfiction in review

I usually put more effort into pimping my favourite fics of the year, boosting a few new writers in my fandoms, etc. This year, however, I have not, for reasons both within and beyond my control. Which is pretty much my excuse for not Doing Better with writing for the past month or so, but hey. At least there’s this.

.......................................................

1. Best fic(s) you read all year, and why?

How can I even begin to list all the beautiful, shocking, feel-good, feel-terrible-but-in-a-good-way, envy-inducing, page-turning, soul-destroying, fluffy, hilarious, infuriating and horny fics I’ve read this year? I can’t. So I will instead list three that come immediately to mind.

@curator-on-ao3 – The Dismissed Protocol (rated T, VOY, TNG, Janeway & Crusher)

This fic made me angry. So angry that I left a ranty and incoherent comment, slammed down the lid on my laptop and stormed around the house for a bit. Why was I so pissed, you ask? Because this fic hit a good few of my personal triggers around bodily autonomy and the right to make informed choices, and because although the fic ends triumphantly, it’s somewhat of a pyrrhic victory and it left a really bad taste in my mouth. Which, considering this is fiction, is the mark of some really good writing. When it comes to tackling difficult topics with a fresh and thought-provoking perspective, and without opting for the easy answers, Curator never disappoints. This story is just one of many examples of that in her work.

@love-in-the-time-of-kolinahr – it will take place without witnesses (rated E, DSC, Pike/Number One)

Okay so let me start by saying it was the author’s fucking EXCELLENT pun of a pseudonym that made me read this in the first place. Then it was the poem they quoted (Discovery by Wislawa Szymborska, which is like a portentous rocket in the guts). Then it was Una’s scales-off-the-eyes, we-are-true-equals, don’t-bullshit-me-lover candidness in the way she sees, talks to, knows Chris Pike. I adore Pike in his laconic-space-cowboy-with-a-heart Disco incarnation, I like him a lot as the CoolDad in AOS, but this fic? This fic gives me smart, forthright, deeply tender Number One, and Pike as the fractured and very human hero I hope like hell we’ll see more of because they are definitely making a Pike series RIGHT? It is written. Anyway… this fic is beautiful and harsh and deft and real and sexy and poetic and at its core it’s about love, and who doesn’t love love?

@captacorn – Stars in a Ruined Sky (rated M, VOY, Paris/Torres)

It took me a while to read this one because CaptAcorn was posting it at the same time I was writing my epic, and I had no brain space to maintain a hold on someone else’s dark and compelling plot. But when I picked this one up, I couldn’t put it down. It is AMAZING. A Timeless AU, set in a universe where Voyager crashed and most of the crew survived, this goes where no other 100k+ epic I’ve read before has dared to tread, and it does so without flinching. The details are what make this unforgettable – there’s no magic reset button, so when something bad happens to the crew, there are actual lasting consequences – but it’s the humanity of the characters (if I can use that word to describe a crew that includes aliens) that makes it unputdownable (fuck off, my nana said that’s a word). This is not an AU I want to think happened, but CaptAcorn makes it one that rings true. And I’ll definitely read this again when I have the emotional fortitude for it.

Wow, there’s no Janeway/Chakotay in my top three. What? So here’s a bonus:

Northernexposure’s trilogy – Soft Light, Aftershocks and Resolution (rated E, VOY, Janeway/Chakotay) – three for the price of one! I mean, when northernexposure posts a new fic I race to read it no matter what, but smut! Beautifully written, true to character, sexy sexy smut from one of my all time favourite authors! How could I turn that down?

2. Best fic(s) you published all year, and why?

Mmmyeah to be honest I kinda feel as though my writing peaked in 2017, but here we go.

Desperate Measures (rated E, VOY, Janeway/Chakotay and other pairings) – because there’s angst and smut and the plot is twisty as fuck and I feel like there’s a pretty satisfying payoff. And it’s really long and relies on the reader engaging with my OCs which people seem to have done, which makes me think that if I ever do want to go write another original novel, maybe I won’t want to burn it as soon as I’m done.

This Is The Moment (rated M, DSC, Pike/Tyler) – because these two have exhausting chemistry and I couldn’t not write this but it was hard to make it come out of my brain the way I wanted it. But I’m really happy with it.

And I have a soft spot for First Officer’s Log (rated T, VOY, Chakotay & Tuvok, implied Janeway/Paris), because I just really love Threshold, okay? And while the episode is wack on so many levels there are really dark and heavy themes to explore there which I feel have gone very unexplored and I hope my fic struck that same balance between moral philosophy and holywhatthefuckery.

3. Favourite opening line(s) in a fic you published in 2019:

From Bad Maquis (rated M, VOY, Janeway/Chakotay):

The only thing more restrictive – and bosomy – than this outfit, Kathryn mused as she stared at her reflection, was her holodeck governess costume.  

Still, at least she didn’t have to leave her quarters wearing this getup, and thank goodness for small mercies. Because she was on the verge of backing down from this challenge as it was, and Kathryn Janeway did not chicken out. Ever.

I mean, it sets the scene, doesn’t it? Who doesn’t love Janeway in leather.

4. Favourite closing line(s):

This is maybe cheating a little bit because this fic isn’t finished, but this first chapter can stand alone and I won’t be continuing it for some time (first, I have to finish the two prequels, haha). Anyway, these are the closing lines from Inertia (rated T so far, VOY, Janeway/Paris and others):

When the daze clears and Tom looks up to discover that his hovercar is parked in front of an address he’s never visited but has nonetheless memorised, maybe he should feel a little bit surprised.  

He doesn’t. No matter how far he tries to go or how long he stays away from her, turning up at Kathryn Janeway’s door is inevitable.

Why do I like it? Well, I have an everlasting appreciation for Janeway/Paris, for one thing. For another, if you read the rest of the story and understand what Tom has just learned, you’ll want to know what happens next. I hope. I sure want to know.

5. The fic that was best received, and your favourite comment(s) on it:

That would be Desperate Measures again. It’s my longest fic by far and I was absolutely bowled over by the response to it, but one of my favourite comments on it is this one:

It actually looks like Janeway is saying gimme and it cracks me up.

Honestly though… the depth and kindness of comments on that fic in particular, the time and thought and effort that people have put into their reviews … it made up for every moment I wanted to chuck it in and never look at that fic again, or any other.

6. The fic you wish had gotten more love:

Honestly, I was surprised there was so little response to my @voyagermirrormarch fic trilogy, Heaven in the Shape of Hell. I really thought they’d be crowd pleasers, but it shows what I know, lol. I haven’t even finished the third one because the lack of interest made me wonder if they were just really shite, but I’m not so butthurt about it anymore and I will come back to it someday.

7. How many fandoms you wrote for in 2019, and which inspired you most:

Does Star Trek in all its incarnations count as one fandom? If so, I wrote for two (Trek and Marvel). If all the different versions of Trek count separately, I wrote for seven (MCU, AOS (that’s Trek Alternate Original Series, not Agents of SHIELD), Disco, Mirror, Enterprise, DS9 and Voyager).

Anyway, I guess I’ll never stop being inspired by Voyager, so even if Disco season 3 and the Picard show do nothing for me, I’ll always have that.

8. Your favourite pairing(s) to write for:

I mean, Janeway x Chakotay, for sure. But I’m deeply, deeply invested in Janeway x Paris at the moment.

9. What you’re writing now/next:

I’m struggling through the second part of what was supposed to be my contribution to @25daysofvoyager. I’m actually going to post the first part once I’m done with this quiz in the hope it’ll kick my ass into gear. I’m also on semi-hiatus from Kinetic Friction, but I’ll be going back to it as soon as I’m done with my 25 Days fic. At some point after Kinetic there’ll be the sequel, and then the rest of Inertia. I’m also contemplating something for Threshold Day, possibly throwing something into @voytalentchallenge (don’t count on that one), and I have an idea for a pre-Enterprise D, pre-Voyager meeting between Picard and Janeway (with smut, obvs), plus all the other fics I’m definitely going to write …

And of course there’s my meat raffle. Time to pimp that one again. Donate to AO3 and if I draw your name out of the hat of randomness I’ll write you a fic to your specifications (roughly).

10. Writing goals for 2020 (word count? new fandoms/pairings? anything?):

Look, I’d just really like to actually write to some of the prompts I’ve had sitting in my ridiculously complex filing system without getting sidetracked by the newest shiny thing to catch my eye. In terms of fandoms, I hope I’ll write more for Discovery, I’m looking forward to Picard, and I would like to branch out from Trek a bit. More MCU, definitely, and maybe others if I get inspired. The main thing I want out of writing fanfiction at the moment is for it to continue making me happy, though, so I just hope I keep having fun with it.

#miamemes #miawrites #2019 fanfiction in review

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florencefallons · 4 years ago

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Life and Stuff

August 10, 2020. The the first day of the most insane month of my life. Of course it would happen in 2020. I hope you’ll forgive me for using this platform as a means to get the thoughts jumbled around in my head out into a more organized form. I rarely ever even use this platform anymore. When I do, it’s to reblog pictures of Carol Burnett or Barbara Stanwyck. The occasional Emma Thompson photo. Never to sit down and spill out everything on my mind into what, very likely, will become a novella on its own.

I’m not a prolific speaker. I trip over my words. I say “um,” and “uh” a lot. My brain is moving at twice the speed of my mouth and my poor mouth can’t keep up. Therefore when I have things on my mind, like I do today, I can’t just talk about them. A) Who would I talk about it to? and B) Even if I had a place to talk about these thoughts, it would come out all jumbled up and I’d end up sounding totally ridiculous and having said nothing I wanted to actually say.

When it comes to expression, writing is where I’ve always excelled. Excelled is a strong word, but when you compare it to other forms of self expression, it’s the only form I am able to use proficiently. I don’t have a vlog or a youtube channel. I don’t have a blog that reaches people. I have no voice. No influence in this world. But I have this platform and it allows for posts like this, and for once, I’m going to use it.

As I said, August 10, 2020 was the first day of the most insane month of my life. More has happened to me in this one month span than has happened to me at any other time in my life...and you’re hearing from a person who was injured on the job and has had a fractured spine and 13 surgeries. I’ve been through some stuff. Nothing with the intensity and frequency this month has thrown it at me though. This month has resulted in seven major events that have deeply impacted my life in some way. Nobody is being forced to read this. In fact I expect most will see its length and scroll past it faster than a fundraising ad for Donald Trump. I do hope SOME of you will take the time to read it though. I’m mainly writing it for posterity. To have a place where this month is recorded, so I can come back someday and remember it. So, with that being said, here are the things that have happened (or are soon to happen) in this 1 month span. Listed in chronological order.

1) August 10, 2020. I was in my 2nd week of work at the new clinic our hospital opened. Working for the largest hospital and clinic system in the state, sometimes our clinics outgrow our ability to contain them. My job was in the neurology clinic. I worked as the nurse who took care of all the multiple sclerosis doctors and nurse practitioners, while answering all the patient questions, emails, and voicemails. We’re looking at about 2,500 patients on the generous side of the estimate. Needless to say, I was busy. It was said many times by coworkers, by the doctors I worked with, and--admittedly--by me, that the job was a two-person job. It was too much for one person to handle. I was drowning fast in a mountain of paperwork that needed to be filled out, messages that needed to be answered, phone calls that needed to be returned. I’d accomplish finishing, say 25% of the work, and 50% more work would come in. I was at the end of my rope.

--Let me interject here by saying that, over the course of the 16 months I worked this job, I had to start seeing a psychiatrist, I had to start psychological therapy with a licensed therapist, and I was started on no less than 5 new psychiatric medications. Once the correct balance was found, I was reduced down to only 2, but regardless, I think this fact alone proves the point that the stress of the job was getting to me.--

I finally looked at the mountain of work in front of me and I broke. I set up a meeting with my boss, the director of nursing for all of the neuroscience service line (that covers 6 clinics). We met, and I told her “You told me to be open and honest, and to come to you whenever I have an issue.” She agreed. I went on to tell her that I was losing my mind. The workload was entirely too much to hold over one person and needed help. Desperately. I was constantly being interrupted by people needing help with this or that, which was fine. I don’t mind helping anyone, I love it...but it took away from the time I had to do my already overwhelming job. I may have cried some, I don’t remember.

Her solution was probably the worst idea ever put forth, but I was so devastated and down and overwhelmed, I didn’t really even hear anything she said after I spoke my piece. Her suggestion was that, if our clinic was too hectic for me, I needed to transfer to the new clinic. It was an epilepsy clinic but we had 2 multiple sclerosis providers there too, so I could go there and be the MS nurse there. At that moment, that sounded like a great idea. Fewer people=less stress. Yeah, no. Once she sent me over there, she decided with me being there, they had no need to keep our patient care tech there. So she took her away and made her work at the main campus, where they have tons of patient care techs. That left me and another nurse who, due to a bad knee, did very little that tinvolved getting up off his ass and helping out with goings on in the clinic. He much preferred to sit in his fancy chair and delegate duties to me from there. I was younger, I was newer, and he was--in his mind--the charge nurse.

So, thus began the saga of my doing at the new clinic, the job that THREE DIFFERENT PEOPLE did at the main clinic. I was forced to triage (get into a patient room and go over everything to make sure it was up to date) every patient, draw labs on every patient, all while trying to do the job I was ACTUALLY hired for, which was answering phone calls and returning messages. Which was a full time job on its own. Needless to say, my “new’ duties took all that time away and all my stuff went unanswered. I kept getting harassed by patients and managers that stuff had been sitting waiting too long to be done.

Mr. Charge nurse, from his chair he never left, didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. “It’s not that bad here” he’d say. Sure, if you never have to get up and do anything, but for me, it’s very hard. I have to do all the job of a PCT (getting paid nurses’ wages by the way) along with a job just as busy as the one you’re having to do. I’m expected to do as much if not more in the computer as you do, yet I never have time to touch it because I’m always triaging patients (half of which are YOURS) and drawing all the labs. Well of course he disagreed and said he helped and I was overreacting. By that he means he maybe got up once or twice a day because someone needed attention and I was still busy in another patient’s room. My boss would berate me, asking why my inbox was sitting there so full and nothing was being done.

“WHEN DO YOU WANT ME TO DO THESE THINGS *Insert her name here*??? I spend my entire day, I mean my ENTIRE day, doing the job of a PCT and you’re paying me to do the job of an RN. “Well, *insert his name* says he helps you.” That’s a damn lie and he knows it. He thinks that he’s the charge nurse, he’s older, and he has a bum knee (mind you I have my entire lower half of my spine fused so don’t give me that “I have hardware in my knee” bullshit. I’m full of titanium too. Fight me.) Well, help was refused, the other nurse was just told to try and help more and that he was not the charge nurse, that our clinic didn’t HAVE a charge nurse since there were only 2 of us. Well, he got so butthurt over that, he interviewed for a new job in the same building as our main clinic. He was offered the job. He was getting ready to give his notice and I was literally at the end of my sanity. So I turned in my notice to my manager on August 10, 2020. I told her I couldn’t keep doing the job of 3 people by myself and it was too much I was through. My doctors begged me to stay. She asked if I was sure that’s what I wanted. I said it wasn’t what I WANTED, but I can’t keep working like this. So I really don’t have a choice. “Well we don’t have the staff or money allocated to give you a tech if you’re over here.” So I shrugged, said I was giving her 4 weeks notice and I’d have to leave.

This was a Monday. On Wednesday, she came back and not only gave our tech back, she gave (*insert his name here*) everything he wanted, because she’d caught wind he was getting ready to leave too and she’d have no nurses at the clinic. I told her I’d retract my resignation if she would let us keep our patient care tech, because with her, I have time to actually do my job. She all but said “OK” and to give her a definite answer on Monday. So I did. Monday I told her I’d stay since we had adequate help. Well apparently she discussed thsi with her boss and came back at me with “Sorry, but all we can accommodate is an as needed position or you can extend your leave date and stay on full time until your replacement is hired and you can train them to make the transition easier.”

Are you freaking serious, bruh? “As needed” meaning “free reign to fire you with no consequences when we don’t want you anymore, plus all my benefits would be taken away.” Or, I could “stay and help train my replacement.” Are you out of your mind? Then what? Fuck off into the sunset, your job here is finished? I think I’ll take a hard pass on both those options. My last day will be September 4.

So, while going through all this I was being tested and was diagnosed with not one, but two life-altering disorders.

2) First, I was diagnosed with severe attention deficit disorder. I was told I’d actually had it my whole life based on testing and had never been evaluated or treated. This would have been the 1990s when this started, and I found out my parents were approached about the possibility I had ADD. I made excellent grades, but had major problems with impulse control and talking too much and paying attention. My parents dismissed this suggestion. They did not--and to this day still did not--believe ADD was a real diagnosis. They said ti was nothing more than kids who needed their asses beat and they’d learn to behave. I could not possibly be one of those hyperactive kids who suck in school and just all-around do poorly. I did too well in school. I was told to pay attention more and stop goofing off. I was threatened with spankings if I messed up. So I worked really hard to stop my impulses from taking over. And I did, some, but not always. I got punished quite a bit for things I did in school. Not on purpose, but it’s how I was. And now, as an adult, I was still struggling with impusle control and with paying attention. I still struggled in prioritizing tasks and organizing things. I could never figure out why my brain wouldn’t let me do those things. My PCP said I had ADD--he KNEW it--but I had to be diagnosed by a licensed psychotherapist. So I went and was diagnosed. And it changed my world. It was a lot to process, knowing what I went through as a kid and knowing the punishment I went through for something that was not my fault. I wasn’t abused, I wasn’t mistreated. If I’d been treated for ADD as a child though, I might not have just done well in school, I might have kicked ass. I might have been valedictorian rather than 6th in class to graduate. That was hard to swallow. Yet a relief at the same time.

3) Went to the sleep clinic and got a take-home sleep apnea study kit. It came back positive for sleep apnea. My oxygen was dropping to 70% at night, which is basically hypoxic, and the reason I’m probably so sleepy all the damn time. As soon as I get home from work and get settled, I fall asleep for at least an hour, maybe 2. I haven’t always done that. I used to have trouble sleeping to the point I needed Lunesta for help (although the taste was so bad I rarely took it).Sure enough, I need CPAP when I sleep to help keep my oxygen over 92%. They told me I’d feel better almost instantly. So I’m hoping to go see them next week about getting my machine.

4) My friend’s little 4-year-old niece died. She was a special, miracle child who touched so many lives it’s insane. She was a beautiful soul. I never met her but her death affected me profoundly because her aunt posted so many photos and videos online. I felt like I lost one of my godchildren or something. It hurt. I can’t imagine what they are going through.

5) My uncle Jerry died. The day after the little girl I just mentioned. I can’t even attend HIS funeral due to COVID and the risk of contamination. My mom is on a chemo drug for an autoimmune disease that destroys her immune system. So we’re trapped away from everyone (if I want to see my mom that is).

6) My last day of my job was today, September 4, 2020. It finally came, my time there is done. 16 months of hard work down the toilet. Because of poor management, shitty leadership, lack of care or respect for employees, etc. I offered to stay, but my offer was rejected as it was given. It just served to remind me I made the right decision, even if it was a bit rash. Several others have quit or gotten fired so staffing will be interesting. My old “charge nurse” is about to learn what getting off your broad butt and helping is all about now. They aren’t sending him ANY nurses to help him next week. I’ll be honest, I hope the whole thing blows up in (insert name here)’s (my director’s) face. she is trying to run the neuro clinic like she runs her other clinic--which is TOTALLY DIFFERENT. I thought she’d be good for the clinic, turns out she wants to get rikd of EVREYONE who has FMLA-Anyone who has permission to be off work without fear of repercussions. She wants a bunch of “as needed” staff so she doesn’t have to hire full time people, she doesn’t have to pay anyone benefits, and she can get rid of them whenever she likes “your as needed position is no longer needed,” without going through all the bullcrap red tape the state puts you through to fire anyone. Anyway, bottom line, today was my last day at a job that--the job itself--I loved. The patients I loved, the doctors and nurses I loved, and my coworkers I loved. I have never left a job I loved. It was 100% management. My main doctor, the medical director of the service line, did not want me to leave and keeps asking me to say. I had to explain to him I tried, but they refused. Broke my heart. He’d take me back in a minute though, if the situation at the clinic ever changes. I hope it does. He was the most brilliant, kind, generous, respectful, patient, and dedicated man I’ve ever met. He taught me a lot. I’ll take a lot of what I learned from him with me wherever I go.

7) The final thing has not happened just yet, but it will be very soon and I’m already dealing with it. So September 7 is the 1 year anniversary of the death of my best friend. I still miss her like it was yesterday. Time has, as they say, healed some of the wound, but not all. Every now and then I get slammed with the realization she’s gone. I’ll never see her again. Talk to her. Hug her. Laugh with her. Ever. Again. And I cry and suffer with it all over again. That is happening less frequently, but it has picked up again now that 1 year is approaching. I can’t believe it. My best friend has been dead for 1 year. The 1 year anniversary of the last time we spoke was August 20. It hurts so much. But slowly, over this year, I’ve started dreading getting up in the morning a little less, I can breathe again, a little. I can laugh again without feeling guilty about it. I’ve finally hit all the 1 year milestones with her death (well, as of 9/7). I’m going to her grave this weekend to place some special things I purchased in honor of her 1 year anniversary since her passing. Damn I miss her so much.

So, this month--this whole year technically--has been a lot to process. A lot to find out, a lot to digest, and a lot to grieve through. I keep thinking “it can’t possibly get any worse, maybe things will get better now” and it always does. That trend for 2020 doesn’t bode well with the election coming up. That makes me so nervous I feel sick. But I refuse to get political here. If you’ve stayed with it this far, you have tremendous stamina and I salute you. It’s taken me hours and several breaks to write thanks to my ADD and just being sleepy and falling asleep in the middle of typing. But that’s it, my month inside the year straight out of hell.

#2020 #August #September #Year from Hell #I can't deal with much more #hell month #loss of job #loss of family member #loss of child #quit job #loss of best friend #1 year death anniversary #please end soon 2020 #let life improve PLEASE!

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dachi-chan25 · 5 years ago

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I had books that I either loved or hated so idk maybe I need to do another unhaul to ensure I read books I'll actually enjoy.

1- OtherEarth (Otherworld #2) by Jason Segel

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So this was a big disappointment. It started out fine, but I had this bad feeling about what the twist of this book would be about 50% into it, and then the twist comes and it was just as bad as I feared. Honestly I don't even know if I wanna continue with the last book, I have it but honestly I can't say I am looking forward to it, it wasn't just the plot that fell down but the characters felt pretty inconsistent and yeah not a fan.

2.- Fireborne (The Aurelian Cycle #1) by Rosaria Munda

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The only thing I knew going into this was that it was inspired by Plato's Republic and that it was similar to Game of Thrones, so maybe that is why I found it pretty underwhelming. Like yeah I could see why it was based off the Republic with this system of education (tbh I still found it pretty basic and very much alike to other social systems I've read in other YA books) and there was some intresting tid-bits but not enough to keep me intrested. Now the characters, I liked both individually (unpopular opinion but I liked Annie more, I thought she had real potential but it was wasted because the moment she and Lee have this romance her character completely lost herself on thinking about him and what he did all the time) but I do not think they worked together romantically. There is some potential drama for book 2 but I am not intrested in reading it.

3.- The Mistress (The Original Sinners #4) by Tiffany Reisz

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This book was so good. Yeah it was super predictable, but the drama tho. I really loved Layla, she gave us an outsider's insight on Søren and Nora's relationship, and she is just the sweetest that I instantly knew she and Weasley were gonna get together. I cried at that last confrontation scene with Nora and Marie Laure and I am so happy that Nora is back together with Søren because they are truly a good couple despide everything.

4.-Gods of Jade and Shadow - Silvia Moreno Garcia

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I LOVED it. Ever since I saw the cover I was sold. This book I feel like it was meant for me. Like our protagonist Casiopea Tún is a dark skinned mexican girl of mayan descent in the 1920s who meets one of the lords of Xibalba and goes on a quest to help him retake his throne???? And on the way he falls in love with her so much he is about to forfeit his divinity to have a chance to be with her. I just, it was so beautiful, I felt my culture was really represented here, and it's so wierd to see the 1920's represented in Mexico I don't believe I had read something like this before and I will read anything Silvia Moreno Garcia writes from now on. Hopefully we will have a second book for this because that ending makes me wonder what adventures Casiopea will have.

5.-Little Gods by Meng Jin

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This book blew my mind. The structure is perfect for the themes . Su Lan was a truly fascinating character though I felt very sad about her, always wanting to escape her past and thinking she was so undeserving for anything good in her life and still fighting to go on. The ending was so good, and all the cast of characters made an excellent conection between the past and the future.

6.- As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner

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Yeah I am a pretentious ho. I was very intimidated by this book (and anything written by Faulkner really) and I was really having trouble understanding the book at first because the prose is so particular (there are sentences that read like Shakespeare, some are almost Biblical stuff and then most of the dialogue is this very coloquial english with very poor ortography) and as English is not my first lenguage I struggled. But then we get to Addie's death and all this odyssey the family goes through to bury her, and it was so beautiful and exciting. I especially loved everything about Addie's chapter, she was so much better than her husband and she deserved better than what she got. I really liked Dewey Dell and Darl. While I hated Anse Bundren with a passion so the end really made me angry like waaaaat this selfish asshole gets everything he wanted and then some??? But I got why it made sense for the book. So I definitely recommend this, but my advice is to let yourself glide through the book, do not try to understand or make sense of it as you start it because then you become frustrated like it happened to me at first but it's a really beautiful book so I am really considering reading more Faulkner.

7.-Chosen (Slayer #2) by Kiersten White

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I enjoyed this book so much. It's a very easy read and we get some growth on Nina and Artemis. I liked the idea of the Watcher's Castle being a refuge for inofenssive demons. And omgggg I fangirled SO hard when Oz, Harmony and Clem appeared (my fave characters, like literally I only need a Spike cameo in these books to be completely happy). I really wanna see Nina meet Buffy in real life and ahhh I am excited for whatever the next book will bring us.

8.-Out of Salem by Hal Schrieve

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This is perharps my favorite book I read this month. It felt so relevant to things that are happening in the world, but escapist enough to bear it. For starters I love a good urban fantasy setting, and this was it. Z was a great non-binary protagonist (the fact the author is also non-binary also helps) like it was pretty original to make them a zombie when necromancy is viewed as wrong in their society and they get discriminated for it even though they knew nothing about how it happened to them. And their friendship with Aysel (lesbian muslim werewolf girl!!!) and Tommy (shapeshifter boy) was amazing. Like the way this book translates real life bigotry and social injustice to this magical creatures was truly amazing I recommend it to everyone of any age. Especially middle graders as this book is meant for that age group and I feel this is an amazing diverse read for that age group.

9.-El murmullo de las abejas de Sofia Segovia

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Realmente este libro es precioso, soy una super fan del realismo mágico y este libro realmente me toco el corazón. Aunque he de admitir que entre a este libro sin saber nada, y bueno que este libro pega diferente en el 2020, yo no tenía ni idea que este libro nos presentaba la Pandemia de Influenza Española de 1918, y bueno es bastante triste leer todo lo que paso cuando nosotros estamos pasando épocas muy similares. Simonopio es un personaje divino, poseedor de una sensibilidad y una inocencia verdaderamente fuera de esta mundo, y la forma en que la familia Morales lo adopta y lo abraza tan profundamente dentro de la familia es realmente hermosa. Fue muy difícil leer acerca de Anselmo Espiricueta porque puedo ver de donde venía todo ese odio y esa ignorancia que terminaron en tragedia y no puedo dejar de sentir lastima por él a pesar de todo el mal que hace durante el libro. Recomiendo mucho esta lectura.

10.-Riot Baby by Tochi Onyebuchi

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A book so relevant in our current times. So powerful and impactful even if the book is pretty short. We get to see how the systematic racisim at work. We get to get a glimpse of this awful reality through Kev and Ella, two gifted siblings that have lived this experiences in different ways and they cope with this in vastly different ways.It was such an intimate read I cannot begin to describe how angry and sad it made me, but also very glad I got to read it because we need to keep being aware that this is the reality for black people all around the world and they don't get to shy away from it so we shouldn't either we should see, learn and fight as hard as we can to change things for the better.

11.-Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

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I re-read this book to have it fresh in my mind before the new series airs on July. And I liked it better now than the 1st time. This world is so scary because I see so many realistic elements it shares with the present. I felt a lot for Lenina (for everyone who lives in this world really) because she wanted more than what the society had to offer yet was so deeply conditioned as to what was right that she could just supress her emotions with soma. This book is of course full of racist and sexist stuff (cuz woman and indigenous people can never win) but I feel it helps to get a feel about how fucked up society is as a whole. In the reservation woman are subjected to the usual slut shaming and gender roles we get in our society while in London we get a world in which woman are judged for not sleeping around and being happy and infantile. Like it seems controling woman and their relationship to intimacy and sex is always a bit theme is classic dystopic books which makes a lot of sense given it works like that in the real world too. Same thing with indigenous people being treated as savage to congratula te ourselves for being so much more "civilized" never stopping to think how deeply fractured and flawed this may be. We also get explotation and brain washing of working classes and all that fun stuff. Really and amazing book eerily accurate tho.

12.-Brick Lane by Monica Ali.

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This is the story of 2 very different Bangladeshi sisters with very different temperaments making their way through life. Nazneen is a very dutiful daughter that marries the man her father picked for her, moves to London, though her husband doesn't make her happy she tries very hard in this foreign country with so many desires of her own she wishes that she always supresses because of her upbringing. Then we have Hesina, she was always beautiful and runs away with a guy she was in love with, later he abandons her and she gets jobs and loses them because different man keep making her fall for them to abandon them later. Different as they are this 2 Sisters keep relying in each other through letters. I thought it was very moving, and I really liked the ending for Nazneen while Hasina left me feeling worried and unhappy.

13.- Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

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I was very hyped for this book and I am so sad I didn't like it. I just didn't feel the world building was cohesive (we have space travel but we don't have baths??? And rapiers as weapons??? Most of it felt like aesthetic decisions) the characters felt very one dimensional to me. And the plot was all over the place, just when I thought I knew what it was about it takes another turn and introduces so many generes but it did not feel natural at all so yeah I will not be reading the next one.

14.- Luces de Bohemia de Ramón Maria del Valle Inclan

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Me pareció una obra maravillosa. Definitivamente captura el espíritu creativo bohemio.

15 .- Don Juan Tenorio de José Zorrilla

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Yo adoro el Tenorio, sin embargo si que he de decir que prefiero la versión del Burlador de Sevilla de Tirso de Molina pues siento que el final es más adecuado. Me parece que aunque la prosa es hermosa Doña Ines pierde mucha agencia en esta versión, me recuerda mucho más a Angelina de la obra "El Honor del Brigadier" que la versión que hizo de ella Tirso de Molina, definitivamente se romántiza mucho más está figura de seductor canalla en esta versión, aun así es una historia arraigada en México, es una tradición para mi verla cada Noviembre, este año me temo que no será posible así que disfrute muchísimo leerla.

#june 2020 warp up #booklr #dachi reads stuff

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hybridfiction · 4 years ago

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September 2020 Free Content: "Ampu-Chic" by Michelle F. Goddard

There is a line. Not perhaps written on the floor plans but just as indelible. I sit on that line in the one stray chair, orphan now to both sides. I’ve been here at the clinic for over two hours, riding the line, like I do with everything, walking that narrow path and thinking that will keep me safe.

One foot rests on blue and white check linoleum that exudes a strong ammonia smell. This waiting area is designated for the ‘economically aided types.’ The EATs sit in their metal-framed navy upholstered chairs, reading out-of-date magazines, wiping their sniffling noses, and nursing the occasional cast worn by shabbily dressed children next to pinched-faced mothers. Seniors linger with the patience of those resigned to have no choice but to wait, idly knitting or staring off into space, while they stifle coughs into worn handkerchiefs. I cradle my poorly bandaged wrist as it throbs, but I’m not one of them.

My other foot rests on an exotic wood floor, the one wholly natural thing in the area. It’s buffed to a shine that almost reflects my pain etched face back at me. This lounge is more café than clinic. Clients, not patients, sit in plush armchairs perusing e-magazines and books, or gather to gossip or check out the latest digital feed. A computer terminal displaying a very upscale homepage and an electronic bulletin board flashes with advertisements about new style yoga and recipes for ‘The Enhanced.’ One woman taps with a cyber-digit that sprouts from her nail and extends to a stylus point, downloading class times into her calendar.

Unlike me, I don’t think any of them are desperate to see a doctor. They seem pleased enough to chat with the cheerful brunette nurse as the red-headed one collates client data directly through her e-junkt, an implant alteration that links directly to the data stream. I had noticed the minute hole, a dark glittering spot positioned discreetly below her left ear, when I first arrived. Now, a spider-silk wire connects her to her workstation.

A girl with a pierced nose leans against one of the nearby terminal kiosks, chin in one hand as the other guides a mouse. The girl stands with her hip cocked so hard it looks like it doesn’t belong to her, like it’s already Enhanced. Probably mimicking the latest model pose from an advert. On the screen, a model struts with a herky-jerky motion up a catwalk and then poses in a stance impossible for only the most devout masochistic yogi. The audience rises to their feet applauding as she Clydesdale-clomps off the stage. The girl’s gaze slides away from the screen toward me. I don’t look away fast enough. Shit.

She nods her chin in the general direction of my arm. “In here for a tweak?”

“Just a sprain” I say. I give her my best dismissive half-smile, hoping she gets the hint.

“Sprain?” the girl asks. She stares at me, delight and horror flicker like a strobe across her face. Is she tasting the macabre, swishing it around in her mouth and deciding whether or not to swallow? My gaze flits over the girl, taking in every detail. Early teens. Even the black clothes with their pre-worn and pre-ripped stamp of street-legit history, dark lips and night-clubbing raccoon eye make-up, isn’t enough to hide that. And by the sound of that slight lisp, she has a new tongue piercing. I listen and catch the tell-tale clickity-click the newly adorned always make when playing with the stud. “So, it’s not Enhanced?”

I pretend not to hear as I stare down at my arm. My fingers delicately explore the muscles and tendons hidden beneath my desperate one-handed bandaging. Certainly a break would be more painful but what if it’s a fracture? Days of healing, hours of work delayed; the calculations run through my brain. A sprain. Please let it be just a sprain.

“What were you doing when you hurt it?” the girl asks loud enough that I would have to be deaf and sitting in another district not to hear.

“Working.” I adjust my posture to give my left butt cheek a chance to get the feeling back into it. Tucking my arm tight against my chest, I re-cross my legs, completely turning my body away from the girl in my ‘do not disturb’ posture.

“Working how,” the girl says. Again she uses that impossible-to-feign-deafness volume.

My vibrating cell rescues me. I retrieve it from my jacket pocket and read the text. It is terse and terminal. Deadline can’t be moved. Please confirm installation is on track. I can barely hold my phone and I’m supposed to finish the sculpture? My fingers freeze, suspended over the keypad. I put it away without answering. I can’t give them any answer. I can’t know for sure. Not until I see a doctor.

“What kind of job uses no Enhancements,” the girl says.

An older nurse passes me, the gentle hiss of her hydraulics accompanying her gait. “That’s enough questions from you,” she says. The girl makes a face but then continues to scroll down the page, watching it through half-lidded eyes that seem to drift as if pulled by a magnet in my direction.

“Excuse me?” I say, waving at the nurse. “Hello?” Her name tag says Sinclair RN. Sinclair has been back and forth all morning seeing to the EATs, escorting them into examination rooms and in some cases, wheeling them through the large double doors that lead out into the hall and to the elevators for lab work. She has been diligent and efficient, and I hate to bother her, but I do. “Nurse Sinclair? I’ve been waiting quite a while. I was wondering—”

“We’ll be right with you,” Nurse Sinclair says not breaking stride.

It is not the first time I’ve heard this. The two younger nurses at reception have both uttered the same. Sinclair stops in front of a heavy-set senior. After a few words, she gingerly helps him to his feet. Her Enhanced legs hold most of his weight as she guides him across the linoleum. “Janelle,” Sinclair says, summoning the brunette with a wave. Janelle pushes a wheelchair to her, wrinkling her nose as the elderly man is lowered into the chair. She wheels him away down the hall as if he’s on fire.

Sinclair slips behind the desk and calls up something on the terminal. With a nod in my direction, she walks across the wood floor, her thick soled nurse’s shoes making no sound at all. “Ms. Taylor?”

“Yes,” I say jerking to my feet. I jostle my wrist in my eagerness, unable to quell the wince and hiss of pain.

Sinclair takes my wrist in a firm grip. Her ministrations send me jerking out of her grasp. “That hurts?” the nurse asks. I nod my head, pain robbing me of speech. The throbbing in my wrist sends tendrils of fire up my arm and into a spot deep in my shoulder. Not for the first time this long morning I think, I should have let that sculpture fall.

“No wonder you’re not in the system. I assumed when you walked in that you were Enhanced.” She releases my wrist and folds her arms over her stomach as she squares her shoulders and pulls herself up tall. “But painful as this is, it is also a wonderful opportunity. I’m sure you’re considering Enhancements.”

“It’s just a sprain.”

“I know the accepted belief is that a break is best for the alteration. The shock helps the ‘Enhancement’ to take. But really a sprain like this would do just fine. After all, ‘Enhancements; The Last Pain You’ll Ever Feel’.”

“No. I mean it’s just a sprain.” I ease my arm forward, revealing more of my poorly wrapped bandage around my wrist. “I just need a doctor to have a look. Maybe put my wrist in a temporary cast, perhaps a prescription for pain-killers...”

Sinclair stares, shock and disbelief flashing on her face before her considerable discipline schools it back into its usual blank pleasantness. “You are not registered as an EAT.” I shake my head. Sinclair glances back toward the main desk. She takes my wrist and more gently this time examines it. “Yes, this is just a sprain. A bad sprain,” she says as I moan. “Nothing broken. That’s some good news.”

“I’ve been waiting a long time and I really have to get back to work.”

Sinclair sighs heavily. “I’m sorry, but you will have to be patient.” Sinclair shakes her head. “You know it’s a shame. A minor cybernetic alteration with a minute introduction of nano-bots would have already fixed this right up for you. It really is the way of the future. I couldn’t do my job without it.”

And I can’t do my job with it. But I say nothing. I’ve had this argument before, and pain and desperation won’t make my debating skills any better.

The girl sneers at my bandaged wrist. “What. Can’t afford it?”

“Enough of that, young lady,” Sinclair says to the girl. “If you can’t be civil, you can’t be here.” She rests her hand on the girl’s back and guides her away from me and toward the main doors. The girl slouches out of the clinic, shoulders hunched, boot heels slapping against the floor.

Most of the people have come and gone. Even the EATs were rushed through as if poverty is contagious and the staff has to minimize exposure. The only exception other than me is an elderly East Indian woman. She sits across from me, on the same invisible line separating the waiting rooms. She has been there since I arrived, walking around the room, checking out billboards and the computer, sitting amicably, watching people coming and going with a simple placid smile on her face, her wrinkles making her eyes into bright emeralds that glitter within the coppery tissue-paper folds of her face.

She’s dressed in a simple yet elegant Selwar Kameez. The soft, blue silk tunic and pants are plain, but she has a tasteful and intricately embroidered scarf in the same blue silk, thrown back across her neck. Her grey hair has a few black strands and is swept back into a long braid that shows elegant jewelry dangling from her ears. She does not appear to be in pain, but if she were here for a checkup, surely she would have been seen to by now. So, what is she doing here?

I abandon the pale distraction of my curiosity. I cross my legs, rest my forearm gently on my raised knee and examine my wrist. I carefully open and close my fingers, but even that little feat sends another wave of bright pain radiating up my arm, making me hiss and grimace. My uninjured hand closes in a fist that is sure to leave little half moon indentations in my palm.

The red-headed nurse looks over at me with one of those smiles that isn’t really a smile. She tilts her head in a practiced sympathetic manner. “Thank you so much for your patience.” I nod with a stiff smile to hide my surprise. What. Are they telepathic? Does she have some sort of antennae linked into the e-junkt at the base of her neck that gauges the patience of their patients? Increase in heartbeat, perspiration, something that tracks your eye movements? Rates of eye-rolls per second? I’m trying to keep my sense of humor, but the thought sort of creeps me out.

I flinch at a shadow and the feeling of someone too close. I look up to see the wrinkled, smiling face of the old Indian woman. She is standing right beside me.

“May I?” she asks.

I barely acknowledge her before she sits down, but I force myself not to show the irritation I’m feeling. It’s not her fault I’m in pain and miserable and freaking out a little bit. The smell is getting to me. I have run out of sitting positions for my poor numb behind and pacing isn’t any more comfortable, especially because I have to keep my wrist immobile.

“My name is Dharma,” the old woman says. “You’re Veronica Taylor, aren’t you? The artist?”

I jerk back, surprised that this woman would know who I am or care. A buzz of conversation blooms in the area around the desk, behind raised hands and into eager ears. The brunette nudges the redhead as she stares at me. “I told you so, Monique. That sculpture in the midtown mall. The big one. Right at the entrance. That’s yours,” she says.

“Well not anymore, of course,” I say trying to interject a little levity as those in the clinic turn and stare at me. Sinclair joins them at the desk, her blank gaze flitting between us.

“People pay a lot of money to buy her work,” Janelle says to the nurses. She turns to me. “And is it true you do everything by hand. Real hands?”

I rise from my chair and approach the desk, preferring more discretion. I can feel the eyes of everyone near the desk on me watching me like I’m a dangerous animal. A fully natural animal. I could be capable of anything. I was tempted to growl just to see what would happen. Someone might actually scream. Instead, I stay civil. “Well, yes, that’s the point, isn’t it? That’s what they’re buying.”

Janelle leans across the desk. “There’s some controversy about that isn’t there? The whole organic versus cybernetic. Where does the art lie? That whole debate.”

“I just make sculptures. I leave politics to other people.”

“But can anyone really do that?” Janelle asks.

Sinclair smiles a tight line of skepticism under narrowed eyes. I doubt she’ll ever check the inscription on the mid-town mall scultpure. Even if she did, she probably wouldn’t believe that I’m the sculptor. It would be hard to envision this unassuming woman the soul behind that monstrosity. It’s even harder to believe that anyone would choose not to be ‘Enhanced.’

“You really should have told us who you were when you first came in,” Monique says. “We might have been able to do something about the queue. But as it is, our hands are tied.” She glances down at my wrist and makes a face. “Sorry.” Monique shrugs, a soft movement of her shoulders used to smooth over difficult matters. Me, being the difficult matter.

“Thought it was first come, first serve for walk-ins. I mean it’s not like I staggered in here having a heart attack.”

“Heart attack. Oh you’re funny too,” Monique says with the appropriate giggle, socially defined by pitch and duration. “Would you like a coffee?”

“I would really like to see the doctor so that I can get back to work.”

“Of course, of course,” Monique says. “While we’re waiting, we can fill out some forms—”

“I’ve already done that—”

“Then you can give us your credit card, and we’ll calculate your installments.” Monique sits at her computer and readies her fingers over the keyboard.

“I’ll be paying in a cash-transfer,” I say.

Monique cocks her head to one side. “Perhaps you should check our rates, before you…” She leaves the implication dangling, her eyes subtly measuring me up against what must be the exorbitant sum on the screen in front of her.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, matching her tone for tone and enjoying the subtle lift of her eyebrows.

I head back to my chair that straddles two worlds. Show no fear. This is a game of poker. Monique is used to people who have nothing in their hand. Nothing in their hand. The bitter irony is not lost on me as I pull my arm tighter into my body. Ahead, Dharma sits smiling up at me. I change trajectory to the chair across from her. I try to get comfortable shifting from one cheek to the other as I uncross and cross my legs. Again.

Unfortunately, like the teenager earlier, the old woman does not get the hint either. “I’m sorry,” she says sitting down beside me. “I didn’t mean to make this uncomfortable.”

I hold out my wrist. “Something beat you to it.”

“I think I can help you with that.”

“You a doctor?”

My phone rings. A call this time. “Excuse me.” I retrieve my cell from my pocket as I shoulder my way through the main door. I listen to the message. No text to misunderstand its meaning. The tone is clear. I have to give them an answer. I turn to the door to find Nurse Sinclair staring at me from the other side. She slips through. “Can the doctor see me now?”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but he won’t be able to see you today.” Her gaze flickers over her shoulder. Through the transparent glass I see the young nurses laughing with a client, as they have been doing for most of my time in the waiting room, leaving the real work to the capable and dedicated Nurse Sinclair.

“Can you help me?” I ask. “Please.”

“It’s against the rules. There are procedures.”

“Anything you can do. Anything. I’ll pay.” She pulls at her lip. I reach for my i-dent card. “I’d have to pay anyway. I may as well pay you.”

“I might be able to, but you have to do exactly what I tell you.” She holds the door open for me.

“Of course,” I say rushing through the door.

Nurse Sinclair guides me back inside. She walks me past the waiting room and into an examination room. “You’ll have to wait here until I can see to you. You understand?” I nod. “You said you can do a cash transfer?”

Again, I nod. “What’s your bank information?”

Sinclair cocks an eyebrow. “They can trace that. You’ll have to send it to a blank account. You know what that is, don’t you?” I nod, desperation making my head move before reason can step in. “You’ll have to make the payment before I can help you, you understand that?” I nod and this time my head feels as if it isn’t mine, as if I’m nodding from habit, nodding in time with the heartbeat of pain in my wrist.

Sinclair slips from the room. I retrieve my phone. When I swipe it open, the committee’s text runs across the screen. My hand trembles, but I search for a place to make my deposit. I jump when the door opens and take a step back when Dharma rushes inside and closes the door behind her and locks it.

“What are you doing?”

“I was worried,” Dharma says. “I thought it was going to be the girl.”

“What about the girl?”

“We’ve heard of an unusual statistical anomaly at this clinic. A surprising number of emergency alterations, not full-blown Enhancements but then again not everyone can opt for that.”

“This is just a sprain. I’m being seen for a sprain. I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I don’t know you. You need to leave.”

“Yes. That’s true. You don’t know anyone here.”

Monique enters with a cup in her hand, steam rising lazily from it. She glares at Dharma. “What are you doing back here?”

“Washroom?” Dharma asks, flashing an innocent smile.

Monique shakes her head and rolls her eyes. She thrusts the drink in my direction.

“I said I didn’t want anything to drink,” I say.

“Nurse Sinclair wants you to drink this.” I stare at the cup. Monique purses her lips. “The sooner you drink, the sooner you can feel better.”

I reach for the cup, an automatic response. Dharma stumbles forward and jostles our hands. The cup tumbles. Some of the contents spray me. Most of it falls on the old woman. She cries out with pain as the liquid splashes on her bare arm and through the delicate fabric of her tunic. I see Monique shoot her a venomous look, quickly veiled, as she picks up the cup and hurries out the door. I hear her call for Janelle and a towel before the door swishes shut.

“Are you okay?” I ask Dharma. “What just happened?” Even through the darkness of her skin, I can see her arm beginning to redden. I wonder how bad the burns are beneath her tunic. “Shouldn’t you let someone see to you?”

“I’ll be fine once I get home,” the old woman says as she quickly sops up the liquid with her long neck scarf. “Please. I could use an escort home.” Dharma leans heavily on my shoulder as she holds the wet fabric from her skin. She stares up at me. “It’s not far.”

I hesitate, but there is something about Monique’s eagerness to return not with first-aid but with another drink that just pisses me off. I stare at her as she stands in the doorway and realize I want to leave. I’ve wanted to leave from the moment I stepped into this place. Up to this point I had tried reasoning it away as the nervousness of being in a strange doctor’s office or my eagerness to get back to the work. The fear that this injury may put a delay on my art that I can ill afford both financially and professionally. There are lots of logical reasons for this apprehension. Still, some part of me has been sounding a warning that has nothing to do with logic. “I have to go,” I say.

“Unfortunately, when you come back, you’ll have to join the queue again,” Monique says. ”And there is a risk that you might seriously injure that wrist without medical attention. I would not advise this, especially as the doctor is prepared to see you next.”

More lies.

“I’ll just have to take that risk,” I say as I link arms with Dharma. She takes my arm in a manner so gentle that at first I don’t even realize it’s my sprained wrist that she holds. At least it would be protected from the crowd as we walk together.

“And really,” I say, as we make our way slowly toward the glass sliding doors, “should you be serving such hot beverages? People have been known to sue over something like that.”

The doors slid shut behind us, and I feel the old woman begin to shake with laughter.

“That was brilliant. They probably couldn’t have you leave quick enough after that subtle threat.” The old woman cocks her head up at me and grins. “I’ll have to remember that for next time.”

Next time? Who is this woman?

“Though I probably shouldn’t show my face there for a while.”

We walk out of the clinic and onto the street arm in arm and in silence. My injured wrist has become suddenly warm. The painful tension has loosened. It must be the way I’m holding it, must be taking the pressure off the nerve.

“What happened in there?” I ask.

“You tell me. You have good instincts, don’t you?” Dharma says. “Not dulled by synthetics. Still something of the animal in you. Enough to know when something doesn’t smell right. Some people don’t like people like that. They’re threatened by it.”

I resist saying anything for another block but finally curiosity gets the better of me. “I’m nobody.”

“Really? Successful artist snubbing her nose at the status quo? Can’t have stories about successful naturals living off the grid,” Dharma answers good-naturedly while she tenderly changes the position of her brown hand wrapped around my wrist. “Living proof that there’s another way. Some would find that threatening.” Dharma sighs and pats my arm gently. Surprisingly, there is no pain. That morning, a touch like that, would have had me jumping out of my skin. “A way without Enhancements and nutritional supplements and continual maintenance and built in obsolescence?” She grins, her eyes narrowing as she re-grips my arm, further up this time. “No, can’t have that at all.”

“What are you saying?” I ask. I try to laugh but it sounds a little too tight. “What could they do about it?” The warmth in my forearm increases. I’m not usually comfortable with physical contact, but Dharma puts me at ease, and besides, she does seem to need the help walking.

“Something could go wrong during the exam,” the old woman says. “Sometimes these things happen. Something small. Something not even that serious, but something only someone in your unique situation would find…” she pauses. “Life changing.”

We walk like ghosts, steering clear of the more populated spots on the sidewalk to occupy the shadows. Her words are like fingers of ice walking slowly up my back. “They could be sued,” I whisper during a break in the crowd. “There would be an investigation. Charges.”

“And in the end, you would still be a cripple or dependent on their Enhancements.”

“What do you base this conspiracy theory on?”

“Fair enough,” the old woman barks with a harsh laugh. “A healthy skepticism. Perhaps I speak from firsthand experience.”

She leads me out of the pedestrian traffic. On a secluded corner, she looks up at me brazenly. There is a moment of silence as we stare at each other, but then the sun dips behind a cloud, causing an odd dimming in one of the woman’s emerald eyes. I wait for a nod of permission before taking the woman’s chin in my hand and gently turning her face. The light glints ominously in her right eye.

“Your eye sight must be perfect to do surgery,” the old woman says softly, “and strangely, there was no cure or optic component that would fit my particular case.” She pulls back, removing her face from my hand. She turns back to the street. I follow.

“There was a court case,” the old woman says, as we fall in step. “But of course these things happen and after giving me a nominal monetary fee to discourage any further legal action, it was done.” She wraps her arm in mine, holding my wrist gingerly in her wrinkled hand.

We walk in silence. I am stunned by what she says, and the old woman is obviously giving me time to digest it. We turn the corner onto one of the older streets of the city.

“You have no reason to trust me,” Dharma says. “Fair enough, my dear.” She removes the scarf from around her neck. “There’s enough here to have it tested. What did they say? Something to make you comfortable while they examined your wrist?” She takes a slow breath before continuing in a forceful voice. “Do you think you should need to be unconscious for that?”

Dharma stops in front of an old, but freshly painted, building. The sign overhead reads Organic Tea Shop in gold lettering, tastefully decorative in an Art Nouveau style. She hands me the scarf. “I would suggest you go to a police station. They are unbiased, and their lab would tell you if an innocent seeming date had other plans for you. If you have any further questions, for example, why your wrist feels so much better and why in a few days it’s almost good as new, drop by to return my scarf.” The old woman puts her hand on the doorknob. “And for a cup of tea. You do drink tea, don’t you, dear? I promise there will be nothing in it but tea.” She gives me a mischievous wink, the twinkle in her eye devoid of sharp edges. “I’ll be happy to answer your questions then.”

She disappears inside. I’m tempted to force the issue. Instead I take off in the other direction, my arm hanging, for the first time today, comfortably at my side.

An hour later I am standing, trembling, outside the precinct. They asked if I wanted to press charges. They asked for a description of the man who had given me the drink. I apologized, saying I was pretty drunk at the time and thanked them for their help. I told them I have learned a valuable lesson; I will be more suspicious of strangers offering me drinks. Well, perhaps not all. Perhaps in a few days I’ll be in the mood for a nice cup of tea.

About the author: Michelle F. Goddard’s short fiction has been published in Iguana Books’ Blood is Thicker anthology, Ulthar Press’s Machinations and Mesmerism anthology, and B Cubed Press’s Alternative Apocalypse anthology among others. She is also a professional musician with song credits for plays and promotional videos. Contact: michellefgoddard

Guess what? We have even more genre-bending content, including a comic and a serialized work, in the rest of Issue 6. Check it out here. (Remember, all monies goes to help us pay our awesome creators—and hopefully raise our pay rates, too.)

#future fiction #hybrid fiction #free short story #body modification #science fantasy

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insessionwitheleni · 4 years ago

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LESSONS LEARNT FROM LOCKDOWN:

17/07/2020

We are currently living through a never-seen-before global pandemic that has affected every single living creature on the planet. Escalating like wildfire, COVID-19 has left people from every corner of the earth feeling confused, frightened & powerless. Each country has gone about things differently, though each remains directly connected with each other via the same devastating event. And months later, we still aren’t out of the woods…

*Before I get into things, I do wish to note that I am fully aware how extremely fortunate I am. Please don’t feel that I am in any way minimising the severity this global crisis. I have not lost a loved one to this disaster. I have not lost my business, or my home, & I have not experienced the terrifying ordeal of testing positive. For this I am enormously grateful. Be assured that I write the following whilst also keeping in mind those less fortunate than me, those who are now grieving family members, who have been trapped at home with an abusive partner, or have had crucial medical procedures indefinitely postponed... I am hopeful that my words will offer you some comfort, whatever your circumstances during this time.*

With the above in mind, are there any non-environmental positives that can be found amongst this catastrophe? What life lessons have I learnt from being confined at home for 17 weeks as a ‘vulnerable’ person?

* LESSON (1) ---> HAVE FAITH IN YOUR ADAPTATION SKILLS!:

I started my lockdown experience feeling frustrated, an emotion I managed via completing daily exercise. This coping strategy however was rudely brought to a standstill by two ear infections & a fractured toe! So I started reading & writing more instead, which in turn led to these blogs! I also had to complete therapy sessions via the telephone rather than face-to-face, & so I bought myself a headset & re-organised the study. I then came up with the idea of offering text therapy, to assist those struggling with privacy whilst stuck indoors, & this was a great success! Via having the time to research mental health related topics & appreciating the calming effects of nature more than ever, I am now offering ‘walk and talks’, a means of therapy I had barely even heard of prior to lockdown.

My point? I adapted. I was unable to carry on living the way I normally did, & so without even realising, my brain adapted to suit my new reality. Take a moment to think about how, since lockdown, you too have adapted the way you work, parent, socialise or keep fit? Drunken zoom calls with friends? Bringing out your never-before-used gym equipment from the garage? New recipes? Home-schooling? Them meetings that ‘could have been an email’ actually becoming an email!? All these are perfect examples of adaptation. This skill does not only keep us safe, it also creates a new healthier mindset, which in turn can transform into inspiration, courage, & an in-depth appreciation of what really matters to us. Aren’t our minds incredible?!?

* LESSON (2) ---> IT’S THE SIMPLE THINGS IN LIFE…:

Cliché, I know! But it’s true, would you not agree?

It was weeks before I was able to leave the house to take the dogs on a walk, & when I eventually did…wow! It was amazing! The fresh air, the trees, the smells, there was even a vibrant rainbow in the sky above me, leading the way. It was beautiful! I returned home feeling grateful & really grounded.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love walking (you have no choice in the matter when you are a dog owner)! But I must admit that mindfulness is not always a priority when I am out & about. It’s so easy to get caught up with random thoughts & planning ahead & worrying about nonsense, that we often lose sight of what is right in front of us (literally & metaphorically speaking)! I’m sure a lot of you are guilty of this too!

Reflecting back on my time in lockdown, it’s the simple things that remain highlighted in my mind – laughing hysterically watching a comedy or bickering over board-game rules. I am not proud to admit that these are things I now feel I have taken for granted in the past. But I can say with confidence that I have learnt now to be more thankful for these moments as a result. I would definitely recommend that you make an effort to be more present in day-to-day tasks, rather than wait anxiously for the holiday, the night-out, the ‘big day’. There is nothing wrong with having something to look forward to! But as lockdown has highlighted…it’s the small things in life that matter the most!

* LESSON (3) ---> YOU CAN SURVIVE ANYTHING THAT IS THROWN YOUR WAY!:

This pandemic has changed life as we knew it. I wish I could sit here & reassure you that everything will get back to normal really soon. I unfortunately cannot do that. I am just as taken aback & unsure about what the future holds, as you.

I can’t however help but think about the quote that says ‘So far your track record of surviving your worst days in life is 100%!’ How true is that?

So no, I can’t reassure you that this will soon become nothing but a distant memory. But I can reassure you that you will be fine. Bad days will pass & better ones will come. It won’t all be smooth sailing moving forward, but rest assured we will find our way. We always do.

Your mood dropping, your anxiety escalating, your tears, your outbursts etc., do not make you any less resilient or capable. You deserve to be happy & healthy & confident. So stay strong, be kind to yourself & be truly proud of how well you are coping!

Because you, my friend, are surviving a pandemic! And if that isn’t something to be proud of, I don’t know what is!!!

#life lessons #mental health #talking therapy #lockdown #quarantine #covid-19 #mindfulness #its the small things #adaptation #therapist #counseling #blog

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thehavenmh · 6 years ago

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The Haven's Beginnings

Zen Founder  The Haven Support Network  I was 30 years old and had just gotten married when I last tried to kill myself. I was actually in a psych ward on the upper west side of Manhattan and went into a bipolar mixed state due to natural chemicals, rapid cycling, and new medications. It made me suicidal. In a few minutes of fixated psychosis, I climbed up on to the top of a wardrobe in my bedroom, kneeled on the top, and dove off on to the top of my head. I had hoped that it would break my neck and kill me. My luck, it only did one of the two. I shattered my C5 vertebra in my neck and fractured my T6 in my back into three pieces. I needed surgery to repair my neck and they needed to use a mesh wiring to keep everything together. It was a long, gruesome recovery. But I lived and that’s what brings me here today. Mental illness has dictated much of my life for the last 20 years. The first time I attempted suicide I was 13 and in a manic state brought on by Prozac. As a result I ended up in a teen psych unit for about a month. It was a horrific experience, one I often blame myself for because I didn’t choose the nicer hospital. But I was 14, what did I know? The psych unit was old and kind of rough around the edges, not slick and sterile like in an actual hospital. There were 2-4 girls to a room and half the beds were falling apart. The different buildings were separate so we walked with nurses between Lodge (my unit), the school building, and the dining hall. Eventually, due to excessive self-harm behaviors, I wasn’t allowed to leave Lodge. I was introduced to the quiet room, shatter-proof glass, velcro mittens to keep me from scratching myself, forced sedatives, and strait jackets. At one point it got so intense that I had four fully grown men holding me down on the floor, while one sat on top of me to keep me still, and was then injected with a sedative in my buttcheek. They tied me up in a strait jacket and put me in some sort of sling so they could carry me wrapped up to the van which would take me down the hill to the more intense quiet rooms. In my head it’s “the burrito.” Many more things happened in that month, but those are stories for another time. I lost friends because of what people said and believed about me. Which is fair, honestly. I was out of my mind and likely an unhealthy influence on those close to me. I was literally losing my mind in a mental hospital. It’s understandable. But part of that experience was my first run in with the stigma of mental illness. I hadn’t known that it was truly bad to be crazy. We had a psych hospital and rehab center in my town growing up. We always joked, don’t go nuts or the whitecoats would come take you away, but that was about as serious as it got. What happened, which I didn’t know at the time, was I had come face to face with the stigma of mental illness. Stigma rears its nasty head whenever there is something unknown, liminal, abnormal, not understood. People with mental illness suffer a tremendous amount of discrimination and a huge proportion of people suffering don’t even have access to mental healthcare to try and improve their situations. One contributing factor is simply that mental illness has been taboo to talk openly about and continues to be taboo in most places around the world. Men in particular find it hard to come forward and discuss their mental health. While we find it difficult to have conversations about mental health, people find themselves in hopeless situations and lose their battles with mental illness. Suicide statistics show that over the last 45 years suicides have gone up 60% worldwide. “The World Health Organisation (WHO) estimates that each year approximately one million people die from suicide, which represents a global mortality rate of 16 people per 100,000 or one death every 40 seconds. It is predicted that by 2020 the rate of death will increase to one every 20 seconds” (Suicide Statistics | Befrienders). These are terrifying statistics, made even more so by the incredible lack of mental healthcare in most parts of the world. Even in the developed countries access to mental healthcare is never simple. The American pay-to-win system leaves those living paycheck-to-paycheck with few options and high deductibles if they’re able to get an insurance plan at all. In the UK waiting to see a psychiatrist through the NHS could take up to two years, especially if you’re looking for a specialist. In Brazil if you go to an emergency department and proclaim that you’re going to kill yourself, they will call your doctor and send you home. In many other countries there is simply nowhere to go. When I was younger I relied on chatrooms and forums, seeking solace in the experience of others, looking for validation for what was happening in my head. I discovered that I wasn’t alone. Last year I went looking for a mental health community that I could get involved in. I found a chatroom and moderated for a while. Mostly I offered support and advice to people who were having a rough day or in crisis of some sort. At some point a friend of mine left the chat and casually said, oh you might try making one yourself. Today I run a network of mental health peer support chat servers. We use an application called DiscordDiscord - Free Voice and Text Chat for Gamers, that you can use on mobile, in browser, or in Discord’s desktop app. The Haven Support consists of three servers: Haven Lite, which is for people 13 and up who are living with mental illness; Haven Retreat, which is for people 13 and up who are looking for emotional support and a lively community; and The Haven, our main server that is 18 and up and you must be living with or believe you are living with mental illness. I began The Haven set on cultivating an environment where people could feel less alone, could get help when they otherwise couldn’t, or give back because helping others helped them too. The phrase that came to mind was, “Care when you need it, care for others when you can.” I’m bipolar so I’m used to a rollercoaster of capability. What I imagined for the community was something similar. When you’re down and you need a hand, someone is there to grab you. When you feel like supporting someone, you can reach out and see who reaches back. We are a tight community that wouldn’t survive without our peer support volunteers and the moderating team. The most important role in the server is Support. Having the Support role means that you receive notifications when someone is asking for help in one of our 1:1 support channels. Without the people who volunteer in the support channels, The Haven wouldn’t be anything like it is today. I am constantly amazed and forever grateful for the time and effort that people are willing to give each other. It is humbling. Our guides, support mods, and moderating team are also all volunteers who donate their time (and sometimes money) to keeping the peace, making sure all three servers remain safe spaces for people to hang out in. I always tell my team that we should strive to do what is best for the greatest amount of people. The long-term goal for The Haven Support is to become a non-profit that raises money for people anywhere in the world who cannot access timely or effective mental healthcare. I hope that along this journey I am able to spread some awareness about the very real struggles that people with mental illness face day to day. It is still more acceptable for women to receive treatment for mental illness, but men are just as or more likely to be struggling and are more prone to committing violent suicide. Maybe in a few years it will feel more OK to say, “I lived,” after a suicide attempt. Hopefully within the next decade schools will begin to teach mental health as often as they teach physical health. Replace detention with meditation. Let kids play more and let teens sleep later. Mental illness is above all a physical illness: it is the connections between neurons, the electrical and chemical exchanges in the synapses. As far as science can tell, we do not exist outside of our bodies and our minds are theoretically contained in our brains. Since our brain is just an organ, all malfunctions thereof should be considered like those of any other organ. We do not judge people’s character because they have a broken leg, so nor should anyone judge a person for a depressive episode or a psychotic break. I have borderline personality disorder, but that just means my amygdala is bigger than yours. The Haven is the result of hard work and good luck. I found an amazing team to work with, lots of loving members who help each other when in need. We are constantly growing, and our newest connection with PsychCentral has really bolstered our position. I look forward to this new chapter in The Haven’s life.

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thehavenmh · 6 years ago

Text

The Haven: Beginnings

Zen, Founder of The Haven Support

I was 30 years old and had just gotten married when I last tried to kill myself. I was actually in a psych ward on the upper west side of Manhattan and went into a bipolar mixed state due to natural chemicals, rapid cycling, and new medications. It made me suicidal. In a few minutes of fixated psychosis, I climbed up on to the top of a wardrobe in my bedroom, kneeled on the top, and dove off on to the top of my head. I had hoped that it would break my neck and kill me. My luck, it only did one of the two. I shattered my C5 vertebra in my neck and fractured my T6 in my back into three pieces. I needed surgery to repair my neck and they needed to use a mesh wiring to keep everything together. It was a long, gruesome recovery. But I lived and that’s what brings me here today.

Mental illness has dictated much of my life for the last 20 years. The first time I attempted suicide I was 13 and in a manic state brought on by Prozac. As a result I ended up in a teen psych unit for about a month. It was a horrific experience, one I often blame myself for because I didn’t choose the nicer hospital. But I was 14, what did I know? The psych unit was old and kind of rough around the edges, not slick and sterile like in an actual hospital. There were 2-4 girls to a room and half the beds were falling apart. The different buildings were separate so we walked with nurses between Lodge (my unit), the school building, and the dining hall. Eventually, due to excessive self-harm behaviors, I wasn’t allowed to leave Lodge.

I was introduced to the quiet room, shatter-proof glass, velcro mittens to keep me from scratching myself, forced sedatives, and strait jackets. At one point it got so intense that I had four fully grown men holding me down on the floor, while one sat on top of me to keep me still, and was then injected with a sedative in my buttcheek. They tied me up in a strait jacket and put me in some sort of sling so they could carry me wrapped up to the van which would take me down the hill to the more intense quiet rooms. In my head it’s “the burrito.” Many more things happened in that month, but those are stories for another time.

I lost friends because of what people said and believed about me. Which is fair, honestly. I was out of my mind and likely an unhealthy influence on those close to me. I was literally losing my mind in a mental hospital. It’s understandable. But part of that experience was my first run in with the stigma of mental illness. I hadn’t known that it was truly bad to be crazy. We had a psych hospital and rehab center in my town growing up. We always joked, don’t go nuts or the whitecoats would come take you away, but that was about as serious as it got.

What happened, which I didn’t know at the time, was I had come face to face with the stigma of mental illness. Stigma rears its nasty head whenever there is something unknown, liminal, abnormal, not understood. People with mental illness suffer a tremendous amount of discrimination and a huge proportion of people suffering don’t even have access to mental healthcare to try and improve their situations. One contributing factor is simply that mental illness has been taboo to talk openly about and continues to be taboo in most places around the world. Men in particular find it hard to come forward and discuss their mental health. While we find it difficult to have conversations about mental health, people find themselves in hopeless situations and lose their battles with mental illness.

Suicide statistics show that over the last 45 years suicides have gone up 60% worldwide. “The World Health Organisation (WHO) estimates that each year approximately one million people die from suicide, which represents a global mortality rate of 16 people per 100,000 or one death every 40 seconds. It is predicted that by 2020 the rate of death will increase to one every 20 seconds” (https://www.befrienders.org/suicide-statistics). These are terrifying statistics, made even more so by the incredible lack of mental healthcare in most parts of the world. Even in the developed countries access to mental healthcare is never simple.

The American pay-to-win system leaves those living paycheck-to-paycheck with few options and high deductibles if they’re able to get an insurance plan at all. In the UK waiting to see a psychiatrist through the NHS could take up to two years, especially if you’re looking for a specialist. In Brazil if you go to an emergency department and proclaim that you’re going to kill yourself, they will call your doctor and send you home. In many other countries there is simply nowhere to go.

When I was younger I relied on chatrooms and forums, seeking solace in the experience of others, looking for validation for what was happening in my head. I discovered that I wasn’t alone. Last year I went looking for a mental health community that I could get involved in. I found a chatroom and moderated for a while. Mostly I offered support and advice to people who were having a rough day or in crisis of some sort. At some point a friend of mine left the chat and casually said, oh you might try making one yourself.

Today I run a network of mental health peer support chat servers. We use an application called Discord https://discordapp.com/, that you can use on mobile, in browser, or in Discord’s desktop app. The Haven Support consists of three servers: Haven Lite, which is for people 13 and up who are living with mental illness; Haven Retreat, which is for people 13 and up who are looking for emotional support and a lively community; and The Haven, our main server that is 18 and up and you must be living with or believe you are living with mental illness.

I began The Haven set on cultivating an environment where people could feel less alone, could get help when they otherwise couldn’t, or give back because helping others helped them too. The phrase that came to mind was, “Care when you need it, care for others when you can.” I’m bipolar so I’m used to a rollercoaster of capability. What I imagined for the community was something similar. When you’re down and you need a hand, someone is there to grab you. When you feel like supporting someone, you can reach out and see who reaches back.

We are a tight community that wouldn’t survive without our peer support volunteers and the moderating team. The most important role in the server is Support. Having the Support role means that you receive notifications when someone is asking for help in one of our 1:1 support channels. Without the people who volunteer in the support channels, The Haven wouldn’t be anything like it is today. I am constantly amazed and forever grateful for the time and effort that people are willing to give each other. It is humbling. Our guides, support mods, and moderating team are also all volunteers who donate their time (and sometimes money) to keeping the peace, making sure all three servers remain safe spaces for people to hang out in. I always tell my team that we should strive to do what is best for the greatest amount of people.

The long-term goal for The Haven Support is to become a non-profit that raises money for people anywhere in the world who cannot access timely or effective mental healthcare. I hope that along this journey I am able to spread some awareness about the very real struggles that people with mental illness face day to day. It is still more acceptable for women to receive treatment for mental illness, but men are just as or more likely to be struggling and are more prone to committing violent suicide. Maybe in a few years it will feel more OK to say, “I lived,” after a suicide attempt. Hopefully within the next decade schools will begin to teach mental health as often as they teach physical health. Replace detention with meditation. Let kids play more and let teens sleep later.

Mental illness is above all a physical illness: it is the connections between neurons, the electrical and chemical exchanges in the synapses. As far as science can tell, we do not exist outside of our bodies and our minds are theoretically contained in our brains. Since our brain is just an organ, all malfunctions thereof should be considered like those of any other organ. We do not judge people’s character because they have a broken leg, so nor should anyone judge a person for a depressive episode or a psychotic break. I have borderline personality disorder, but that just means my amygdala is bigger than yours.

The Haven is the result of hard work and good luck. I found an amazing team to work with, lots of loving members who help each other when in need. We are constantly growing, and our newest connection with PsychCentral has really bolstered our position. I look forward to this new chapter in The Haven’s life.

0 notes