#both of us had to leave the house and walk to cvs feeling physically ill likeee

[appleciders]

not to post about grey's anatomy in the year of our lord 2023 but i still cannot believe they had meredith unplug derek without calling his mother or any of his sisters (including the one who lived in. her house.) like. sorry. sorry. two episodes later and amelia is forgiving her?? sorry i'm maybe never speaking to you again ever as long as the earth is turning round

[acyborgkitty]

I just finished watching Jennifer Brea’s incredible documentary Unrest on Netflix. Watch it now. Everyone should. 

My story.

I became ill suddenly, and severely, in September (I think) of 2016. I had just moved to Providence in August from San Francisco, without my partner of 10+ years, to take a teaching job at Brown University. I was teaching a poetry workshop for Frequency Writers, a community writing group, as well as a class I developed for Brown’s Literary Arts department, Experimental Poets of Color. Providence is a city I love, and even though the gig was adjunct (i.e. no job security, no health insurance, etc.) I wanted to be in Providence, and I wanted to be teaching in my fiend. I had health insurance through the ACA at the time, and though I had been diagnosed with several mental illnesses many years before (major depression and general and social anxiety disorders) I felt that my hearth was well managed with the medication I was on. 

I was so happy to be back in Providence, I would walk for hours around the city, sometimes 7 miles in one stretch, listening to music and books. I was thrilled to be teaching the class I desperately wish I had been able to take at any point in my education (which includes three masters degrees), and to be nearer to my friends and family who live in Boston and the surrounding areas. I missed my partner, but we’ve been long distance for much of our relationship (the price of being an artist in academia), and it seemed like he was getting ready to leave San Francisco and head back east himself. 

It was the second meeting, I think, of the Frequency open poetry workshop. It was Wednesday night. I walked to the community gallery space on Carpenter St. where we held our meetings early, unlocked the doors, and made myself some tea. It was a normal night. At some point during the workshop I started to feel exhausted, sick, like I was getting a cold. I pushed through, but took a Lyft home. I woke up the next day and still felt bad. Worse, even. I cancelled that day’s class and stayed in bed. By the next week I still wasn’t feeling any better. I went to the CVS clinic to see if I had the flu, which was going around and apparently quite bad that year. I didn’t, I was told it was just a bad cold, and to take some cough suppressant for the bad cough. 

I thought maybe I wasn’t sleeping well - I was tired all the time - and maybe that was making the cold last longer than normal. I had had (undiagnosed) chronic pain for years which had started in 2007 in my first year in grad school. It was especially bad in my neck and lower back, so I had spent years and a lot of money finding a really good mattress. But I had housemates that were young, noisy, up late, so I invested in an eye mask, noise-cancelling headphones that I slept in, and a white noise machine. I had to teach my classes, but I would show up, teach, and come immediately back home and stay in bed until I had to teach the next class. I spent several weeks like this, thinking it was just a cold, until someone pointed out that colds, even very bad ones, don’t last for several weeks. 

I made an appointment with my primary care doctor in Boston. I’ve struggled finding doctors that take me seriously, like most women and non binary people I imagine, especially with chronic and challenging illnesses. This doctor listened to me, and was gentle, and that was pretty much all I could hope for. He examined me, and tested me for mono, strep, walking pneumonia (which I’d had before, and which was basically the closest comparable experience I had). I had none of them. Then we tested my thyroid, my B12 levels, and my immune functions. He found nothing wrong with me. 

A digression on chronic pain, including a digression on trauma.

I had gone down a diagnostic wormhole several years ago when I’d first started getting tests to see if we could find an underlying cause for my chronic pain. It started in Iowa City, where I did my second graduate degree, and included MRIs, x-rays, testing for immunological disorders, cancers, and basically anything they could think of. Eventually I was referred to a psychologist, because they determined my pain might be a physical manifestation of trauma. And I’d had my share of trauma.

A digression on trauma. I grew up with an emotionally abusive mother who, though never diagnosed, meets all of the criteria for narcissistic personality disorder. I ran away from home as a teenager, living on the streets for most of a year, before re-establishing a relationship with my family, primarily my father who helped me get an apartment, back into school, and eventually into college. At that point my mother re-entered the picture, and my father stopped helping me pay for college, so I worked sometimes as many as 5 jobs while completing my undergraduate degree. I met my partner in undergrad, and he has been an immense help for me in recovering from my trauma, but like so many who were experienced long-term abuse as children, I probably will never be un-affected by my experiences. 

So the trauma angle seemed at least plausible to me, and I went to a year’s worth of sessions with two different people, one a psychologist who specialized in and studied the manifestation of trauma as physical pain, and another who practiced CBT and meditative mindfulness therapy. Both helped immensely with my emotional state, but my pain persisted. So when I moved away for my third graduate degree (my first move to Providence) I transferred care and we started the diagnostics all over again. This time I saved all my records - I have my MRIs and my X-rays still in some box somewhere. We did CAT scans and I went to scores of specialists including  an orthopedic surgeon who recommended surgery; a chiropractor who works with the Boston Ballet Company who diagnosed me as hyper-flexible and gave me strengthening exercises to do that actually seemed to help somewhat; and a neurologist who found nothing wrong with me at all. After four years of referrals and diagnostics, I found a integrative care physician who listened to me break down in her office, prescribed an anti-depressant that is also a sedative to help me fall asleep, and helped me come up with a plan to manage the pain. Massage, chiropractor, walking and stretching, the anti-depressants, 800mg Ibuprofen when I needed it, and Vicodin when nothing else helped. 

After all of this, I wasn’t eager to go down another diagnostic chase. 

Back to 2016.

By this point it was the middle of November. I was so sick that I couldn’t feed myself, I couldn’t do laundry, I couldn’t leave the house except for to teach, and then I spent the next 24-48 hours recovering mostly in bed from the fatigue it caused me. I was experiencing sever cognitive deficiencies, most notably my ability to process and retain information, and my ability to speak. It felt like I had dementia, or what I imagine dementia to feel like. I would read the same sentence over and over again and not understand it, or not remember it when I started the next one. I would fight to get up to go into the kitchen, only to forget what I was there for. Did I need water? Had I fed the cat? Did I need to use the bathroom? My father and brother were taking turns coming down to my house to prepare food for me for the week, and to get my groceries, and to do my laundry. I needed help with everything. I could do one, maybe two things in a given day. Those things included brushing my teeth and feeding the cat. 

I couldn’t even research my condition, given my cognitive symptoms. I was angry, and many days I felt like it would be better to die. I couldn’t read or write, so I took up embroidery as a way to try to keep my life worth living, a way to keep making art. 

In January, 2017 when my partner came to visit for his winter break, we went to my doctor together. I couldn’t remember the questions he wanted me to ask, and I couldn’t have remembered the answers anyway, and I certainly couldn’t get myself there and back without help, so him coming was the only way I was going to get there. I don’t remember much of the appointment, but I do remember my doctor suggested that I might be experiencing a severe prolonged depressive episode. Based on my previous diagnosis of depression. Based on the fact that there seemed to be nothing wrong with me, physically. 

My partner didn’t buy it. I sort of did, or at least I didn’t have the energy to dispute it. My partner started researching, aggressively, and a few months later he came up with something. Maybe, he said, it was my copper IUD. Maybe I had copper toxicity. My doctor said that was impossible, that the IUD can’t cause copper toxicity, but my symptoms aligned, and there are thousands of women on the internet who have experienced copper poisoning from their IUD. So one day in April, my best friend took me to the hospital and I had mine removed. The next day, I felt better. Not 100% better, but maybe 40% better. The next day my partner and I went for a walk, the first time in almost a year I had felt able to do that. 

I kept feeling better. Not getting better, but I stayed feeling about 40% better. A few days I felt almost entirely myself, but then the next day I would be exhausted again. I could do things, but if I pushed too hard, I would collapse and pay for it for days. I learned about spoons, and disability culture and activism. I learned about setting my limits, and prioritizing. I said no to almost everything, because almost nothing was worth the risk of incapacitation for me. 

My brain started to recover too - I could read. I started writing in my journal, not poetry but at least writing of some sort. I felt hopeful that I was recovering. We bought a house, a big old Victorian that needs TLC, and I moved in there with 4 other queer artist friends. I didn’t get the tenure-track job at Brown, but I did get another adjunct offer to teach Book Arts, and I accepted - something I definitely couldn’t have done at my sickest, given that it’s a 15-hr a week studio course. 

But now, a year post-removal, my memory is still a problem. And I still get exhausted a lot. A lot more than I used to, before I got sick. But the anecdotal evidence on the copper IUD detox forums says that it could take years to fully process the toxicity out of your system. The most severe days might be attributed to “dumps” - when the body releases stored copper all at once - and those days feel like my worst ones did when I was at my sickest. I had thought that when I felt better, I would start to do things again, go to poetry readings, have dinner with friends, go for walks, be part of the community I’d moved here because I loved. But I still say no to most things, or write them down in my calendar and don’t go. I know that if I push too hard, I’ll pay for it for days. And “too hard” is a moving target - it changes seemingly randomly, and I don’t know when I’m approaching it until it’s too late. Then I’m in bed for days. 

I’ve been having an especially bad few days. Maybe a week. Maybe more. My memory, my brain isn’t good at sequence anymore, or keeping track of time. It’s frustrating, because I can’t keep track of my own symptoms. Sometimes I remember to write them down, and sometimes I forget, or am too tired. And there’s no one here to watch me, or help me - my partner doesn’t move here until June. Today, for example, I got up at 11 and I fed the cats. And I was so tired that I lay down, and just...passed out. I don’t remember falling back asleep, but then I woke up at 6 pm. I fed the cats again, and then had to go back to bed. The last week has been similar: do just what is necessary, then back to bed. It feels like I’m sick all over again. 

I have had my period, which can be associated with copper dumps. I’m not saying it’s not copper “dumps,” or that it’s isn’t related to copper poisoning. But I watched Unrest and thought: “maybe this is what I have, too?” So many of those scenes were heartbreakingly familiar. I wept through most of it, because Jennifer was saying the things that I’d been feeling. About feeling like it was a good day when all I had done was survived it. About feeling like my life had ended, and that I had a new one now, one that sometimes didn’t feel like a life at all, but one that I still didn’t want to give up. About not being listened to, about not being believed. I wept at the thought of having a diagnosis, after all this time. Of maybe finally at least knowing what is wrong with me. Maybe.

But I don’t know how to find out. I don’t currently have health insurance, because the premium on my ACA policy from last year went up by 50% and I couldn’t afford it anymore, and adjuncts at Brown who teach fewer than 4 classes a year don’t get health insurance, and I’m only teaching 3, and I am barely able to do that; this semester teaching 2 classes took every bit of energy I had. I will get health insurance starting in September when my partner starts his new job in Providence, and maybe then I can get some answers. If I have the energy for it.

My story doesn’t have an ending yet. I’m in bed, as I have been all day. Writing this was the most writing I’ve done since I got sick. I’m grateful for that. It feels like, thanks to the work that Jennifer has done, an important story is at least starting to be told. Not just mine, but one that is shared by millions. 

[isabellaklein97]

Cat Urine Mucus Staggering Cool Tips

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Cat Spraying No More Free

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Cat Peeing Frequently After Catheter

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[garden-ghoul]

fellowship of the bloggening, part 5

“I think Frodo is going to get stabbed”

by

A KNIFE IN THE DARK

ooohohoo I wrote that blurb before I even looked to remember what the chapter title was. Fate. So we rejoin Freder... Frickerick... Fredericton... Fredegar! Mr Fredegar Bolger, who wakes and finds a thin, menacing voice at his door telling him to “Open up, in the name of Mordor!” Sorry that’s really dorky. Anyway Fredegar books it like a mile to the nearest house and lies on the floor wheezing “I don’t have it!” until people figure out someone’s after him and sound the alarm. The Nazgul leave Buckland; “Sauron will sort out the little folk later.” Holy shit.

That same night, Frodo wakes and finds Strider looking curiously alert in the corner of the room. Does he... sleep? Do Dunedain not have to sleep? Or has he trained himself to not sleep because The Enemy is constantly setting traps for him? Anyway they all get up and go check on their room (I guess they are sleeping in Strider’s room) and yep, someone has definitely been there trying to murder them. Also, their ponies are gone, and since as Strider says they can’t count on getting anything to eat between here and Rivendell (??? you’re a ranger dude, can’t you HUNT?) they need to find a horse SOMEWHERE to help them carry. I’m hoping Tom Bombadil’s fairy pony is still lurking somewhere. Waiting. just so you all know I picture it as this awful thing.

‘How much are you prepared to carry on your backs?' [asks Strider]

'As much as we must,' said Pippin with a sinking heart, but trying to show that he was tougher than he looked (or felt).

Aw Pippin. Oh, great, the ponies actually did end up following Fatty Lumpkin home, and Tom Bombadil eventually brought them back to the innkeeper, so all’s well that ends well. Meantime our heroes have to make to with a very expensive and unhappy pony sold to them by Bill Ferny, aka that guy who’s probably a spy of The Enemy. And they set off under the eyes of the entire village, since they’ve made such a spectacle of themselves what with Frodo’s vanishing act, everyone’s horses getting stolen, and the mysterious Strider joining their party. Even Bill Ferny comes to sneer at them; Sam hits him in the face with an apple. That’s our Sam!! He’s so petty, I love him. It’s a waste of a good apple, though, he says.

We veer off the road and take a shortcut through a marsh to throw off pursuers. Strider is very good at knowing where to go! He says some paranoid stuff that makes Sam anxious, blah blah, small chance of ever meeting Gandalf on Weathertop Hill, more sheltered approach, blah blah bird spies.

Pippin declared that Frodo was looking twice the hobbit that he had been.

'Very odd,' said Frodo, tightening his belt, 'considering that there is actually a good deal less of me. I hope the thinning process will not go on indefinitely, or I shall become a wraith.'

'Do not speak of such things!' said Strider quickly, and with surprising earnestness.

He is afraid Frodo will Succumb to the Ring and become a Nazgul... He mentions the history of the old fort on Weathertop (Amon Sul) and Sam recites a fragment of a poem about Gil-galad, translated by Bilbo. Apparently in poems whenever you say ‘Mordor’ you have to then remind everyone that it is ‘where the shadows are.’ When you’re not reciting a poem, though, don’t say Mordor! (Strider urges). I don’t know what he thinks is going to happen. The bird spies weren’t paying attention until they heard the name of Mordor but now, oh boy!

An aside, with all this talk of ancient history. I’m wondering why Tolkien decided that all the ancient ancient history should have happened on another part of the world entirely, now sunk under the sea. I think it would be really neat to have, like, 6000 year old ruins/settlements. That sort of Rome feel where you’re going about your business in the city, or taking a train through the countryside, and you pass something so old it would take an archaeologist to guess what it was. And then you pop into the CVS next door or whatever for a pack of gum. Pipeweed. Whatever.

On top of the hill they find evidence of an enormous fire, and a stone that probably has G3 scratched on it in runes, indicating that Gandalf was here on October third. It kind of ruins my immersion that they have October on Middle Earth... Strider comes to the conclusion that Gandalf was attacked here and left in a great hurry. One assumes that he retaliated with fire, since it’s kind of his thing. We spot some Nazgul on the road and decide to hunker down in a cave on the hillside, since moving would only make us more vulnerable and visible. Sam tries to tell more of the lay of Gil-galad, but Strider tells him it’s not the place or time for it (???) and he should wait til they get to Rivendell (???). And so he tells a bit of the Lay of Leithian instead. Interestingly, he doesn’t sing the Lay, but chants it. I’m not sure if lays are supposed to be sung normally and he just doesn’t think much of his voice. That would be cute characterization. He’s kind of shy.

He talks a little about how Luthien was Elrond’s uhh great great grandmother (or whatever, I didn’t count) and absolutely does not mention that he is also descended from her. Frodo thinks his voice sounds rich and deep and I am inferring he also thinks Strider looks very beautiful is he is telling ancient lore that no-one else knows.

But black riders show up, and though Frodo resists he is Compelled to put on the Ring. He sees the Nazgul in great detail, and manages to take the Ring off, get out his sword, and mumble Varda’s Sindarin name as they lunge, before he faints. Good multitasking, Frodo!

FLIGHT TO THE FORD

We learn  that the Nazgul have been somewhat driven off NOT by Frodo attempting to stab the Witch King but by him muttering the name of the light Vala. Now they’re lurking. Oh Frodo has a cursed wound now though; the Nazgul are expecting it to incapacitate him completely soon. BUT Strider knows some medicine, slightly magic medicine, which he explains in endearingly complete detail.

Anyway they put Frodo on the pony (who has recovered from Ferny’s ill treatment somewhat!) and run for it. Frodo is stoic in his pain; everyone else is edgy, tired, and miserable. They make it to the bridge over the Hoarwell River, where Strider was expecting to encounter Nazgul. He finds a beryl (also known as an elf-stone, puzzlingly), and takes it as a sign that it’s safe to cross. Maybe some elves are looking out for them? Frodo asks about the ruins they are riding through (destroyed by Angmarians) and Strider tells that he learned a lot of his lore at Rivendell: “I dwelt there once, and still I return when I may.There my heart is; but it is not my fate to sit in peace, even in the fair house of Elrond.” Aw. You got some kind of a prophecy complex there, Strider? Also, even Strider gets lost sometimes, when taking extra sneaky paths to throw off pursuit. Frodo can hardly move but has to walk anyway; our heroes are off-course and nearly out of food. They’re so off-course that they come upon the trolls Bilbo fought during his adventure--I don’t think this will be very important, but it gives a nice sense of continuity, and a reminder that hobbits can go on adventures and come out all right.

Later that day they meet Glorfindel, lately of Rivendell, on the road; turns out he was the one who chased the Nazgul away from the Hoarwell bridge. Elrond has been sending out riders to look for our party. He gives Frodo his horse, for speedy getaways. Frodo, the darling, tries to say he doesn’t want to get away and leave his friends behind, but Glorfindel points out that he’s the only reason they’re in danger, and if he gets away they’ll be safer. Frodo shuts up. They almost manage to reach the ford at Bruinen before the Nazgul come upon them; Frodo rides hell for leather but some of them are lying in wait!

'The Ring! The Ring!' they cried with deadly voices; and immediately their leader urged his horse forward into the water, followed closely by two others.

'By Elbereth and Lúthien the Fair,' said Frodo with a last effort, lifting up his sword, 'you shall have neither the Ring nor me!'

My boy! So the river surges up and carries off the Nazgul (all nine!) while they’re trying to cross (later we learn Elrond has total command over the river; sick). And I realize Arwen isn’t going to be in this at all. It’s weird that they turned Glorfindel into her for the movies.

HEY NOW IT’S TIME FOR BOOK 2! And the first chapter:

MANY MEETINGS

Frodo wakes in a warm comfy bed, and Gandalf is there to tell him what’s going on. Since we already know, I’m omitting most of that, except this part:

'I am glad,' said Frodo. 'For I have become very fond of Strider. Well, fond is not the right word. I mean he is dear to me; though he is strange, and grim at times. In fact, he reminds me often of you. I didn't know that any of the Big People were like that.’

HAH. He is dear to Frodo. They will learn to understand each other. And then they will tenderly hold hands. Anyway Gandalf gives some more exposition, ho hum. Frodo wakes later SO READY for feasting and stories; Sam comes in.

He ran to Frodo and took his left hand, awkwardly and shyly. He stroked it gently and then he blushed and turned hastily away.

`Hullo, Sam!' said Frodo.

`It's warm!' said Sam. `Meaning your hand, Mr. Frodo. It has felt so cold through the long nights. But glory and trumpets!'

Oh noooo that’s super gay. Sam is such a sweetheart, MOSTLY with Frodo. I get the impression he has had a crush for a very long time. Frodo and Sam find their other hobbit pals; Pippin is filled with sass and sarcasm, as usual, and they are both very glad to see Frodo alive and well. And just in time for the feast, too! We go to the feast, and hear a bunch of physical descriptions of the people sitting at the high table with Frodo (Elrond, Glorfindel, Gandalf, and Arwen). We learn, in a kind of ambient information way, that “Elladan and Elrohir were out upon errantry: for they rode often far afield with the Rangers of the North, forgetting never their mother's torment in the dens of the orcs.” Holy shit what? I don’t remember anything about Celebrian getting, uh, kidnapped and tortured?

Frodo is actually sitting next to Gloin, which is cool! He is described as a dwarf of great importance, princely, with white hair. Frodo is very curious to hear any news he can give, and Gloin is happy to get the chance to infodump to such a polite listener! What brings him here is rather grim, though--three of his friends are missing. He declines to say more; I expect we’ll learn of it during the council. After eating everyone goes to the fire/storytelling hall, where Bilbo is huddled up real small composing a song (apparently Aragorn sometimes helps him compose songs, very cute). After a while Bilbo sings the song they were coming up with (it’s about Earendil) and then gets indignant when the elves can’t tell whose parts are whose. “Sheep look different to other sheep!” they say. Rather insulting, although I’m sure elves never mean to be especially condescending.

And now, because I am very curious and haven’t totally worn myself out for the day, let’s read

THE COUNCIL OF ELROND

There are lots of weird people at the council! Representatives from several elf settlements as well as Gloin and his son Gimli, and Boromir who is simply from “the South.” The first news we hear is of what happened to Balin, Ori, and Oin--they took a party of dwarves and went to try to reclaim Moria, feeling that they were very prosperous where they were in Erebor. AND that messengers from Sauron came, asking for the friendship of the dwarves (offering rings of power), and their help catching a certain thief. They fear war on their eastern border, and that the human king nearby might yield to Sauron’s wishes; so they have come to seek advice, and to warn Bilbo.

Next Elrond tells the history of the Ring... “but since that history is elsewhere recounted, even as Elrond himself set it down in his books of lore, it is not here recalled.” A few things of interest: we used to have Minas Ithil and Minas Anor, yes--Minas Ithil was taken and became Minas Morgul, the tower of sorcery. Minas Anor became Minas Tirith (II), the tower of guard. I don’t think they mentioned that in any of the third-age supplementals. Boromir is sort of indignant at the implication that Gondor’s strength and splendor are waning; he would like everyone to know that Gondor is the chiefest bulwark against Sauron in the south, thank you very much! Also he says that his brother had a prophetic poem dream that said to go find Elrond at Imladris and seek advice. Because it was too dangerous for his brother and he wanted to protect him, Boromir came on his own, a journey of almost four months! Brother mentions in his speech: 3. Bilbo gets defensive on Aragorn’s behalf and recites his own poem (“all that is gold does not glitter...”). It’s like a really low-key rap battle. Aw and Aragorn is down on his appearance again, he says he doesn’t look much like the beautiful statues of Isildur and Elendil. Darling we’ve got to do something about that low self-esteem.

Gandalf then tells of his quest to figure out what ring Bilbo truly had. Secret library science! The most thrilling kind of quest! Aragorn puts in a bit about how he found Gollum and brought him to Mirkwood so Gandalf could question him, and the Mirkwood elves hold him... which leads us to Legolas’ reason for being here--Gollum has escaped!

‘We had not the heart to keep him ever in dungeons under the earth, where he would fall back into his old black thoughts.'

'You were less tender to me,' said Glóin with a flash of his eyes.

They kept bringing him outside to climb trees, so he could get a little exercise, that’s so good of them. BUT he was better at climbing than elves, oops. So while they were waiting for him to come down his guards were attacked by orcs, and when the battle was over he was gone! Meanwhile, Gandalf was sent for by Saruman, via their fellow wizard Radagast the Brown. He goes to Orthanc and is immediately greeted with great rudeness and contempt by Saruman.

'I looked then and saw that his robes, which had seemed white, were not so, but were woven of all colours. and if he moved they shimmered and changed hue so that the eye was bewildered.

' "I liked white better," I said.

Lmao nice Gandalf. Anyway they stick him on top of the tower, and he realizes only now that Isengard is full of wolves and orcs and nasty smoke. Really, dude? Thankfully Radagast is still sending messengers to Orthanc with news; one of them is Gwaihir the current king of eagles, who is able to bear Gandalf away. I love how extra that is, sending the king of eagles as a courier to tell someone the Nine are riding around the Shire. Gwaihir takes Gandalf to Rohan (which apparently pays a yearly tribute of horses to Mordor!), where he finds that “the lies of Saruman are already at work.” The king still tells him to take a horse, though he wants nothing to do with Gandalf; this is how Gandalf gets Shadowfax, a horse with chameleon abilities who is also very fast. Boromir very much doubts that the Rohirrim would buy their lives with horses, but Gandalf and Aragorn sort of condescendingly tell him not to be so sure. It’s interesting how Tolkien is setting up Boromir as this naive guy who thinks his kingdom is the only one helping people and that things are still going well. This in contrast to Gandalf and Aragorn, who find the current situation extremely dire.

I also want to talk about Elrond’s editorial comment on Saruman: “It is perilous to study too deeply the arts of the Enemy, for good or for ill.” Once again, even having knowledge of how Sauron works is corrupting. I’m not sure if this is a thing Sauron does by magic, or if Tolkien is suggesting that knowledge and study are inherently a corrupting force! We can see it parallels the way Sauron traditionally swayed people to his side--through crafting knowledge. But in this case he wasn’t even there to earn Saruman’s trust. Saruman was Too Wise (or really, Too Clever and Not Wise Enough). Tolkien’s bias seems to be toward those who don’t seek knowledge, and rather take action. That’s a little simplified but it’s the best I can do right now, since I’m a little fatigued from spending like 3 hours on this liveblog. We’ll be done soon.

Now we are discussing what is to be done with the Ring; Glorfindel briefly suggests giving it to Tom Bombadil, since his domain is impenetrable and the Ring has no effect on him. But he doesn’t care about it, and he’d just lose it. I love that this is a solution they considered. Elrond eventually decides that they have to either destroy it or send it to Aman--and Valinor will not have a piece of evil that belongs to Middle Earth. Boromir, naturally, wants to use it, but in the end they decide they’ll have to cast it into Mount Doom. Bilbo volunteers (we all know why) and is shot down. Frodo volunteers, and Elrond says to him,

'I think that this task is appointed for you, Frodo; and that if you do not find a way, no one will. This is the hour of the Shire-folk, when they arise from their quiet fields to shake the towers and counsels of the Great.’

I like this image a lot.