#but it feels so miserable when those steps are so small and far between

[xivu-arath]

it's so unfair that understanding what you're feeling and why you're feeling it doesn't just immediately stop it forever

I used to feel so confident and capable in my writing. now I'm steeping in anxiety and self-doubt and nervous comparisons and it sucks!!

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Misery (logan One Shot)

Summary: Logan blames you for a lot of your own misery

Warnings: Angst, rough commication

WC: 1.1K

Read on Ao3!

The rain poured relentlessly outside the small cabin, each droplet tapping against the window like a thousand whispered reminders of everything you had lost. You sat by the fire, arms wrapped around yourself, feeling colder inside than the storm raging beyond the walls. It was supposed to be different this time. You had told yourself that over and over again. But now, as the night crept in, you realized that nothing had really changed.

And that’s when you heard it—the door creaking open, the familiar heavy footsteps, water dripping from boots you didn’t need to look at to recognize.

Logan.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t face him yet. The weight of your words sat heavy on your chest, the confession you had been holding back for far too long. He was silent behind you, but you could feel him watching you, feel the tension crackling in the air between you like lightning ready to strike.

“Y/N,” his voice was rough, the way it always was, like gravel scraping against the bottom of a whiskey glass. “We need to talk.”

You swallowed hard, keeping your gaze fixed on the fire. “There’s nothing left to talk about, Logan.”

He stepped closer, but you still couldn’t look at him. The room felt too small, like it couldn’t hold the weight of both your pain and his. He always carried so much darkness with him, and for so long, you had tried to shoulder it too. But it was breaking you.

“There’s a lot to talk about,” he insisted, his voice dipping lower, the frustration already starting to edge in. “You’ve been pullin’ away, and you won’t tell me why.”

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms as you tried to keep your voice steady. “I didn’t need to tell you. You already knew.”

He stopped moving, his breath hitching in his chest. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

Finally, you turned to face him, the firelight casting a warm glow on his features. He looked tired, like he always did, carrying the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. But this time, he wasn’t just tired. He looked… lost.

“I’ve been miserable,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips. “For months, Logan. And I still love you. You've made me feel so lonely and miserable lately.”

His eyes darkened, his jaw clenching as he processed what you had said. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, like he wasn’t sure what to say, how to defend himself against the truth you had laid bare. You’d always been the one person who could disarm him, and tonight was no different.

“You’re miserable?” he asked, voice thick with emotion he was trying so hard to keep in check. “You think I don’t know what that’s like? You think this is easy for me?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you replied, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. “I know your life is hard. I’ve seen the things you carry with you every day. But Logan, you shut me out. You don’t let me in anymore.”

He stared at you, those piercing amber eyes searching yours for something—an answer, forgiveness, understanding. But you had none left to give.

“You think I wanna be like this?” he snapped, voice rising. “I don’t get a choice. I got demons, Y/N. Demons that don’t leave me alone no matter what I do. You knew that when you got involved with me.”

“I did know,” you shot back, your voice breaking. “But I didn’t know that you’d use those demons as an excuse to push me away! Every time I tried to help, you shut me down. I’ve been here, Logan. Right here, waiting for you to let me in, but all you did was pull away further. You weren’t just miserable, you made me miserable too.”

The words hung heavy in the air between you, both of you breathing hard from the intensity of the confrontation. Logan’s expression faltered, his tough exterior cracking just for a second, revealing the vulnerability underneath. But it was fleeting, quickly masked by the anger and frustration he always defaulted to when things got too hard.

“So what, you’re sayin’ it’s my fault? I never asked you to stay,” he growled, turning away from you, fists clenched at his sides.

That hit you harder than you expected. The words knocked the wind out of you, and you had to take a moment to gather yourself, to stop the tears threatening to spill. He could be so cruel when he was angry, even when he didn’t mean to be.

“No, you never asked me to stay,” you whispered, voice shaking. “But I did. Because I loved you. Even when it hurt, even when I couldn’t breathe because of how much it hurt, I stayed. For you.”

Logan’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him as quickly as it had ignited. He stood there, back turned to you, silent. For a moment, you thought he might just leave—walk out into the rain like he always did when things got too heavy, too real. But this time, he didn’t move.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, raw. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to let you in without hurtin’ you.”

You stepped closer, feeling the pain in his words, the truth in them. “I don’t need you to be perfect, Logan. I never needed that. I just needed you to try.”

He turned to look at you, and for the first time in what felt like months, he wasn’t hiding behind his anger, or his guilt, or his fear. He was just… Logan. The man you had fallen in love with, even when it felt like the world was falling apart around you both.

“I was miserable,” you repeated softly, stepping closer until you could feel the warmth of his body, despite the distance still between you. “And I still loved you. But I can’t keep doing this if you’re not willing to try. I can’t love you alone.”

His eyes softened, and he reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “I don’t want you to be miserable, darlin’,” he murmured. “I never wanted that.”

“I know,” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek as you squeezed his hand. “But you have to decide if you want me to stay. Because I can’t do this if we’re both broken.”

Logan’s thumb traced the back of your hand, his roughness tempered by a gentleness that was so rare, so fleeting. “I don’t want to lose you,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

You looked up at him, your heart aching with the weight of everything you both had been through. “Then don’t.”

This one-shot dives into the raw emotions of a fractured relationship, with both characters feeling the weight of their shared struggles, and the pain of love that isn’t always enough to mend what’s broken.

[ikinremu]

Would love some flirty fluff between Tommy Shelby and an innocent maid that he loves making flustered 🤭🥰

Hi anon! Thank you for requesting, sorry this is only a little drabble, but I hope you enjoy! <3

Mr Shelby

Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

Thomas Shelby wasn’t easily amused. However, it was an entirely different scenario when it came to you. It was simple, truly, you were just so easy to fluster - and it was a sight he’d never grow sick of.

Each time was just as perfect as the last. It took little to no time for you to become irreversibly flustered; stumbling a little over your words, feeling warm under your skin. And, God, was he intoxicated by it. You just looked so sweet in your uniform, it was completely fucking unbearable. Especially once you became embarrassed by his words, and his words alone. And he knew it’d be successful each time, he could bring you to the exact point he wanted you at - knowing you enjoyed it just as much as he did.

Most days, you found yourself lingering the longest inside his office, especially when he was present.

Typically, Tommy wouldn’t permit a maid to clean his office while he was working, but he had no intention of denying his soft spot for you.

Besides, it was entertaining enough to watch you make your way across the room, crouching beneath coffee tables with your duster and standing on the nearest chairs in order to reach the furthest corners of the ceiling.

His jaw ticked a little, observing the effort you poured into dusting the bookshelves across from his desk. Despite the extent he’d been trying, Tommy just couldn’t focus on the work before him. His gaze was glued to you; every inch of you.

He took a small sip from his whiskey glass, still attempting to focus on the papers before him and failing miserably. He knew of far more enjoyable pastime, and once that was an option it felt like nothing else was.

Oblivious to what played through Tommy’s mind, you continued on, peering up to the highest shelf, struggling a little to creep your tools into every nook and cranny of the wood.

Although it suddenly seemed you wouldn’t need to struggle much longer.

“You missed a spot, love.” Tommy’s voice brushed over the skin of your neck, his tone both low and perfectly steady. He was unfaltering as ever, demeanour never once shattering, though yours was entirely different. You couldn’t help the sensation of breath catching in your throat as you adjusted to the abrupt feeling of his hands ghosting over your hips.

You stumbled for words for a short moment, pressing the feathered, frayed tip of the duster into the furthest stretch, “Shouldn’t you be working, Mr Shelby?”

He let out a breathy chuckle, palms still floating by your hips as you stepped down once more, “Love, I find you far more interesting than my work.”

You felt heat swarm your cheeks, overcome by the compliment - and undeniably so - especially coming from your boss, who was labelled as a stern man by most.

“I.. find that difficult to believe, Mr Shelby.”

His lips cracked a pleased smile as you turned around, back to stability on the flat of your feet, a smirk painting his mouth.

“I mean it.” Tommy kept on, “You’re much prettier than those papers, eh?”

You felt your heart thump faster beneath the wall of your chest, driven by the heat of his eyes studying your face, not leaving for a single moment. He possessed a confidence you couldn’t grasp, unable to maintain the eye contact he was providing.

“Thank you.” Was all you could muster, “But I’ll get in bother if I distract you from your work.”

“By me?” He chuckles once again, “You’re enough of a distraction already, darlin.”

You peered back at him, his hands tucked deeply within his trouser pockets.

“I am? I’m sorry, Mr Shelby, I didn’t intend to..” You began, immediately apologetic despite his unbothered - more so amused - nature.

“Oh, don’t apologise sweetheart.” He assured, placing a warm, rather callous hand to your cheek, brushing the pad of his thumb over your flushed skin purposefully slowly, eyes flickering over your features, “It’s fucking impossible to keep my eyes off you when you look so pretty in that uniform, eh sweetheart?”

You glanced down at the outfit you adorned, hardly seeing the appeal he clearly was, stomach fluttering as his callous thumb swept across your cheek once more.

“..Thank you, Mr Shelby.” You slipped a shallow breath, basking in the feeling of his touch against your skin - subtle as it was, it was more than enough to make your stomach flutter.

“C’mon we’re past that now.” He encouraged, his hand vanishing from your skin - leaving you quietly disappointed, “Don’t need to be so shy around me, love, just call me Tommy.”

“Of course, Tommy.” You gave a simple nod, beyond happy to comply with his inviting request.

He chuckled, snaking his now vacant hand back within his - blatantly expensive - trouser pockets, “Better, I’m sure you’ll be saying it again soon, eh?”

Your eyes widened slightly, unsure if you’d interpreted him correctly.

Tommy examined the bashful, yet puzzled, expression painting your face, endlessly entertained. He raised both brows, supporting faux confusion himself.

“When you clean my office, of course.” He spoke, as if to settle the very conflict he himself had planted, and purposefully so.

The office. The very office you really ought to return your focus to, and certainly not toward your own personal interests.

Once again, you returned to an activity you found yourself committed to rather often; dismissing your unprofessional thoughts. You were fully aware, with no shadow of a doubt, it’d reoccur if the pair of you kept this up - not that you wished for it to stop, not at all.

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! I’m working through a lot of requests so thank you for your patience if you’ve sent one in <3

[theaawalker]

Something to Feel, Something Real [Finnick Odair Smut]

Pairing: Finnick Odair x male!reader Song Inspo: Call Me By Your Name by Lil Nas X Word Count: 1,394 Summary: You've seen Finnick around, often through pitying eyes, but haven't spoken to him. The times you have seen, he's either with a client (flirting) or leaving them (shaking with shame, rage, and disgust). You decide to make him feel something real and mutually pleasurable. Warnings: smut, oral (male receiving), emotional build-up, MxM, one-shot, begging, substance usage, cursing, narrator pov Masterlist: see fandoms (pc-friendly) A/N: This is not attached to "I Promise", my other Finnick imagine. The second part will be here shortly. Just adding a little twist to the end. *smirks villainously* In the meantime, here's some gay smut to tickle your tentacles. Peep the easter egg tho ;)

You and Finnick have your first real conversation when he’s arriving back at the Tribute center one night after spending an upsetting few hours with one of Snow’s clients. He’s in a foul mood, anger bordering on despair and self-hatred, still feeling the ghosts of unwanted fingers on his body, when he steps into the elevator and finds you smoking a joint.

"Shit, shit!” you curse, hiding the joint up your sleeve and coughing, waving your hands in the air like you can disperse the smell. “Sorry, someone was smoking in here before,” you lie.

Finnick can’t help himself. He laughs. “Give me a hit and I won’t tell anyone.”

You share the joint in the elevator, not hitting any button to go up to either of your floors. The chatter comes easy with both of you, but it’s not long before you’re stepping over friendly small talk into a genuine conversation about the wild shit you’ve seen in the Capitol and in your case, at home, too. District 2 loves to rub elbows with the Capitol, something you despise. Your comparisons and imitations have Finnick barking laughter.

During one of the lulls in conversation, he takes in your face and form, basking in the fact that he’s responsible for the smile on your face right now. He’d like to get to know you better, and fuck it, maybe he’s a little horny right now, too.

“Come to my floor?” he asks, the joint between his fingers. He takes a slow drag, watching you.

You stare at his lips as he exhales. God, the high must be hitting because all you want to do is cover his lips with yours. Like, it’s the only thought rattling around in your peanut brain. His lips curl into a smile and--Oh, shit. He asked you a question.

“Sure,” you answer.

One expression Finnick identifies all too easily is lust. And he sees it plain on your face. “Then let’s go.”

Finnick leads you to the lounge on the fourth floor, well away from the bedrooms. The giant windows let in light from the Capitol’s nightlife.

“I miss the stars,” you say once you’re both settled next to each other on a loveseat. “It’s not like there are a ton of them back home with all the light pollution, but still. There are more than here.”

Finnick gazes at the dark sky. “You should come to District 4 sometime. You can see the entire Milky Way. And instead of listening to all those cars you listen to the ocean. And you can forget everything for a few moments.”

Despite the lounge being much, much larger than the elevator, this feels far more intimate. Finnick and you face each other, your eyes flicking to his lips. He’s the Capitol sex icon and has always acted like an absolute peacock on camera, but you’ve seen him trying so hard mentoring his own tributes and taking care of Mags. There’s a lot more depth to him than what the cameras show. And you like the bits he shows off camera far, far more. Those bits are coming out tonight; a funny, deeply caring, deeply hurt young man with a vast capacity for kindness.

When he came into the elevator, he looked positively miserable and so, so defeated. Like he had been stomped on and ground down. You wanted to make him smile, a real smile, but then you couldn’t stop at just one, and now here you are. You know about his and Snow’s “arrangement”. You also know you can treat him better than any of the “clients” do even when they’re trying, and you wonder if he’ll let you treat him like that.

Your intense stare has Finnick shifting, feeling a few degrees hotter than before.

“Can I kiss you?” you finally ask, voice low. If there’s one thing being a Career has taught you, it’s to grab at any opportunity you see. Finnick swallows. “Yes,” he croaks. “Please.”

You lean forward and capture his lips, one hand on the back of the couch and the other securely in your lap. You’re close and leaning into him, but not holding him. The restraint surprises him at first. But he’s grateful for it and he relaxes. He sinks into the kiss, his own hands venturing to fist in your shirt collar and hold you there. You let him lead, let him feel your arms and touch your face and chest, but never move your own hands from their position, just pour your all into your lips against his.

The lights flick on. You and Finnick snap apart like a rubber band snapping back into shape. It’s Mags. She looks between you both with wide eyes before a mischevious smile breaks across her face. “No, no, Mags,” Finnick protests.

She winks, grinning, and flicks the lights back off. She exits.

Finnick groans. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

You grin and wink. “Well, if you’re never going to hear the end of it, we may as well make it worth it, right?”

His seafoam eyes lock on yours, an eyebrow lifting. He smirks. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

Leaning forward, you whisper in his ear, “I’d like to suck you off.”

All thoughts leave his head and all blood flows straight to his groin. For once, he’s speechless. No one has ever offered this before. All the people he spends time with want his attention on them, want him to fawn over them, wants him to boost their egos with his attention. And if they did off, he’d wonder what they want in return. Exactly like he’s wondering right now. He should ask, but his brain is too focused on the thought of your lips around his dick. Does he really care what happens after as long as he gets what he wants, first?

At his silence you withdraw. “Only if you want me to, of course,” you add. The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable.

“Yes,” he hastily replies. “Yes. I’d love you to suck me off.”

That affirmation is all you need. You kneel in front of him and slowly unzip his pants, revealing plain boxers beneath. Finnick watches you, his heart pounding. With agonizingly slow movements, you touch his length and guide it through the gap in his boxers. He grips the cushions of the loveseat as you lick up the underside of his member, from the base to the tip. Your tongue is deliciously wet. Finally, you take Finnick into your mouth and work him slow, slow, slow. One hand balls into a fist on his leg and the other slips in your hair. He moans, a low sound that barely reaches your ears.

You can’t believe no one has ever done this before. You’ve barely started, and he looks absolutely wrecked and so goddamned pretty. His head falls back against the loveseat and he lets out a shaky breath.

Fisting him, you take your mouth off to quip, “Have I made the Finnick Odair speechless?”

He huffs a laugh, meeting your gaze. “Just wait until I have you on your back and���oh.” His words end in a strangled moan as you suck his head. You ease him a little bit further into the rhythm before you deep-throat him. By then both hands tangle in your hair and he’s whimpering and trembling, muscles taut. “Fuck. Fuck.” It’s so warm, so hot, feels so, so good.

He comes shortly after, cock hot and stiff in your mouth, his entire body rigid. As he comes down from his high he melts into the couch, both his hands gently tugging at your head. “Get up,” he pants. You comply and stand, bracing your arms on either side of his head, and kiss him. There it is again, that restraint.

“Touch me,” he moans. “Please.” He might combust if you don’t.

You obey and cup his cheeks. His hands mimic yours, holding your face to his while you kiss. His stomach feels warm and body completely relaxed, for once completely in the moment, his brain pleasantly quiet.

He opens his eyes. “What can I do for you?”

You press your forehead to his, cheeks hot. God, there’s so much you want to do to him, with him, but not tonight. “You can go to bed and get a full night’s sleep,” you answer.

What? He knows he heard you right, but what? “That’s not what I meant,” he says hesitantly. You chuckle and kiss his cheek.

“I know.” You brush back a lock of his hair. “And as much as I’d like to fuck you or you fuck me and make out well into the morning, you taking care of yourself is what I want the most. Can you promise me you’ll do that?”

Finnick can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “I promise.” He feels almost bashful. How do you know what he needs? Beneath your soft gaze he feels vulnerable and open, and while it’s foreign, it’s not unwelcome.

You smile at him, a brilliant smile that lights up the night. “Thank you.”

You’re thanking him. You just gave him a blowjob and you’re thanking him. Who the fuck are you?

After exchanging a few more minutes of sweet nothings, you leave to head to your floor. Finnick stays on the loveseat a while longer, smiling, watching the twinkling lights of the Capitol. The content expression gradually falls from his face and he sinks into the reality that is his life. At least this has been a sliver of good in what is his constant parade of masking for the Capitol. Maybe he can have a few more of those slivers when you’re around. He’s certainly going to try to grab the chances when they present themselves.

• ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ •

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[knoepfl]

A Wolf in Need

Characters:

Clawd Wolf

Female Reader (You)

Trigger Warnings: Mild mentions of illness, caretaking.

Masterlist

Words: 1024

---

The news spread through the halls of Monster High faster than expected: Clawd Wolf had come down with a nasty cold. For the strong and tough casketball captain, being bedridden was a rarity. But when you heard the rumors, your first instinct was to rush to his side.

You made your way to his dorm, the thought of Clawd lying there alone tugging at your heart. As you approached his door, you could hear the faint sound of a soft whimper—like a hurt puppy. You paused for a moment, feeling a pang of sympathy for him. Clawd wasn’t used to showing vulnerability, but you knew the strong-willed werewolves could sometimes be the biggest softies when they weren’t feeling well.

With a gentle knock, you called out, “Clawd? It’s me.”

You didn’t wait for a reply as you opened the door quietly and stepped inside. The sight that greeted you made your heart ache. Clawd was lying on his bed, his usually vibrant form looking far too pale and exhausted. He had a blanket draped over him, but even so, you could see the slight shivers running through his body. His hair was a mess, and his golden eyes were dim as they met yours.

“Babe…” he murmured, his voice raspy and weak, followed by a soft whine that made him sound like a hurt pup. “I didn’t want you to see me like this…”

You shook your head, stepping forward and kneeling beside his bed. “You think I’d just leave you to suffer alone? No way, Clawd. I’m here to take care of you.”

His lips twitched into a small, grateful smile, but he still looked miserable as he curled up tighter under the blankets. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck,” he admitted with another soft whimper.

You reached out and gently stroked his cheek, your heart breaking a little at how vulnerable he seemed. “I know, baby. I brought you something, though,” you said, holding up a small wrapped package. “A little something to help with that werewolf appetite.”

Clawd’s nose twitched as the scent hit him, his eyes perking up slightly. You unwrapped the package to reveal a tender piece of meat—something you knew would help perk him up. You handed it to him, watching as he weakly took it from your hand and bit into it. His eyes softened, and a quiet rumble of appreciation escaped his chest.

“Thanks,” he murmured between bites, his voice still weak but filled with gratitude. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was…”

You smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching him eat for a moment before reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. His body immediately responded to your touch, relaxing under your gentle strokes. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, leaning into your hand.

“You’re so good to me,” he whispered, his voice a little drowsy.

“Of course I am,” you said softly, continuing to massage his scalp, “because I care about you. And I’m not going to let my big, strong werewolf suffer alone.”

Clawd let out a soft chuckle, though it was interrupted by a small cough. He whimpered again, and you could tell his throat was sore, his body aching from the fever. Without hesitation, you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your lips.

“You’re burning up,” you murmured, brushing his hair back. “I’ll get you some cold water.”

Clawd’s hand reached out and weakly grabbed yours, his grip surprisingly gentle. “Stay,” he pleaded softly, looking at you with those big, puppy-like eyes. “Just for a little while.”

Your heart melted at the sight of him. He looked so vulnerable, so unlike the confident casketball captain everyone else knew. This was a side of him that only you got to see, and it made you want to hold him close until he felt better.

You smiled and sat back down on the bed, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders as you settled beside him. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, continuing to run your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way he loved.

Clawd let out a soft, contented sound, somewhere between a purr and a growl, as he nuzzled into your touch. His body relaxed more with each passing moment, his breathing evening out as you stroked his hair. Despite the fever and the discomfort, he seemed to find some peace in your presence.

“Feels nice…” he muttered, his voice muffled as he buried his face in the pillow.

You smiled, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “You’ll feel better soon. I’ll take care of you.”

Clawd let out another soft whimper, but this time it was more of a contented sound, like he was comforted by your words. “You’re too good to me,” he said quietly, his eyes fluttering shut.

You continued to soothe him with soft touches, gently rubbing his back and running your fingers through his hair. Every now and then, Clawd would make a small, puppy-like sound of appreciation, letting you know he was enjoying the attention. It was a side of him that only you got to see, and you couldn’t help but feel a little privileged to be the one who could take care of him like this.

Eventually, Clawd’s breathing evened out, and you realized he had fallen asleep, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion. You smiled softly, watching him for a moment before leaning down to press another kiss to his forehead.

“Rest up, my big, brave werewolf,” you whispered, tucking the blanket around him. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

As Clawd slept, you sat beside him, keeping a watchful eye on him and making sure he stayed comfortable. You couldn’t bear the thought of him suffering alone, and you were determined to stay by his side until he was back to his usual strong and confident self.

But for now, it was enough to see him at peace, knowing that he felt safe and loved in your care.

---

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed this sweet and tender moment between Clawd and his girlfriend (Reader)! It’s always nice to see the softer side of a tough werewolf, especially when he’s not feeling well. If you have any other requests, feel free to share!

[andreas-river]

THE PRICE OF AGONY

TW: angst, hurt/no comfort, written with f!reader in mind. And I definitely trauma dumped on this. I wrote this a long time ago inspired by the song "The Price Of Agony" by Fit For A King.

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader

A/N: requests are open!

Since you grew up, you knew perfectly that you should always be careful. Careful with yourself, with decisions, with friends and lovers. Those stern words pronounced by your mother repeated themselves like a broken record, reminding you of all those mistakes, guilt tripping inside your stomach and twisting your insides painfully — your heart burning still in shame.

So weak, so stupid, revealing your secret about loving someone who never dared to spare a word with you. The cup of tea Dmitry gave you was already cold between your hands, losing yourself in the reflection of the liquid. 'Never forget to drink something when you feel down', a small attempt of babysitting you after that day, still feeling everyone's eyes on you the moment you stepped inside the cafeteria, now empty and with only the ticking sound of the clock in the background, the low lights helping you blend within the darkness.

It felt good being hidden in it, far away from the spotlight — but you never imagined it would happen. She looked so trustworthy, always inviting you with others comrades at lunch and asking you so many questions — maybe that was the reason, you lowered all of your defenses in front of her, telling her that you liked someone of your squad, telling her his name with a hushed tone with your heart thumping wildly in your chest. You recalled your own words, because you still didn't know what drove you so much to him, enveloped in an enigmatic aura, with so many pieces around that made it difficult putting them together and figuring out the whole picture of the puzzle.

But why did it hurt so much?

Not even crying helped, since it only made your heart hurt even more, a weight pressing down on it and making breathing a difficult task, quiet sobs turn into loud gasps, the full cup of tea already forgotten in the table, burying your head between your knees, the same position you found yourself so many times when you were younger — and even if you were now a full grown adult, nothing changed at all.

You sink into yourself even more, closing your eyes and failing to notice the looming shadow behind the door.

He didn't move, forgetting to breathe. He felt the same too, long nights spent to cry his pain out, failing miserably as the first ray of the sun lightened his room. He, too, chose the darkness as his safest place — no one would judge, no one would see him, only his voices inside his head making the place too damn loud. He was silent, always alone, but he didn't fail to notice you, or the mess you found yourself in the other day. Everyone was talking about you, making him wish that he could shut them all up for good.

He left his room only when necessary, and tonight was an exception. He shouldn't be there listening to your cries, but he couldn't stop himself when he heard Dmitry mumbling something about making some more tea for you, since you skipped meals lately and worrying about your health. Lying to himself was impossible, facing the truth inside him, but he didn't dare to step inside. It would hurt you even more if in that moment you saw the cause of your pain right in front of your very eyes.

He once believed that love was something that one day would be part of him, but that was in the past, a past once more colorful, his days now filled in gray and sorrow. They were screaming inside his head, one of them telling him to go away and never look back, but another one to close the distance between him and your shaking form.

He didn't listen to them at all, feeling stuck in his steps for the first time. He could've done more, but he remained still with his back on the wall, with closed fists hanging at his sides, knowing too well that he did not deserve you, all of that love you had — you couldn't waste it for him anymore.

Managing to take a step further away and resolved to go back to his room, his boots stopped again when a familiar figure was standing still and watching him, the undecipherable look on Dmitry's face stopping him in his tracks.

---

You massaged your neck for the umpteenth time that morning, muscles too stiff from the uncomfortable position you fell asleep nights ago on that chair of the cafeteria, waking up only one hour later, the fragrance of the tea barely present in the air. You manage to drink it in a few sips, the cold liquid leaving a bittersweet taste on your tongue — you definitely forget to put sugar in it, putting the cup away and taking some more minutes to stretch your stiff bones.

The days passed too slowly for your liking, distractedly listening to Rodion as he talked about which tablet purchasing since his old one abandoned him to met his tragic fate, and he couldn't stop complain for a single moment — he was almost at the end of a TV serie, and he wanted to see it so bad but he couldn't anymore. You felt grateful since he didn't bring that subject at all, saving you from the shame you still felt on your skin.

That topic still burned inside you like a flame, the only thing stuck on your mind, and not even listening to Rodion's banter helped to take your mind off. If you were called on a mission, you would definitely be in big trouble, and you were pretty sure that with that unfocused mind of yours you would end up killed sooner than later — a voice in your head whispering that it wouldn't be that bad, at least you wouldn't face that shame anymore.

You shook your head — no, you shouldn't have those thoughts even if you were joking, they were a deep hole you had already closed years ago—

"You are not listening to me, aren't you?"

A new wave of shame washed over you, going back to reality and where Rodion actually stopped his complaints. He sighs, adjusting himself to fully face you, his face strangely serious as he stares at your blank expression. He barely showed his sensitive side to anyone, protected by his exuberant behavior and a smirk always plastered on his face. No one could ever imagine him to be like that.

"Why don't you talk to him?" His tone is obvious, like stating obvious facts, making you roll your eyes annoyed.

Your angry stare doesn't make him falter at all, raising his brows and crossing his arms on his chest, trying to enforce his suggestion. Maybe he was right, but how in the world you could even talk to him, his mere presence in the same room made you desire that invisibility was a real thing, and not only from some movies you saw during your childhood.

"And what should I say to him?" the lump in your throat made your words out like a whine, swallowing before continuing. "He already knows everything, because everyone knows."

"Ask him something — anything it's better than nothing." You can easily say that he was really thinking hard, his eyes lost in front of him as he was thinking of a way to help.

And it makes you actually smile, after all of those days passed alone in your room, reminding you that you weren't alone. But when you realize that it doesn't make you feel any better, somehow it was your own selfishness that made you get up, telling him that you were going to think about it, at least — one of the worst lies you've ever said in your entire life, you leave your smile behind. Maybe it's better this way, while everything will remain the same as ever — like strangers.

[psalacanthea]

Fanfic Friday

voted most (when I closed voting in my head {i will get to 3rd place possibly}) was a Dragon Age WiP well GUESS what they dropped DA4 news and I was too bitter to acknowledge it, but it got into my brain anyways.

So here's a bit from the next chapter of that old fic (that I am still editing yes) When the World Fell, starring two idiots that doomed each other to godhood.

...

Ellana and Solas travelled the streets of Minrathous together the rest of that night.

Hands remained apart, hearts shuttered back to the private spaces, protected from the nighttime miasma of the city that grew more dangerous with each passing day.  Minds in sleep were twisted by the growing public perception of their presence to give even more pressure to force them into their roles.  Again, however, Ellana realized they weren’t evil roles.  Not precisely.

Adversarial, yes, but not evil.

But oh, how thin that thread was separating the two.

Solas became but a shadow, stalking her footsteps.  Occasionally he would emerge as a wolf, brushing against her thigh before returning to the swirling darkness between the magelights.  She did not begrudge him the escape.  It was difficult for her to keep moving, to not hunt after those small sparks of pain and suffering she felt in the air.  How difficult would it be for him to resist, twisted so harsh and cruel by their sleeping thoughts?

The world was full of traps, lures to drag them further into godhood and away from reality.

He had been gone too long.

“Come to me.”

She knew that he heard her.  A spike of annoyance lodged itself inside her mind when he failed to appear immediately.  Frustration made her voice all the sharper.

“Come to me.”

The Lady's steps stalled, pausing at a railing that overlooked a lower, dingier district.  He was there, in the maze hunting something, and she had a feeling if she did not distract him it might not go well.  It had been foolish for both of them to come here, but it was unthinkable for only one of them to be here.  This place was miserable, a pit of opinion and views that twisted them heartlessly into something they did not wish to be.

“Give it to them,” her shadow suggested.

As she glanced back to it, the blue-washed blot of darkness rose from the ground, its vague form gradually gaining sharpness.  The Wolf emerged from that darkness, stepping out of the shadows to join her at the railing.  His temptation was ignored.

His bad behavior was not.

“Return my shadow.”

“If you insist,” the wolf said amiably, a small opalescent orb appearing in his gloved palm with a flick of his fingers. Glints of icy reflection danced across its surface, picking up distant flickers of ruby, green, gold. Opalescent.

Almost too pretty to destroy.

A manipulation.

Irritated with him, she glanced from the sphere to his face, taking it from him in her fingertips.  It felt like glass, but far finer than any glass created by sand and hands.  It reminded her of the windows in Arlathan.  “Why do you do that?”  Frowning, she stared at the orb, turning it over in her fingers.

Her shadow was within, a blot of darkness in the center that shifted as she rotated it.

“I feel a need to wander, and wished to bring you in some fashion or another. You could give it back if you liked.”

“Why do you do it to other people?” she said, ignoring his deflection.

“It is harmless, if unnerving, and I find it satisfies the desire for mischief they seem insistent I should have.”

Well, when phrased in such a fashion, how could she find offense?  Sighing, she offered him the orb back.  “Then you may keep it.  I have little use for my shadow, unlike you, but I think people may find my lack of one unnerving as well.”

“Forgive me saying so, but people already find you quite unnerving.”

“True,” she acknowledged tiredly.

The orb shattered in her fingers, turning from fragments to a scattering shower of glittering dust. Her shadow slithered free of her fingers. It dripped like ink, pooling at her feet and then reforming away from the light.

"I know a better target for your mischief, Fen'harel," she said, turning her attention from the cries of suffering back to the heights, the source of it.

Why not?

They were leaving tomorrow for the Deep Roads.

"Then, my Lady, my I have this dance?"

[the-phantom-author]

maybe kaya actually comes in the streaming room while he’s live and starts barking at him, kinda pacing so he’s like ????what’s wrong??? so he goes to check on you and you’re just laying on the bathroom floor with. cold wet washcloth on your forehead, your belly is already starting to show even though it’s so early because hello it’s two babies and they’ll prob be big guys.

he’s ready to end stream then and there, to take you to the hospital or just spend the day taking care of you. he’s helping you up off the floor, getting you actual nausea medication and helping you into bed.

his heart is hurting because he knows he’s the one that did this to you and now everything is out of his control. he just has to step aside and let you take over all the heavy lifting, he hates seeing you sick or tired or anything.

when it’s the time of day you’re not sick and he is streaming, you go in there and sit and eat the blandest foods or the wildest cravings, you even have those morning sickness suckers (prego pops i think they’re called??) sitting at his desk so you just have one of those. side note: he’s going to burn through all those suckers, yes he knows he doesn’t have morning sickness, but in solidarity he will have one when you have one. but when you’re not there…. he’s having them just on stream while watching something, he does enjoy the small good things about your pregnancy so far🤣

When he finally gets to the bathroom where you are, he's already very panicky, since Kaya coming to him while he was streaming and already a bit anxious. Only got worse as he got to the bedroom and you weren't there, only to find you on the floor in the bathroom clearly looking miserable.

Once Hasan actually gets you into the bed and nausea medicine taken, he's trying to get you to eat something- even if it's just some crackers. Honestly he's not moving until he's seen you eat something and hold it down for a bit and you start to take a nap.

But when you start to feel better, it's literally just you sitting next to him eating a bowl of plain mashed potatoes or eating pickles dipped in carmel, there is no in-between. He is eating to suckers without a second thought. Especially if he's not chewing his nicotine gum. The moment he has one, he's eating them for the rest of the stream.

[howdy-cowpoke]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: A dive bar PARTIES: Monty (@howdy-cowpoke) & Owen (@apaininyourneck) (& Hector) SUMMARY: Monty is surprised to find that Hector has been gathering a posse of undead behind his back. Owen is, unfortunately, acting as a bodyguard for one of them. Things get out of hand, of course. CONTENT WARNINGS: Gun use (not fired), emotional abuse

—

Left to his own devices, Hector could turn any stranger to his cause. He always knew just what to say, could read people with impressive accuracy and figure out what exactly it was that motivated them, then use that for his own gain. At least, that’d been the case back in the late 1800s and… it didn’t seem like much had changed. Having had other errands to run for most of the day that the other zombie hadn’t had much interest in, Monty had agreed to meet up with Hector after he was done at one of the local dives. He had no idea when Hector had arrived, but as he stepped into the dark, smoky establishment, he got the sense that it had been a couple hours at least. There was a small gathering in one of the back corners, and right in the middle of it, Monty spotted Hector. He was talking animatedly about something, seemingly passionate regarding the subject, but as their eyes met across the room, the man broke into a smile. “Monty!” he shouted, raising a hand and waving him over. Monty cringed inwardly, not liking the way he suddenly felt far too many pairs of eyes on him, doing his best to smile back and walk over to where the congregation was.

The people looking back at him were… scruffy, if you wanted to be nice about it. They looked like they’d seen better days, and immediately Monty’s alarm bells were going off. He looked at Hector again, who was behaving very much like the old leader he’d been, and his stomach sank. “And this guy, he’s the one that gets shit done,” Hector continued, gesturing at Monty, who looked uncertain as his eyes scanned the small crowd.

Near the back of it, set apart from the rest by a couple extra feet of distance, was a familiar face. Not one that inspired joy or fondness, though… no, quite the opposite. Monty recalled the first time he’d met this man, in a bar different from this one but similar in many ways, with a knife sticking out of his leg and threats of bodily harm — or was it purely just murder? — passing between them as he was questioned. There’d been no purpose to it, other than scaring him. Owen hadn’t actually made good on any of those threats, and seemed amused by the whole thing. Monty, however, had remained in the bar, petrified until he had had the sense to call his best friend to come pick him up, too afraid to leave the bar alone in case Owen was lurking in the shadows outside.

But here he sat, among a crowd of strangers and Hector, who he surely could sense was undead. Why? And why did he look so miserable, aside from the obvious assessment that he was a miserable person in general? Monty swallowed hard, gaze lingering on the slayer for a few seconds longer than he meant to. “I, uh… I suppose,” he agreed begrudgingly, forcing himself to look at Hector again. “What, um... what’s going on?” He tried to sound as casual as he could about it, forcing out a small, breathy laugh. Hector grinned, spreading his arms wide, palms up to the ceiling.

“Just helping the less fortunate,” he explained, and it only made Monty feel worse. What planning had gone on while he wasn’t here? How exactly was Hector helping these people? And again, why was there a slayer here? 

—

Owen had begun to wonder if he’d get used to the prickling, icky feeling of vampires nearby as that seemed to be most of his life at this point, but that train of thought only led him to remember that he had gotten used to it before. Granted, in the before, when the life he’d been on track for as just another in a lineage of proud slayer hadn’t yet been derailed, the sensation of vampires hadn’t caused such an intense discomfort. Yet another thing not worth thinking about, especially not here, surrounded by the zombie version of the less impressive cast of Peaky Blinders. At least there was a mild solace in it being zombies this evening, as it lessened the want to literally tear his skin off in an attempt to ease the prickling and meant he didn’t have to deal with fucking vampires. Owen didn’t know anyone at the table aside from the one that had rung him, a pot bellied zombie that Rosel had had him rescue a few weeks back - which apparently meant the slayer was now on fucking retainer. 

Maybe she was starting to have some success in breaking him because Owen hadn’t managed to muster up the anger necessary to protest this. 

Whatever shit the table of undead were talking about didn’t concern Owen - they could have plotting a mass murder for all the fucks he had to give - and it wouldn’t matter in the long run. He had long since decided that anyone Rosel deemed worthy of survival would get the opposite once all of this got untangled. Somehow. He barely glanced up as a new face was dragged along to the table, definitely not a threat considering how the burgeoning ring leader dragged him in. Meeting the mildly petrified gaze, Owen registered that he knew the name, too. Threats had been exchanged both ways, a while ago, but mostly Monty just seemed confused as all hell at Owen’s presence which, fucking fair. 

Aside from the one that had called him, Owen wasn’t sure whether the others knew what he truly was. Fuckface Gerald had simply introduced him as a ‘friend’ and that was that. A friend that looked like they’d rather take a bullet to the head than stay here longer but whatever. Now Monty knew as well. A single zombie wasn’t too much of a hassle but if this whole table decided to gang up on him… Green eyes narrowed in Monty’s direction before turning to Gerald. “Think I’ll give the newcomer my seat,” he tried, rising to his feet in an attempt to leave. 

“Nonsense. Monty can grab his own chair, can’t he?” Owen considered just letting the group tear him to pieces before ultimately sitting back down with gritted teeth and folded arms. 

—

Monty was strangely relieved when Owen sat back down, even though he looked about ready to rip out the throat of the man that had insisted on it. At least if he was within eyesight, he couldn’t spring any kind of attack on Monty or Hector. Or��� whoever any of these other people were, if they weren’t human. Monty couldn’t say, and really, did it matter? Whatever Hector was planning wasn’t good, regardless of dead or alive status. A slew of scenarios were running through his mind as he nodded at the man that’d spoken to Owen, turning to grab his own chair and trying to hide his anxiety behind steady, purposeful movements. 

As he sat, Hector started explaining how he’d met each one of these people to Monty, introducing them by name and describing situations that could easily have been a cover for something a zombie shouldn’t say aloud in public. Monty knew there had been days that Hector had gone out on his own, finally permitting Monty to stay behind at the cabin instead of dragging him along, but he hadn’t realized his friend had been this busy. It was looking more and more like Hector was gathering himself a willing company of morally bankrupt individuals to help him amass some wealth, and most concerningly of all, that he assumed Monty was going to be right there with him. 

And again, why the fuck was Owen here, especially if these were all undead? 

“Hector was saying that you have a place we can stay?” a woman seated beside Monty asked him, looking hopeful. Monty couldn’t stop the look of confusion that bloomed on his face, attention flicking from her back to Hector. The older zombie grinned widely, holding up a hand to stop any protests that Monty might have been about to make.

“Of course he does. Now, there’s not currently enough room for all of us, mind, but that’s easily remedied. We’ve got a master craftsman in our midst, here.” He clapped a hand to Monty’s shoulder, who flinched. Hector had told these people they could move in? Without a fucking word? His stress was reaching critical mass, and he was desperate to turn the attention away from himself before he flipped out on Hector in the middle of a public space. 

“Why is he here?” Monty asked bluntly, swallowing hard as he pointed at Owen. “He should not be here.” Hector followed his friend’s gaze, and soon, all eyes were on the slayer. 

“And why’s that?” Hector asked, directing the question at Gerald, who had brought the stranger along. His eyes were narrowed and his smile gone as he challenged Gerald to explain what Monty meant.

—

For a slayer not in Owen’s current hellhole of a predicament, the stories being shared here would have been a goldmine. Still could be, as long as he held onto the baseless delusion that there was a way out of this mess because secrets were being shared with no regard for who was hearing them, the table of zombies clearly working under the assumptions that everyone present was safe company. As much as he could, Owen tried to place all these facts somewhere they would be remembered but in a mind so completely overtaken by anger, there wasn’t a whole lot of space. And watching Monty squirm was fairly distracting. 

Surprisingly, the slayer didn’t seem to be Monty’s main source of discomfort and whatever past he had with this Hector (who in Owen’s humble opinion was doing way too much) was clearly much, much more complicated than the small spat and mild stabbing the two of them shared as enemies by nature. Well, predator and prey by nature, which wasn’t the case between the two zombies which meant the past was personal and messy and Owen wouldn’t have cared if he had the choice of not witnessing all of this. Since he was forced to, at least the look on Monty’s face when his home was offered up as an AirBnB for these less than desirable zombies, was priceless. 

Because everything was a relentless shitshow, Owen’s moment of amusement was fleeting as Monty did the one thing it would have been preferable for him not to do. 

Staring across the table at Monty, it took a moment to fully register the complete change in character in Monty’s friend (maybe a generous term considering the way the two interacted). To his credit, Gerald managed not to say anything stupid but that was only because he seemed at a complete loss for words so the credit given wasn’t all that much. “Someone can clearly hold a grudge,” Owen threw at Monty because he didn’t feel like being helpful. Plus, it finally spurred Gerald into action. 

“Look, Monty, was it? Whatever-” The zombie waved his hand desperately, “grudge you have, it’s fine now. Things are under control. I just like a bit of… protection, is all. But you and Hector don’t have to worry, we’re all friends here, aren’t we?” Owen wouldn’t go as far as to agree with that statement but the one about them not needing to worry was mostly true. At least for now. Owen’s long suffering gaze turned to Hector, trying to gauge if that shitty and vague explanation had settled things. Fuck, would he actually have to protect this rot for brains idiot if Hector decided they weren’t friends, actually? If that was the case, he would have brought more fucking knives. 

—

“Fine? It’s fine?” Monty huffed, grasping desperately at anything that would make him feel like he was in control of some aspect of his life. If that meant turning this whole group on the slayer, so be it. At least it would delay the conversation of these strangers coming to live with them. “Es un cazador,” he added under his breath, turning his head to speak to Hector. It was something he now knew the zombie wouldn’t stand for, if his reaction to Emilio had been anything to go by. 

Hector scowled. “I don’t know, Gerald, are we?” He was zeroed in on the offending zombie and his unhappy companion, affording Monty a moment to glance around them. The bar wasn’t busy by any stretch off the imagination, but it wasn’t empty, either. This wasn’t the place for a confrontation. As if to telegraph this to his counterpart, Monty stepped into the familiar role of a canary and gently nudged Hector in the side, warning him of danger. Hector sucked in a sharp breath and smiled once more, though it had an underlying insidiousness that had been absent up to now. “Of course. Of course we are,” he corrected himself. “If you trust him, then I trust him, my friend.” It would be a convincing act to anyone else, Monty thought, but he’d heard that inflection enough times to know that the moment they were beyond the safety (or hindrance) of such a public space, both Gerald and Owen would be fighting for their lives. 

The rest of the meeting felt somewhat tense, many pairs of eyes darting between Hector and Gerald and whoever Owen was supposed to be, as it seemed many of the participants didn’t speak Spanish. Still, as the group disbanded, a few of them hung back with Hector and Monty to inquire after the slight confrontation. Sensing that these individuals were already aligning themselves with him, Hector took the bait. 

“He is not to be trusted,” he said in a low voice, watching Gerald and his escort head out of the bar. “And now, unfortunately, he knows too much about us. The slayer and Gerald need to be dealt with.” At the casual mention of a slayer, the three other people looked angry. Their gazes followed Hector’s, and they nodded. Without another word, they followed Gerald back outside, with Hector and Monty bringing up the rear.

Monty was wringing his hands as he walked beside his friend, his gaze fixed on Owen as the slayer rounded the corner, followed by the other three zombies. “We shouldn’t do this,” he warned. “Or, we shouldn’t let them do this. Do you even know if they can fight?” Hector shrugged and smiled. 

“What better way to find out?”

—

Unsurprisingly, Gerald’s explanation didn’t settle shit which as a direct consequence, meant trouble for Owen. Funny to think that if the idiot hadn’t called on a slayer to be here in the first place, or better yet hadn’t caught Rosel’s attention at all, things probably wouldn’t be spiraling. He knew it would probably be easy to spin in a way that made it Owen’s fault, knew it because he was currently cursing himself for just toying with Monty at the time instead of letting the doe eyed farmhand bring him somewhere quiet so Owen could remove his head. Because whatever Monty was whispering in his friend’s ear spelled bad news, even if Hector’s little performance was practically award worthy. 

Owen had made several attempts to convince Gerald that his presence here was a bad thing but clearly, the zombie was slightly less dumb than he looked, sensing the tension at the table and figuring that having one person forced to be on his side couldn’t be a bad thing. Smart decision but a fucking travesty for Owen. Even as the evening came to a close, his instinct for when shit was about to go sideways (granted, usually because of his own actions but still) told him very clearly that the night was still young. 

Whatever Gerald was yapping about was being effectively tuned out by Owen, now even more on edge than usual. A quick glance over his shoulder as they rounded a corner did little in terms of reassurance because of-fucking-course they were being followed. “Shut the fuck up,” Owen bit out, the unexpected sharpness of the words enough to actually shut the undead fucker up. “Do what I say and maybe you get to keep that empty shell you call a head.” 

Handing one of his blades over to a zombie felt wrong in a fresh, new way that tore at all the shit Owen had successfully buried in the back of his mind, from keeping undead scum alive to being turned into a little lap dog, but if he unearthed all of it right, they were both fucked. So he piled it onto the already wobbly pile of crap and relinquished his grip on the hilt of the knife, looking at the zombie that was probably about to get him fucking killed. 

Turned out, giving Gerald a knife had been about the worst possible thing since the motherfucker couldn’t really brandish it. The only good thing about that, his friends were utterly useless, too. Owen didn’t have time to boil over in anger at Gerald missing his mark by a mile and burying the knife into another zombie’s cheek which would only make it more fucking volatile, as he was busy making sure his own knife sunk properly into an eye socket. That wouldn’t kill it but it did give him something to hold onto as the second blade worked its way through the flesh of the zombie’s throat. Again, bigger fucking blades would have been real nice. 

—

They would find out quickly, it seemed. Almost as soon as the trio rounded the corner, Monty heard the commotion begin. They were far enough out toward the edge of town that there was less of a risk of someone coming across the scuffle, but it sent another shock of dread through him all the same. He hurried to catch up, drawing the knife he kept on him at all times these days as he and Hector came upon the scene. 

One of the zombies had a wound in their face and stood facing off with Gerald, and the other was caught in the grip of the slayer, thick blood pouring down her front. Hector frowned at the sight, watching as the third zombie took a swing at Gerald, tackling him to the ground. 

Monty moved toward Owen, glowering at him and holding his own knife out toward him. “Let her go,” he snapped, hoping to at least stall long enough for the other zombie’s wounds to begin to heal. Hector seemed more concerned with making sure Gerald met his demise in this dark corner, pressing a boot to his chest to hold him in place. He drew his own blade, passing it to the zombie that had tackled him to the ground. 

—

There were too many of them considering how much harder they were to kill than vampires and the added distraction of trying to keep someone other than himself alive, something that had always ended with Owen eating shit. He was good at wounding, killing, not protecting. Despite all that, Gerald still desperately needed some fucking protection. Hector seemed to be the most dangerous one here, eerily calm and focused on dealing with the zombie that had brought a slayer into the inner circle (a fair priority, if only it didn’t inconvenience Owen so massively). As for Monty and his little knife and little ‘hero of the people’ act, Owen wasn’t keen to find out just how far he’d go with that blade. 

Teeth bared in something awfully close to a snarl, Owen gave the knife in the eye socket a final twist before showing the zombie in his grip right into Monty. He’d only needed a few more moments to properly finish her off but no, this was a goddamn rescue mission. There were three of them rounding on Gerald and even if they weren’t at the height of their strength, there were still a lot of hands and blades and teeth present. Hopefully, they had some loyalty to their newly appointed leader. 

His knife flew through the air, thankfully finding its intended mark in the face of the zombie wielding the weapon meant for Gerald. A distraction, meant to delay Gerald’s death just long enough for Owen to tackle the person he had perceived to be the most valuable one here. The main focus was making sure nothing was in biting range - whether or not Hector had more weapons on him was an afterthought as Owen went for some leverage, both metaphorically and literally in trying to get a grasp on the zombie’s head in a way that would make breaking his neck easy if need be. “Your zombie’s undead life for mine,” he offered with a growl, hating the implication that a zombie was his but too busy grasping at straws to really linger on it. 

—

As the near-stranger crashed into him, gurgling and moaning in pain (which he could understand — despite their deadened senses, a mostly-sliced through throat and gouged out eye was no walk in the park), Monty helped lower her to the ground carefully, telling her to be still. He worried, of course, what that would mean in a minute or two once she started to heal, but there wasn’t much time afforded to that line of thought, because then Owen was going after Hector. 

Hector, who had been doing more and more to make Monty wonder if he’d changed at all. Who was proving that he hadn’t, and that Monty was nothing more than a tool for him to use, even a century later. Hector, who had always been more than capable of taking care of himself, and from the way he loathed hunters with a vitriol that seemed personal, had clearly dealt with his fair share. Monty wouldn’t be upset to see Owen fall victim to him tonight, as much as he avoided death. Owen had done plenty of harm, he rationalized. To him, to others. God, that’s what his life was now, wasn’t it? Rationalizing violence so it wouldn’t plague his ever-waking mind. He’d come full circle from the person he’d been back in the late 1800s. All because of Hector.

The aforementioned ringleader seemed unbothered by this development, grinning as he was held in place by the slayer. His hand moved slowly beneath his jacket, unnoticed in the commotion. The woman at Monty’s feet was growling and stirring, coming back from the brink and ready to feed. The two zombies still on top of Gerald had taken their own wounds to the face and both healed — while not as bad off as the woman, there was a glint in their eyes as they continued to hold Gerald in place, waiting for instruction from Hector. Monty stood still, keeping his eyes locked with Owen’s even though he saw Hector’s movements in his peripheral vision. “Not a fair trade,” Monty grunted, hating how the words tasted in his mouth. “Try again.”

And with that, the woman started to scramble forward in a clumsy attempt to get to her feet, her hands reaching out for the only living creature here. Hector took the opportunity to fish out his gun, pressing it briefly into Owen’s side to warn him of its presence, but quickly pulling it back again as he wrenched himself out of the slayer’s grasp. The weapon remained aimed at him even as the foggy-minded zombie scampered closer, and Hector stepped back several paces. He cast a sidelong glance at Monty, who swallowed hard. Right. Monty looked over to the other two and Gerald, and nodded. They took up their weapons, both manmade and natural, and made savage work of removing Gerald’s head from his body.

All that remained was to get rid of the slayer, but Hector seemed content to let the woman do it, if she could. 

—

Again, the gnawing regret at having let Monty live, a reminder that just because Owen didn’t have quite as much of a personal vendetta against zombies that didn’t mean they shouldn’t be eradicated, every last one of them. If he’d had the foresight to separate his head from his body, meager as Monty had been that night (a stark contrast to the stone cold version facing him now) then Owen wouldn’t be dealing with what was clearly the muzzle of a gun pressing into his torso. Alright, so he was the idiot bringing knives to a gunfight. 

Maybe he should have been grateful that Hector seemed to enjoy a bit of theatrics, or was it irony he was going for? Either way, the gun remained unfired in lieu of letting a very angry zombie eat their fill. The work Owen had done to saw off the woman’s head was all but undone and honestly, fuck these fucking zombies and their regenerating - the only sign any damage at all had been done was the dark stain down her front and the faint cloud over her eye, both of which were lacking all humanity. Between the gun and the threat of a very hungry zombie, all Owen could do was watch as Gerald’s pathetic undead life was ended and wasn’t that just an absolute treat. 

There wasn’t time to watch the whole brutal scene unwind, what with the woman swiping at him. Dangerous as she was, she was still a better shield for bullets than nothing, in case the son of a bitch that had effectively ruined Owen’s evening irreparably decided he did actually want to pull the trigger. But fuck if she wasn’t strong, flailing hands finally grabbing at a limb and it was all Owen could do to reclaim it, clothes tearing under her unrelenting grip. The thought of bigger knives resurfaced, especially now that the closest things to a big knife he’d carried tonight were out of reach. The blades still on his person would do a great job of a fucking toothpick for the zombie after her meal for all the good they would do him. 

At least she was easy to outmaneuver, uncoordinated and hungry, allowing him to actually trap her in a headlock. For the whole of about two seconds, her fingers digging into his arm and pulling, threatening to break it before Owen relented the grip to save his arm. Not his dignity however, as he was half-shoved, half-flung into the nearby trashcans which was poetic and fucking fucked. As he scrambled to his feet before those gnashing teeth could reach him, his hands desperately looked for anything he could get a hold on, fingers finding the cold edge of the lid of the trashcan. Not sharp nor particularly heavy but as a conduit for all of that pent up anger, surprisingly effective. It took three solid thwacks for the metal to finally sever all the way through the spine, painting everything in a mess of dark, cold blood. 

—

Monty looked on, anxious and uncertain. Hector, for his part, seemed amused. Behind him, Gerald was ripped to pieces, screaming more in terror than in agony. Before him, Owen was fighting for his life against an extra strong, extra hungry zombie… and he was losing. So far, Hector had hardly lifted a finger, and that was the way he liked it. His grin widened as the slayer was thrown into the garbage bins, while Monty’s frown deepened. The younger zombie was by no means a fan of Owen's, but this felt… barbaric, in a way. If only because the woman was nothing more than cannon fodder. 

But then Owen suddenly had the upper hand, and Hector's smile waned. He clicked his tongue in disappointment as he watched the woman's headless corpse crumple to the ground for the last time. “Shame. I'd really hoped she was going to pull through that,” he muttered, aiming the firearm with more intent this time and shaking his head. “Ah well. We can clean up the mess, eh, Monty?” 

Monty didn't respond. He was too busy closing the distance between them as fast as he could, grabbing the gun out of Hector’s hand and taking a quick step back. Hector’s rage was instant, gaze jumping between his traitorous right hand and the slayer who was now free to run. “Too loud,” Monty explained with a hiss. “We're still too close to downtown, Hector. Things are not like they used to be. You cannot just start shooting up a whole town when the law shows up.” The pounding of feet on the pavement drew their attention as Owen made his escape, and Monty was just turning to look back at Hector when he felt the dull pain of something colliding with his jaw, sending him down to the ground. 

Hector turned to the other zombies, telling them to go back where they'd come from and that he would round them all up soon. They quickly obeyed, shuffling past Monty who was slowly picking himself up off the pavement, his shock evident in his expression. “Do not ever fucking interfere like that again,” Hector spat, staring him down. Monty just nodded, cracking his jaw back into place. Hector collected the gun that had been knocked from his hand, then heaved a sigh. “Montaña, you just… you know better. That hunters need to die. Whatever the cost.” Monty's stomach churned. He glanced up as a hand entered his peripheral vision and took it without thinking, letting Hector help him back onto his feet. “Come on. Let's go home, where we can talk about this some more.” His tone was harsh and reprimanding, and Monty did not look forward to whatever that conversation was going to entail. 

[rising-volteccers]

Hi, I read all of your works so far and really enjoyed them. Thank you for sharing your writing. Could you write the “You do feel a bit warm�� for Friede?

Thank you for sending this prompt! This one is a mix of headcanons and personal experience so I hope that it's a nice read still!

Series: Pokemon Horizons

Characters: Friede, Murdock, Mollie

--

At some point, Friede must've fallen asleep given that he stirs from the light shakes on his shoulder. His face scrunches prior to yellow eyes slowly opening, at first squinting from the light until a few hard blinks clears up his vision.

The first thing he notices is the state of his back. It aches something fierce, no doubt caused by his poor sleeping posture on the captain's chair. Friede tries not to make it a habit but at times, the tug of sleep is stronger than his will to stay awake throughout the night. At least he recalls putting the ship on auto pilot, lest they'd be drifting off course and he gets another lecture from Orla for wasting precious fuel.

Next, he's made painfully aware of the dull, persistent pound in his head. It's clustered around the left side of his head, as if he's caught between a Cloyster's shell. Without even moving his head, he knows the pain lances down his neck as well.

Friede carefully adjusts himself to sit up properly. That small movement alone makes him wince from how fiercely his body protests.

"Are you alright?" A deep, concerned voice asked. Murdock's visage enters his line of sight moments later.

"Mm..." Friede gingerly cradles the left side of his head before he drops his hand. A soft groan slips out, a mix of pain and realization of what this is. He makes a surprised noise when a different hand, rough and slightly calloused briefly presses against his forehead, pushing his goggles up slightly.

"You do feel a bit warm..." Murdock uttered, pulling back moments later. "Think you're getting sick?"

"Not that," Friede mumbles, eyes sliding shut once again. "'s one of those 'gain..."

"One of those...? Oh! Oh..." He vividly pictures Murdock's expression shifting from realization to one of deep sympathy.

It's no secret to the Rising Volt Tacklers that their leader seemingly has boundless enthusiasm and energy. Always wanting to be on top of things, never really staying still if he can help it. The only thing that keeps him down is the migraines he gets from time to time. That's when he can't do much but suffer miserably until his head stops mimicking that of a construction site with all the drilling and pounding that goes on.

(Back when the crew is still new, Mollie helps develop some measures for him to take when he admits to having them. Mostly it's getting plenty of sleep if he can, figuring out what sort of foods that trigger migraines and exercise somewhat regularly. Friede finds that he rarely gets them these days after employing these measures into his everyday life).

It's been... months at least since his last one. Friede tries to think of what could've been the trigger but stops as his brain retaliates in protest. Right, minimize thinking. Don't spur on the angry construction workers in his head.

"I think we should get you back to your cabin," Murdock says in a soft voice. Friede appreciates it since he's particularly sensitive to noise right now.

"Mngh..." he responds unhelpfully.

"Can I touch you, Friede?" Murdock asks. "I'll help you."

Friede doesn't dare nod his head so he makes what he hopes is an affirmative noise. He feels Murdock's hands on him and then suddenly, he finds himself upright. If not for the other's gentle yet firm hold, Friede might have find himself acquainted with the floor.

"Sorry, sorry." There's a rushed, frantic edge to Murdock's voice when Friede leans most of his weight against the sturdier man. "C'mon, we'll take it nice and slow."

It's safe to say that without Murdock's aid, Friede won't make it past the first few steps towards the deck's exit. He feels the vibration of each step, feeling like a powder keg's gone off in his head every time his foot makes contact with the ground. He thinks that he's made some sort of wounded noise given that Murdock's softly assuring him.

What feels like an eternity later, his surroundings darken as they step into his dim room. Murdock carefully deposits him on his bed though before Friede can curl up into a ball, he feels hands on his shoulders.

"Let's get that jacket and goggles off first."

Murdock does most of the work given the pain has intensify to the point that he's as coordinated as a newborn Girafarig. An odd noise slips out at the hands that's working on getting his goggles off as well as untying his hair from its usual low ponytail. Murdock spouts off more soft apologies that Friede wishes he has the energy to respond to.

At last, Friede finally gets to lay down. He feels Murdock gently tugging his boots off too so once that's done, he curls up underneath the blanket that is draped over him.

"I'll be back soon with stuff that'll help," Murdock utters before he quietly leaves the cabin, leaving Friede to suffer in abject misery until he gets some form of relief or sleep claims him. It's hard to tell the passing of time when all he can feel is the shooting pain behind his left eye but he does flinch from the sound of the door being opened again.

"Hey, Murdock told me." Unsurprisingly, Mollie comes to check up on him.

"Ngh... can't 'gure out why..."

"Don't worry about that now. Here." Friede feels a slender arm slide behind his shoulders to aid him in sitting up. He groans at the movement but dutifully accepts the pills that Mollie hands him. Slowly, he swallows them down with the glass of water she brought with her. After that, she helps him in laying back down. Friede hopes that he'll get relief soon.

"Just try and relax, get some sleep," she says, tugging up the blanket to cover him once more. "I'll check up on you again later. Don't worry about the crew. We'll handle things in your absence," Mollie adds in a quieter voice.

She leaves him be soon after, though her presence is quickly replaced by Murdock's. Friede bites back a grumpy huff from having his attempt at rest continuously foiled.

"Hey, sorry about that. Thought this would help you."

Fingers gently brush away his bangs before something soft and cool settles on his forehead. The immediate relief it brings loosens the tension in his body, making him sigh softly.

"Feels good, eh?" There's a brief bout of silence. "When you feel better and up for it, I'll give you something light to eat. Sounds good?"

Food doesn't sound particularly appealing at the moment but later? Friede makes an affirmative noise. If he can scrounge up the appetite to eat, then he won't miss up on Murdock's cooking.

"Alright, I'll leave you to get some rest. Feel better soon." Friede hears the slowly fading footsteps prior to the door being closed once more. Though, it appears that he miss the soft pitter patter of tiny paws scampering inside up until he feels them settle against his blanketed legs.

"Cap," Friede murmurs. He manages to free one arm from the blanket so his partner can nuzzle against his palm.

"Pikapi..."

"It'll be fine. Just... need some rest..."

Friede can feel Cap making his way up till he's settled in the crook of his arm, warm furry body pressed against his side. A ghost of a smile paints his lips before he slowly exhales.

Honestly, he's got the best crew anyone can ever ask for.

With the medicine kicking in and the comforting pressure of Cap by his side, he finally relaxes enough to fall into slumber.

[heygerald]

As much as I LOVE Colt and Parker bickering, my troubled heart needs a scene where she is vulnerable or smth and Colt is all protective big bro caring for her💙

Working on getting through my inbox, I'm sorry if anyone feels ignored! Here's a cute little drabble about our favorite sibling duo.

...

Soft, romantic music floats throughout the dim reception hall, the wooden dance floor flooded with couples, all beautiful glow of the fairy lights and Eddison bulbs hung overhead. The wedding is busy, filled to the brim with family and friends, and while laughter echoes throughout the rowdy barn, on the edge of it all sits a girl swathed in candlelit misery. She looked a lot better earlier in the night—before her curls had started to fall out or her mascara had started to smudge in the corners of her eyes—and as she slumps in her seat the tulle of her dress hangs limply against the ground.

Parker is certain that the cousins that had helped her get ready for the wedding would be greatly dismayed by how she's abandoned her lipstick and lost her shoes not even halfway through the night, but as she picks apart a stale bread stick, she's too miserable to care.

It's a happy day.

For everyone, it seems, but Parker.

There's the unmistakable drag of heavy boots on the floor, and before she make a guess at who would join her in her self-isolation, her brother is flopping into the seat beside her with an overdramatic groan. His hair is messy, cheeks ruddy, eyes a bit glazed, but he's recently shaven and smiling; handsome like the rest of those Miami boys, grinning like he's looking for some trouble.

"Bad night?"

"Bad date," she grumbles, eyes drifting to where Jason Anthony—her date, and until today, her hopeful, soon-to-be-boyfriend—was dancing awfully close with one of the groom's distant relatives. She's pretty, in a small pair of high heels that would have Parker eating dust in two shorts steps, and it's obvious that Jason Anthony thinks so two when he whispers something into her ear. "Who goes to a wedding as a plus-one, and ditches their date halfway through the night?"

Colt narrows her gaze for a moment, before he's tossing a toothpick into his mouth with an indifferent shrug. "What? Don't tell me the barf bag over there is your date? I just thought he snuck in with the other party crashers."

Parker scrunches her nose with a glare. "What kind of idiot would gate crash a wedding like this one?" she asks while slumping moodily into her chair.

She loves her cousin, she really does, but this wedding is something straight out of a Stephen King novel. She supposes it's pretty enough, but between the gun-toting Uncles, the miles and miles of nothing but cornfield, and the hooch, any party crasher would have to have some serious balls to come this far out into the middle of nowhere. Just like any date would have to be pretty stupid to risk getting stranded in the middle of nowhere just for the chance to dance with a prettier girl.

Colt loudly slurps down some of his drink, and Parker glares a second time. "And he's—he's not a barf bag."

"Are we talking about the same guy? Bent at five-foot-six, horrible bowl cut from someone that must be half-blind, stringy mustache that makes him look like a pervert?"

"Oh my god, Colt, stop!' she whines, throwing Jason Anthony another look across the crowded dance floor. Though—if she tilts her head a little to the left, she does think his mustache is a bit out of poor taste, and if she squints, she realizes that his hair cut is uneven. Still, she pouts at her brother. "Don't be so rude. He's not that bad. And it's not like we were dating. I guess this whole thing is on me."

He skips over the second half of that statement to shake his head at her, bending an elbow on the table to add, "Not that bad? I think I've seen kindergarteners with more muscle than that twig."

"Colt," she says again, though this time Parker doesn't really care if he stops. Jason Anthony is a skinny guy. "You don't have to do this."

"Do what? Sit here with you? I guess there's better people around to entertain me," he says in total nonchalance, sweeping his gaze over the room as if looking for those people now. But then he spots a particular person on the dance floor, and can't help but add, "you think his date would dance with me if I asked? I bet she would. Probably wants to know what a real muscle feels like, anyway. I might be doing her a kindness if I swoop in now, actually, I swear he gets creepier and creepier by the second."

By the time he finishes, Parker is smiling, and by the time he hops up onto his feet to straighten out his tie, she's giggling so hard her stomach hurts.

"Don't—! Don't—leave them alone!" she cries through a series of choppy breaths, tears brimming at the edges of her eyes. Colt looks all too pleased with himself, and when she struggles to catch her breath, he hangs his palms up into the air as if he was giving up.

"Alright, I'll leave the dip alone. I bet she's a total psycho. Has to be with how bad of a dancer she is. Maybe she'll step on his toes; a little foot bludgeoning never hurt anyone. Not a man, anyway, I don't know what he is."

Parker shook her head at her brother fondly, giggling. "You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously cool, maybe," he accepts with a shrug. She doesn't correct him; maybe because the older she got, the more Parker thought her brother was ridiculously cool. Even now, at twenty-years old, he had been sneaking her drinks all night despite their mother's strict speech about being on their best behavior before the ceremony started. "Speaking of—I just so happened to notice that there's an empty field up the driveway. Want to go do some donuts?"

"Mom is going to kill you."

"Only if she finds out," he teases, keys swinging on his fingers as he wiggles his eyebrows at her. "And whose gonna tell her? Dipstick over there?"

Jason Anthony was certainly not going to notice. Particularly with how he was in the middle of kissing his dance partner in a way that was not appropriate for an intimate dance like this, and Parker grimaced at the idea of him kissing her like that in front of all those people. Maybe he was a barf bag after all.

Parker grabbed her jacket. "Can I drive?"

"That depends," he asked, suddenly up in her face. "Have you been drinking tonight, miss?"

"Maybe. But, not a lot. Just the two drinks you gave me. And... well, a shot of hooch from Danny. Plus... half of Uncle Jack's drink. But that's it, I swear. I'm not even—I'm only a little tipsy."

Colt arched a brow at her, eyes narrowing even further, and Parker was just on the verge of getting concerned when his face split into a smile. Slinging an arm over her shoulder, he dragged her out the back door. "You promise not to kill me?"

"Well, no one can ever promise that. Not if it's an accident."

"You should really work on your motivational speeches, Park."

"Pinky promise," she said with a giggle, and despite her brother not looking convinced, that was the day he taught his little sister how to do donuts in a muddy field somewhere in backwater Florida just so she wouldn't be so sad.

[hunting-songs]

The day before the weather was a bit moody. A strong wind had enveloped the entire city, causing the open windows to bang heavily, the treetops to shake as if they were made of paper, the hats of the people on the street flew off as if they had a life of their own. That day they had gone out for a short walk, after the wind had calmed down, however, the aftermath could still be seen in the street. Upon arriving at the park, a lot of petals, flowers and seeds had been torn from their plants and trees. Kurapika squatted on the grass and picked up several viola petals still on their small stem before approaching Senritsu from behind. "Excuse me" 🌼 Carefully, he took a couple of strands of red hair and began to gently braid it, adding a few petals from time to time. He remembered how he would make little braids in his mother's hair. He remembered how he decorated the hair of the girl he liked with flowers. They both seemed very happy when he did that, and suddenly, he wondered if Senritsu would like it too. By the time he was finished, her red hair had been decorated with a few thin braids with viola flowers at its length.

Send 🌼 to put a flower in my muse's hair! Specify what kind of flower! When Senritsu had been a child, she would lay awake between her two older sisters in the bed they used to share until they grew too tall and used to stare wide awake against the dark ceiling of her Mothers vardo while outside a storm would scream and yell like an angry beast. She never could sleep in those nights. She never could sleep in those nights because she was warm and save, while the world outside was raging. She could never sleep in those nights; because she had been in awe; because she had been mesmerized; because she had loved the feeling of the storm outside and small little her witnissing it. Accordingly Senritsu couldn´t wait to go outside and she would have ran outside in the middle of the storm- laughing, listening to the howling of the wind up close without disturbing walls blocking it and feeling the rain clash cold against her face- it she would not have still work to do. Still she was as giddy as a child when she eventually could get out and listen to the sadly slowed down song of the storm and smell the beautiful scent that the harsh rain had left behind. The air was cold and damp, even more so in the park, but it felt good to finally be outside and move after she had been so restless inside.

With the wind still not gone, Senritsu almost did not heard Kurapika approaching,but she did heard his heartbeat change. What before had been a attentive melody, almost alerted and tensed like a bowstring ready to shoot, had calmed down in stark contrast to the last echos of the storm. His fingers moved nimbly through her hair and she just listened attentive with the last rests of the storm suddenly very far away and unimportant. She heard that Kurapika was remembering something. Remembering something that made him happy. Something that made him feel content. Something that produced a melody that she had missed to listen to. Senritsu closed her eyes, listening to the song in the others chest like one would listen to their favorite song. The last wisps of the storm stroked through the crushed grass and for a moment, just a moment, she felt about those nights in her Mothers vardo where she lay with her sleeping sisters safe and sound while the wind blew past the safe walls loudly. And when the other stopped his work and stepped back, Senritsu couldn´t help but sigh in disappointment. The muddy ground squelched miserably under the mans weight as he moved. Already Senritsu missed listening to that song in Kurapikas chest. Still she looked over her shoulder, lowering her head gently in a quiet 'thank you'.

"Thank you, Kurapika." , the woman hummed and turned her head from one side to another, listening to the delicate flowerpetals rustle in her hair as sweet and soft as silk. It was the same song she loved so much to listen to during storms when the leafs were rustling in the angry winds or helplessly swirled around frantically like fingers would frantically run over a harphstrings. It made her smile happily. It made her laugh happily. Still laughing in all good humor the woman ran her small hands through her hair, pulled one of the braids carefully- so carefully, so so carefully, as she did not wanted to destroy the others work- and eyed it attentive. Eventually she looked up to the other, winking in all good humor as she very theatralically posed with her hands folded under her chin: "Mhmmmmmmm,Does it look as leggiadro as it makes me feel?"There was already a chuckle dancing behind her words in all good humor- Senritsu knew that aesthetcally her face was far from pretty yet there was also no pain in her chuckle, just honesty. [ @skarletchains ]

[vipier-a]

sorry , i've got … i've got a lot of work to do .

WHERE MOMENTS BEFORE HE WAS ALL FIRE, IT TAKES ONLY THOSE FEW WORDS TO TURN TRISTAN TO STONE. somehow, he manages to avoid flinching in the face of cassian’s practiced apathy. nothing creeps beneath his skin worse than being treated like just anyone by the one person who knows him best of all — especially because it means @k4ssa knows there’s no better way to make him feel small. tris casts his gaze around the disorganized workshop, the captain’s haven in the bowels of yavin iv, and for a moment, he sees the hours upon hours he’s spent here with him flash before his eyes. nothing and nobody else ever would have brought him to this planet. he’d never developed a taste for any of this, for the martyrdom, for the fight against one tyrant that he’s sure will immediately create another. he stays for one reason, for one person, because he needs cassian … and cass needs at least someone who places his wellbeing over some intangible ideal.

a thankless goddamned job, clearly. exhibit a: this fucking conversation.

“ you always do these days, don’t you, ” tristan answers in little more than a hiss, a sneer. standing, he kicks the chair he had been sitting in back against the table with a loud clang. there has always been so much love between them, enough to nearly suffocate him, but that love has many dimensions, comes with baggage that has built and built over the years until tris swears he can feel his back physically strain with the weight of it all. “ fine. you want me gone, I’m gone. just do me a favor, cass, and don’t fucking apologize to me when you’re not actually sorry. I can read it all over your face, even with this bullshit ice queen act of yours. ”

it’s a dance they’re used to doing by now. cassian pushes him aside for his rebellion again and again, utterly obtuse and willfully ignorant to tristan’s motivations, even though there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be able to read them, brilliant as he is. tristan lashes out, grasping him violently close with one hand while pushing him away with the other, seeking to wound, seeking to punish at times, to force cassian to feel some fraction of his own agony, his own sense of worthlessness. it is as if to remind him, you may hold more power over me than I do over you, but don’t forget I can still hurt you back. he can’t successfully pretend at this point in his miserable life that he simply doesn’t care about his lover, that he could walk away permanently without tearing away a vital part of himself — but he certainly has a storied history of being willing to harm himself deeply for lesser reasons and he’s more than willing to allow that silent threat to linger, to make cass wonder if he might actually follow through one day, despite the damage it would do to him, too. it’s his only defense.

“ don’t call, ” he snaps as he strides toward the exit. please call, echoes in the back of his mind, almost in a whimper, all the more pathetic and humiliating, all the more reason to push himself out the door before he can embarrass himself further. “ I know when I’m not wanted. trust me. plenty of experience. I’m sure all your rebels will throw a goddamned party when they realize I’m gone. a win for everyone, it seems. enjoy your work, captain. ” he braces himself as he pushes through the far door, jaw set and brow furrowed, all coiled and furious energy, each step more determined than the last, despite the way each one tears at his chest.

if only he weren’t already silently willing cassian to call him back.

[callgespenst]

A week and a half ago, my old friend JJ passed away. He told me about his cancer diagnosis…I’m not sure when, I feel like it was only a couple months ago. Last I talked to him, he sounded like he wasn’t doing bad at all. He asked me to help his family out sorting through his collection, in the worst case scenario. And the turnaround on that was, much faster than I expected, than anyone expected, I’m sure. He had only just turned 41 a few months ago. I’ve known him for about twelve years. We went to college together, took Japanese together. His influence definitely helped shape me into the massive dweeb I am today.

I knew his family, was over at their house a few times, I also knew was his sister and her husband pretty well. Today, I came up to help out with the estate sale. I’ve been absolutely dreading coming here for the last week. This is the first time I had seen any of his family in at least three years, and everyone is understandably miserable, grieving, and trying to do all the stuff a situation like this demands as best they can. So far, at least, I don’t feel nearly as awkward as I thought I might, so that’s something.

Now, if you had asked me before today, I would have told you that JJ was quite the collector. Big fan of action figures, model kits, robot toys of all sorts, not to mention a wide selection of anime dvds and manga. But uh, he had -much- more than I thought he did. Between his bedroom, the basement, the storage unit down the road, there is, an almost unfathomable number of items. Many of them, by sheer dint of sitting around long enough since he purchased them, are now worth a small fortune. At the very least, with my assistance identifying many of the more niche items, selling them all will cover the expenses typically associated with dying, and hopefully also get everything to homes where they’ll be appreciated.

Before I came here, I went to the local hobby store, partly to buy a Qubeley for another friend of mine, but mostly to ask them, if they’d be willing to buy JJ’s backlog. They were nice enough to say yes, which is good, because selling model kits online is such a pain. Having someone buy the whole kit backlog without having to ship out all those big boxes will probably have the same net profit, with substantially less hassle. But somehow yet again, I drastically underestimated how much stuff he had lying around. The trunk of my car is almost full of 30 Minute Missions, Sisters, SMPs, and all sorts of other kits that were purchased, put in the basement, and never built. And somehow there’s still more. I don’t know if it’ll all fit in the trunk. But it has to, because the back seat is covered in boxes upon boxes of Star Wars, Marvel, and He-Man collectibles that I’ll be taking to another one of my local shops that deals in used toys.

The other day I was telling my mother about all this I was going to do today, just making conversation, letting her know what I’d be up to. She told me, very emphatically, that I was not to take anything home with me. In fact, she said I shouldn’t even bring any of the items the family asked me to resell into my house for any length of time. Which, even for my mother, is a really weird thing to say. I’ve already got enough stuff of my own, to be sure, but I set aside the SMP Layzner figures, since that was a show JJ and I watched together. (Not to mention, trying to sell built model kits is typically a fool’s errand. People want to build them theirselves!). If I can find them, I might also take the Armored Core kits he had me build ages ago, when I had no backlog and he wanted to customize the final product without the extra steps.

JJ had all this stuff, and almost none of it was out on display. He had one detolf in his bedroom with some nice scale figures, and everything else was in various sized plastic boxes. I think somehow this has actually made the process of sorting and identifying -more- difficult. Took an hour today to not only figure out which Nendoroid went with what accessories, but which display base was theirs. All we had to go off of was the copyright info on the back of the base, which was anywhere from somewhat to completely unhelpful, depending on how many kanji were involved.

We found a selection of animation cels under his bed. Lots of good stuff from good shows in there, it’s a shame they were left like that for who knows how long. Somehow, it was seeing a frame of Gije Zaral from Space Runaway Ideon that made me closer to breaking down crying than I had the rest of the day. Realizing that, I had finally finished watching Ideon, JJ’s all time favorite series, and never got to talk with him about it.

To summarize, I’m feeling a lot of wildly different emotions right now. Missing my friend, most strongly. He wasn’t religious, and most days I’m not either, but I hope he’s found his way into a pleasant afterlife, or at least an enjoyable isekai fantasy type deal. There’s definitely a twinge of “oh no, do /I/ own too much crap?” and some generalized world-weariness as well. But it’s not all bad. I got to pet a lot of cats today, and one of them snuggled with me for long enough that I think I’m wearing more cat hair than clothing now. And tomorrow, after some more sorting and pricing and organizing, I’ll head home and have a nice holiday weekend with my wife and some friends.

I’ve been typing for an hour and have no idea how to wrap this up. If anyone has actually read this far, thank you, it really does mean a lot. I hope you are also experiencing a fluffy cat and maybe a warm blanket. Here’s to a full night’s sleep because it’s way past my bedtime.

[namiraswriting]

The inn is nothing special, a shabby wooden building tucked between the trees and stones, lost somewhere along the muddy roads leading up towards Wrothgar. It's known only to the travelers that pass by often, serving as a humble nook for those that know where to find it. The orc behind the counter is absent-mindedly sweeping dirt into a dark corner when she ducks in, her gloved hand reaching up to steady herself on the short doorframe. He gives her a weary greeting as it falls shut behind her.

"We've got cider and ale," he says, voice deep and booming in the small interior. Someone coughs from their seat by the hearth. Ulumb clears her throat, a nervous habit, and approaches the counter with a quick shake of her head. She feels guilty lying before she's even done it, despite it not being her own lie, and even with knowing that this innkeeper would never know or care. Her hands rub against the old, worn wood of the counter. Her thumb finds the letters of someone's name, carved deep and partially sanded away.

"No, thank you," speaking barely above a whisper, she fights the urge to look over her shoulder. She's not even sure if she should be worried that someone less kind might be searching for the same individual, that there might be people out there aware of their connection. The thought makes her feel cold and anxious.

Words stall in her mouth, the kind eyes of the innkeeper avert from her gaze, giving her an odd sense of privacy.

"Do you... is there an Erwan here? Erwan… uhm. Forgive me, I'm not sure of the full name.."

The innkeeper scratches his chin, let's out a long breath that smells of meat and tobacco. Ulumb's face burns with embarrassment, not a feeling she's accustomed to. This whole situation is out of her comfort zone, the secrecy of it all is a far cry from the lumber business.

With broom still in hand, the innkeeper taps the knobby handle against the ceiling, only a short distance from both of their heads. He ignores the thin cloud of dust that falls from the planks.

"Upstairs, first room to your left," he says. Behind her, the door swings open again, and the sound of chipper bretic fills the stuffy air as a small group of travelers enter the building. Immediately, the innkeeper's attention is gone from her, yelling out once again of cider and ale. She's left to stare at the few rickety wooden steps that had been so lovingly referred to as a staircase. Pacing across the room in a few short steps, her hands find the wall, gaze meeting the poorly lit second story.

The hallway atop the steps is claustrophobic, she ducks down and makes herself small to avoid the walls and short ceiling built without someone her size in mind. First room to her left isn't hard instructions to follow, especially when the inn itself only has three rooms to speak of. She places herself quietly before the scuffed wooden thing, eyes lingering on the doorknob, and stands for a long time. She finds herself feeling hesitant and uninvited, despite what the Argonian had told her a day prior. He'd given her the information willingly, told her the exact place to go to, the name to ask for.

Making up her mind, she knocks once, curt sounding even to her own ears. She worries for a moment that it won't be recognized as a knock, sounding instead like someone bumping against the wall. Before she can raise her hand to try again, there's a faint sound from within, a voice saying something she can't quite make out. It sounds enough like a welcome for her to reach for the doorknob, it squeaks miserably as she turns it, letting herself in.

The room is darker than the hallway, dark enough that the light she lets in illuminates a round wooden table in front of her, covered with trinkets spilling from a leather bag.

"Erwan?" she asks tentatively, not sure of what else to do. There's a laugh from somewhere in the room, warm and familiar sounding, and it's confirmation enough for her to close the door behind her. As her eyes adjust, she's able to make out the rest of the room. It's small and quaint, with only a table, a stool, and a lumpy looking bed. From the doorway, she can only barely make out the shape of him beneath the covers, a candle on the floor beside him nearly burning itself out.

"Will you be calling me that for the duration of your visit?" he asks.

"How did you know it was me at the door?" she asks in return. He moves slightly in bed, still out of her sight.

"It wouldn't be anyone else".

"You aren't worried about being followed..?"

He laughs again, and she hears the sound of a book snapping shut. There is a thin quality to his voice now, and it makes her frown. She tries to ignore the lingering acidic smell of herbs and metal still hanging heaving in the room. Or the way he doesn't move to greet her.

"No, I'm not," he puts shortly.

Her heavy footsteps make the floorboards groan as she approaches the table, eyeing his few scattered possessions, evidence of someone who'd arrived in a hurry.

"You knew Wih-jei would send for me?" she asks. She removes her gloves, one careful finger at a time, listening to him haphazardly drop something onto the floor beside his fading candle.

"I thought he might. Orsinium is the closest city."

She shrugs off her coat, still speckled with raindrops, and sets it down on the table. She's mindful to avoid his remaining bandages, left in a pile near his bag. It's disorderly, in a way so unlike him, that she finds herself wondering if the disarray might be Wih-Jei's doing. The alternative is slightly more worrying, the image of him alone and hurting, fumbling through his own things. She pushes it out of mind.

"How bad is it then?" She addresses the elephant in the room, the reason for her rushed departure from Orsinium. She looks towards the bed, sees the reflection in his eyes flicker back at her. He sighs long and heavy, a hand reaching up to muse with his own hair. She can make out the dark color of his shirt now, hanging loose on his frame.

"I don't think I'll be returning to Wayrest anytime soon," he jests. When he's met with nothing but her brooding silence, he complies with a proper response.

"It's nothing but a scratch," he says.

"You stink of blood"

There's a long pause at that. He rests back against his pillow, head lulling to the side, staring at her fully now. The light from the candle turns his face a pale yellow, the shadows around his eyes seeming deep and foreboding. She worries her hands, frowns at his lack of a response.

"It'll heal," he says, finally. There's no argument in it, no assertion that he isn't as hurt as she's worried he might be. His tone is defeated in a subtle kind of way, something that feels too honest coming from him. Still, it's an answer, as indirect as it might be, and she feels the weight on her shoulders finally giving away.

[jodilin65]

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 2016 75 days until I call Stacey. I decided to just see what happens and then make a decision based on how I feel at the time. Just because someone puts out clear and obvious signals doesn’t mean they plan to act on them or become a home-wrecker. Getting together every now and then wouldn’t be “wrecking” anything as long as nothing “serious” happened, though I still think if I see her again it’ll be at her office.

A couple of mornings ago at 8:30, right as I was getting ready to crash, I saw Bob come out with a ladder in front of his place, presumably to trim trees. I was surprised (and a bit worried) since it was only 39° out. He didn’t wake me up, though.

Looking forward to finally receiving my bath bombs tomorrow, which accidentally got sent to the wrong place. These are supposed to be the size of tennis balls instead of golf balls.

Decided I just wasn’t all that into my voice blog so I made it a text blog. I’m not going to post daily entries there, but just use it as another place to store my yearly life updates instead.

I dreamed that Jesse owned a large rooming house in which we were renting a room. Tom was sitting on either a bed or a couch watching TV when I stepped up to the room’s only window and looked down from the upper floor we were on. Jesse lived next door and parked between the buildings.

“Only that black car is down there with its ass sticking up,” I said to Tom, referring to how the back of the car stuck up in the air.

“I want to go visit my old room next door,” I then said, and headed into a small dark room with bunk beds. I sat on the bottom bunk and remembered that the last time we were there, things were rough for us and I was miserably depressed. I remember how I sat on the bed crying for hours at a time.

My bean/veggie diet has totally lost its magic as far as keeping the hunger away. I had half a bag of veggies, 3 slices of cinnamon bread, a cup of rice, a bowl of soup, and a bag of Cheetos, yet I’m STILL hungry! :( If this is PMS can I just get my fucking period now? It’s horrible. I just CANNOT get rid of my hunger no matter how much I eat.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 2016 Burke’s lucky he’s a good rat because if he was anything less than that I would have just beaten the shit out of him. I let him out and he was super wound up and playful and he nipped the shit out of my pinky. His teeth sliced the side of it and it took me a few minutes to stop the bleeding. I had to sneak into Tom’s bathroom to get a Band-Aid. Good thing he’s a heavy sleeper. The fucking thing is stinging like hell now.

The kitchen floor tiles arrived today and are absolutely beautiful. You never can really know for sure when you’re looking at a picture of something on a computer. I hope the laundry room tiles will look just as nice when they arrive.

Had some spotting. :-( That explains why I had light cramps earlier. Tom even thinks I look a little watery.

As I learned, if it’s too good to be true, it’s not true. I gained one of the 4 pounds back that I lost, though I figured I would sooner or later, and soon I might have another period. Let me guess… nothing’s going to happen with Stacey either, even if more than a part of me agrees it would be much easier if it didn’t.

The weather’s been horribly cold and it could freeze tonight. The outer corners of the living room get warmer in the summer and colder in the winter. My desk is in one of those corners, and so I pulled out the old portable heater we got up in Oregon to bring extra warmth to that area. We have an even older one that we got in the 90s in Arizona, but that one’s going out with the next bulk trash pickup.

The Twenties’ place looks really nice with all their bright colorful Christmas lights. I still say it’s a little early, though. I mean come on, it’s not even December yet. Even so, I’d like to be out admiring the different lights, yet it’s way too cold to be working out outdoors.

Signed up on Blogger for AdSense, but I don’t think I’ll really make any money with it. Not as many people know about my blog there, and Blogger’s pretty dead, so we’ll see. It’s not fully set up yet.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 28, 2016 Damn the person(s) responsible for inventing religion and brainwashing people with the God fantasy. Yeah, another Muslim refugee we so stupidly allowed into this country because it’s “politically correct” and we must, must, must have a bleeding heart for despite their unworthiness it, tried to go on a killing spree at OSU. Well, my damn good cyber friend Christine works there and I can just imagine how terrified she must have been!

As long as this country is going to remain too stupid and too ignorant to the fact that yes, some groups of people truly are more dangerous, delusional and irrational than others just like with some groups of animals, then we’re going to continue to put ourselves in danger by allowing these little fucks to terrorize us.

So obsessed with political correctness are people that they have lost all traces of common sense. Pretty sad if you ask me. What’s next? Lavishing all the love in the world on rapists and child molesters? Will it soon be politically incorrect to point out how dangerous they are as well? Will we be considered “haters” for bashing those perverts?

Man, I’m just so sick of some people’s shit in this world. People who think they were born to kill in the name of an imaginary God that doesn’t even exist. People who feel they need to use their race against others no matter how many lives they ruin in the process. People who enable, allow and encourage these people to wreak the havoc on society that they do.

Just wondering how many more people have to die or come close to it before something is done to keep these savage beasts out of this country. These people are taught to go out and kill as many people as they can that isn’t a carbon copy of themselves as soon as they’re old enough to understand. Is this what we really want to be “politically correct” over and invite into our country?

Let them kill each other instead, and if their cities are no longer habitable after they get done, that should be their problem and not ours. Why should we be responsible for picking up the pieces of death and destruction? It’s like being made to pick up the pieces of a puzzle that some spoiled brat got frustrated with and flung all over the floor. Let those who make their own damn beds lie in them!

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 2016 Incredibly, I’m still losing weight. I’ve now lost 4.2 pounds since the first. That’s HUGE for an older woman with Hashimoto’s. It’s going very slowly, but what’s the hurry anyway? Losing 1-2 pounds a week is reasonable. I just wish my medication wasn’t dampening some of the excitement, but I intend to discuss it with Dr. A next month.

Tom dyed my hair yesterday and this time we used a much cheaper dye. L’Oreal’s Colorsilk. It’s a little lighter and I don’t expect it to last as long as John Freida’s, but I like it better because it doesn’t stink nearly as bad and my hair doesn’t feel as fried.

So while our robot is the designated vacuum-er, and I’m the designated floor mopper, Tom is the designated carpet cleaner. It took two hours to do our giant living room, but he cleaned until he ran out of cleaning solution. It takes forever but it’s worth it since it’s something he’ll only do every six months or so. The carpet he’s done looks brand new.

All that’s left is the dining room, hallway and bedrooms. The filthiest spots are definitely by the computers, the rats’ cage, the front door, and the section of hallway between the kitchen and laundry room.

It’s been raining all day and night, and I heard one of my older, bigger wind chimes fall down in the carport. I think we got that one after we moved here, but what’s amazing is the medium-sized one in front that sounds the best. I’ve had this one for about a dozen years now and it’s still going strong!!!

Later…

And now I’m down 4.4 pounds! I went from 154.4 to 150.0. Now if only my hip and ear would stop driving me crazy!

We took our cactus plant out of the small pot it was in and replanted it in a large pot that was left here.

The four days he had off were both productive and relaxing.

It was mostly sunny all day but now it’s raining again. I can’t believe all the rain we’ve gotten so far this year. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t go out walking. It’s too cold now anyway.

I was bad again, messing with Kim and Aly on NaNoWriMo after Aly changed links there. Sometimes you just gotta have a little fun, I guess. Found her by searching “Nebraska” and “nanny.” Her location and part of her bio. Kind of funny how dumb she is at times, but maybe she wants to be found. I used to notice in the past how she’d made herself rather obvious when changing names to avoid Molly. If not, every genius is entitled to a blond moment here and there. :-)

Pretty funny how Aly is afraid of Kim. When she pisses her off by leaving her hanging, she’s afraid to confront her directly and risk getting her ass dumped and then stalked shitless for years, so she dances around the subject in an indirect tweet about how rude she is.

Sadly, however, I doubt Kim will dump her given how long they’ve been friends now. I also get the feeling that they don’t have anyone else, so being the perfect twisted match that they are, I just can’t see them dumping on each other as much as I wish they would. Seriously… if Aly’s my karma for dumping Andy, then who’s her karma for dumping me? Oh, wait! It’s perfectly okay to dump me or wrong me in any way. I forget at times that people are exempt when it comes to me.

Had some very weird, long, detailed and negative dreams. In one dream I was in some crackhouse for some reason. I was excitedly trying to tell this girl in her 20s (Hispanic?) about how I tried Atkins, Nutrisystem, and other diets just to get nowhere until I went vegan.

The girl, clearly very pregnant, didn’t appear to be paying attention to me as another girl injected her with some drug.

That’s when I told myself not to bother with her. She was too young for a friend, too fucked up, and she was an obvious druggie. Plus I didn’t want to be friends with anyone with babies or toddlers.

I turned to leave, apparently on an upper floor. I walked down a long narrow hallway, heading for the stairs, just as a black cop came up the stairs and passed me.

“There are a lot of druggies in there,” I told him.

He started to enter one of the rooms.

“No, the next room,” I said.

“Oh,” he said, backing out of it as I hurried downstairs and out of the old dilapidated house. I crossed the lawn and hoped that no one would consider me a snitch and want to kill me for it.

In the next dream, I might have been talking to my mother. I entered a restaurant and approached what seemed like an older woman that I’m pretty sure was her, sitting at the counter on the stool. I had been accused of murdering some girl. I don’t know if I was just a suspect in an investigation, or if I was out on bail.

“Don’t ask me any questions,” my mother said sharply as soon as I approached her.

This really pissed me off and I stormed out of the restaurant and off to I’m not sure where. Wherever I went, I threw an ashtray full of cigarette butts on the floor. I then picked up the mess moments later.

Next, I returned to the restaurant where my mother was now sitting at a small table for two. I sat down across from her and insisted that I had nothing to do with killing the girl.

“When I was charged with prank phone calls, I was guilty of that. But I have nothing to do with this case. I don’t know this girl. I’ve never seen her. I’ve never talked to her and I have no idea who killed her.”

I turned away for a second and when I looked back at my mother she had tears in her eyes. “My God,” she said, “you really are innocent.”

Then I asked her if she was surprised about how she ended up back with my father, not that they ever separated in real life, of course.

The dream ended with one of us saying something about playing amateur sleuth and trying to find the real killer.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 2016 The weather has turned cold and wintry. The afternoons usually aren’t that bad, but today it was one of those days where it just never warmed up. I’m just so glad it doesn’t snow here, though it wouldn’t be impossible. I’m in my one-piece fleece pajamas. This weather is ideal for sleeping, working out and keeping the motorcycles at bay, but I do miss the warmth.

I probably won’t be running outdoors much for the next few months and will just use the skier inside instead. Plus I still have my hip injury that doesn’t seem to want to heal.

My new gold chain fashion belt arrived and fits well, though it’s surprisingly heavy. I also got my black shirt with the cutout ¾ sleeves and it fits well, too.

Got some things done around the house today. Tom cleaned the carpet around my desk before I got up. The thing works great and it only takes a couple of hours to dry. He said the water was clear when he was doing sections along the wall, but under my chair it was black. I don’t doubt it. I’ve spilled some food and drink over the last 2.5 years.

We asked Alexa what her daily deals were, and Tom was strong enough to say “no” to the white chocolate truffles and the 5-pound Hershey’s candy bar. A 5-pound candy bar… that’s disgusting. Delicious but disgusting. No wonder there’s so much obesity in this country, haha.

I’m still losing weight since going vegan, but very slowly. I’m going to see if I can eventually coax him into the same health kick I’ve been on.

I started dusting cobwebs off the ceilings, which was raining popcorn all over the place. Damn these popcorn ceilings! I miss smoothies.

I did the laundry and switched out the light blanket for the down comforter. Hopefully, it won’t give me the hot flashes from hell, but if it does I’ll just switch back.

I’ve got about 17 more days to my appointment and to hope I don’t get a period. That’ll make 3 months!

I have felt so good physically and emotionally and I absolutely refuse to let the doctor give me any more meds no matter what the numbers end up saying.

The year was off to a shaky start, but I think that 2016 has been one of the best years of our lives.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 2016 Another Thanksgiving with nowhere to go. A part of me is sad about that, but it is what it is. I just wonder if Marjorie ever thinks about the son she dumped who was too “needy” and too far away to be worth bothering with. That a mother could cast aside her own son seemingly without a shred of guilt after all he did for her when we lived near her is just abominable. Just totally and utterly appalling. I don’t doubt for a minute that she’s as guiltless as a rock on the beach or else she would have Mary and Dave contact us if she couldn’t do it herself.

Her choice. Her loss.

I had a dream I was at Tammy’s, and Lisa was there. First I hugged Sarah and then I guess I was smoking again because I lit a cigarette. Then someone gave me a letter Lisa had written for me. I suspected she wanted to play kiss and makeup by the way she looked at me from across the room.

I began walking through another room and she was suddenly walking alongside me. I pretended not to notice her because I didn’t want to consider talking to her until I read the letter. I noticed she appeared to be slim.

In reality, I don’t want anything to do with her any more than I want anything to do with aunts, uncles, and cousins I’m not connected to on Facebook. Once you’re out of my life, no matter if I dumped you or you’re the one who dumped me, that’s the way it stays. Period. Almost every time I’ve given people a second chance it’s backfired on me and I only end up kicking myself for it and wishing I never bothered.

I realize I’m pretty normal being as unforgiving as I am. I hear people preach about forgiveness all the time yet I don’t see them putting their actions where their mouths are very often. Well, “normal” or a genuine ice princess, I am the way I am with zero apologies, and I do what works best for me.

Life is still great otherwise. :-) We’re having a nice relaxing day and enjoying a break from our regular responsibilities. It’s nice to be lazy every now and then and just do what we want and nothing that we absolutely have to do.

We tried out the carpet cleaner by doing just a square patch of carpet in front of the rats’ cage and it looks beautiful. I was worried at first that the cleaning solution would smell too chemical-like, but it actually smells good. It’s amazing how much dirt came out of that one section. That’s why the next place is going to have mostly floors in which we’ll just get a robot mop like we have a robot vacuum.

Although I don’t expect to hear any landscaping today, I do expect to hear a lot of car door slamming. You know my neighbors can never go anywhere for the holidays and that everybody has to come to them. I hope I sleep through Christmas!

As expected, the assholes turned our water off for an hour yesterday.

We got a ton of packages yesterday. The strapless bra and the tank tops fit great, but the skirt, as gorgeous as it is, is way too long. I will have to wear it as a tube dress, which it says you can do.

That was a hell of a deal on the tanks. I thought they might be thin flimsy crap for the price, but nope. You can wear them to bed or you could wear them outdoors. I love all the colors, too. A dozen good-quality tank tops for $23 is a sweet deal.

Really loving shopping for groceries online. The Walmart site is slow but simple. It’s very easy to use. I just wish they would add nutrition labels to the products. I love how it keeps track of what we’ve ordered so I can kick things out of the ‘favorites’ that I try and decide I don’t like.

They gave us a goody bag with some nice samples. I didn’t care for the snacks (thank goodness for rats and husbands, LOL), but I like the Crest tooth whitening strips, the L’Oreal hair system samples, and the full-size tube of Vaseline lotion. Figures I just had to go and buy lotion right before I got this, haha, but I can never have too much. It will all eventually get used.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 2016 I think I’ll just bullet today’s entry.

I had 1600 cals yesterday so my weight is the same… 150.6.

The LUX light is a complete waste of money.

Two days ago I had a strange stomach flu for 4-5 hours. It started with sharp cramps in my upper stomach. Then I had intermittent nausea.

Slept better last night but that could be because I took a lorazepam for the first time in a while after being up 18 hours.

I don’t remember a single dream.

UPS arrived at 9:30 with our carpet cleaner, goodies for Tom, and a few goodies for me.

Jasmine and her blonde buddy look great in their new pants and tops.

I now have a nice clean glass dish for my wax fragrance warmer. A tiny hole burned through the center of the other one as it got old and yucky, dribbling wax onto the bulb.

My early birthday present from Tom, a glass rainbow wind chime, is gorgeous and I love the sound of it. Now we just need some wind to go with it.

My new dress (black with a jagged chiffon hemline) is more like a tunic and looks great with my blue tights.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 2016 Stacey. Losing weight. Possibly being done with periods. Help with my sleep disorder.

Is it just me or do things seem a little too good to be true lately? I’ve now lost 4 pounds, though I’m kind of doubtful about the light therapy.

I slept horribly, constantly waking up, and I’ve decided to take a few days off from the new allergy nasal spray I started to make sure that that’s not affecting my sleep in any way. I doubt it is, though. I seem to be having longer, more detailed dreams, too.

I’m going to give it a little more time, but the light therapy seems like it’s going to be a bust since I got up 1.5 hours later today, which is typical. One of the times I woke up I didn’t think I would be able to fall back asleep, so maybe I would have gotten up sooner had I slept better.

I had a two-part dream that took place at Valleyhead, even though the place looked different. Several students and even that evil Donna were there. At first everybody slept on double beds (two to a bed) in a large dorm.

One of the girls complained to Donna that they were unable to sleep with their assigned bedmates because they kept them up all night.

“You’re going to have to find two people who would be able to sleep with each other and take one of their places,” I said, not caring what Donna thought of my suggestion.

In the next scene, I was going through my clothes and realized that I needed to do laundry because I was running out of underwear. Yet every time I thought I found the opportunity to do it, something would come up, keeping me so busy I barely had time to breathe.

I woke up for a while and then when I fell back asleep I was able to get that laundry done, LOL, that I was scrambling to do in the previous dream. The laundry room was downstairs in the basement. There were three washers on one wall and three dryers on another wall. I had been waiting for a machine to become available before I realized that I was waiting for nothing because it was a dryer when I needed a washer.

Then I went upstairs and I was moving some things out of one room and into another (I guess now we were in rooms instead of dorms). As some girl was leaving the room I was moving things into, I explained to her that I wanted to put the stuff there because I would probably be in that room soon enough.

She smiled and said that was exciting.

Then on another day within the same dream, I fell asleep intending to take a short nap, but ended up sleeping all day and didn’t get up until 3 PM. I realized I would need to go to sleep when “school” started in the morning, and I awoke from the dream as I was trying to decide if I should attend class or just skip it and hope they didn’t notice my absence.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 2016 “HA! HA! HA! HA!” said the ducks at the lake when I passed by the adorable Chihuahua in the pink frilly coat.

I was only out for 15 minutes because my hands froze. I don’t know why I didn’t take my gloves. It’s cold and foggy out there. I’ll make up the remaining 15 minutes on the skier.

For a few minutes after returning indoors, my left hand did this strange vibration that wasn’t visible but that I could feel. I can imagine my reaction to that one if I were on a little more levothyroxine and hadn’t been EMDRd.

Unfortunately, the kind of drug I’m on has me as worried about losing weight as I am excited. The difference between being beneficial and helpful versus being tormented both physically and emotionally is just a few micrograms and probably only a 20-pound loss in my case because I’m short. As he assured me, however, they test my levels often enough that I should have plenty of warning if I’m heading to a bad place.

I see Dr. A on the 13th. Hopefully, I will be able to tell her that my last period was right before I last saw her three months ago. Yes, I’m breaking records and I could very well be done with that. It’s still too soon to say for sure whether or not I will once again visit Bleederville, but either way, how many more periods could I possibly have?

Oh, great. Now the scammers know about my Gmail address and are spamming the shit out of that account in addition to my Hotmail and mail.com accounts. Makes me wonder if anyone I know is behind it. Would anyone really take the time to sign someone up for a bunch of shit or give their address to these shitsters?

He doesn’t think anyone I know is behind it. As he said, all it takes is one site being hacked.

The full-spectrum light therapy is off to a good start. Maybe a little too good, although the nightmare I had is why I woke up a little early. It’s way too soon to know for sure. There have been times when I would get up at the same time for three or four days in a row. If I were able to get up at the same time for a whole week, then I would think yeah, maybe we were onto something here. I might not use it for a few days if that’s the case because 4 AM is a little earlier than I would like to be getting up at. 6 AM is more reasonable. I would prefer to sleep 10 PM to 6 AM rather than 8 PM to 4 AM. I just got an early head start because I ran out of patience waiting to try it.

The one and only thing I would hate if I were always on days would be having to listen to landscaping and traffic every single day unless it was raining. The rain doesn’t always save me from that shit either.

I’m also going to hit the Bowflex and clean both bedrooms and bathrooms today. I did the laundry room last night. Tomorrow I’ll do the kitchen, dining and living room.

I got a brush made for ceiling fans when we were at Lowe’s.

We saw some robotic fish while we were at Target and joked about throwing them in the pool. That would really make the old folks wonder just how senile they were getting!

We decided to go ahead and do our huge Amazon order now rather than wait until early next month. This way we avoid the holiday rush.

He got several electronic parts/gadgets, plus I ordered a couple of boxes of the protein cookies I’ve been having on this diet in a couple of flavors I haven’t tried yet… peanut butter and birthday cake.

We got the flooring tiles and the carpet cleaner, plus I ordered a replacement dish for my wax fragrance warmer, and a new hammock/tent for the rats.

For fun things, I have about 10 things on the way, one of which is coming today. That would be my black dress with an asymmetrical hem. I will also be receiving the following list:

A glass rainbow wind chime

A rainbow sweatshirt

A beige strapless bra

A 12-pack of tank tops, each in a different color

A black long-sleeve shirt in which part of the sleeve is cut out

A gold chain belt

A floral skirt with a feather on the end of a ribbon

An assortment of 10 different bath bombs

Two tops and two pairs of pants for my 18” dolls.

In last night’s nightmare, I dreamed I was staying in some cabin in the woods with three or four other people. I guess there was a main cabin that we all met up in, but we would sleep in individual cabins that were nearby. Word was out that a killer was on the loose. On our first night there, one woman who seemed fairly youngish was a little worried about heading to her cabin alone. I told her I would watch her from the door. Her cabin was about 100 feet away, but by the time she got barely 50 feet away, a man jumped out of the shadows and started stabbing her. I opened my mouth to scream for help and for someone to call the cops, but no sound would come out as I awoke.

In another dream, my sister called to tell me she won a karaoke contest. LOL, no chance. She hates to sing. I used to win these things in the early 90s. Too bad I hadn’t yet quit smoking as I probably could have won even more.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 2016 Those brown butter rum cookies were so good! Amazingly, I didn’t go up the pound I expected to go up taking a day off from my diet like I did. Instead, I went up just 2/10 of a pound. Been back on track today and didn’t get any treats at the store.

I began light therapy this morning even though I’m still getting up pretty early, and even though I don’t see how a simple light could help much. But I’ve been surprised in the past and so we’ll see if I’m surprised again.

The cheap shiny silver faucet I stupidly picked out for the master bathroom not long after we moved in here sprung a leak yesterday. A part of me is glad because no matter how much I would clean the damn thing, it would always have these white spots on it. So this morning we went to Lowe’s and I picked out a less shiny nickel-finished faucet that’s quite beautiful. It doesn’t have a single lever but it’s very stylish, way better quality, and it goes well in there. This faucet is a little higher and that should make rinsing my mouth when brushing my teeth easier. It cost $100.

Some other time we’ll replace the drain. The drains in both the sinks look kind of old and gross.

Our second stop was at Target to use a coupon for $5 off $25 worth of stuff. However, there was a hidden catch and the stuff we got didn’t qualify. As he said, this is why we don’t get their rewards card; because there are always hidden catches that weren’t advertised. I do like their store, though. They have a good selection, and for once the store was pretty dead, so we got to shop in peace.

I got a couple of necklaces that are unique to anything I’ve ever had before. One is a 3 in 1 where it has 3 gold chains of different lengths, each with a different color gemstone. The smallest one on top is clear. The medium-sized one in the middle is magenta, and then the largest one on the bottom is what I would describe as “cloudy” pink.

The other necklace is a very long strand of blue beads with little tassels on the ends. You can either wear it as a scarf or tie it in a knot in front.

Grabbed a bag of Birthday Cake bath bombs, and the cutest, most comfortable pair of slippers I ever had. Pretty sure they’re girls’ slippers. They’re pink and blue furry slippers with a scattering of shiny firs and they go a few inches above the ankles. I kind of wish I had boots like these. Initially I wanted something convenient that I could quickly step in and out of, but when I saw these I said screw convenience. They were just too adorable to pass up.

They did a good job with the groceries that we ordered online and we’re thinking this is what we’ll probably do for the most part. There was only one thing missing that they substituted for.

I’m going to order some of the protein cookies that I’ve been having online because it’s cheaper that way. Meanwhile… no meat until after the labs at the beginning of next month.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 2016 I’ve been alive for 18,600 days. That’s what Alexa just told me. She also told me that there are 87 days until Valentine’s Day. I can’t wait! thinks of Stacey and smiles

So now the Trumpster is whining about his sidekick getting booed, and demanding an apology. Oh, but he has no apology for the women he sexually abused, right? Seriously if these two can’t handle those who can’t stand them, then why don’t they just resign?

This cold rainy day is passing too slowly. This is the last Saturday in a while that DH should have to work. He should be home around 1:00. We ordered groceries from Walmart for the first time and he will be picking them up on the way home.

I’ve lost 3 pounds since turning 80% of my diet into vegetables. I have pretty much cut out meat completely, but not for forever. Forever is just too long. I’m sure I’ll have both meat and sweets on weekends. It’s just too close to lab time for me to be having any cholesterol right now. I’m not even eating fish, which doesn’t have as much cholesterol as beef does.

My sweet treat this weekend is going to be something new to try that I stumbled upon while shopping… Pepperidge Farm brown butter rum cookies.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 2016 Was today another noisy day? Well, of course it was. Landscaping here, landscaping there… landscaping everywhere, every single fucking day.

I kind of wish it was bedtime now because I’m bored. I’m at that point in my day where I’m no longer awake enough to do anything productive, but I’m not tired enough to fall asleep yet either.

Instead, I’m sitting here wondering why my joints are so stiff. This time it’s my other hip and I have a little stiffness in my lower right back.

I’m also sitting here thinking of how it’s almost always been me that initiated friendships and relationships and even just casual conversations be it online or offline, and how that gets to me at times. It just bothers me that not as many people have cared to seek me out as much as I cared to seek them, even if it’s just to say hello.

But then I realized that hey, maybe this is just the one way I was meant to be a leader in life. For some reason, I have been “designated” to be the one to make the first move, even if I don’t always get very far. I’m not sure I like that any more than I like the idea of being a follower. I’ve never had any desire to be a leader in life or a follower, though I’ve been forced to be a follower many times by circumstances beyond my control.

Seriously, I was obviously meant to be a real leader in this way for whatever reason, plus I also realize that not everybody cares enough to remember names like I do, nor do they have the ability to if they did. Furthermore, they probably don’t have nearly 30 year’s worth of journals to refer to for any names they might have forgotten.

Either way, if patterns hold true to themselves then I should never hear from Stacey again unless I contact her. My head says not to bother but my heart is curious. I can’t believe even a friendship would come of it but there’s still a part of me that feels it’s hard to believe it wouldn’t. Not that she would intentionally do any such thing, but I’ve been led on by women before, so this is why I’m hesitant to bother with her. Again, not that it’s her intention to lead me on, but women have gotten my hopes up in ways that men never have, for even just a friendship. Then again, I don’t know if I can fairly make that comparison when I haven’t been interested in very many men in my life.

I just wish I knew what she was open to. Does she have any particular hopes for us? I will admit that a part of me, even if it’s a very small part, has sometimes wished for a woman on the side to spice things up and add variety to my life. It isn’t that my life is bad or that I feel I’m missing anything; but more like me being open to any fun and interesting additions.

But just how open am I really to anything more than friendship? That’s the one thing I’m not sure of, and I guess no one ever is unless they’re actually in that situation and have to make a choice.

I’m guessing that the only thing she would be open to is meeting in her office, and I would certainly be okay with that if I knew for sure that she didn’t have anything else in mind, and I’m still guessing that while she gave me every indication to believe that she’s attracted to me (no, I definitely didn’t imagine that), she would remain professional. If even friendship is forbidden between a counselor and a former patient, I just can’t believe she would risk her license and career even if she may be coming to the end of it, just because someone might have noticed her in a way she probably hasn’t been noticed for years. Would I really be worth it to her?

If only I knew what she wanted because then I would be willing to work with that as long as she didn’t have any ridiculous expectations in mind, and again, I just can’t imagine her of all people wanting more than I could give, let alone wanting what I could give.

Only time will tell for sure as things play themselves out over the upcoming months, years… whatever. For now, I can just guess that if I ever do see her again it will be in her office.

When I call her on Valentine’s Day, because I know she’s not going to call me first, I was thinking I might let her know that I miss her and see if she suggests I come to see her. I thought I would also see if she was open to texting or email.

So yeah, I’ll “lead” the way by calling Stacey and being told that I’m welcome to come and see her, but that text or email is not an option, even though she seemed quite pleased when I gave her my contact info, and even though she was clearly attracted to me.

I suppose I shouldn’t think that negatively. After all, I never would have believed that someone like her would be attracted to me in the first place, yet she is. I just don’t want to get my hopes up for nothing, even though it’s not like I’m going to ball my eyes out if things don’t go my way. I’m not the person I was 15 years ago when Johnson fucked with my head. But why invest the time?

If I see Stacey, great. If not, I will always appreciate the help she gave me and I will always have her memories to cherish.

I think it’s her not going to my blog, and her asking if I would be okay with not meeting a certain woman that’s got me thinking a little negatively.

Foolish or not, though, I am thinking positively more than I’m thinking negatively where she’s concerned because she gave off more positive signs than negative signs.

I just wish I knew if she’s got it in mind to call me after a certain amount of time has gone by, or if she’s hoping that I’m the one to make the first move.

Well… I’m 99.9% sure that I’m going to be making that first move.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 2016 I’ve been hearing less and less from Tammy but I understand that she is no doubt excited to catch up on things she hasn’t been able to do now that she’s got more energy since being stented, and is breathing easier since quitting smoking. She does still have fibromyalgia, though, and invited me to a Facebook group she created, even though I’m rarely on Facebook these days, and don’t know how I could possibly contribute other than to send my love and well wishes.

I don’t have chronic pain throughout my body; just in my left hip and my ear that isn’t really my ear, and it’s not quite “chronic.” I do get some days off. I just think it’s rather sad, as I told her, that it took 3 doctors in 12 years to finally be told what it is. It’s jaw joint arthritis, which was probably caused by my ear surgery. I can’t swear that I wouldn’t have it had I not had surgery, but I have a feeling I wouldn’t. The more I looked up the symptoms, the more I think my ENT is right on with the diagnosis she gave me. Funny because the last two EMTs were males. Yet Trump thinks males are smarter? Who the hell does he think he’s kidding? I’ve always known women were the smarter gender. This doesn’t mean there aren’t smart guys out there – my hubby is probably smarter than 98% of the population – and that there aren’t any stupid women in this world, but I think that women are smarter in general. Anyway, it’s called Temporomandibular Joint Disorders (TMJ and TMD).

They say that understanding something helps us to deal with it better, but I’m not sure in this case. I think all it does is settle my curiosity. They can’t fix this any more than they can cure my circadian rhythm disorder, so my knowing and understanding don’t change anything.

I was chatting on Yelp with this poor girl named Kristi in Woodland who was asking me about my old endocrinologist. She’s having the exact same symptoms I am and I assured her that my old endo is definitely the one to go to. Being older she’s had more experience, and she’s very understanding and knowledgeable. She understands that you can’t look at just the numbers and assume that every patient’s ideal numbers are going to be within their standard reference range. She’s super nice, too. A little stern at times, but nice. I told her of the symptoms I had and how frustrating it was with my old team of doctors at the old medical group telling me, “Oh, you’re just anxious,” when I knew it wasn’t normal for me to have my heart feel like it was going to jump out of my chest. So… I feel for her. I really do. I know how horrible and downright scary it can be. Just don’t expect to recover for a few months, I reminded her, since levothyroxine isn’t like aspirin where it leaves the body after a matter of hours.

It’s a very chilly 38° out now and I’m really hoping today is quieter than yesterday. First I had to hear landscaping at the house diagonally from us, then Bob broke out his blower, and then the park came by with their insanely loud blower, and I’m like, “Can we please stop it already?!”

At least it’s too cold for the motorcycles.

I don’t remember much of what happened, and the dreams only seemed to last for a second or two, but Stacey appeared in a record-breaking three or four dreams. I know we’re supposed to dream about things that are on our minds, but I’ve thought of her pretty much every day since last summer, yet this is the first time she showed up in my dreams this much. Although none of the dreams seemed to be negative in any way – if anything one of them might have been rather explicit – I don’t get the feeling that they mean anything. In other words, I don’t think they’re a sign of anything in particular to come.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 2016 Although I’m keeping my Facebook account, I’m only checking in for messages once a week because I’m sick and fucking tired of nothing but political rants. No matter what side of the coin you’re on, too much is too much, and I’ve definitely had enough. Every day I tune in to hear about people and subjects that are beyond old and I’m tired of it. But people have a right to post what they want.

Even if people post a good mix of variety on Facebook, I prefer other social sites where I have more control over my privacy and can interact with people privately if I choose to do so. If I don’t want a certain Facebook friend knowing I’ve been there, I can’t comment on another friend’s post without it being waved in front of their faces.

My blog posts will still be shared there, which I don’t have to do from Facebook, and I let Tammy know that she should email me if anything important happens with her or the girls, as when I check in for messages I’m not going to be combing the newsfeed. Politics, religion, racism, Bill G… I’ve had enough.

The park not only had our water off again (I knew it was due to be shut off anytime now) but they also never warned us ahead of time like they did the last few times. I hope the office was bombarded with calls and messages from people complaining! I wonder when people are going to get so fed up that they demand space rent cuts. Over $800 a month for this shit? Come on! Actually, it’s over a grand when you add in trash pickup and shit like that.

I slept through the water shutoff, but I knew the water had been off when I got up and used the toilet cuz it “farted.” Poor Tom, though. It was off when he got home at 5:30 and it was still off when he went to bed at 7:45.

I’m now 8 hours away from trying the circadian light.

We’ve changed our mind as far as going with solid white in the kitchen. It would just look too stark in comparison with the maple cabinets. More than likely it will be flower power all the way with each section having a neutral color with some kind of flower design on it.

I was going to throw in some watercolor paints and a watercolor pad in the next Amazon order we’re planning, but then said, nah. I’m just not into being artistic in that kind of way anymore.

Last night I dreamed there was either a warrant out for my arrest or I was going to be charged with something (I don’t know what) and my brother was alive and either working for the police department or someone connected to it. I was talking to him on the phone and he was somehow going to take care of things for me by having someone pick me up that he knew.

I waited in this strange house with a cluttered living room and old dingy-looking kitchen, but whoever was supposed to pick me up never arrived. I called and told Tom I was tired of waiting and that I didn’t give a shit if there was a warrant out for my arrest or not at that point.

I then stepped out the back door of the house which was off the kitchen and began what I knew would be a long walk to some office.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 2016 I laughed when Tom told me he thought we should get roller skates to use around the park until the thought of using them on this hilly terrain changed his mind. He couldn’t even walk in the snow and ice in Oregon without falling on his ass, so how does he expect to be able to roller-skate? He’s right, though. This terrain is too hilly even for those of us who can actually skate.

We went out walking late last night. I didn’t think the moon looked that much bigger than usual, but it was definitely bright. Of all the places I’ve lived, the moon looked the biggest in the desert.

The yellow African daisies just outside the front door are blooming nicely now. strange time of year for them to come to life, but I guess they thrive in the cooler temperatures.

It was pretty cold on our walk last night, down in the 40s. I had my hoodie on as well as a scarf and knit gloves. It’s supposed to rain today and then by Friday night get down into the 30s. Ugh.

We’ve now got a pretty good idea of what tile designs we’re getting. Tom said he would go with white in the kitchen and at first I thought white would look too sterile, almost like in a hospital. But compared to my surprisingly few other choices, I think white would be our best bet for that room.

I’ve chosen beige tiles with small pink flowers and their centers for the laundry/bath areas. Really wish we could see what they’d look like in the rooms, but even if I printed pictures out, the colors we see online aren’t always true.

One of the things they voted on in California was to stop using thin plastic grocery bags. They’ve gone to thicker plastic bags that are reusable and that cost a dime each if you decide to keep getting new ones. I figured that we might as well make it more fun and colorful, and so I picked out a 9-piece set of grocery totes on Amazon, each one being a different color.

Not that I’m complaining, but where are all the motorcycles? Even before it cooled down I noticed that I haven’t been hearing any.

Here’s something that’s probably meaningless but a little strange just the same. About a week or two ago, I heard this strange creaking sound late at night. At first I thought it was Tom’s chair, which creaks when he moves. But he was asleep and this particular creaking sound was consistent in volume, pitch and length of time.

Then one day I was standing in the kitchen waiting for my coffee to finish brewing. As I slowly shifted my weight back and forth I noticed the exact same sound. It was then that I remembered Andy, who insisted he was just as psychic with ghosts as I am at times with dream premonitions, told me that the spirit of the guy who used to live here was present.

Hmm… interesting. Still not sure I believe in ghosts, especially since I’ve never actually seen one, despite some signs suggesting that our land in Arizona was haunted. I’ve never had the feeling that this place is haunted, but it was a weird coincidence. If Andy was right, what does the guy do… walk around the kitchen late at night on occasion?

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 2016 I just searched different combinations of keywords and actually got about half a dozen psychologists in the state with the first name of Stacey. That could be cut in half based on area, and yes, there is another one in Sacramento. But even so, anyone could call them all. Giving her real first name hasn’t caused any harm yet, but if God forbid some psycho troll latched onto me and called all the Stacey psychologists in my area, I would be so pissed. Stacey wouldn’t give out any information of course, but it’s one thing for trolls to come at me, and another when they go after people I know.

At this point I don’t know what gets to me more… Trump winning or the fact that people have become so obsessed with him that he’s all I hear about no matter where I go. Then again, Trump didn’t “win.” Hate won.

Really wish people would find a – shall we say – healthier obsession. Dwelling on shit that can’t be changed, unless someone can find a way to assassinate both him and Pence.

Lenore peeked in on me after the election but hasn’t been back since. I’m guessing she was curious about my reaction to who was elected.

The more I think about it the more I’m sure that whenever I start a low-calorie diet, the few pounds I always lose isn’t weight but water instead. If the diets were really causing weight loss I would ultimately lose more than just a few pounds, wouldn’t I? I think that for some reason it just triggers water loss.

My Aurora Borealis sweatshirt arrived and fits great. Any smaller and it would be too tight. The material is thicker and of better quality than I thought it would be for the price. The only thing is that the design appears to be a bit darker than it does online.

We went to Walgreens earlier where we both got some junk food. He got chips and cakes and I got a candy bar and Tic Tacs. Other than Tic Tacs, I’m determined to cut out the junk starting tomorrow. It really isn’t good for me. It’s what Tom mostly eats, however, which is unfortunate.

I also got a large rose-gold barrette, which is hard to find. So whenever I spot barrettes this large I grab them.

I also got a pair of blue leggings with faint white streaks. They’re slightly tight but wearable. Now I have leggings in four different colors.

For $10 I got six Hawaiian Lei bath bombs that I’ll be looking forward to trying tomorrow.

The Supermoon is huge and bright, so we’re going out walking just after 3 AM after he’s had a chance to wake up. He still likes to get up a few hours before work so he doesn’t feel rushed and he has a chance to do things that he likes to do.

I let the rats out earlier. Burke always wants to come out, but Dumbo sometimes does, and Simon almost never does. Rats eventually find their way back home when you leave their cage door open. Once Burke was home I shut the door thinking everybody was home. Burke and Dumbo are both dark brown, and an hour or two later I see a dark brown rat climbing up the door. I immediately thought it was Burkey boy and wondered how the hell he got out, but when I picked him up I noticed right away that the fir was coarse and wooly and not smooth and silky like Burke’s. Plus, there were the “down” ears instead of the top ears, and so I knew it was Dumbo. He’d obviously been out the whole time and probably fell asleep behind my desk.

Later…

This bath bomb wasn’t quite as good as the big bomb I got at BB&B, but it was better than the set of small bombs. Still had to lotion up my driest spots… legs/forearms. Didn’t mess up the tub, though, so that’s good. Will probably get more from Walgreens eventually. As for the online variety pack… don’t know. Will leave it in ’save for later’ for now.

I’m excited about the huge Amazon order we’ll be doing next month. Each year we do a huge order and take the year to pay it off. This isn’t just about getting fun stuff, but things we need, as well.

It’s been 2.5 years since we had the carpet installed and it definitely needs to be cleaned. Because I went with a lighter color, dirt tracked in from outdoors is more evident. For about the same price as a rental, you can buy a decent carpet cleaner. That way we can do it at our own convenience anytime we want.

We’re also going to get the floor tiles and FINALLY redo these hideous floors.

Got up just after 7pm, which means I’m now 11 hours from trying the circadian light. I’m going to try to hold my schedule so that I’m sleeping between 10pm - 6am. I still seriously doubt it will help long-term. I know it’s helped some people, but as recent studies have shown, sleep schedules aren’t all about light like they originally thought it was or else they wouldn’t have discovered this particular disorder in some blind people as they have.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 2016 Read that in 1995 the Code of Ethics had a 2-year ban on sexual relationships between counselors and clients. Then it was raised to 5 years after termination of therapy in 2005.

But what about just a friendship with a former counselor???

I’ve asked myself over and over again… despite the mutual attraction and fondness that any idiot would’ve picked up on, would I actually want anything more than just a friendship if the choice were mine?

Definitely not. I just don’t feel the need for a side dish nor would I have the confidence for that even if I did, thanks to being fat and older. I could see kissing, hugging, snuggling up on the couch to watch a movie, but definitely not spreading my legs.

The experts insist that even long after termination of therapy, and even if the client is open to sex, it is harmful to the client. I can totally see this being the case if the client goes to a therapist because they were raped, and that therapist takes advantage of their vulnerability and fragile state of mind.

But what about a nonsexual relationship involving a client who went to a therapist on account of a scary reaction to a medication? Rape is a long way away from a drug that can scare the shit out of you in the wrong doses. I just don’t know if we can really lump every single client into one big group like that. Then again I’ve never had any kind of relationship with a former counselor, and I don’t expect to despite the “signs,” so I can’t say for sure how I might end up feeling. My guess is that I wouldn’t feel any different than had I been sitting across from someone on a bus when I happened to be anxious and was given tips on how to handle it, as opposed to sitting across from someone in a room who gave me the same tips.

I know I said this with Johnson, but it’s a little hard to believe that something won’t eventually happen, even though there were a few signs saying it wouldn’t. Not checking out my blog was the biggest sign saying she might actually have zero hopes/plans to meet later on down the road, and personally, it’s really very hard to picture Stacey of all people doing anything unethical. If she has any future hopes or plans for us, then I certainly couldn’t be the first one she’s had them with. So then how would she be getting away with this for 27 years even if it only happened a few times? Would she have waited or something? I suppose if she waited or no one said anything, then she wouldn’t be at risk of losing her license. Again, very hard to picture her ending up friends or fuck buddies with any old clients, but I never would’ve guessed in a million years that I’d catch the eye of a therapist either. Cassandra, which I saw back east in 1991 might have been attracted to me, but this is totally different. Totally.

The not knowing what’s going to happen is slightly frustrating but it’s mostly fun because it keeps things interesting and gives me something to look forward to. The only difference is that if it comes down to me realizing we’re never going to see each other outside the office, I’m not going to be devastated over it for four months like I was when I realized I’d never hear from Johnson again because I’m older and smarter than that now. Then again I don’t know if smarter is a good choice of words, but maybe I’m just better, not as needy, and used to things turning out a certain way.

I keep almost nothing from Tom but I have chosen not to let him in on Stacey’s attraction for me for now so that he doesn’t go getting his paranoid pants on, even if I’m smart enough to know that he knows me better and we’ve been “just friends” for ages now. Attraction or not, we’re not going to get it on like we’re in our 20s, and I’m not going to run off with her into the sunset either. He will know someday. Just not right now unless he’s reading my journals. Otherwise, the only ones who know at the moment are Tammy and some PBers.

I don’t expect to see her ever again, but I’m definitely open to a friendship, and I still plan to call on or around Valentine’s Day, depending on my schedule at the time.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 2016 I love to think. I mean really sit and think. It’s good for the brain. It allows you to imagine real possibilities as well as to indulge in fun fantasies. The brain can be one giant workshop or can be one giant playground. It’s an outlet for creativity as well as a means of cultivating understanding and knowledge.

So I sit here tonight and I wonder… how have we become more tolerant yet still so intolerant? We’re more tolerant in that we’ll give blacks extra rights/protection and we’ll allow gays to marry, yet overall we can’t tolerate shit. Or better yet we won’t.

And what is it with the stupidity? Sorry folks, I don’t mean to sound like a know-it-all as I’m the last one who has all the answers, but shouldn’t some things be rather obvious and a simple matter of common sense?

Are there really still people out there who still believe that there’s no such thing as global warming?

Or medical conditions that really can make you depressed or anxious?

That gay/bi people choose to be gay/bi due to rape or incest and that it’s all about body parts only and not the gender as a whole? Yes, we can choose, alright. We can choose not to be who we are. But wouldn’t that be like eating nothing but foods you don’t like for the rest of your life? I wouldn’t change who and what I am because I don’t give a shit about what others think of me. I’m much too selfish to care. But I have a feeling that if we had more control over certain things, we would see a radical change pretty fast.

Later…

I’m normally one who believes in resolving issues without violence, yet I have never in my life wished for a president to be assassinated as I do now. Seriously, he needs to go. We can’t afford to have people like him in this world, especially as a leader. He’s just too fucked up and too dangerous. So please, please… Someone out there… Do the right thing. I don’t care if it’s slow and torturous or short and sweet. Just someone… Get rid of him!

Sure enough, people have begun rioting as I figured they would. While white people have been involved in the riots, I’m not at all surprised that a high school black girl beat the crap out of a white schoolmate for supporting Trump. Gee, blacks, that’s really going to make us like you.

It’s sickening how many bystanders just sat and did absolutely nothing until one girl finally helped. And why do Facebook and Twitter post this shit?

Later…

I couldn’t wait for the election to be over because I was so sick and tired of hearing about the candidates and political shit as a whole, yet everywhere I go online people are STILL going on and on about it. It really is getting old and I wonder when people will move on.

I can’t stand Trump either and I would love to see him and Pence assassinated, but it’s not going to happen, so we might as well just get on with our lives and remember that they’re not as powerful as some may think. There are 2 of them and there are about 300 million of us. I say they’re pretty outnumbered no matter who/what they are. :-) But yeah, even though I’ve always believed in resolving issues without violence, this is the first pair in which I wouldn’t lose a single tear if they got taken out of the picture. The only problem is that it’s become virtually impossible to do since the Reagan attempt.

While we are on the damn subject… I read an interesting journal entry of someone’s that spoke of people’s twisted views/laws no matter what side of the coin they’re on. They pointed out some of the following issues, although maybe not in so many words.

If you wouldn’t vote for Obama because he’s black, you’re racist. If you voted for him because he’s black, you’re not racist.

If you don’t want a shitload of Muslims coming over here that have no regard for American law, believe that gays should be pushed off of buildings and that no woman should be allowed to leave home without a male relative, you’re once again racist.

But then if you support Muslims coming over here that refuse to abide by our law and that want to kill damn near everybody they disagree with, you’re just a sweetheart.

If you voted for Trump, you’re sexist, and if you voted for Hillary, you’re still sexist.

If you’re in favor of birth control, you’re a real ass for believing that women should have total rights to their lives and bodies.

If you’re against birth control, then you’re saving “lives.” You know, those lives that aren’t really lives but actually just a cluster of cells with zero sense of awareness?

If a black person beats the shit out of a white person, it will probably be labeled simple assault and they might get just a few months in jail.

If a white person beats the shit out of a black person, it will probably be labeled a hate crime and that person may very well go to prison for life.

In non-political news, I had palpitations twice when out walking. Really hope it does this during my stress test, but it probably won’t. It doesn’t do it every time I work out. It fluttered a few times as I was climbing the “rollercoaster,” then once as I was coming uphill from the lake. But like a car quits making those funny noises when brought to the mechanic, my heart probably won’t flutter during the test.

Even though it’s way too early being that it’s not even mid-November yet, someone’s got a bunch of Christmas lights running alongside the lake and it looks really cool the way it reflects off the water. I wish I had my camera.

The muscle injury in my lower left gut has healed, but the pain in my lower side is back. Tough shit. I have to work out. Not working out will raise both my weight and my cholesterol.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 2016 Walmart is now offering this service where you can order your groceries online, they pick them out for you, and then you pick them up. This is awesome and it would save him a lot of time. The one thing I miss from our old place (besides the seclusion) was when we used to use Raley’s for this service which, strangely enough, isn’t available outside of the rural areas.

It’s nice to know that Sheriff Joe Arpaio will not be reelected. He’s a genuine piece of shit and I honestly don’t know why he’s still alive. He’s pissed off so many people and made so many enemies. I understand his frustration with illegals, but to make inmates live in tents like they’re fucking dogs in doghouses in the brutal heat of the desert is totally inhumane. I can see this with a rapist perhaps, but with women who are prostitutes or druggies? Do they really deserve and need to be treated like animals?

I haven’t had any heartburn in a while now. It definitely had to do with that deep-dish pizza I was getting. It was just way too greasy. I have felt a lot better since I changed my diet and started eating less. Yes, I’m hungry at times but I would honestly prefer that to feeling full and bloated. I eat six times a day, every few hours, and I virtually cut out all cholesterol. I mostly have veggies. I split a giant protein cookie that is loaded with vitamins and nutrients but still tastes good in half for the first two times I eat since it’s two servings. The next two times I eat I split one of those Birds Eye protein mix bags. I really like the Tuscan and the Italian-style mixes. The California and Hawaiian styles are so-so. I won’t dare try the Southwestern or the Thai styles because I don’t like spicy foods. Curry sauce, chili, hot peppers, jalapeños… no way.

I also have a small kiddy yogurt and a fruit cup in between.

As usual, my weight began to reset itself as soon as I hit 151.8, and I don’t doubt that I’ll be back to the 154.4 that I started at, even if I keep dieting. This is where my body feels comfortable and that’s OKAY. I still feel better this way, it keeps me regular, it’s healthy, it’s low cholesterol, and it’s cheaper than TV dinners.

There really are benefits to keeping the extra weight as well as losing it. I would be healthier, more flexible, and better looking if I lost weight. But this way the clothes I got will still fit, my wedding band will still fit, and I don’t have to worry about my meds backfiring on me.

For once I slept okay and didn’t wake up too hot.

I don’t know which rat it was or if it was just some fictitious rat, but last night I dreamed that we were staying somewhere for a while and the rat we had at the time loved it there so much that we decided to leave it behind when we left. No way we would ever do anything like that, of course. Rats can be happy anywhere as long as they have food, love and attention.

Then I was in some store and I just had to have this purple and black dress that was part of some Halloween costume. I was also looking through some strange journal as well.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 2016 I still can’t believe Trump won. Everything was pointing to Hillary winning, and she did win the popular votes. No offense to female Trump voters since it was your right to do so, but I have to wonder what kind of self-respect a woman could possibly have for herself if she chooses someone who hates her for the body parts she was born with. Because she thinks he’s going to stop illegal immigration? Well, think again because he just doesn’t have the kind of power a lot of people like to think he has. The vast majority of his power is over the military. I don’t know that I buy his claims of being so anti-immigration anyway because his wife started off as an illegal and he has illegals working for him. I think politicians simply say whatever they think is going to make them the most money whether it’s what people want to hear or not. Yes, I wanted Hillary, but she’s a self-serving, greedy liar too. They all have their good and bad, but I do think this team definitely has more bad than good.

Personally, I wish people would stop coming over here even the legal way because we have enough people here already hogging our precious resources. I highly doubt my husband would have spent 2.5 years on unemployment during the recession if outsiders weren’t coming over by the thousands to take what’s ours.

I know that we’re all entitled to our beliefs and that a simple belief is harmless, but Pence’s belief that gays can be cured through conversion therapy is utterly ridiculous. No one gets to choose their sexual orientation whether they’re gay, straight or bi like me. If one could be converted to being attracted to the opposite sex, then one could be converted to being attracted to the same sex. This isn’t possible, and even if it was… why??? Why should one be forced to change their sexual preference so long as they’re consenting adults?

As I said, he only has so much power, so at least we can take solace in knowing that he can’t strip women of their rights and salaries, he can’t dissolve gay marriages, and he can’t paint black people white either, as I was telling someone else. Tom doesn’t think he’ll ignite World War III, even though that’s what some people fear. We do believe Middle Eastern Muslims will attack more Europeans, however, because Europeans are the closest people they can take their frustrations out on. These are people who believe violence is the answer to everything and will use the slightest excuse to act on that belief.

I know some people are worried that this is sending the wrong message to society saying that it’s okay to hate, and that it’s going to fuel more hatred, but I don’t think it will. There were haters long before Trump hit the scene. I think people become haters because they either choose to do so or they had a horrible personal experience that made them hate.

Even so, and even though I’m a person who does not condone violence whatsoever, I wouldn’t lose any tears if Trump were ever assassinated. I doubt very much it’ll happen, but then again I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be elected either.

Later…

I had a dream that Aly tweeted to me. Good luck with that Hündin, since you don’t know of my Twitter account. She RTd a tweet saying that it’s easier to forgive an enemy than a friend. I’m sure that was aimed at me, too. Still can’t believe she feels she can’t “forgive” someone who was just being honest with her, but as we all know, the world is full of idiocy and senselessness. So yeah, if you tell a friend that she’s getting to be a little too demanding and clingy, and you warn her about phony crazies trying to burn her, you just might find your ass being dumped like yesterday’s trash. Great world we live in, ay?

Lenore is back, too.

Speaking of violence and the way kids act so animalistic these days, Tom was pointing out how my parents probably thought they were helping me by putting me through ear surgery because even though I was a bully, especially in elementary school, kids were much crueler and violence was much higher in the 60s and 70s despite there being fewer people. When our parents were kids, and even when he was a kid, it was socially acceptable for big kids to pick on little kids, just like child abuse was practically legal. If my siblings and I were born in the 90s and later instead of the 50s and 60s, our parents would have been arrested for many of the things they did if they parented in a similar fashion. Child Protective Services would have at least been called to investigate, that’s for sure.

It’s because parents are less violent as a whole that today’s children are out of control. He totally has a point when he said that you either beat them into submission and controlled them with intimidation, threats and violence, or you just let them be, and there isn’t much else in between. I’m sure there are some people who can breed and raise good kids without the violence – he came out just fine without the physical force – but he still does have a point. It’s much quicker and easier to control a person with violence than through words. Either that or money or maybe blackmail. But blackmail comes under the category of intimidation.

This is a tough one for me because while we don’t support child abuse of any kind, I sure miss the days when we could go to stores and restaurants and not be bombarded with screaming, spoiled brats running all over the place. I spent my first 26 years in the East and I don’t remember screaming kids in any restaurants or stores I ever went to. Ever. Things changed around the time I moved to Arizona in the 90s.

So do we bring back and make the unacceptable acceptable once again? I say definitely not. But there doesn’t seem to be much of a happy medium or any other way around the issue. My mother would have kicked my ass if I carried on like today’s kids back when I was a kid. But if she had been like most modern parents, I would’ve been a totally different kid and probably a different adult as well.

Another thing that pisses me off is the dual standards, and this has nothing to do with who the president is. If I beat the shit out of another white person I would be put in prison for years, but if they were black, it would automatically be labeled a hate crime even if that wasn’t the issue at all, and I would be sent to prison for life because they are a “protected class” right along with cops in most state and government officials. I’m sorry, but I still don’t see how blacks are supposed to be discriminated against on the large scale some claim they are. I can see the gays still being shit on by the masses, but with all the special laws and privileges that blacks have that whites don’t, where’s the so-called discrimination that’s supposed to be running rampant?

Later…

I hope Michelle Obama decides to run for prez in 2020. I really do. Tom and I both agree she stands a chance of winning. I think that because she’s black she has a good chance right there despite being a woman. You know me, I still say racism is exaggerated while gay-bashing is played down.

We both agree that she stands a chance because she gives better speeches and she comes off as nicer and friendlier than Hillary. Hillary is just as smart but she does come off as rather stern and businesslike in comparison. So while I may not care for blacks as a whole, Michelle is one of those exceptions and I wouldn’t mind her for president at all.

It really pisses me off that they legalized marijuana in California. Not because I care what others choose to do to their own bodies. Oh no, if you want to kill your brain cells and make yourself a fuckedtarded zombie, go ahead. The problem I have with it is that now I’ll have to gag on secondhand pot smoke when I’m out in public just like I do with cigarette smoke. I’m sure they’ll keep it out of restaurants as with cigarettes, but no one’s going to give a shit if I would prefer to breathe in clean air rather than the joint you’re smoking by the door to the Walmart I’m about to enter or exit.

Tom, however, thinks it will be treated like alcohol, which means you can’t do it in public unless it’s in a place specifically designated for that. Let’s just say this is another reason for me never to want to return to a casino.

So yeah, make yourself forgetful, make yourself stupid, give yourself lung cancer, shorten your lifespan, waste a shitload of money. Just don’t do it at my expense, ok?

Later…

Before meeting Tom, and with very few exceptions, I did a great job of attracting mostly losers. Jobless, carless, stupid, immature people that bordered on crazy. I realize that a lot of us older folks look back on our youth able to say the same thing. Youth often attracts the wrong types no matter how with it we may be.

Yet even before I started turning the heads of the computer wizards, the cops, the lawyers, the nurses and the psychologists, there has always been another pattern present in both my younger and older lives. I seem to mostly – not always but mostly - attract the shy, quiet types. Okay, so Stacey isn’t exactly shy. Quiet, but not shy. Tom is more on the shy side just as Brenda was.

The only problem with shy people is that they tend to be the ones who aren’t very exciting in bed. Then again, Brenda wasn’t that bad and she sure had a major appetite.

As sweet and as likable as Stacey is (I honestly can’t imagine anyone in the world not liking her), I can’t imagine her being very romantic even though she’s not what I would consider shy. You can’t be shy and sit and counsel people all day. She is on the quiet side, but definitely not shy.

For one who’s always had the habit of trying to imagine what people might be like in ways I’ll probably never know firsthand, I just think she would be a major bore in bed with probably not much of an appetite. She is older, though, and you don’t usually have much of an appetite as an older woman anyway. I know the one I started to “vibe” back crapped out pretty quickly.

I still wonder the same things I’ve been wondering about her. Does she think of me as often as I think of her? Does she have any specific hopes for the future? Although I can’t imagine even being just her friend, it’s also hard to imagine her never wanting to see me in some way shape or form because how many other me’s could there possibly be out there? Sweetheart or not, great body or not, she’s not what most people would consider attractive, plus she’s older. Can that many people, like me, stop and say to themselves, you know, there’s just something about Stacey? If she’s in a marriage she’s bored with, or at least that’s sexless no matter how much she may love the guy, and if she likes me and knows I like her, plus knows that I might be her last chance for any kind of “romantic” friendship, would she really pass that up?

Well, Stacey, I’m still going to be your Valentine’s Day phone call in a little over three months from now.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 8, 2016 I don’t get it. Everybody complains that Trump hates women, hates gays, hates blacks, hates Hispanics and hates Muslims. Yet they go and vote for him??? WTF? By 6:30 PM PT, it was obvious Trump would win.

I’m both surprised and not surprised. I’m surprised because I thought we were more politically correct than sexist. But then I’m not surprised because I never thought I would see a woman president in my lifetime. Poor Hillary, though. It’s got to be a bit embarrassing to know that your whorebag husband could win but you couldn’t.

Even though all politicians are pretty much the same and they all have their good and bad points, I am disappointed. On the bright side, the president doesn’t have as much power as many people believe they do. Even I know this and I know very little about politics because it simply never interested me. The only real control he has is over the military. In a sense, his presidency will affect those in other countries more than it will affect us. This can be a good thing when it comes to Muslims. That’s the one thing I agree with him on, and I don’t care who the hell I piss off in saying so. I have just as much right to my beliefs and opinions as you do, and I promised myself years ago I wouldn’t choke back in the name of political correctness, not that we’re very politically correct tonight.

Either way, we definitely have to toughen up on not only letting foreigners in general come and go and hog up our resources by taking what’s ours, but especially with potentially dangerous groups of people. Sorry, but it isn’t a small percentage of Muslims that are running around with machetes ready to kill the first person who isn’t a carbon copy of themselves, and this isn’t a belief, but a fact. It’s not just a few hundred either. It’s not even a few thousand. We’re talking millions. That’s just the way their culture is… you treat women and children like shit and you slaughter those that are different. It’s a socially accepted norm within their everyday way of living. Well, I don’t want that shit brought over here. You want to cut your neighbor’s head off for being Christian, do it on your own damn turf.

I can’t even go more than a few days without seeing some headline about some Muslim somewhere being caught with explosives, or bombing this place or bombing that place. How many more innocent people need to die before someone does something to at least cut down the number of senseless murders?

Still, I really had hoped that Hillary would win, and a big part of me actually thought she would despite sensing that I would never see a woman president in my lifetime, because for every one complaint I would hear about her, I would hear dozens about Trump. But we do live in a country where women love men and men just adore each other as well. The best we can hope for is an assassination, but would Pence really be any better? Honestly, I never could get people like these guys. If they hate women that much then why aren’t they with men?

Had to laugh when Tom said Hillary would win Florida. I knew Trump would win because of the older population there, and they tend to favor him more than the younger people.

“It depends on how the Puerto Ricans vote,” he said, “and Trump says they’re all bad.”

Yeah, and I say Puerto Ricans are dumb. They would vote for someone that hates them.

I’m back to not sleeping well and therefore I’m a little tired when I’m awake, but since I received my circadian light today, maybe it will help. I have my doubts, but then I never would have thought that Stacy’s emotional tapping or EMDR would help as much as it has either. Even if it helps for just a week or two at a time, that will make getting to appointments, going on vacation, and things like that a lot easier to deal with.

My Childhood:

Born and raised in Massachusetts in a bedroom town that wasn’t rich but was very comfortable. My parents had me when they were 32 and 33 years old, which was considered a bit old to be having kids back in 1965. My sister Tammy was 8 years older and my brother Larry was 12 years older.

The house we lived in when I was born was next to my maternal grandparents. We spent our summers in a small cottage at a Connecticut beach and moved to the older section of town when I was around 12.

My health issues consisted mainly of asthma, allergies, and a deformed ear in which my ear canal was also fused shut. Had surgery in Boston to build an outer ear through plastic surgery, but ended up with something that looked worse than what I started with.

My Teens:

Having an abusive mother with an enabling father who chose to look the other way, I developed emotional issues that left me insecure and eventually to attempt suicide.

As a child with ADHD, I didn’t always do well in school or get along well with others. I ended up in an adolescent psychiatric hospital in Vermont for 5 months which my mother promised me I would come out of as a “whole new person,” and then I attended an alternative school in the city.

In April of 1982, my parents gave me up to the state. I went through a couple of foster homes, one with a loving Italian couple and another with a neglectful black woman, before a quick trip to the state funny farm and then a private girls’ school for two years, which I hated. I did, however, become close with a few students and staffers which I’m in touch with today on Facebook.

My 20s:

Got my first apartment in the city the day before I turned 20 in 1985. At the time I was working as a housekeeper at a hotel just below the state line. I soon lost my job and went on disability.

I became a very liberal person who had both boyfriends and girlfriends. Nothing was a “sin” to me so long as the people were of age and consenting.

I had two apartments in Springfield, MA, one in South Deerfield, MA, and then I spent four months and the projects in Norwich, CT.

Had a nervous breakdown mostly due to the noise that put stress on me and prevented me from sleeping, then I finally gave up on the East altogether. I moved to Phoenix Arizona in 1992 where a longtime friend and gay guy lived that I’m no longer friends with.

For a while, I was an exotic dancer, and my husband Tom was my neighbor in one of the four apartments I would have in Phoenix before I moved into his house with him. We married in 1994. We lived in Phoenix from 1993-1999. We went through four different neighbors next door while we were there, each one progressively worse.

My 30s

In 1996 I had surgery to remove what was left of my outer left ear and to create an ear canal. I’ve had intermittent earaches because of it for the last 12 years, but surgery was necessary to rule out a tumor once I began to experience sensitivity within the ear.

In 1997 I quit smoking and in 1999 we bought a 10-acre ranch in rural Maricopa and lived there for five years.

We traded in Arizona for Oregon in 2004 after purchasing a 2.5-acre parcel of land. Our plans to build a dome house quickly fell through due to the expenses which added up fast, prompting us to rent first a duplex and then a small, old rundown house in the town of Klamath Falls.

I hated the cold and the snow, but my husband eventually got a good-paying job and we had a lot of fun shopping and winning things. I would enter tons of sweeps and contests and would win something every few days back then, from little prizes to big prizes, before the competition grew fierce with the onslaught of social media.

My 40s

We moved to NorCal in 2007. The recession damn near killed us. We spent the first eight months in motels, then rented a dumpy old trailer out in the country for five years. My husband was on unemployment for 2.5 years, and I’m not able to work mostly due to circadian rhythm disorder.

In the fall of 2011, he was finally given a good-paying job and it was all uphill from there. In the summer of 2013, we bought a two-bedroom house in a gated adult community. It’s a little noisier than I’d like, but we love having something that’s not so old and all the extra space.

In January 2014 we took a wonderful trip to Maui with travel credit I won right after I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s disease and told I had high cholesterol.

July 9th of that year and one day shy of our 1-year anniversary in this house, I called the paramedics in a panic because I thought I was having a heart attack and suspected my thyroid medication was connected to it somehow. It was absolutely terrifying and I believed I would die that day. It wasn’t a heart attack, however, just extreme anxiety unlike anything I’d ever experienced before.

My 50s

The incident with my thyroid medication traumatized me so deeply that I was compelled to switch medical groups (though we also switched for other reasons) and I began to see a therapist. I suffered on and off for a year and a half. Tachycardia, along with perimenopause, was a factor in what happened. They all fueled each other in a bad way.

In late January we flew from California to Fort Lauderdale, Florida and then went on a cruise to Cozumel, Mexico. The cruise ended up being a nightmare, but reuniting with the sister I hadn’t seen in 25 years back in Florida, along with seeing two of my nieces since they were babies, was a wonderful experience.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 2016 It’s been almost a year without Andy in my life and I can’t say I miss him. This doesn’t mean I hate him or wish bad things upon him or that I think he’s a bad person. We definitely had our share of fun, funny and interesting moments. I’ll always giggle when certain things come to mind, and if he suddenly showed up homeless on my doorstep, of course I wouldn’t have the heart to turn him away.

We just simply grew to be way too different over the years. His ignorance, arrogance and stupidity really got to me. Normally I don’t give a shit who might have these little false truths in mind that they believed about me, as there is a difference between a belief in fact, but aren’t our friends supposed to be able to take us for face value?

Did he know me better than most people? Absolutely. But sometimes we’re wrong about the people we know well, and we don’t know every single thing there is to know about them. People change and you can’t always assume they’re going to handle something a certain way based on their past actions. I mean, when he was a kid in school he ignored bullies. Today he’d fight back. Now if something like watching TV got in the way of my writing then I might very well reconsider watching TV.

I just got so tired of being judged and compared to others as well as himself constantly. If I disagreed with him it was because I was “being just like my mother,” rather than an individual who simply happened not to agree with him.

If he was jealous of someone who was young and skinny, then it was automatically assumed that I was too, and that there was no way anybody else was going to be comfortable with who/what they were, even if they knew they weren’t perfect, as long as he wasn’t comfortable with his own self. Everybody was expected to have the same insecurities he had. That’s just the way he was. He didn’t seem to care if others could relate to his positive traits and experiences, but any negative ones were automatically assumed to be mutual. Like he got off on the idea of others being miserable right along with him, not that he was always miserable. But he seemed to be down in some way a lot of the time.

I also didn’t care for his two-wrongs-make-a-right attitude. “It’s about time whites got to feel how blacks once felt,” he once said.

I remember shaking my head sadly, embarrassed for him, the day he said this. Did he ever listen to himself? Did he ever hear the stupidity and senselessness in many of his words? You might as well tell every woman who hasn’t been raped that it’s about time she finds out what those who have been raped feel like, right?

It was weird, though, because he could be as compassionate as he was lacking in empathy. He bought coats for the homeless, and he sent me cheesecake when I was going through the side effects in conjunction with the perimenopause… but Robin Williams threw it all away just for shits and giggles?

Now let’s talk about the selfishness – yes he did apologize for not even making it out of the parking lot of the train station when we picked him up yet already he’d mentioned God, and yes he did apologize for being stingy with the gum after we spent enough money on him – but why was it that I was always quick to ask him how his doctors appointments when more often than not he wouldn’t ask me shit? He would eventually read about it in my journals, but was that really the same thing? Especially if you’re going to read about an appointment 6 months after the fact?

The hypocrisy was like OMG at times. How can you pat yourself on the back for being what you believe is unique, but then you seem to want to go out of your way to fit into the so-called norms? In one breath he would bash those that bash blacks and gays, but then he would turn around and judge my husband who never did a damn thing to him in his life. He would judge his lifestyle and preferred way of living, despite the fact that it works just fine for him and he’s happy. AND Andy’s the same loner he is. The only difference is that with Tom it’s by choice. With Andy, it’s because he can’t make friends or keep them for very long when he does.

He once said that when we were younger, other gays didn’t like us. In hindsight, I can see that that’s only half true. I can’t speak for him, but for me, the issue was more that back then I was just so damn picky than that there was nobody that wanted me. These days, however, I’m not solely attracted to ultra-feminine women. I’ve actually come to like them in the middle and I’ve actually preferred that since around the new millennium. I realize that a lot of women that were interested in me back in the pre-Tom days that I wasn’t attracted to; I would now probably consider them attractive or at least acceptable. Honestly, I doubt I would be attracted to Stacey 20 years ago. These days she’s totally my type. The only thing she doesn’t have that I normally go for is height. She’s a brilliant psychologist with a brilliant and compassionate mind. She has a great body, warm brown eyes and a sexy smile, though I can see where most people may consider her face rather average-looking. And her shoulder-length brown hair.

I appreciate that he apologized for some of the judgmental, cruel and false things he said about both myself and my husband. But no matter how sincerely we may apologize that doesn’t take back, erase or undo what was said and the hurt that was caused by those words. People may forgive but they don’t forget. Not until selective amnesia is a real possibility.

As for his constant forgetfulness and being slow to grasp some things, I think that was for a variety of reasons. I understand that the pot damaged brain cells along the way. I get that. And he may not be the brightest person on earth naturally, but he wasn’t the dumbest either and I think that he would sometimes play dumb/slow just to mess with and frustrate people. Again, I know we can’t always judge people in the present by how they were in the past, but as even he admitted, he sometimes liked to annoy and mindfuck people. The more I would let him know that his constant obsession/chatter with celebrities and food, for example, was annoying, the more he would “happen” to mention these topics. The more I would dislike a particular picture, the more I would see it on his old Ask wall before that site went to hell. The more I would have preferred not to hear about God, the more I would.

I would never want anyone to try to change or control me, but when someone I supposedly care about lets me know something I’m overdoing something and being annoying, I do try to curb it within reason. I get, however, that if you literally are obsessed/addicted to something it’s not easy to choke it back any more than it’s easy to quit smoking. Food, celebrities and young men were what made his world go around, you could say. LOL

Another thing I don’t miss is the blatant lack of sensitivity. His insisting Robin Williams “threw it all away” is not only a sheer display of utter ignorance but also an ultimate display of stupidity. Any idiot with half a brain would have common sense enough to know that no one’s so damn happy that they up and decide to say WTF one day and throw it all away. It’s a mental illness! Various medical conditions, illnesses, injuries and medications can affect anyone emotionally at any time, and if you think you’re invisible and that it’s all a matter of choice, you’re a real fucktard IMO. Seriously, I hope the guy didn’t take the cooking class he once said he considered. That’d not only feed his obsession with food (pardon the pun), but I think a psychology class would be more beneficial to him. In the end, it’s his life and his decision. I’m just sure that most experts would agree that not all suicidal people can be saved just like not all cancer patients can be saved.

As they say, you can’t change people and make them who/what you want them to be, and I wouldn’t want to any more than I would want someone doing that to me. Therefore I am glad I can just avoid these types of idiots instead. We were just too damn different in the end as I said. He’s sure there’s a God and that things happen for a reason and are destined to play out the way they do. I believe there probably isn’t a God and things are just random. There’s just too much diversity in people’s lives. If there were a sense of order and sameness for all of us, then it would seem planned and designed to be that way. But sometimes the innocent baby dies of cancer while the murderer wins the lottery. My sister’s a die-hard fan/believer of God yet she had a heart attack and a million other health issues this year. I’m agnostic and 95% of 2016 has been great. Sorry, but I don’t see the “grand plan” in that. But you know what? It’s ok to disagree. It’s when we go into judgmental, critical, control-freak mode that I have a problem with. Sometimes you’re wrong and sometimes I’m wrong, too. Nobody knows it all.

He once said he prayed for Comcast to be late with a repair job so he’d get something like $20, and they were late and he did get the money. Well, guess what? They were late with us too, we didn’t pray, yet we still got the money, too. Go figure. I still say it comes down to fate and not what we pray for. If prayer actually worked, we could ask for anything we wanted. I just don’t know if there’s something up there deciding on what we get/don’t get, or if it’s happenstance, but I’m leaning with chance based on the random diversity I pointed out in which no obvious pattern is present. So… Life is going to play itself out whether I prefer it to play out a certain way or not. That’s just been my own personal experience and observation.

What it came down to with Andy was not only the things I just mentioned but his negativity as well. I realized that in his mind he was just being honest, and it isn’t that I don’t appreciate the truth, but there’s a time to be honest and there’s a time to just accept and be happy for people. When you focus on nothing but the negative possibilities and aspects of things, people find you both annoying and depressing, almost as if you don’t want them to be happy.

Lastly, the immaturity got frustrating. We’re all young at heart in various ways. I mean look at me with my rainbow teddy bear. But again, too much is too much IMO, and oftentimes I felt like I was talking to a teenager.

So do I want to resume our friendship now that a year has passed? No, I don’t, and I don’t think he does either. I hope not for his sake. But I do wish him the very best.

Later…

Waved hello to Geri as I was out front watering the cactus that we plan to move into a bigger pot. It’s a large clay pot that was left here by the last owners.

We’re planning to finally do the floors next month. I’ve got a design in mind for the kitchen and one in mind for the laundry/bathroom area. Andy was the smarter one when it came to that. Yes, that’s the one thing he definitely got right that we didn’t… leaving only the bedrooms carpeted. Well, I’ll consider this the practice house. The next house will only have carpet in the bedrooms, all the walls will be white so no wall hangings clash with the colored walls, the place will be less busy so it’s less circus-like, and wooden blinds will be in the windows instead of these traditional blinds. Wooden blinds have a stick where you can open and close them in a split-second. With regular blinds, you have to keep winding and winding the stupid wand. Wooden blinds will also be sturdier whereas these are flimsy.

I was so glad to learn that they canceled Oktoberfest on Sunday, which the rain had prevented last month! I’m just amazed because I don’t usually get that lucky. One less thing to have to deal with.

It’s also been surprisingly quiet these last couple of days as far as motorcycles go. Didn’t hear the really loud car stereo tonight, but it might have blasted around when I was under the headphones.

I can’t believe how lucky we got with the new neighbors and how quiet next door has been for over a year now. This is a totally well-deserved compensation for the years we had to put up with one bad neighbor after another who just couldn’t shut up. To this day I have to ask myself… how did I not end up snapping and totally losing it on one of them? Everybody has their breaking point and we can only be pushed so far for so long. I’m just glad we escaped it before I could finally snap, storm over to them in the heat of the moment, and do who knows what.

The people next to the “Twenties” have red and green projection Christmas lights dancing across the front of their place and it looks really cool. Still think it’s way too early for that kind of thing, but that’s just how this country is… instead of waiting till it’s a few weeks away from an event, they start celebrating a few months in advance. It’s silly and annoying but I guess it’s harmless.

I was laughing at a couple of things I read. One said that you’re partly bigoted if you even so much as notice that somebody you may pass in the store or something like that is black. Oh, come on. How can you not notice any more than you can not notice if they’re white? Take Alyssa, for example, who just married black guy. Does anyone who knows her really think she’s unaware of the fact that Donte is black and consider her part racist? So… sorry but I gotta disagree with this one.

Then there’s the issue of what’s judgmental and what’s not. It’s human nature to form opinions on various things the instant we hear and see things throughout life. We do it subconsciously without even realizing it. It’s like that saying… opinions are like assholes, everybody’s got them. So I don’t think it makes us judgmental in a bad way because we may mentally decide that the woman at the bank wore a very pretty shirt while the guy down the street painted his house an ugly color. I think we only become judgmental in a bad way when we criticize others for being who/what they are and trying to force them to conform to what we think is right.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 2016 Last night’s plans of enjoying the night away and into the wee hours of the morning turned into a long, luxurious sleep. It felt so good, too. Not sure why I tired down so early, but I must’ve slept longer than I have in ages. Like 10-11 hours. Didn’t sleep with my Fitbit on, so I don’t know the exact time.

Sarah’s health took a turn for the better and she’s now home. Good for her!

I was very active yesterday and this caused the muscle injury I’ve had for a few weeks now to flare back up. The one in my very lower left gut where the stomach meets the pubes. So I’ll limit what types of exercises I do for the next week to hopefully finally get rid of it for good. I’m like, come on, heal already!

After we returned from walking and running my heart fluttered more than usual. Like maybe a dozen palpitations instead of just a few. It was a little unnerving and might’ve been scary had I been alone. Hope it does this during my stress test next month so they can tell me if it’s harmless or not, though I think it’s pretty safe to say it’s probably harmless. I’m alive, aren’t I? Still, it was weird and I wonder if it should’ve done that or not.

My eyes have been itchy the last few days and the allergy eye drops I usually use for that didn’t help, so I used Tom’s artificial teardrops and that helped a lot.

Has Stacey literally dried up my tears by EMDRing me? LOL, I haven’t shed a tear since, though most of the tears I have shed over the last couple of years have been medically/hormonally induced. I think the last time I cried genuine tears of sadness was when my rat Sugar died. There were also tears of joy when I reunited with my family at the beginning of the year.

My light gray sweatshirt with the cat face arrived yet I was totally swimming in it so I gave it to Tom. It looks good on him.

Last night I dreamed I was walking down a long hallway and I glanced into a small room with an open door. The back wall of the room had a window in which I could see my dad sitting just outside of it on a chaise lounge on an enclosed porch patio of some kind.

I walked into the room to say hello. He was munching on some chips and talking on the phone with Mom. He handed the phone to me and my mother began talking but I don’t remember what she said.

Later…

And the loud car stereo has hit the scene. How can people still be “ok” with these things??? This is like the 6th night in a row this thing has been at it. They stop the music and start it and back and forth. You can tell they’re doing it just to piss people off.

Stepped outside to try to see where it was coming from, and it was right over the wall somewhere. Even a couple of other people came out to try to see what the fuck was up. I could hear the hot water tank door vibrating it was so fucking loud.

Someone’s finally GOT to do something about this shit, but when??? How many more decades is it going to take??? Do we have to wait till they’re loud enough to literally destroy windows and homes before action is finally taken?

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 2016 Signing it at a sunny 65° after waking up just in time to hear the first motorcycle of the day tearing around the corner.

I’m worried about Sarah who has been hospitalized. At first I thought it was just a shoulder injury that they mentioned before and that they were just being their usual dramatic selves. But she actually has a bowel infection and the bowel is twisted. It’s fixable, which is nice to know, but it may require surgery to do it. Let’s hope not!

Tammy called and filled me in on what’s going on with everybody. That poor sister of mine is so overwhelmed now with all that’s going on. Wish she’d get the break she deserves! And Sarah, too. I hate to say it, but I’m so glad we never had kids. That’d just be one more (or more than one more) person to have to worry about.

Anyway, they thought she had a stomach bug at first, only she was in pain and not having the runs or any bowel movements at all. So Becky called the ambulance and Tammy shot on over. She was able to beat the ambulance since they were just a few minutes away. They had her on liquids at first, then let her order regular food to see if that would get things going. It didn’t. So they’re not sure what they’re going to do next, but Tammy said she’d keep me posted.

I learned something new about myself while chatting with Tammy. I knew she was 8 and Larry was 12 when they moved from Springfield to Longmeadow, but I thought I wasn’t born until after they moved to Longmeadow. She said nope, I was born when they were still on Willowbrook and how I was in her room, she had to put up with my shit, and she wanted to open the window and toss me out, hahaha.

Also, they found traces of asbestos in one of her lungs, which she suspects could be from the Willowbrook house and maybe the older Longmeadow house. Well, if she’s got traces, I might, too.

So I worry for them and I also worry about my numbers when I hit the labs next month. My TSH would have to float up to around 16 before I could tolerate 88mcgs without the killer anxiety. I hope it stays where it has been, though. It’s usually around 10.

As for my cholesterol… I know it’s going to be high. It’s just a matter of how high.

Said hello to Bob and Virginia yesterday when I saw them sitting outside the front of their place on the way to pick up the mail. She said she liked my purple pants and purple shoes. Damn, that woman has bionic eyes for an oldie to be able to tell my shoe color from where she sat on her patio. I never left the street as we spoke.

The only thing that shoots down the doctor’s jaw joint arthritis theory is that it not only seems worse when I lay on it but like the pain is more toward the surface. It almost feels like it’s in the area where what’s left of the upper part of the ear meets my head. But with the jaw being so close it could be deceptive as far as exact location, and we do lay on our jaw/teeth to a degree. People have had what they thought were earaches that were really toothaches, so who knows for sure?

Couldn’t take the dizziness yesterday when trying to fast so I had one of those nutritional cookies that still taste good but that’s loaded with protein, vitamins and minerals, and I felt MUCH better. By the end of the day, I’d consumed about 1200 calories and was down another half a pound when I got up. So even though I can’t go longer than 3-4 hours without getting dizzy, I still ate less.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 2016 Lenore is still checking my blog as religiously as she is.

My new zebra pattern stockings fit well, but the skirt is too tight. It’s too bad too, because the skirt is surprisingly good quality for the price.

My sizzling pink sweatshirt fits perfectly and is also of good quality.

Peyton’s Rainbow dress looks great. Better than the dull outfit she came in.

The Neroli chamomile shower bombs I got smell wonderful, but they don’t last long. You’re supposed to put them in a spot that gets wet but that isn’t in the shower stream. Yet this isn’t very easy to do in the master bathroom’s tiny little phone booth shower stall. Just the water bouncing off of me pretty much hits every spot. That’s the thing I hate most about this house that I otherwise love. You have this 10 x 8 bathroom with this little teeny shower in it.

I slept kind of shitty the last two nights so I’m lightheaded again and may not get much done today other than the laundry. Part of that may be my fault. I got the bright idea to try to fast for the day. If you fast for just a single day here and there it’s supposed to be very beneficial. It boosts the immune system, detoxes the body, and boosts the metabolism. Long-term fasting has negative effects on the other hand.

Hunger pangs are one thing, but head rushes are another. I got up at 8:30 and at 11:15 my head was swimming, so I slammed on a yogurt. I take multivitamins every day which need to be taken with food, but that also has to wait 4 hours after taking my thyroid meds, so at around 1:00, I may have a little something. I just can’t do what I was able to do 30 years ago. Grrr.

Had a dream that Stacey surprised me with two or three letters, but I don’t know if the “letters” were postal letters or emails.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 2016 Seriously? Now we’re up to THREE motorcycles on this circle alone where OLD people live?!

And damn the Twenties and their service vehicles and visitors! Argh! I won’t even get into the landscaping, planes and car stereos I heard yesterday as well, though the stereos aren’t in the park.

Anyway, I went to my ENT and was seen in the exam room by a new male nurse. He was very friendly and was also nice enough to use an old-fashioned blood pressure cuff on me. I hate the electronic ones. Ridiculous fear or not, I always worry they’re going to lose their minds and squish me to death. I’d rather rely on a human being than a machine for something like this. So I’m almost normal at 130/80. HR was 97, not surprisingly. Weight = fatty but I have a new plan of attack in mind for that.

The doctor recently married and her name has changed. The instant she stepped into the room and I looked at her face I thought, wow, she’s gained weight. Then my eyes moved downward. She’s pregnant, so that explains it, LOL.

So I told her my ear’s been really achy and I’ve had to oil it every day instead of a few times a week, yet when she looked inside everything looked fine. It didn’t even need to be cleaned of dead skin or anything.

She said the drainage I sometimes feel is probably allergies, and that I should return to my nasal spray. I stopped using it only because it’s not prime allergy time, but then why wait for the sneezing fits to strike, right?

She said she could refer me to other specialists if I’d like but that there was nothing that could be done about the achiness, which she said could be arthritis in my jaw. Hmm… she has a point there. I never thought of that, but it’s true that when it aches it is in the jaw joint area. She also recommended getting a mouth guard from my dentist in case grinding my teeth in my sleep, which I think I might do, is a factor. I don’t see my dentist till March, but I’ll definitely mention it to her. For now, I’ll keep up the daily oiling cuz it has helped as opposed to every few days.

Will return to my ENT in May. She still wants to keep up on it every 6 months, which makes me feel better as well.

Now I have to decide whether or not to carry on with NaNoWriMo, and maybe I’ll do some highlights on some old stuff, too. It just may be a few days before it’s posted.

Last night I had dreams about being stuck in Oregon with no way to contact Tom to tell him where I was and have him come and get me.

Then I had a ridiculously silly dream where next door’s house was even closer than it really is, and instead of their garage window facing our bedroom windows, there was a bathroom window instead. Tom was going to do something to their window late at night to keep their light from shining into our bedroom. Only problem was that there was a thorny rosebush he would have to work around in the dream. In reality, we have blackout shades/curtains. Works great. :)

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 2016 Had a nice half-hour walk in the fog this morning. Yesterday I met with Dr. S for the second and probably the last time. This is because, as I expected, there’s no cure for my type of circadian rhythm disorder and there really isn’t much more he can do for me other than recommend melatonin supplements and a LUX lightbox. Melatonin is only so helpful for so long, so I’m going to try the 10,000 LUX light he recommended I use for the first half-hour of my day to help set my body’s rhythm. I don’t think it’s going to get me on a schedule, but it may help, and since it’s not a medication or anything going into my body, why not? It’s safe. :-) It’s similar to a SAD lamp that people use to fight seasonal depression. I could have used one of those up in Oregon not that I was “depressed.” I was just rather blah, though, and didn’t have much energy.

Come to think of it, though, when we were in the RV on Bly Mountain on the 2.5-acre parcel of land we so briefly owned up in Oregon, I slept alongside a huge window. I would awaken with the sunlight that would stream into it as soon as it rose above the evergreens and junipers. So I wonder… if I lived outdoors as if it were primitive times, would I be on a schedule? Maybe not, since this disorder was discovered in blind people, after all.

I learned from him that there are different types of circadian rhythm disorders. One of them is a delayed circadian rhythm disorder where people can’t help but fall asleep and get up earlier than they like, like 6 PM to 3 AM, for example. There’s a late one too, where people go to bed and get up later than they’d like. Those won’t prevent you from working outside of the house like my kind does.

I told him that I would sometimes use Benadryl to help me sleep, but never cared for how groggy it could make me the next day and how long it would make me sleep. Even though I may wake up at times, I still average eight hours of sleep, so that much is good. He said Benadryl is best to avoid because it can affect cognitive memory. Back when I used to use it more often I had memory issues, but untreated hypothyroidism can cause that as well. My memory has improved tremendously with thyroid treatment.

I’m not even using lorazepam anymore. In fact, I’m almost certainly going to cancel my December appointment with the new shrink. I haven’t had anxiety for the better part of a year now that my medication has been regulated, so there’s no point in seeing him.

The sleep doc said that those who end up with Hashimoto’s usually start off with hyperthyroidism, and even though they never tested me for some reason back then, both Tom and I would be willing to bet that I did indeed have hyperthyroidism 20 years ago. I’ve always been a rather animated person, but I was WAY more hyper than I was now and my heart raced more often back then, too. It will get racy if I stop my meds, though, because as O pointed out, your heart can race if you have too little or too much thyroid hormone in you.

I have had palpitations here and there where the heart flutters noticeably hard for about three or four beats. Sometimes it seems to skip a beat or double up on beats, but I can’t say for sure that it is. That’s why I’m having a stress test in December. He said that some palpitations are harmless while others could put you at risk for stroke or heart attack. When we first moved to Cali I had them all the time, but when I checked online I found that more often than not, they’re harmless. Family history says I could have problems later in life, but right now I would be willing to bet that my heart is still just fine. I’m still relatively young, I’m active, I’m not obese, and I eat right most days.

So we have the LUX light, a new hand vacuum, new batteries for the scale, a new felt cube for the rats to nest in, and rat bedding on the way from Amazon since we’ll need it before the next bedding subscription arrives.

He also got some electronic-related stuff and I got some clothes. A black skirt, black zebra patterned pantyhose, a pink sweatshirt, a sweatshirt with the aurora borealis printed on it, and an ash-gray sweatshirt with a cat face.

I also got a rainbow dress for one of my 18-inch dolls and shower bombs. I guess you place the bomb on the shower floor away from the spray and it’s supposed to make your shower smell really good. I got the neroli and chamomile-scented ones.

Yesterday’s traffic and landscaping were totally obnoxious, especially the landscaping. I didn’t hear any motorcycles yesterday, but I have today. Figured I would, too.

Not sure I want to continue on with NaNoWriMo as I just don’t have any exciting ideas. That’s something I can’t really force. I either have a great idea to expand on or I don’t. More than likely I will just edit my last book.

I’m also not sure if I want to continue with my monthly bio project because it is just so much work to go through so many years of journals, pulling out the main highlights, etc. I’ll leave what I have posted so far which is up to mid-1993. I can always decide later on to continue with that if I want to, but if I do, it’s a project that could easily take a year or two.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 2016 NaNoWriMo has begun but I haven’t. Yesterday I totally took a day off from life. I wasn’t fatigued; I just didn’t feel like doing much of anything. We all have those days every now and then. I did go out for a walk and I did do some things I usually do, but for the most part, I just sat around, goofed off, and was annoyed with the tech issues going on at Prosebox.

Change always equals tech issues. I understand that people want to keep perfecting and making things better, but sometimes things already are better and they should be left alone. There’s so much change online that it drives me batty at times. Amazon’s changed so much that I can’t even find where I stored my doc files. That’s okay, though, as I can always back things up on other sites. I just wish people would leave a good thing alone and remember that they wouldn’t have gotten users in the first place if they didn’t like the sites just the way they were.

The only popular site that I rarely use is Facebook. Never had an Instagram account either. I can’t do anything on Facebook without it being thrown in my friends’ feeds, and I still say it’s none of their business, as much as I love them unless I want to make it their business. So I rarely “react” or comment on things. Even if I could control who sees my activity as easily as I can control what I see of their activity, there’s nothing for me to really do there. I always hated their games.

Gotta see my sleep specialist today. Even though I’ve only seen him once, I still don’t see how he can help me. There simply is no cure for circadian rhythm disorder. If there is, it’s news to me. I guess I can update whatever he says later on or tomorrow. I mean I probably shouldn’t share anything health-related in public, but it really is no big deal. Oh, it’s a big deal if you’re cursed with having to live with it, but I know how so many people are… if they don’t get it, then it can’t possibly exist or it must be some grand lie/excuse. Well, it’s not my job to educate life’s little ignorants. :-) It’s just my job to live my life the best I can in a way that suits me best.

Didn’t hear any motorcycles yesterday, but as expected, the end of the rain brought out the blowers and somebody’s hammer, along with the usual spattering of car door slamming. So, little distractions but nothing maddening. It was raining in the wee hours of the night, but there’s only a 25% chance of rain during the day today.

I just asked Alexa what the temperature is in Springfield and it’s 26°! ROTFL!!! It’s colder there right now than in Klamath Falls. It’s 55° here right now. Still, I envy those in Florida and Maui right now.