#but just cause it's my blog? and in ye olden days this was where we elders put our thoughts. like a lil keepsake box under our beds.

[jamesunderwater]

on being unfiltered once more

it's interesting how pre-surgery charles did a lot of social mirroring, and how much that's changed... before, if i got an ask, i'd work hard to reply the way i saw other people reply to things, or based on what vibe i thought the sender would want.

but then the first several weeks after surgery, i literally didn't have the energy to filter or monitor how i interacted with others, so instead I was just fully my chaotic, long-winded, rambling self. and at first i was too exhausted and drugged to even notice let alone care. but then even when i did start to see it, i still couldn't find the energy or even the ability to communicate differently.

now i'm at the point where i'm trying to go back to the mirroring and filtering, but it's like my brain lost the ability to actually do it -- so it remembers that we're supposed to, and can tell what i'm doing "wrong" or need to "fix" in my communication, but when i try to actually express myself in the way i think is more appropriate/desired in the interaction, my brain fritzes. HARD. and that's how i've ended up spending TWO hours at work trying to send one simple email, and taking an hour to reply to a text, etc. so that by the end of the day my brain is so fucking tired from agonizing over every single word i wrote all day, i am almost unable to write a full sentence.

and maybe in another post i'll go into how this is, in essence, exactly what it looks like for a high masking autistic to no longer be able to mask (due to continuous overstimulation/burnout, in this case).

but right now i just wanted to say all of that to say.... i didn't know that i liked the choatic, rambling, long-winded way i like to write and speak. i just knew i had been taught other people don't like it. and i am really kind of enjoying the way that -- at least sometimes, at least here -- i have been liberated from giving so much of a shit.

before all this, i knew in concept that everyone has their own way of communicating, especially writing, and some people will like it and some people won't. i even thought it was really badass when someone communicated very differently than the norm, and didn't seem sorry about it. but, of course, none of this sunk in enough to change my unconscious chameleon training to become whatever kind of communicator people wanted me to be.

but NOW... i've gotten a taste of it. a taste of responding as ME and believing that it's okay if the other person doesn't like how i talk/interact. also helps that my "mirroring skills" are like, comparable to Light Hope in she-ra when her programming was wiped. Which is to say, so low as to be basically useless.

and so thus we witness the return of teenage Charles, who, once comfortable, is not totally dissimilar in energy and vibe to characters like jake peralta, robin buckley, jaskier, shawn spencer from psych... lol NONE of whom are autistic-coded... /j

and yeah. hopefully this becomes a space where i feel safe to practice being unmasked me. so far so good, anyway. and, uh, if you think i'm horribly annoying now.......... i probably already believe that's how you see me, too, so maybe we can both practice not giving a shit either way? 😅

[rubinaitoart]

So I want to write some things down cause this blog sorta serves as a little journal for me at times, and this is a pretty major turning point for me. A lot of this rambling might seem a little weird, or overdoing it, or whatever. But it’s important to me. I’ll be putting it under the cut because it’s going to be long and focusing on, of all things, environmental issues and plastic. Stuff I’ve never talked about on here before.

Over the past month or so, I’ve found myself in a state of severe anxiety. (I’m trying to remedy it, but there’s still some residual things that aren’t quite going away just yet.)

During this period of time, my anxiety settled on the state of the world in an ecological context. Namely, the depletion of resources and the impact of microplastics. It’s something I didn’t really consider or focus on for a while but now that I have it hasn’t really left my head.

One of my many coping mechanisms when my anxiety gets this severe is to try and think through solutions. Unfortunately this is on such a large scale that I can’t exactly do anything about it at this moment in time; but for the first time in a very long time, my anxiety did something useful and gave me a direction to take my life. It’s something that I’ve sorely needed for a while now.

This is where I want to take my education, and what I want my career to be focused on.

There’s a lot of thoughts that have been circling around in my head about everything. Lessening our use of plastic is great, but what kind of impact will it actually have on the environment on a large scale? With how the carbon cycle is out of balance and carbon emissions so high, can we afford to turn to paper as an alternative to plastic?

How do we find a solution that is feasible for the average person to commit to?

Plastic is a wonder material. It’s versatile and convenient; it can be whatever we need it to be. Thin and bendable, or solid and sturdy, or a thin wrapping to properly seal things. Bags, boxes, buckets, containers. It lines our aluminum cans to keep the aluminum from leeching into the drink, it makes it easier to distribute food on a larger scale, it means we don’t have to turn in milk bottles like in ye olden days, and it’s cheap to produce.

It’s in our clothes, it contains our food, it holds our water, it dispenses our personal care products.

It turns into microplastics that leeches into our blood and could be even worse than that, it’s a pollutant and cannot be composted nor is it biodegradable, it injures animals and floats in our oceans.

But it’s a wonder material, and for all the bad it’s doing, it’s difficult to stop using it. Because it’s convenient and easy to make, we’ve integrated it into our way of life to make things easier. It’s no wonder that trying to outright ban plastics doesn’t go very far. We might be able to get away with taxing plastic bags or banning plastic straws, but there’s so much more that’s still being used and discarded.

Plastic is not a disposable resource.

All of this to say, I want to find reasonable solutions to ecological problems, starting with plastic. There are many plastic alternatives that, in the long run, will cause far more environmental damage. Rapidly depleting resources for a massive population isn’t how we fix the problem; so we need to find a sustainable and renewable resources. Plant based solutions are a great start.

Like straws. There’s a company that produces straws made of sugarcane; specifically a byproduct of the sugar production process, the fibers that are stripped away.

Things like this make me optimistic that we can find more solutions to a plastic problem. And even if we only reduce plastic consumption by 50%, I’d be happy. I recognize that there are many situations where plastic is a good thing to use, such as evidence collection in forensics or necessary medical equipment like IV bags. We just need to find a way to reduce our usage of these plastic items to a less wasteful level.

So that’s what I’m going to get my degree for. I might not make much of a difference but I’d like to at least try and do something; and I’m a little excited that I finally have an idea of where I want to go in life.

[wathanism]

hi, i recently found your blog. as an ex-muslim also interested in paganism, can i just ask where you learnt about wathanism and if there are any specific resources on the pre-islamic arab gods that i could use to learn? i'm not arab, i'm pakistani, and i've looked into ancient subcontinental religion pre-islam, but i'd also like to learn about wathanism, since i've never heard of it before in my life despite actually looking up pre-islamic arabia's gods. thank you :)

hi hun 💕 sorry for taking forever to reply to this, i've not been very active on this blog for a lot of reasons right now. but regarding your question, i think my answer is gonna be super disappointing lol. resources are def very very limited, and a lot of what's available isn't translated (much of it is in arabic, but a lot is also in various now dead languages).

there is an english & arabic speaking community on reddit and discord dedicated to wathanism, which is really great and i'd highly recommend it. the discord has a section on books and articles, most of which are academic and peer reviewed in historical journals. since this is a religion that was largely wiped out and has very few people interested in studying it and few resources to even examine, learning about it is kind of a huge undertaking that involves a lot of niche academic texts and a lot of cross referencing.

it's a grind basically lol, but the discord is great because it's a place where people who are very passionate about reconstructing the religion will trudge through those sources very diligently, not just as a detached academic study but as a spiritual "i want to apply this in my own daily life" kind of way, ykwim? so that's very cool. i can't speak to the community too much, cause i mostly just use it as a reference point and don't talk much with people, but it's the most concentrated place of quality knowledge on the subject i know of.

the best crash course, easy to read article i personally know of on the matter is still this paper (if you copy the link into scihub you should have access to it), just bc it hits on the specific things i'm most interested in without being incomprehensible jargon. the way i practice my religion is probably not the most historically accurate tbh; for me, it's just about living by the values of respecting your community and heritage, and i think this paper does a great job of explaining why those were such important values to the old arab pagans. the people on the discord can def give you a better sense of what the practice looked like in Ye Olden Days.

also worth noting: if you're hoping to find like defined, clearly laid out mythology about the arabian gods like there are stories about norse or greek or roman gods, that's rly not what you're gonna find (at least not as far as ive ever known to exist). for the most part, the things you're gonna find are about what people valued, what rituals they had, and how they lived. the vast majority of info we have on the gods is like "people prayed for this goddess to bring good crops and for that god to protect the village," but rarely if ever are there detailed narratives or myths like there are for other old religions.

[moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown]

Hi. It’s me 🎸😈 anon from @stranger-nightmare and I wanted to show you Val, the Oc I sent to hope. Uhh yeah also I have to be on anon because this blog isn’t my ‘main’ one that I created when I signed up for tumblr back in the olden days so I can’t use this one for asks and stuff. But anyway this is long so it’s under a read more

Meet Val. Also known as 009.

I have a few picrews of her but this these are probably my fave.

She’s 17-18. And was one of the oldest of the numbers in the lab when and El escaped.

She has the basic abilities we see that everyone has, but she like Kali or Henry has a special gift. She’s sonokinetic.

She can manipulate sound waves.

She’s not very skilled at this one yet because once Kali escaped all training in this stopped and she’s still learning what she can and can’t do with it.

She has made peoples ears bleed before and one time she screamed in testing it started to crack the glass where Brenner was observing her.

She was els and the little ones protector in the lab. Often getting punished for fighting the other older kids when they would ya know be dicks to el or the other little ones.

When her and El escaped she always had her hand in els, or needed El to be in her sight.

When they found bennys Val was always on alert because ya can’t trust anyone obviously.

So cue running into the kids.

Yes Val did hide in the wheeler basement with El, it was as awkward as you think.

Val is mostly mute. She only really talks when she’s very comfortable with you, like she can talk to el no issue but the other kids nope.

So season 2 she was living with Joyce for my own reasons because she was in school because she wanted to learn beyond what the lab was teaching her.

She fully thought billy wanted to date Steve. She did not understand the like tones or vibes between them.

Also billy tried to hit on her, it went over her head.

Season 3 she’s more free and open a bit, but still doesn’t like talking much. Goes with el and max to the mall. Has a blast.

When hopper ‘dies’ and Sam owens wants to move them to cali. She stays in Hawkins.

In hoppers cabin. So she can finish school and Val just can’t leave. It’s very hard for her to move on from things she gets used to.

Her and el fight the one and only time. They use their abilities. Val shatters a few windows by screaming, el throws Val backwards.

But in the end Val stays in Hawkins with Steve and the kids promising to keep an eye on her.

She fully approved of el smashing a skate into Angela’s face.

“She was mean to you. You stood up to her. She will not be mean again”

So now we get to Eddie. Sweet man.

Uh Eddie falls head over fucking heels for Val the second Mike and Dustin drag her over to the lunch table where the hellfire club sits.

Mike has to explain, Val doesn’t really talk much, cue eddie trying to make her laugh for the next month and a half.

Well the first time she says his name he almost falls out of his chair because

“SHE SPEAKS! The beautiful Valerie speaks!” And god he falls in love with that sound her voice.

Now hellfire club. She knows nothing of DND, she knows the lil snips she heard hear and there with the kids but like she knows nothing of what playing is.

Until Mike and Dustin need a sub. Now she fully says she’ll do it until one of the others asks if she’s ever actually played and she just

“No. But I am a very quick learner.”

They show her 80s dnd and she just

“I think I would only cause you all to die by Eddie’s hand if I played.” Cue them getting Erica and yeah.

Now Eddie is the first person to make her fully belly ache, uncontrollably laugh. Like she loves the feeling and he is addicted to her laugh.

And when Eddie finds out she has powers? Oh babes

So Eddie sat in the boat house right, they are saying all this shit about the upside down and junk right. Well Val just kneels in front of Eddie, her hand on his and just

“Friends don’t lie, ever, so what they say and what I am going to show you, is the truth. Because I would never lie to you Eddie”

And she makes him float a bit before like dead silence and her voice is just at Eddie’s ear because again sonokinsis she can puppet her voice sort of.

Well Eddie is now just 10000 times more into her and can uses his bandana to wipe the blood from her nose because ya know expending mental energy makes the nose bleed and it’s a soft moment

“So you could do that this whole time?” And Val just nods

“Yes. I was told by people, who protect me and my sister the other superhero, that I have to keep my abilities hidden. So no one tries to use them for bad things”

And my god Eddie just

‘I will die for this women. Kill for her.’

And yes that’s the basics so far. I hope you enjoyed love

Your fav 🎸😈 anon from @stranger-nightmare

[qqueenofhades]

Top 3 things I loved about Deus Vult: 1. All the historical and cultural details and how neatly they tied into and elevated the story, without it feeling like heavy handed exposition or scoring points for accuracy. 2. How you showed how awful the crusades, and war in general, are, but without the sense of "hurr durr ye olden days were all terrible", but instead contrasting things like the time Yusuf spent with his mother, or their time together in Constantinople, versus what the crusades... 1/2

2/2... did to those places, and the people - the bit that really hit me was the introduction to Phil, and his propensity for screaming like he's never been fed in his life, and then seeing him lying in the street - that hurt bruh. 3. The whole idea, best exemplified in Nicky & Quynh's conversation that hundreds of years of pain and loss and heartbreak don't have to turn you into a grimdark (tm) angsty tool, but instead it's an endless series of chances to do the right thing... 

3/2 And even if that right thing isn't guiding humanity to this wonderful utopia, but just standing up for what is good and right, and speaking for them as has no voices. But yeah, whole thing was incredible and I really really loved it and thanks for writing it 

Ahaha, I did change the title slightly, to Deo Volente, as a commenter kindly reminded me that (because they ruin everything) white supremacists and the alt-right have co-opted the other version of the phrase for their Nazi crusades fantasia, and I obviously did not want any confusion or misunderstanding with that. “Deo volente” means the same thing in Latin, just a slightly different version of the phrase (”God willing” vs “God wills it.”) So yes, sigh. White supremacists: still the worst.

Anyway, I’m so happy that you enjoyed it so much, and this comment is delightful to me because it picks up on many of the things that I personally enjoyed about this fic (as I said, possibly the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever written). I’ve had so many lovely comments on AO3 raving over the history, that either they knew some of it already or they���re learning so much of it, and as an early career academic who’s struggling with the job market and feeling useless that I currently can’t do professionally what I’m good at: really,you have NO IDEA how much it truly warms my heart to have people tell me that I’m teaching them something real and valuable (and in the course of gay historical romance enemies to lovers Feelings, which we all have to admit has to be a pretty painless way to do it?) Obviously, anybody who has spent two seconds on my blog knows that I have Strong Opinions on the “hurr durr ye olden days were all terrible” thing, and there was never any chance that was happening. Instead, I very much wanted to do exactly as you say: creating these moments of beauty and wonder and magic, showing how happy they were in places like Constantinople, and then what the crusades ultimately did to those beautiful things, and how it got turned and twisted into something so awful (and frankly, was pretty awful to start with). Obviously this is VERY relevant to what’s going on right now, and the entire “War on Terror,” and.... yes. It’s very relevant to the arc and themes of the whole story and especially post-9/11.

(And yes, Phil. That whole latter third of the chapter during the sacking of Constantinople, as noted, just gives me a lot of emotions. It’s fine.)

And I ended up LOVING Nicky and Quynh’s relationship (and hurting myself deeply as a result). Obviously we never see them together in canon, we just hear Nicky (and Joe) explaining what happened to her, and that whole conversation is deeply poignant in that we KNOW what’s going to happen to Quynh. She’s going to face an even worse kind of totally dehumanizing and insanity-causing experience, she’s going to be put in the position of whether to completely turn her back on everything she loved and swear herself to revenge, and her expressing that fear that she wouldn’t be strong enough to resist that temptation, that she might BECOME a monster, is... ouch. (Where is my sequel goddammit I need the Quynh Reunion and the feelings not just with Andy but Nicky and Joe /gnaws own arm off.) And obviously Nicky being the world’s biggest romantic as usual and talking about how he didn’t even consider giving into revenge long-term because Joe was there, and he always knew that was worth more. In other news, I hate them.

ALSO YES, the idea that you CAN take pain and it can make you kinder, that we all have a choice as to how to respond to all the bad things happening around us (even if not on the same scale/long-term view as the immortals). We’ve all learned that by how utterly much of a shitshow 2020 is for everyone, and I think a lot about the lesson that,  unlike every single Grimdark Fantasy (tm) and Macho Post Apocalyptic Fantasy Where Only The Strong Survive, we can become better even in the face of total darkness, and in fact, it’s the only way forward to any kind of future for anyone. The so-called “strong” are throwing fits over being forced to wear face masks in a pandemic and sitting on their hands while America descends into fascism, while in places like Portland, we have middle-aged mothers in bicycle helmets standing in a human chain to protect BLM protestors from the literal American Gestapo. So after Joe and Nicky try to fix everything permanently from on high with the Sixth Crusade, and then that doesn’t work, they have to reckon with the fact that like everyone else’s, their lives are going to be a series of choices, of small steps, of making things better where they can, and accepting that that will not be forever, rather than just doing it once and thinking that will work forever. They likewise can’t blame ordinary people for not living long enough to see the same things that they do, and they have to understand that they’ll see it crumble over and over, and still hold onto their goodness and desire to do the right thing, and.... yes.

They can’t just work with the kings and sultans and powerful people of the world and try to think that that’s the solution (as Nicky says during their conversation in Malta in chapter 5). They have to stand with the little people, the powerless, the people who aren’t going to get paid attention to in any of these wars, and do what they can, when they can, even in the face of total horror (as is the case with Joe in chapter 6). I really LOVE the movie (and love it more with every rewatch) for so totally demolishing the idea that a) superheroes can only Fix Big Things and b) that being kind even in the smallest and anonymous ways doesn’t ultimately matter. Because it DOES. We’ve all justifiably bagged on Marvel for totally giving into hollow CGI spectacle rather than any kind of authentic conflict that feels personal and constant manufactured conflict between the characters, and on GOT for “everyone is secretly awful and no good deed goes unpunished,” and I really, truly love the fact that the core message of The Old Guard is to do good for the most vulnerable among us, and that it DOES make a difference. Because there are so, so many of the usual tired tropes and cliches that they could have done, and they didn’t. It’s optimistic and hopeful and makes a statement about moral good without being saccharine; it doesn’t feel like we’re being force-fed some Disneyfied version of good and evil, but rather that the good can exist with, and ultimately overcome, even the worst evil. So that was a theme I also wanted to explore in the fic, with both the beauty and the pain, and obviously I also emotioned over that.

Just. Gah. Anyway. I had feelings about that story. Thanks for giving me a chance to talk about some of them.

[nev3rfound]

the show must go on : b.b

brief summary: based on the movie age of adeline, you’re unable to age and live your life in new york. until one day, you’re spotted by two of your oldest friends. 

word count: 2.7k requested: nope. this is an idea I’ve had since april and finally put it into writing. i’m not sure if this will just be a oneshot or a series, but do let me know what you think! warnings: not any i’m aware of 

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it isn’t me. all rights reserved. - thank you to everyone who helped regarding the wattpad situation, you’re all amazing)

* masterlistin’

* commissions

** permanent taglist **

With every single card laid out before you all you had to do was pick whichever one would be most suited. Your fingertips roam over a series of them, quickly discarding a selection due to the date of birth making you now too old. 

You sigh quietly before picking one of them up, checking the birth date before slipping it into your purse, exchanging it for Hadley Wilson. “I guess Amelia Kingsley will have to do today.” You mutter under your breath as you take the rest of the ID cards and slip them back into the shoe box. 

Amelia Kingsley, aged 26, born in Michigan. 

Today was going to be a good day, you needed it to be. 

Shuffling across your floor of the apartment, you lift the creaky floorboard up and place the box back inside, out of sight. Beside the shoe box remains your most precious memories from your original years alongside some emergency cash and supplies. Everything you kept hidden away were the only things you truly cared about, everything that remained on display in your apartment was simply for show. You could easily pack everything up into one large box and move to another place when the time came, not if. 

You rise to your feet as you dust off your jacket and pull your hair out, allowing it to fall over your shoulders. Taking your keys and purse, you head toward your front door, just allowing yourself a single glance at your reflection.

Seeing yourself in the mirror wasn’t surprising. You never woke up looking at yourself with a shock. You had seen in films where the protagonist wakes up a mess, scared to see their state in the mirror. But for you, there was never anything different to be scared of. In all of your years, not a single detail or feature has changed.

There weren’t any signs of wrinkles, of greys appearing or age spots. Your skin was still youthful, your hair full and smile bright. You hadn’t aged a day over 25 in nearly a hundred years, and you were sick of it. 

Closing your front door, you make your way down the stairs holding your uniform in your bag. Amelia had a part-time job, you knew she could just turn up and they’d accept her with open arms. 

Exiting the building the doorman nods as always, never saying a single word, just a simple nod. “Have a good day, Henry.” You cheerfully reply as you take your handbag and whistle out for a cab and watch as one quickly pulls up. “Guess some things never do change.”

New York, the city you once grew up in has changed more than you could compare. The streets are covered in lights, illuminated by advertisements and sounds of languages you had yet to learn. It was amazing, beautiful, but forever haunting you of what you’ll never have.

Unlike New York, you’ll never get to change, to evolve and grow old. It was a freak accident you can’t explain, no one could.

In your long life, you’ve lived in nearly every state of America. You travelled abroad briefly but felt too unsafe to allow yourself to settle. Part of you knew you’d always end up back in New York, maybe not in Brooklyn where you were raised, but it was the closest to home you had been for a long time. 

“Just here, thanks.” You tell the driver as you pass him the cash before climbing out of the cab and walking toward the small building.

Opening the door, you could already hear the sound of high heels clacking against the wooden floors and the claps of the rhythm being rehearsed. A small smile plays on your lips as you listen to the sound of music playing, the soft melodies you grew up hearing. 

“Amy, hey!” You turn around, seeing Lydia running toward you already made up in her costume. She wraps her arms around you tightly, not giving you a second to adjust. “Where have you been, it’s been a week?” She questions, pushing her black curls out of her face. 

You shrug your bag off of your shoulder, walking alongside her toward the dressing rooms. “I just got busy, had some family things to deal with.” You lie, but she’s never one to question. 

“Everything alright? Your parents doing okay in Michigan?” She asks sincerely and you simply nod, trying to remember that you’re Amelia Kingsley, that your parents are in fact still alive.

Placing your bag down on your dressing table, you slip your jacket off as she takes the spot beside you, touching up her lipstick. “They’re doing alright, just worryin’ about me.” You say with a light laugh as you roll your eyes. “You know how parents can be.” 

Lydia scoffs lightly, nodding in agreement. “Tell me ‘bout it.” She sighs as she slumps back into her chair as you begin to change into your attire. “Jonny’s Mom wants me to go over and cook for Thanksgiving. Like, she has it out for me I swear.” Her New York accent remains thick as she talks which makes you smile, realising there are still some oldens around. 

“But isn’t Thanksgiving two months from now?” You ask as you slip the tights as you pull the short dress on.

“Exactly.” She says with a huff as she passes you the underskirt, watching as the excessive fabric fluffs out the short dress, accentuating the curves of your body. “But she knows I can’t cook, and she doesn’t like me bein’ with Jonny as it is.” 

You continue to listen to Lydia’s rambles as you pull the tighs up over your legs, adjusting them underneath the dress as you slip the short black heels on, doing the buckle up. 

“What’s tonight's routine?” You interrupt as you loosely curl your hair before finishing your makeup off, watching a series of girls walk in wearing the same outfit, smiling and waving to you as they do the same.

“Usual. Just gotta do the normal dance then into the crowd, sing the songs and that’s a night.” She rounds up and you nod, knowing this routine all too well that you could do it with your eyes closed.

A loud knock on the door causes everyone to go quiet. “You all decent, ladies?” A man calls out and unison of yes follows. 

The door is pushed open and there stands Jonny, chewing his gum loudly as always. “You look lovely, ladies.” He looks around at everyone, his eyes lingering on Lydia. “Now, we gotta show to do.” 

All of the girls file out as you pull the white gloves up over your forearms and adjust your soldier's hat. 

“Good to see you, Amy.” Jonny winks to you and you politely smile, ignoring the feeling of your skin crawling as you walk toward the stage, standing behind the thick red curtain. 

Your hand rests on Lydia’s shoulder as you listen to Jonny in front of the curtain talking to the crowd. “Okay now for tonight’s main event, who is ready to see Captain America’s girls?” He calls out and a series of cheers commence. 

The mention of his name never gets dull with the crowd as they have all lived through it too. They watched the poor attempted shows that Captain America had to do and at the time, booed him and demanded the girls to return to the stage. But now, these retired veterans eat this up, they love the nostalgia. And you love the chance to be reminded of the life you lost. 

Music begins to play as the curtain rises. Your smile remains bright as you try and look out into the crowd. Immediately you can see some of the regulars sitting at the front row, giving you all a nice wave and smile. 

The dance begins as normal as you all flutter around the stage, lip-syncing some of the songs as you keep in time to the beat. 

As the first song comes to an end and the next begins, you walk out into the crowd in a single file, all walking off in differing directions. During each show, you’re assigned an area and tonight you’re working the back right corner.

Wandering over, a spotlight follows you as you stand on top of the table, singing delicately to the men around you with a smile. You look around the room, feeling two pairs of eyes refusing to part with you as the spotlight on you fades away. 

Turning to face the longing stares, the spotlight illuminates Lydia on their table. But no one is staring. You shrug the paranoia off and carry on with your set.

All of you file back toward the stage, and as you’re in line you hear a voice mutter. “Steve, it’s not Y/n.” You can feel the hairs rising on the back of your neck as you keep your eyes set dead ahead, refusing to glance and see who it is.

You finish the routine with a heavy breath as the curtain falls and the sound of cheers is something you can barely hear over your own heartbeat. 

“Amy, you alright?” Lydia calls out as she watches you rush back to the dressing room, grabbing your things and throwing your coat on. 

Standing in front of her with wide eyes you nod. “Yeah I just, I gotta go.” You mutter before walking past her, not even stopping to chat to the regulars like you normally would. “I’ll let you know when I’m next free.” You call out as you keep your head held low, your trainers hitting the ground hard as you pass by the stage.

Most nights, you could sit for hours and talk to them about the 20′s and 30′s. How they describe it as a world you would never recognise with the technology you all have these days. You would laugh with them, smiling and playing along.

“Hey,” A voice calls out from beside you, and you stop. “sorry, Miss.” 

Turning you look up to see their faces and you try and focus. “Hi?” Your voice is barely audible as you stare at the faces of your former best friend. “Sorry, can I help you?” You mutter, feeling your body beginning to burn up under his gaze. 

“Sorry, it’s just, you look identical to an old friend of mine.” Steve states with a smile playing on his lips, barely believing the sight before him. 

Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you shrug your shoulders as you recollect yourself. “Oh, I get that a lot actually.” You try and laugh it off, but Steve is looking at every feature. 

“It’s just uncanny, really. Her name was Y/n Yl/n.” Steve tells you and watches a flicker in your eyes. 

You smile softly to him, tucking your hair behind your right ear. “Y/n?” The name plays on your lips as you watch him nod. “She was my grandmother, I get told that a lot.” 

Steve’s smile grows across his face. “Is she, is she still with us?” He licks his lips, and you let out a small sigh as you force yourself to shake your head. “I, I’m sorry. She, she was an amazing woman.” 

“She truly was. How, how did you know her?” You ask him as you look around, seeing a tall figure with dark brown hair hovering by the notice board. 

“She was an old friend of mine, and of his.” He motions to the man by the notice board, and your breath hitches in your throat. “Sorry again for bothering you,” He pauses, realising he never got your name.

“Amy.” You tell him quietly, watching as the man begins to turn but you push open the front door. “It was nice meeting you.” You call out as you turn the corner, not wanting to be faced with the tall figure. 

Steve remains still, watching you disappear out of sight as Bucky stands by his side. “So,” Bucky asks Steve, watching his smile falter. “was it her?” Bucky tries to hide the hope lacing his voice.

“No.” Steve quietly admits, not wanting to see the disappointment fall on Bucky’s face. “I’m sorry, Buck. Y/n’s dead.” 

Bucky releases a heavy sigh before pushing the front door open. “Let’s go home.” He mumbles sadly, unaware of you walking just out of his view. “I guess it was just too good to be true.” Bucky states quietly to Steve as he stands with his hands in his pockets, walking in the opposite direction to you. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees as he glances back, seeing your long trench coat behind him as your curls bounce behind you. “I guess it was.” 

*

“Evening, Henry.” You hold back your tears as he opens the door, forcing you a small smile as you head straight to the lift.

As the doors close on you, you feel the tears falling down your cheeks. His face is all you can picture, the young boy with the dark brown hair swept to one side, his cheeky attitude and his attempts at being suave. He never failed to make you laugh, or try to cheer you up. 

Pushing open your front door, you slip the trench coat off, catching sight of the mascara staining underneath your eyes as you collapse down by the creaky floorboard.

You force it up, pushing it to one side as you reach down to the old biscuit tin. A thick layer of dust coats the top as you blow it off, coughing as you inhale more than intended. 

Brushing your fingertips over the top, you lift the lid open hearing it clang on the ground beside you causing you to jump lightly as a small lamp brightens the spot above you. 

As delicately as you can, you look through some of the photographs you kept. When the accident happened, you realised you were only going to be able to keep a selection of treasures. If you carried photo albums from the 30′s with you containing photographs of you with well-known faces, you knew suspicion would arise. As a result, you kept only the photos you didn’t want to forget, the people you’d never see again. 

Your thumb brushes along the photograph of you and your family. It was taken when you were just a little girl sat between your two older siblings. Your Mother was so beautiful, and your Father was stern, but you knew he did it because he cared about your safety. The next is when you’re older, around the age of 17. You’re wearing one of your sisters dresses as she couldn’t afford a new one for you to wear at her wedding. 

A series of photos pass by, and then you land on the one you were looking for. For a brief moment, you were worried it was lost in transit from Atlanta. 

Leaning back, you rest against one of your cabinets as you feel tears forming in your eyes. Despite the changes, you know it’s still them. 

The three of you are standing outside of the local dance hall, all smiling as they hold you close in their arms. Steve is tiny, the broad man you spoke to earlier isn’t the same one you remembered. His smile is still bright, but you remember having forced him to go with you so you wouldn’t feel left out in case Bucky wandered off. 

And then there’s Bucky. 

You sniff lightly at the sight of him, his height towering over you as his hand ghosts around your waist. He was always so delicate with you, never wishing you any harm. You can remember just after the photograph was taken that Steve had a coughing fit, resulting in the three of you going home early. 

As you and Bucky helped Steve into his house, he insisted on walking you home. 

Closing your eyes you can still picture it, hearing his laugh as he twirls you around in the dark streets of Brooklyn. 

A small smile rises on your face as you flip the photograph over, sighing as you hold it close wishing you could go back. 

‘Bucky, Steve and Y/n. 1927.’

permanent taglist :

@psychicforest 🌙 @lourightm 🌙 @mywinterwolf  🌙 @perellith-chronicles🌙  @supermoonchildbroski​🌙  @xrosegoldwolfx🌙 @courtneychicken

[thebibliosphere]

I hate myself right now for having to do this, but this is your reminder that I am not a community blog, I am a singular (disabled, chronically ill) person who runs their own editing business, trying to keep their own head above water, and who also just happens to have a popular blog and uses their blog to talk about things on occasion that are neither related to health issues nor vampires, and I am also not a fundraiser blog.

I know I reblog those kind of posts, but it’s usually cause I personally know the person, or they are the friend of a friend, because otherwise I would go insane trying to reblog and vetting them all. I am going insane. I get anywhere in the region of 200 asks a week from people begging for help, and while I try to help, I really do, it’s breaking me.

My tumblr was supposed to be my fun space, it hasn’t been that way for quite some time. It has in fact infringed upon my real life and ruined rather large substantial chunks of it, along with my mental health. The added guilt of not being able to help everyone who needs it is just one more nail in the coffin towards not wanting to do this anymore. Which is a problem, cause my blog is how I make most of my income to pay for all my vital medical shit.

But I do want to make you aware of something that you can do, which is submit your fundraiser to Radio Free Monday, which @copperbadge set up, gosh I forget when, but I remember it back in ye olden livejournal days, for the purpose of fandom folk being able to support other fandom folk during hard times, and has been going ever since.

Which absolutely does not mean you should go flood Sam’s inbox with requests. Please do not do that.

What it does mean is you should look at his profile page, and look at these links:

It’s a simple google doc form you can fill in, which is located here.

He even helpfully provides advice and info on how to write your fundraising posts, which will help you avoid the mistakes a lot of people make when attempting to raise funds. Which you can find here. And I highly recommend you read it.

Sam has a much wider audience than me as well, and god knows his readers are some of the kindest people I’ve ever known. When I first started dying we kept having one emergency after another, whether it was urgent surgery or the furnace breaking in the dead of the Minnesota winter, and it was the folk from RFM who kept me alive. That’s not even an exaggeration. I’d be dead, or at the very least about 100 times sicker than I am now without the people who found me through Sam’s blog and decided to help a stranger on the Internet. So I get it, I know. I know all too well what it’s like to need help and have the Internet be your last resort.

And I hope this can be helpful to those of you who need it, like it was for me.

And again, I’m sorry if it seems like I’m not doing enough or like I’m ignoring you, it’s just gotten to such a point where it’s making me physically ill with exhaustion trying to keep up. And I’m no good to anyone if I let this fucking blog kill me. So this is my line in the sand, for now at least.

Take care out there, take care of yourselves and each other. Gods know all we have in this life is each other.

[tcfkag]

Explain the scratchy scary door

Terrible-terrible-blog: Just today I have received ALL of these requests for an update. Checking in on my personal safety. And generally looking for the TRUTH, damn it, about my attic. 

Apparently, @stephrc79 told people I was the one to go with for updates about the murder attic/werewolf sanctuary/potential place where prior owners kept “unwanted” family members. 

The thirst for the truth is REAL and STRONG with many of you. Honestly, I am almost loathe to post this follow-up because I don’t want to squelch your fantastical imaginations. And I know that for many of you, any answer will be suspect as the REAL TRUTH may be so shameful or so sensitive that I would never just share it here. I mean, I could be trying to throw you off the track simply by acknowledging that I MIGHT be trying to throw you off the track. 

You. Just. Never. Know.

But, I shall briefly address each most popular question and theory (with some new photographic evidence) in turn: 

(1) What’s on the other side of the door? Are you okay? Did you survive? 

Yes, my husband, my two dogs, and I continue to safely occupy our house. @stephrc79 continues to be alive and well in NYC (unless someone is playing a MUCH longer bout of con-man chess ... I’m only proficient in con-man checkers) though she also says she’s coming back to Boston in August so at that time I will be able to report back first-hand on her continued aliveness. 

NOTE: I am putting the rest of the answer to this under a “Read More” so that, if you wish the murder attic to remain a mystery on which to project your darkest fear or wildest imagination, you may continue to do so. Of course, that might also mean that whatever I’m going to post is so sensational that I just can’t share it with everyone....you’ll never know if you don’t click.

May I start with presenting you, again, with a picture of the “closet” in our guest bedroom that started this entire affair. There was a period where I was considering adding either a purple or turquoise accent wall in that room. Anyone think that’s a good idea or have a vote on which color would be better?

I think they’re both a bit dark honestly, but not quite as dark as they look here. BUT ANYWAY....this is, as I’ve mentioned before, an old-school solid wood door that matches all the other doors in our upstairs to the other bedrooms and closets. The doorknob is an old-style brass one with a built-in lock that no one has the key for anymore. However, the padlock (which you will notice is openable from the INSIDE is much more modern. My belief is that it was added when the prior owners had their home inspected so they could adopt - the lock would have allowed them to keep small children OUT of the attic but would have prevented anyone from accidentally being locked INTO the attic.

Here is what you see when you look up the attic stairs with the light ON:

It is, I’m sorry to inform you, basically an attic. We store our crap up there. Here’s what it looks like at the top of the stairs:

Yup, it’s basically your run of the mill attic full of crap. We keep some bookshelves up there because OBVIOUSLY, we have more books than sense. Plus I have, at various points over the years, convinced myself that I’m going to start boxing up my clothes and only taking out what I need seasonally. All that really means is that I haven’t seen the clothes in those boxes for years.

To address theories that this was used to house an “unsavory” relative by some past owners - the truth is that that is relatively unlikely. The roof in the attic is low enough that even at its peak, it is barely over 5 feet high. Almost everyone has to crouch up there. And there isn’t really ANY insulation so it is generally either brutally hot or cold up there. It also has absolutely NO finishings that suggest anyone ever lived there. 

Now, of course, it’s possible that people really were just THAT cruel in the olden days but the truth is that this type of house of this age has attic entries out of bedrooms like this all the time. As you can see if you read the comments on the original post, one of the most popular comments is “I’m from New England too and I have one of these....doesn’t everyone?” Trust me, this isn’t even CLOSE to the creepiest random attic or closet door that I’ve seen in a friend’s house (and don’t even talk about some of the basements). Also as a final note, while my house is old, it’s not THAT old. It was built in about 1905-1915, I forget the exact year, which was (generally speaking) at the tail end of the time that you would think of as having mentally or physically disabled relatives living in attics or having live-in servants (not to mention that my house is not THAT big and the original/early owners probably weren’t THAT wealthy).

Now as to the scratchy door that caused so much consternation - I know the point that someone made on the CSI: Attic Door post was that the scratches simply were too wide and too deep and too high to have possibly been made by dogs.  But here are pictures of the scratches compared to my hand which is, honestly, about the same size as my larger dog Tucker’s paws.

The scratches really aren’t all THAT wide. And while they look kind of deep on first inspection, remember that this cork board (which I believe was part of the insulation between the attic and the second floor that was added in later by the people who owned the house before us) is extremely porous and easy to scratch. And if you’ve ever heard or seen a dog who was upset about being locked in somewhere and scratching to get out, you can easily imagine how their frantic scratching could do this much damage quite quickly. 

And as to the height issue, not only is one of my dogs easily five feet tall when standing on his back paws, but I will also refer you back to the second picture. This door leads into STAIRS that go up to the attic. So if the door is closed, you’re actually standing on stairs, so you are naturally much higher up than you would normally be. Reaching that top lock would actually be easier than reaching the doorknob which might easily be below you if you were one or two stairs up.

So in short. I am very much alive and safe. The closet door leads to a staircase that leads into an everyday run of the mill attic. The most interesting thing to ever come out of that attic were the letters that were probably hidden under the floorboards and were found in my bathroom ceiling. It is extremely unlikely that any prisoners or shut-ins were ever kept up there. And there’s nothing particularly murdery about the attic itself...unless you’re scared of all attics (which is fair). 

Also, werewolves aren’t real and even if they were....it would be TERRIBLY RUDE to blow up their spot by posting their full moon hideouts to the internet for the whole world to see. Just saying.

[vivahsaubhagya]

Chhath Puja 2020 Tithi: कब मनाया जाएगा छठ का महापर्व, Chhath Puja 2020 Date, Chhath Puja 2020, chhath puja, Kharna, nahay khay, Chhath Puja 2020 tithi : आज से छठ पूजा की शुरुआत हो चुकी है. आज नहाय खाय है. व्रति महिलाएं इसकी प्रक्रिया पूरी करने में जुी हुई है. नहाय खाय के द‍िन गंगा स्‍नान करने का चलन है. इस द‍िन घर की पूरी सफाई की जाती है और छठी मइया के स्‍वागत के ल‍िए घर आंगन, घर के आगे और पीछे हर स्‍थान की सफाई होती है. छठ का पर्व चार द‍िनों का होता है और इसका व्रत ��भी व्रतों में सबसे कठ‍िन होता है. इसल‍िए इसे महापर्व के नाम से जाना जाता है. हिन्दी पंचाग के अनुसार, छठ पूजा का खरना कार्तिक मास के शुक्ल पक्ष की पंचमी तिथि को होता है. खरना को लोहंडा भी कहा जाता है. इसका छठ पूजा में विशेष महत्व होता है. खरना के दिन छठ पूजा के लिए विशेष प्रसाद बनाया जाता है. खरना के दिन भर व्रत रखा जाता है और रात प्रसाद स्वरुप खीर ग्रहण किया जाता है. इस बार छठ पूजा 18 नवंबर से 21 नवंबर पर चलेगी. अगर आप भी छठी मइया के पर्व को मना रहे हैं तो यहां देखें छठ पूजा से जुड़ी हर अपडेट..

With thousands of devotees swarming in to pay their idolization to the Sun God, Chhat is the most revered and pious festival of Bihar. It speaks highly of the deep rooted folk culture and origin of the divulge. The word Chhath denotes the number six as it commences on the sixth daylight from Amavasya (Diwali). Devoted to the Sun God, Chhat requires an arduous obedience of quick without water for greater than 24 hours. The Parvaitin (one who observes the parv/puja) follows a time of abstinence and segregation from the main household for two days and is in addition to supposed to carry the ritual of bathing in the holy water of Ganges without help.

Chhath Puja 2020 : कब मनाया जाएगा छठ का महापर्व Nahaye-Khaye –

On the first hours of hours of hours of daylight of Chhat, the parvaitin takes the holy bath and cooks a proper meal sans onion and garlic. Her curt begins after the meal and is single-handedly out of the shadowy upon the neighboring-door evening.

Kharna – On the second hours of daylight of the festival, the parvaitin cooks the prasad re her own that includes kheer and chapattis. She breaks her fast furthermore this prasad and the leftovers are distributed as the most pious prasad of Chhati maiyya.

Pehla Arghya – The two day fast begins, concerning the third day of the puja. The parvaitin along once the devotees, promenade to the Ghats to give Arghya to the atmosphere sun. The Arghya is an offering of milk and gangajal and is considered to be amrit. When I said that consent of Chhat is arduous, I was not just referring to the fasts. Since Chhat is intensely praised in winters, it is hermetically sealed hard for the parvaitins and devotees alike to stand waist deep in the cool waters of the river and pay for Arghya. It is believed that one who observes Chhat must not wear every one one of stitched. Hence, most parvaitins (brave they must be) just drape a sari concerning them!

Doosra Arghya – The journey towards the Ghats begins anew in front hours of daylight about the fourth daylight. Personally, my favourite portion of the festival (except for the share where we profit prasad, of course!), where the state is yet mahogany black and millions of diyas and fireworks enlighten the Ghats; the sight is nothing less than a magical procession. Truly, one can lonesome witness the involve to fall in in addition to and environment the sheer piety and beauty of this festival. The entire Ghat is ornamented when terracotta lamps and canopies of sugar-cane stalks where the devotees desist their soops (baskets). Each soop consists of the Chhat prasad that includes and the first crop of the season. The day Arghya is offered taking into consideration again to the rising sun as soon as hymns and folk songs, praying to the Sun god to ward off evil and dark spirits and enlighten the world taking into account sanctity and goodness.

While the rituals are pious and attractive, there are numerous tempting things roughly this festival. On your mannerism to the Ghats, you will most likely acquire a unintended to see some devotees who feat not promenade around foot! Yes, there are some who roll regarding the subject of their backs all the way from their blazing to the Ghats (which can be several kilometres)! Another bemusing site is to appearance really olden women observe the puja and be absolutely to your liking even after plunging waist deep in the cool river. But most tempting is the ambience that is created during the four days of the festival. The roads are flamboyantly decked when stalls of food and toys upon their sides, women bearing in mind vermillion all along till their nose never seem to halt chanting the Chhat folk songs, kids and men alike drowned in the fervour of the festivity- Chhat Puja is not just a festival, its a carnival of joy and worship blended taking into consideration grip and holiness that brings families and links together.

Why is Chhath Puja 2020 much-admired

There place unit several stories that begin to the lineage of Chhath Puja. it’s assumed that within the accumulation, Chhath Puja was celebrated by Draupadi and in addition to the Pandavas of Hastinapur consequently as to resolve their issues and regain their free kingdom. The mantras from the Rig religious writing texts place unit musical whereas attend the sun. because the version goes by, this Puja was initial started by Hindu deity Putra Karna WHO dominated anew the Anga Desh (Bhagalpur in Bihar) throughout the age of Mahabharatum. The scientific records or rather the Hindooism records dates backing going on to the first sacred writing amount. Legend says that the sages and rishis of that times used this technique therefore as to restrain from any outside suggests that of food and profit energy directly from the rays of the sun.

The Rituals of Chhath Puja

Chhath Puja 2020 Tithi: कब मनाया जाएगा छठ का महापर्व, Chhathi Maiya, normally referred to as Usha is that the deity idolized during this Puja. The Chhath competition involves many rituals, that area unit significantly harsher as compared to oscillate Hindu festivals. These typically cause problems taking dips in rivers or water bodies, strict brusque (one cannot even beverage water within every single one method of fasting), standing and providing prayers in water, facing the sun for long periods and additionally providing prashad to the sun at sunrise and sunset.

Best Online Matrimonial Website In India, Best Matchmakers in lucknow, Lucknow Matrimony Site, Best Marriage Bureau

Best Indian Matrimonial Android App, Free Online Matchmaking services, Free Marriage App For Indian Brides & Grooms

Online Free Baniya Matrimonial Site, Baniya Matrimony, Baniya Brides, Baniya Online Matrimonial Portal

[apostateangela]

A Bell’s not a Bell Until You Ring It

There is a specific Mormon myth/fable/scripture story that is prevalent and used as an allegory for life. It is the story of Lehi’s dream. It is found in the first book of the book of Mormon,

1 Nephi chapter 8.

This is the Mormon’s version of the Tree of Life myth. Throughout all religious mythology, the Tree of Life bears magical fruit that is white and brilliant and gives everything from pleasure to everlasting life to those that eat of it.

In Lehi’s dream it is a fruit filled tree, shining with light at the end of a dark path next to a river. There is a treacherous mist on both sides of the path. There is a “large and spacious” building off to the side, full of people. And all along the path to the tree there is an iron rod, not unlike a railing, to hold on to as you brave the deep and dark and dangerous misty swamp.

This allegory has been explained in Mormon terms and taught to members of the church from the time you are very young. Each piece of the dream is explained in symbology as well as scripture. There are hymns and primary songs written about it.

Here is one hymn:

1. To Nephi, seer of olden time,

A vision came from God,

Wherein the holy word sublime

Was shown an iron rod.

[Chorus]

Hold to the rod, the iron rod;

'Tis strong, and bright, and true.

The iron rod is the word of God;

'Twill safely guide us through.

2. While on our journey here below,

Beneath temptation's pow'r,

Through mists of darkness we must go,

In peril ev'ry hour.

3. And when temptation's pow'r is nigh,

Our pathway clouded o'er,

Upon the rod we can rely,

And heaven's aid implore.

4. And, hand o'er hand, the rod along,

Through each succeeding day,

With earnest prayer and hopeful song,

We'll still pursue our way.

5. Afar we see the golden rest

To which the rod will guide,

Where, with the angels bright and blest,

Forever we'll abide.

And here is the symbol breakdown:

The Tree: Love of God or Everlasting Life with God

The Fruit: Happiness or the Blessings of Christ’s Atonement

The Mist= The Temptations of the Devil

The Iron Rod= The Word of God or Sacred Scripture

The Spacious Building= The World filled with Wicked People who mock the Righteous

The River= Spiritual Death

As young members of the church continuing into old members of the church, you are commanded through this vision written in scripture to ‘hold fast to the iron rod’ and not depart from the path of righteousness that leads you to everlasting life and eternal happiness with God. Holding to the Word of God means that you obey all the commandments and rules contained within the Mormon books of scripture (Bible, Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price). Letting go of the rod means you deviate from the path, tempted by the world (other people from the building) and Satan (the mist) and risk falling into the river or into spiritual death—which in case you didn’t know is worse than real death.

The purpose of my explaining Lehi’s Dream here is to provide you with the context that surrounds the depth of obedience programmed into members of the Mormon Church.

This is only one angle. But it is far reaching and prevalent.

It is designed almost perfectly:

An ancient prophet (Lehi) has a vision from God about his own family, which consists of various children; some of whom are righteous and obedient and some who are rebellious and wicked (examples of humans we can all relate to).

This God bestowed lesson/allegory is then written into scripture that is then revealed to future generations and translated by modern prophets. Then, given to the current people of the church with a charge to do everything they can to bring it into every corner of their lives: the Iron Rod story has been adapted into art, music, literature, spoken sermons, and even film.

I can almost feel my metaphysical hand grasping…

The Iron Rod story is all about what God wants you to do.

And what I find interesting is that it is a structure wrapped in God’s love and perceived safety that creates division between those that follow and those that do not.

One group is righteous, those that hold the rod and follow God step by step never deviating. The other group is labeled as wicked and mocking because they challenge those holding onto the rod. They are even put into a building, segregated from God’s followers.

Two of the basic building blocks of Christian belief are first, love thy neighbor or love everyone, to which this dream decimates. And the second, more obscure is about a counsel in Heaven. Before this life there was a counsel where God deliberated on how he wanted His children to live here on this earth. He himself wanted His children to have choice; choosing their own path and learning from this life and their experiences—saved from their sin by the sacrifice or atonement of God’s beloved son Jesus Christ.

Instances of this doctrine are in Job and Isaiah as well as Luke and the book of Revelations

(King James Version).

In the Mormon translation of this counsel in Heaven, there was actually a war where Lucifer wanted to force everyone to do what was ‘right’ so that God wouldn’t lose a single soul. And as God chose Christ’s plan of choice and redemption, fighting ensued causing Lucifer to be cast out of Heaven with 1/3 of the Hosts of Heaven (which became the Devil and his demons).

I add this bit of lore to show the strangeness of the Iron Rod piece.

If one of the main purposes of this life—something that God wants--is to explore and discover, to learn from experience, then iron-clad rules of the Mormon church prevent this very thing from happening. It traps people in a place of prescriptive living that limits not only the exploring of the outward but also of the inward and alienates those who do not obey.

There are many things that holding to the blistering iron of this rod prevented me from discovering about myself, as well as the world I lived in.

I’ve already written about sex.

It seems that journey is not over.

But before I get to the new piece I have discovered I think it is time I shared with you my journey to understanding love and relationships.

One of the most well-worn spots on the path of the Iron Rod is that of Mormon Temple Marriage. I have written about this structure as well as documented somewhat the harsh 25 years I spent there. After my divorce, and months of therapy and self-reflection I found that while I didn’t exactly know what I wanted in terms of love and relationships,

I definitely knew what I DID NOT WANT!

I did not want marriage.

Of course I did not want the psychologically abusive, Mormon version of marriage I had lived. But I also knew that I didn’t want the patriarchal oppressive structure marriage is both culturally and legally in the United States either.

From my 8-month foray into single womanhood and divorcee I quickly came to the realization that the church AND the world are not fair or kind.

As I set out to explore sex, I also was moving, albeit more slowly, towards examining different kinds of love and relationships.

I virtually stumbled upon a philosophical pot of gold in the form of a man who made a claim on his online dating profile.

He said he was a Relationship Anarchist.

He explained a little bit about it in his profile,

enough that his words set off a deep bell within me.

It reverberated, resonated like something unending—a bell that couldn’t be un-rung.

I asked him questions both about what it was and what it meant to him.

And then, I started researching.

As a teacher, student, writer, and curious intellect, I know how to research.

I read articles and blogs, and manifestos. I watched vlogs and personal testimonials and informational videos. I joined chat groups and made friends and found a very patient guru that I plagued with questions and scenarios.

With each bit of information, I asked myself, “Is this even possible? Would this actually work for you?” And more often than not the answers sent electricity into the original reverberation and resounded with either a ‘YES!’ or a ‘I can’t wait to find out!’

Then I tested it with actual experience, as any loving God intended I should.

The answers and experiences have both challenged and amazed me.

I cannot thank that golden man enough.

Before I go further, here is the barebones definition:

Relationship anarchy (sometimes abbreviated RA) is the belief that relationships should not be bound by rules aside from what the people involved mutually agree upon. If a relationship anarchist has multiple intimate partners, it might be considered as a form of polyamory, but distinguishes itself by postulating that there need not be a formal distinction between sexual, romantic, or platonic relationships.

Relationship anarchists look at each relationship (romantic, platonic or otherwise) individually, as opposed to categorizing them according to societal norms such as 'just friends', 'in a relationship', or 'in an open relationship'.

That’s Wikipedia and I’m okay with their definition.

Here’s a few more extensions that I like:

“A relationship anarchist begins from a place of assuming total freedom and flexibility as the one in charge of their personal relationships and decides on a case by case basis what they want each relationship to look like.”

“Relational anarchists are often highly critical of conventional cultural standards that prioritize romantic and sex-based relationships over non-sexual or non-romantic relationships. Instead, RA seeks to eliminate specific distinctions between or hierarchical valuations of friendships versus love-based relationships, so that love-based relationships are no more valuable than are platonic friendships...another important theme within RA is the resistance to placing demands or expectations on the people involved in a relationship.”

Here are the bits that matter to me:

Full autonomy= I want to be in charge of myself and what I want as well as filling my own needs. After all, anarchy does not mean ‘no rules’ but rather ‘NO RULERS!’

No expectations= In line with the previous piece, I don’t want to have or have placed on me expectations that are often unreasonable or unreachable. If there are no expectations, things happen based on what someone has to OFFER-their hand is extended full of what they can share-instead of what I THINK SHOULD HAPPEN-my hand open and empty begging for something I expect them to give me.

No hierarchy=No one is more important than anyone else.

This is how I love. I always have. I have deep intimate friendships as much as I have romantic ones. I want to have my heart touch their heart. I don’t have large groups of people in my life.

I have a handful of people that mean everything to me.

Evolution=Step by step the relationship creates its own life that evolves with time and investment into something incredibly beautiful. And because every step must be looked at and communicated about before the next step, and there are no prescriptive stairs to climb, the relationship is a journey instead of a destination.

If you’re asking the question about polyamory because it stuck to you from the Wikipedia definition, the answer is yes, of course polyamory--the love of multiple people--would be part of this. If you love all your people, all your partners regardless of a label, you are potentially going to have more than one person you have sex with as well as more than one person you don’t. It’s called ethical non-monogamy and it is brilliant.

It is such an incredible thing to be freed of the idea that one person has to be everything to me. It provides perspective.

I have many needs, but I can present any portion of those as something I want from a person based on what they have to offer.

It’s the best kind of authentic gift giving.

Also, I don’t go hungry as often as I used to.

I was starved for love and attention.

And while it is true, that many people stuck in amatonormativity—the widespread assumption that everyone is better off in an exclusive, romantic, long-term coupled relationship—cannot break free of this societal norm, there are many people searching for the answer to the wrongness they feel in such relationships.

These people are enlightened and on their way to self-actualization and are

WHO I WANT IN MY LIFE!

We feed each other, loving as we want and as we can.

You may be thinking, “She’s just having a knee jerk reaction to leaving the church and her divorce, pushing herself to the other side of the spectrum. It’s a stage that will eventually end.”

I believe you are wrong.

I have been practicing RA for over two years now and do not see an end.

I have had many partners, some who have passed through my life.

The inevitable transience of this lifestyle is a hard thing, because sometimes what someone can give me doesn’t last a long time. But even in the heartbreak of their leaving there is peace knowing that what I had with that individual was more honest, more real than most of my marriage.

And

some stay.

Our evolution is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in my entire life.

I am learning what love is in an organic way as it becomes what both partners want it to be.

It is glorious and beautiful (to steal a phrase God says from the temple representation of the creation of the earth).

I find it fitting,

I’m CREATING love!

Now you might be asking, “What about jealousy?”

And you are right, there is jealousy. But jealousy wears many faces and when you stop trying to control others jealousy’s biggest face disappears. And what you discover is what your own jealousy is based on at its roots. Mine is about self-worth. I am not sure I’m worthy or worth as much as another. After some reassurance from my partner—that I’ve asked for because it is my job to advocate for myself—I find instead of jealousy I feel kinship with those people that love my people.

We have good taste after all!

And with every successful step my inner bell’s reverberation is renewed and deepened.

It is this ‘ringing true’ within oneself that I believe to be the best guide for my life--and in my opinion--for yours as well.

Shakespeare wrote, “This above all, to thine own self be true.”

What rings true for you?

You can’t hear it, but rather you must feel it.

It is inside yourself and not an exterior envisioned cold rod of iron, but rather a living bell that’s sound enters your every cell on every plane.

When something resonates

do not ignore it

especially just because someone outside tells you God wants differently.

Understand that I do not put aside basic human morality.

Some people find pleasure in the pain of others.

I am not talking about just doing everything that feels good to everyone no matter the cost.

I am talking about listening to your own heart—once you free it from what others say it should feel.

Here is what I know:

I have lived by a thousand rules.

And now I live by only two.

They answer two questions:

Will it hurt someone?

Is it good for me?

If the answers are respectively ‘no’ then ‘yes’ I do it.

True, there are more implications within those two questions and answers, but they are my personal compass that works only for me, pointing me in a thousand directions instead on only a single iron one.

The diversity of this journey has brought me to such beauty and joy.

The newest being the discovery of my own bisexuality.

RA has also broken the heteronormative shackles my Mormon prescripted marriage bound me with. I finally understand the love I had for a girl long ago during high school and the intimacy I find in the touch and company of other women.

I am reveling in exploring where that intimacy can go and my bell rings as I find and partake of the fruit of the Tree of Life--growing in more places than one.

Turns out it is your inner bell that leads you to that Tree and its pleasurable fruit, not some cold, harsh rod of iron.

And through this journey I have found that my bell leads me to not just that Tree,

but an entire Grove.

A world of joy and life my idea of a loving God could get behind.

An expanse open for you and I to experience all that we can.

Once more I urge you to just let go.

Find the fruit once forbidden and eat.

And then, eat more.

Be greedy my friends.

I deserve it

And so do you.

-Angela

[andrewdburton]

Purpose and the Value of Money

I mentioned the other day that my financial philosophy has changed a bit since I left Get Rich Slowly in 2012. One of the biggest shifts is where I believe we should place our focus.

In the olden days, I thought money itself was a fine focus. I wanted out of debt. To achieve that goal, I needed money. Today, I view debt reduction as a side effect, not a goal.

After I got out of debt, I wanted to build my savings. To achieve that goal, I needed money. Today, I view savings as a side effect, not a goal.

After I built a modest nest egg, I wanted to gain greater wealth. To achieve that goal, I needed money. Today, I view wealth as a side effect, not a goal.

After I gained greater wealth, I realized something. I’d been chasing the wrong thing. What I really wanted was happiness, and happiness isn’t something you can just go out and grab. Just as debt reduction, savings, and wealth are side effects of certain choices, happiness too is a byproduct of our choices and the lives we lead. Happiness comes when our actions are aligned with our purpose.

Gradually, I came to understand that purpose was actually my goal all along. Truly, it’s the goal for each of us. When we have a purpose, and when we’re able to pursue that purpose with passion, everything seems to fall into place.

A big reason I returned to writing about money after three years away? I realized it’s part of my greater purpose. That’s also part of the reason I bought back Get Rich Slowly.

None of this is new, really. People have been thinking about this and talking about it for centuries. For millennia. But each of us needs to come to this realization on our own.

Some folks never have this epiphany, and that’s fine. But for those of us who do experience it, it can change our lives. It changes how we view our work, our play, our relationships — and our finances.

The Real Value of Money

This is all on my mind because a couple of weeks ago, I read an article from Mark Manson on the real value of money. Money, Manson says, is merely a store of value — one of many stores of value in our lives. It’s not that money is intrinsically valuable; it’s that it represents value.

He writes:

Money is a touchy subject. That’s because most of us, to a certain degree, associate a lot of our self-worth and identity to our job and how much money we make. It is, quite literally, a market valuation of our skills and competence as a person, and therefore we all get a little bit testy and scooch around uncomfortably in our chairs whenever money is brought up. But money is merely an arbitrary store of value. It is not value itself.

Manson spends some time discussing the nature of money: its nature, its fluidity, its effects. He describe how money creates what he calls “experience cycles”, some of which are positive, and some of which are negative. “People who fall into these experience cycles with their money soon become slaves to earning a buck,” Manson writes. “They begin to see money as the singular purpose of their life. It becomes the whole of their motivation.”

I think you can see where he’s going here. Like me (and millions before us), Manson is arguing that true wealth isn’t really about money.

To Manson, true wealth only occurs when the way you earn your money is aligned with your values. True wealth only occurs when the way you spend your money is aligned with your values. And true wealth only occurs when your earning and spending are aligned with each other. “Money is often a means towards success,” he writes, “but it is rarely success itself.”

Here’s the key takeaway:

The real value of money emerges when we leverage it as a tool towards our success rather than making it success itself. When we channel it towards the experiences and values that we find more important. When we use it to build an innovative business, when it fuels our creativity or infuses our community, when it supports our family or shares love with our friends or adds to our personal health and satisfaction.

In short, the real value of money comes when it helps you pursue your purpose.

Instead of simply reading the handful of quotes I’ve posted here, I encourage you to read the entire article at Manson’s always excellent site: The Real Value of Money.

Do What Works for You

And here’s the key takeaway I want you to get from my article: Purpose is powerful — but there’s no single right purpose for everyone. Each of us is different. Each of us has unique strengths and weakness, unique value systems. What’s right for me may not be right for you.

Over the years, I’ve met a lot of folks who are passionate followers of certain authors and speakers. Sometimes these authors and speakers focus on money, sometimes they focus on religion, sometimes they focus on politics. Their followers like what they say (or, sometimes, how they say it), and without realizing that it’s happened, they gradually adopt the value systems of these gurus. In effect, they adopt the guru’s purpose as their own. I think this is a mistake.

The path to purpose is different for each of us.

Instead of adopting a guru’s purpose (and belief system) as your own, you ought to sift through what he writes or says to find the bits that ring true to you, the elements that are applicable to your life.

The thing is, most of us never consciously consider our purpose. In fact, a lot of folks think this sort of talk is a bunch of new age bullshit. It isn’t. (Or it doesn’t have to be.) Taking time to consider what you truly want out of life is an excellent way to help steer you in a direction that makes you happy, a direction that brings you true wealth. (Coincidentally, it often leads to monetary wealth, as well.)

Who Are You? — and What Do You Want?

The first thing I ask readers to do at Money Boss is to to create a personal mission statement. I think that’s a great exercise, and I encourage you to do that too, but I don’t intend to fully promote my Money Boss agenda here at Get Rich Slowly.

Instead, I hope you’ll set aside a few minutes to answer three simple questions, questions that can at least prod you toward thinking more about your purpose — and how that purpose relates to money. These questions come from The Seven Stages of Money Maturity by George Kinder. (He, in turn, seems to have borrowed them from the work of time-management guru Alan Lakein.)

Here are the three questions Kinder uses to help his clients get clear on their values:

Imagine you’re financially secure. You have enough money to take care of your needs, both now and in the future. How would you live your life? Would you change anything? Let yourself go and describe your dreams. What would you do if money were no object?

Now imagine that you visit your doctor. She reveals you only have five to ten years left to live. You’ll never feel sick, but you’ll have no notice of the moment of your death. What will you do in the time you have remaining? Will you change your life? How will you change it? (Note that this question does not assume unlimited wealth.)

Finally, imagine your doctor shocks you with the news that you only have 24 hours to live. Nothing can be done. At this time tomorrow, you’ll be dead. What feelings arise as you confront your mortality? What did you miss? Who did you not get to be? What did you not get to do?

Answering the first question is easy (and fun). There are many things we’d do if money were no object. But as the questions progress, there’s a sort of funnel. They become more difficult to answer, and there are fewer possible responses.

According to Kinder, the third question usually generates responses that follow five general themes:

Family and relationships. Ninety percent of responses to the final question contain this topic.

Authenticity or spirituality. Many responses involve leading a more meaningful life.

Creativity. Surprisingly, a large number of respondents express a desire to do something creative: to write a science-fiction novel or to play guitar like Eric Clapton.

Giving back. Further down the list are themes about giving back to the community, about leaving a meaningful positive impact.

A “sense of place”. A fifth common theme (though nowhere near as prominent as the top three) is a desire to have some connection with place: a desire to be in nature, to live someplace different, or to help the environment.

Kinder says that some people — the facts and figures people — look at these questions and ask, “What does these have to do with money?” They have everything to do with money. When you understand what you want to do with your life, you can make choices — financial and otherwise — that genuinely reflect your values.

All of these questions are meant to cause the participant to ask herself, “Who am I as a person, stripped from what I do as a job every day? Is it possible to derive meaning and satisfaction with this stripped away?” Inevitably, the answer is yes.

From my experience — I’ve used these questions in workshops for several years now — your answers can also be like a roadmap to help you discover true value of money.

The first time I wrote about Kinder’s work here at GRS was in February 2009. I’d just attended a conference where he presented his three questions. Answering them had a profound impact on my life, changing its course entirely. I didn’t see my exact purpose all at once, but I did see that my life wasn’t congruent with my values. I made changes — one of which was selling this site. (Ironic then that re-purchasing Get Rich Slowly is congruent with who I am in 2017!)

The post Purpose and the Value of Money appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

from Finance http://www.getrichslowly.org/blog/2017/10/18/purpose-value-money/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[ladateproject-blog]

Perfect on Paper, Part 2

July-September 2014 | 6 dates

He didn’t kiss me.

Huh. Let’s see here… Dinner date. Plus wine. Plus walk home. Plus fence repair. (Fence repair, people.) Plus standing across from one another, on my front porch, amidst the dewy late-summer air, basking in the moonlight… This doesn’t add up to kiss? What equals kiss? WHAT. EQUALS. KISS.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a rather fluid opinion on when the first kiss should happen. I used to think it shouldn’t happen on the first date, that it was second or even third date territory. But that theory definitely flew out the window at some point. (Don’t worry, we’ll get there.) Granted, there are plenty of women and men of my generation who do way more than just kiss (y’know what I’m sayin’) as early as the first three dates. No judgment here.

I’m just not that person. In fact, I’m an INFJ (Introverted-Intuitive-Feeling-Judging… if you’re wondering WTH that is, do yourself a favor and take the Myers-Briggs test!), so my “slutty-sense” is virtually nonexistent. And remember, the subtitle of this blog is “A Good Girl’s Search for Love in Los Angeles.” Anyway, it really comes down to how you’re feeling about the other person (and, of course, how he/she is feeling about you). It shouldn’t be forced. It shouldn’t be awkward (but, let’s face it, it often is, and that can even be cute sometimes). What I’m saying is, it shouldn’t be something that’s agonized over.

Well. I agonized over this kiss. Or, rather, the lack thereof. I remember walking into my house, completely flabbergasted. And saying to my roommate, “He still didn’t kiss me.” He STILL didn’t kiss me. I couldn’t help but wonder (my first callback to Carrie Bradshaw #dreamscometrue), were we just friends with benefits — if “benefits” were free meals and not physical touching?

Yes, I know that I could have kissed him. This isn’t the olden days anymore. FEMALE POWER! But, I dunno… there’s something nice about the guy making the first move. That’s the old-fashioned part within me, the part that wants to be pursued and courted. I think most girls have at least a liiittle bit of that somewhere inside them. Some of my friends even suggested that I give him a peck on the cheek, just to put things in motion. That was the only time I wished this guy wasn’t six feet tall. Because craning my neck to reach his cheek in a way that was organic and graceful… I mean. That just wasn’t going to happen.

For those of you who are fellow Angelenos, you’re probably familiar with The Grove. For those of you who aren’t, it’s an outdoor shopping mall with overpriced stores and a Cheesecake Factory. So, ya know, HEAVEN. Anyway, this is where Perfect on Paper took me on our next date. Which made sense, ’cause it was in our neighborhood again, and it’s a nice place to walk around hand-in-hand with your SO. (Except we didn’t hold hands. Like, never. Not once.)

We had dinner at a place that’s probably not even there anymore because it was tucked away in a corner of the Farmers Market where restaurants go to die. Afterward, as we walked to his car, I threw myself at the front window of The Container Store, which had yet to have its grand opening, so it was just taunting me. (To this day, I have never even stepped foot inside that Container Store. I can’t comprehend why; it’s my happy place. But I always end up in the one in Century City. I guess because I want to keep my organizing addiction as discrete as possible. … Too late.) He acted as though my behavior amused him, but I’m sure he was really thinking, “This girl whack.” Well, maybe I am. WELCOME TO ME.

Suffice to say, after not holding hands for the entire evening, we did not lock lips when he dropped me off at home. I don’t specifically remember the end of this date. It’s all a blur… because I was too preoccupied with the fact that there would be a Container Store five minutes from where I live. (I’m just waiting for the perfect day to go, OKAY?)

You fellow Angelenos are probably also familiar with the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA), which is the nerdy/cool place to be. Well, Perfect on Paper had himself an annual membership, and he suggested we go there for our next date. The museum also features a trendy restaurant/bar with outdoor seating, where we could grab a bite and a cocktail after perusing the exhibits. Pretty adorable, right? I thought this was a unique, clever and fun idea for a date. I also just wanted to be like Ferris and Sloane at the Art Institute.

Spoiler alert: We definitely did not reach Floane (Slerris?) status. While I don’t recall which specific galleries we visited, I do vividly remember that we again did not hold hands. Well, I mainly remember having a conversation with one of my best girlfriends wherein she asked me if we held hands, and when I said no, she thought that was strange. It was strange. This whole thing is strange. How have I gone on five dates with this person? What is my life?

During dinner, he tried playing footsie with me, and I was absolutely repelled. One hundred percent. Which makes it sound like he was physically hideous or something, but that was so not the case. (Andrew Lincoln, remember? He even told me that he gets that a lot.) And we had perfectly fine conversations. These were not miserable ordeals. But it came down to the “all men have the urge to sleep with other men” comment. (Of course it did. How could it not?)

It could have also been the fact that this was the first guy I had met online. The first guinea pig in my experiment of dating in Los Angeles. As much as I’d convinced myself that I wanted “one and done” (It’d be so much easier! I thought), there was still far too much out there to explore. I needed to figure out what I was really looking for — what I really wanted — and not just what seemed perfect for me on paper.

As a last-ditch effort, we went on a doggie playdate (he kept asking me out and I kept saying yes, I don’t know what else to tell you). Perfect on Paper with Walter, and me with Stella. (That’s just ASKING for magic to happen!) We spent a sunny weekend afternoon at Pan Pacific Park, lounging in the grass and tossing toys to our dogs. It should have been serene and easy and comfortable. It should have been. Instead, he tried to educate me on the iPhone (because I had just gotten one… yes, in 2014… shut up), and his condescending tone rubbed me the wrong way.

When he dropped me off at home, I gave him a quick, awkward hug before Stella and I hopped out of the car. I was sadder to say goodbye to Walter. I just knew this was the end. The spark wasn’t there. Maybe it could’ve been there for me, at a different time, but it would’ve never really been there for him. (Because, you know, I’m not a man.)

The last text he ever sent me: “Here.” That’s when he showed up, at the start of the sixth date. I never heard from him after.

And I was okay with that. Because, after all, I was just getting started…

[type2diabetestreatments-blog]

Ask D'Mine: Lipoatrophic Diabetes and Much Ado About Tea

New Post has been published on http://type2diabetestreatment.net/diabetes-mellitus/ask-dmine-lipoatrophic-diabetes-and-much-ado-about-tea/

Ask D'Mine: Lipoatrophic Diabetes and Much Ado About Tea

There's so much to know about diabetes, and so much to keep up on. We're very grateful for the research efforts of our snarky yet beloved advice columnist here at Ask D'Mine — veteran type 1, diabetes author and community educator Wil Dubois.

Need help navigating life with diabetes? Email us at AskDMine@diabetesmine.com

Julie from Nevada, type 2, writes: I was told I have lipoatrophic diabetes, in addition to other health issues including high cholesterol, high triglycerides, and arthritis. Now I'm worried about my daughters. They say these things are not hereditary, but how can I be sure?

Wil@Ask D'Mine answers: Who said these things aren't hereditary conditions? Not to depress you, but... umm... they are. All of them. Diabetes is definitely a family gift (more on your unique type in a minute), as is susceptibility to elevated cholesterol and trigs. Of course, there're over a hundred flavors of arthritis, but, for instance, the very nasty rheumatoid arthritis — another one of those lovely diseases where the immune system goes bonkers and attacks the home team—has a genetic component to it. Actually if you read about it, you might suffer diabetes déjà vu: "blah, blah, blah, some researchers, blah, blah, believe an infection such as blah, blah might trigger the disease in those genetically susceptible."

Sound familiar, type 1s?

I've got a few thoughts to ease your mind, but first we gotta talk about your lipoatrophic diabetes 'cause I'll bet most of our readers have never heard of it. Thankfully, it's quite rare. Rare enough that I can't even get any good statistics on just how rare it is, but the best guess is that it affects 1 in 400,000 people. By comparison, our "rare" type 1 diabetes effects (depending on the part of the world you're in) around 17 in 100,000. That makes type 1, if my math is right, 68 times more common than lipoatrophic diabetes.

So just what the Sam Hell is lipoatrophic diabetes?? the rest of you are asking. In Julie's case her diabetes has taken an ugly turn that is causing her hypothalamus to freak out and over-produce growth hormones and the tongue-twisting adrenocorticotropic-releasing hormones (basically, steroids). This toxic cocktail in her blood is literally killing her body fat and might cause some of her muscles to atrophy, too. In most cases the damage is limited to certain areas of the body, but can be widespread.

Yes. Major suckage.

And just where does lipoatrophic diabetes fit in to the overall picture of diabetes? OK, here we go. Recall that the family tree of diabetes has two major branches: diabetes mellitus and diabetes insipidus. Insipidus is an uncommon form of diabetes caused by a defect in the kidneys. Mellitus is the branch that includes T1, T2, LADA, gestational diabetes, pre-diabetes, and Julie's rare form.

Other interesting tidbits: super-high trigs are common in lipoatrophic diabetes, high enough to be difficult to tame; and the disease is characterized by extraordinary insulin resistance. Like more than 1,000 units of insulin a day extraordinary.

By the way, if the word lipoatrophic tickles the back of your mind but doesn't jibe with what I'm telling you, you might be recalling that in the olden days of beef and pork insulins, localized mini-lipodystrophies were sometimes seen at injection sites. The immune system would attack the injection site and kill off a small zone of fat. They were caused by the body rejecting the animal-based medicine. In theory, always injecting in the same spot with modern insulins can also kill off the fat tissue in that area, one of the reasons all you injectors and pumpers out there should rotate your sites.

Now, Julie, as to your daughters, all of your woes might be passed on to them. Or some of your woes might be passed on to them. Or maybe none of your woes will be passed on to them. There are no guarantees, good or bad. I guess this will be small comfort, but I always feel that forewarned is forearmed. If your girls know that there's a risk, however small, then they can make sure their docs know what's lurking in the family tree. Everyone can be watching. It's not a perfect solution, but I'd argue that good surveillance beats the hell out of the head-in-the-sand approach every time.

Vaughn from Minnesota, type 2, writes: I read that white tea is a powerful antioxidant and green tea helps your body burn fat. Is there any truth to these claims that tea can affect the health of diabetics?

Wil@Ask D'Mine answers: Well, the British conquered more than half the known world drinking tea (not bad for a country just a hair bigger than Minnesota), so that suggests some power. As to the medical benefits that you read about tea, it's technically true, but don't get too excited just yet.

White tea is the least-processed of all the teas and it is an antioxidant. That said, I think calling it a "powerful" antioxidant is going a little far. Antioxidants include Vitamins C and E, flavonoids and carotenoids. Beyond tea, you can "get" assorted antioxidants from fruits, veggies, coffee, olive oil, oregano, eggs, and my favorites: dark chocolate and red wine. For what it's worth, it looks like beans and berries are the antioxidant leaders when it comes to "powerful."

But wait! Do we need a powerful antioxidant, even if green tea were a powerful antioxidant? Maybe not. This study suggests too much of a good thing will kill you.

Meanwhile, green tea, which seems to have hit the Big Time recently, has been under the metaphorical microscope. Maybe it, like red wine and dark chocolate, helps lower heart disease risk. If I have to choose between a cup or green tea or some red wine and chocolate, I gotta say, it's a no-brainer for me. Green tea might also lower cancer risk. And yes, it does seem to burn fat. Yep. Just not a whole hell of a lot of fat.

Now I need to mention my mother here (and hopefully, she doesn't read today's column). Her eye doc had suggested Mom drink green tea every day as there is also some research suggesting that it can be helpful in slowing down glaucoma and other eye diseases. Of course, this research is on rats. But rats are people, too. So Mom has been drinking green tea every day: doctor's orders, after all.

But...

But, she was drinking bottled iced green tea with honey. After all, honey is natural, too, right? The carb count was right up there with a soda pop. In fact, this "tea" was really just tea-flavored sugar water. Sure, it had some honey. But the ingredients were water, corn syrup, sugar, honey... Luckily Mom isn't a diabetic, but clearly, some teas can affect the health of diabetics.

Caveat emptor.

Ya gotta read the damn food labels.

FYI, final tea trivia: white, green, and black tea are all from the same plant: camellia sinesis, a.k.a. "the tea plant."

I think we need to approach tea like everything else: all things in moderation, don't expect miracles, and don't drink the damn stuff if you don't like it.

Now I'm feeling the need to anti-oxidize. Where did I put that corkscrew?

This is not a medical advice column. We are PWDs freely and openly sharing the wisdom of our collected experiences — our been-there-done-that knowledge from the trenches. But we are not MDs, RNs, NPs, PAs, CDEs, or partridges in pear trees. Bottom line: we are only a small part of your total prescription. You still need the professional advice, treatment, and care of a licensed medical professional.

Disclaimer: Content created by the Diabetes Mine team. For more details click here.

Disclaimer

This content is created for Diabetes Mine, a consumer health blog focused on the diabetes community. The content is not medically reviewed and doesn't adhere to Healthline's editorial guidelines. For more information about Healthline's partnership with Diabetes Mine, please click here.

Type 2 Diabetes Treatment Type 2 Diabetes Diet Diabetes Destroyer Reviews Original Article