#but we need to be patient for them
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banglatown · 1 year ago
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#in reality - on the relationship front anyway#i’m not ready for a relationship and i don’t think i ever have been#i’m incredibly emotional and immature and so i attract emotionally unavailable ppl … bc i myself am also emotionally unavailable … dude tht#was a tough pill to swallow i’ll tell you tht for free ..#but once i did realise .. a lot of my tendencies started to make sense and i started to be able to identify shit abt myself better and know#what i need and want#like trauma is horrible but like it doesn’t make any of us bad ppl … but we all need to stop ppl who trigger our abandonment or attachment#issues .. DEAD IN THEIR TRACKS#now you can be wondering ‘beebs .. how dyek they’re doing tht xyz’#okay .. do they make you feel anxious? like not just 🦋 but like … ANXIOUS#like do you find yourself become unhinged so if they reply to you#… tht’s it … tht’s literally it#and how you stop them is … literally just remove them off of everything .. bloque bloque bloque#as far as they’re concerned you’re a fucking phantom (one of the few times i’ll excuse ghosting)#DO NOT EVER ACCEPT THT SHIT FROM NO ONE#bc none of our days r over and yk what … i do believe our persons are out there … i do 🪽🪽🪽#but we need to be patient for them#n i do think the universe is on our sides yk#like i think it makes these ppl tht IT KNOWSSS are bad for us hurt us to push them away from us … bc we don’t need them bad vibrations#i leave you w this oscar wilde quote i love:#‘never love anyone who treats you like you’re ordinary’#you’ve got this i’ve got this we’ve all got this 🧿 love n light#beebs.txt
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 1 month ago
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Normal boy spotted.
[First] Prev <–-> Next
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halorvic · 6 months ago
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#sars cov 2#covid 19#i've interacted with 4 different friends/acquaintances in the past month alone who have all been hospitalised after having a stroke#(and in one case multiple strokes)#one who i visited in hospital over the weekend had a (unmasked) nurse coughing up a lung in her room 👍#and one of them who had to undergo surgery also had to be moved to a different hospital#bc the ward they were keeping him in was full of confirmed covid patients 👍👍#idk how many times it needs to be said before it gets through people's heads but VACCINES ARE NOT ENOUGH#and encouraging ppl to rely solely on them when there are already plans to jack up the prices so you have to KEEP PAYING for boosters#for an ONGOING mass-disabling event is so laughably unrealistic and absurd and flat-out demonic#you need to mitigate the actual spread of covid by WEARING A MASK + fighting for CLEAN AIR/proper ventilation in public spaces!!!!!!#ppl are so eager to forget the whole 'break the chain of transmission' thing and how effective masking is and so this is where we're at#'i got infected and infected other ppl who might die or become permanently disabled but it's no big deal bc no one else wears a mask#so if /i/ didn't infect them someone else would have anyway so it's not my fault and really its got nothing to do with me and my choices'#if everyone is responsible then no one is responsible - that's how it works right?#it's no wonder some ppl go rabid at even the sight of someone wearing a mask and minding their own business#ppl seeking treatment for unrelated conditions/illnesses and then dying from covid caught in hospitals#due to lack of npis/basic mitigation measures - no regulations no accountability#we truly live in a hell (''new normal'') of our own making#anyway none of this is new news at all i mostly thought it might be good to share the info graphic abt signs of stroke#covid has been given free reign and chances are increasing as to how likely you'll encounter it happening to someone you know at some point#also heart attacks and pots and alzheimer's etc etc etc
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snowandstarlight · 2 months ago
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a lot of patients this week have commented positively on the fact that we've had an all-female surgical team
today's "don't they let men operate any more?" was a little... less positive
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fruit-kick · 1 year ago
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the foundation offers arcanists the right to exist as long as they follow the foundation as martyrs, while manus offers humans the right to exist as long as they follow them as monsters. neither side is looking for equality. st pavlov seems like it, but their relationship with arcanists is conditional and controlled. their goal is less "humans and arcanists living together in harmony" and more "lessen the threat and utilize the power of arcanists for humans"
its easy to think of the foundation as the hero since we're experiencing the story as a member; surrounded by other members taught by the foundation, but at some point, it becomes clear they're not interested in the lives of arcanists
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tiredela · 1 year ago
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Champion for @nerevar-quote-and-star ‘s pinup challenge!
Almalexia invites you to spend some "alone time" with her on her balcony. She assures you that the railing is 100% safe, no need to worry. You can lean on it as much as you want, in fact, please do.
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emily-prentits · 6 months ago
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no but it's the way that derek still wanted addison after falling in love with meredith. it's the way meredith follows both of them with her eyes and is openly jealous of everything that addison is. it's the way addison can't bring herself to hate meredith and the way they become "friends". it is quite literally in the way that they all want each other and don't know what on earth to do about it.
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vibingforjudaism · 1 year ago
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I need a therapist who I can argue with and who will give me jewish advice ....a rabbi. I need a rabbi
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blood-orange-juice · 1 year ago
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There's a scene in the first season of Babylon Berlin where a characters reads a lecture on psychoanalysis and PTSD (the series are set sometime between the two world wars) and the audience boos him.
"Brain is an organ, not a poetry book," they say.
For me it put into perspective how important was what Freud did. Considering the setting he had to work in, the setting he had to overcome in his own mind first, we really don't value the guy enough.
Not like I didn't *know* it, but it helped immensely to see it in context.
He was the first who said that humans have an inner life that's neither sacred nor purely physical. That it's governed by its own predictable rules and breaks in predictable ways, and that it can be mended through talking. Not being electrocuted or medicated out of the patient.
Just how awesome is that. Just how much inner work that required in his times.
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scvlly · 2 years ago
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“I think you’re a little more memorable than you’re giving yourself credit for,”
7x02 screencap redraw
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roguemonsterfucker · 8 months ago
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Hey y'all
compliment people more
it really does wonders
I complimented my nurse today's hair and she was thrilled (she had really pretty dyed pink and yellow and orange hair that she said was partially an accident but it looked STUNNING)
plus she'd had a really bad day because a patient had yelled at her for something that wasn't her fault so I made sure to let her know she was doing great and it really seemed to help her feel better.
Just. Please. Find opportunities to compliment people.
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 6 months ago
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A fierce duel commences!
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zenlesszonezero · 16 days ago
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Join Zenless Zone Zero with Tsukishiro Yanagi, the deputy leader of Hollow Special Operations Section 6! Beneath her ordinary office lady exterior lies a meticulous, emotionally intelligent big sister to the team.
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sesamestreep · 7 months ago
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Crozier/Fitzjames, fake amnesia
from this list of reverse tropes for fic writers. i told @firstelevens I wasn’t sure I had it in me to write fic for these two and then I went and washed my hair and while I did that, this idea popped into my head fully formed and I was bound by honor to write it down. Also it’s the first thing my brain has wanted to write in like two months, so I took that as a good sign?? Anyway, here’s…something. Kind of a Parks and Rec AU?? but also not in any serious way? It’s like…what if these dudes from The Terror worked in local government or whatever… don’t worry about logistics, I mostly wanted to write Blanky and Crozier being best friends and also talk about sobriety feelings a bunch. AND THEN I DID. only fits the prompt if you squint super hard but, regardless, please enjoy… on ao3 because why not
“So, you feel ready to go back to work tomorrow?”
Francis removes his gaze with considerable effort from the perfect red orb that is the sun sinking steadily under the horizon line across the lake and shifts it reluctantly back to Tom, who’s sitting back in his chair with his booted foot propped up on a milk crate that he got from God knows where. The sight of the boot that encases the lower half of his left leg does push a wave of guilty bile up the back of his throat but he’s already been told that if he apologizes for causing Tom to have need of it one more time, he’ll be drowned in the aforementioned lake, so he resists. Tom knows Francis is sorry about what happened and he’s chosen to forgive him, even if Francis still thinks it’s a stupid choice, second only to him befriending Francis in the first place all those years ago. Francis doesn’t know where he himself would have ended up if that hadn’t happened, though, so it all comes out in the wash he supposes.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Francis says, tracing a hairline fracture in his coffee mug with his thumbnail just for something to do. “If I take any more time off, I’ll just never go back, so it’s now or never, really.”
“Attaboy,” Tom says before taking a long, thoughtful drink from his own mug. Out of solidarity, or maybe sensitivity, he hadn’t had anything to drink tonight either, despite Francis’s assurances that it wouldn’t bother him and might even be a good idea, just for him to get used to it. It’s not like he could reasonably expect to go the rest of his life without ever seeing alcohol again. He’d seen four different ads for light beer alone this afternoon while watching reruns of ‘Bones’ on the couch and imagining every possible way his first day back in the office after rehab could go wrong and that hadn’t sent him into a tailspin, so he’d probably survive watching his best friend drink in his presence. Still, Tom had chosen to just drink decaf coffee with him after dinner like the ancient relics they are, because he is, without a doubt, the best person Francis has ever known. “You talk to anybody about it? I mean, besides me…”
“What, you mean like a therapist? Of course. I’ve got, what, six of them now, for Christ’s sake!”
“No, I mean, from the office. Have you talked to anyone about coming back?”
“Well, John, obviously.”
“I suppose you’d have to, yeah,” Tom says, running a ponderous hand over his chin. “Anything interesting from that quarter?”
“Just about what you’d expect,” Francis says, trying to be generous. John had been kind enough to let him keep his job, after all, despite how bad things got in the end, but Francis’s issues with the man remain, even with his newfound sobriety. Francis had sent him a long, downright obsequious email apologizing for the damage he’d done with his drunken theatrics both over the years and in the very recent past and explained in detail all the ways he was going to do better in the future, while expressing gratitude for the unprecedented amount of grace everyone, but particularly John, had shown him during this stressful time. It was, in no uncertain terms, the most embarrassing thing Francis has ever had to do, and he has, in his life, proposed to the same woman three separate times with absolutely no success, so it’s not like he’s lacking in options for that top spot.
John is, thankfully, the sort of man who likes to breeze past unpleasantness wherever he can and is also, more importantly, a deeply entrenched bureaucrat who’d just as soon do no work as do even a little work and therefore could not be bothered to hire a replacement for Francis. In fact, if he had to guess, John was probably clever enough to frame it as some sort of protection against a discrimination lawsuit somewhere down the line, despite the fact that several things Francis did at the staff Christmas party right before hitting rock bottom were definitely fireable offenses. John’s unflappable dedication to the status quo has worked in Francis’s favor for once, and while he certainly doesn’t deserve the break, he’s going to take it where he can get it on the off chance it never happens again.
“And the staff? Your team, I mean.”
“I got coffee with a few of them individually, just to clear the air and apologize, so that if anyone wanted to take a swing at me, they could do it outside of work,” Francis says, scuffing his shoe against the porch.
“Well, that’s considerate of you. Any of them try it?”
“No. The cowards,” Francis scoffs, which makes Tom laugh. “Jopson and Edward both seemed like they might be sick at the prospect of anyone in charge actually deigning to apologize to them, which was…humbling, to say the least. Then I got an extremely nervous monologue from Harry about the history and relative efficacy of Alcoholics Anonymous, which I think was his way of saying we’re square. And Silna told me if I tried to meet up with her outside of work hours again, she’d block my number and quit without notice, so...”
“She’s got the right of it,” Tom says, with a crooked grin.
“Yeah, that was my favorite of the lot,” Francis replies. “We’ll have a team meeting tomorrow and we’ll get someone in from HR so everyone can talk about feelings, God help us, but I think it might be okay. Which I could not have predicted when all this started, but here we are.”
“I could have,” Tom says. “You’ve made plenty of mistakes, I grant you, but you’ve also done right by these people in a lot of ways. They’re not going to forget that in a hurry. They’re a loyal bunch.”
Francis nods, looking out over the water again. The pinks and golds of the sunset a few moments ago have already faded into purples and blues as night creeps in. The nocturnal chorus of frogs croaking and insects trilling is rising in the nearby woods. He’s already said his piece about how absurd it is that they’re sitting comfortably outside on the porch after dinner—with jackets on and a fire going, sure, but still—and it’s only the beginning of March. Tom doesn’t need to hear any more ranting about global warming right now; it’s no fair repayment of his generosity. What Francis really should do is head for home soon and let his friend have some peace and quiet. He could use some of that himself, but he somehow doubts that he’ll get much rest once he’s home for the evening. At least he can panic about tomorrow properly there, though, by himself.
“Speaking of throwing punches,” Tom says, carefully, after they’ve been quiet a moment, “have you spoken to James at all?”
Francis winces with what feels like his entire body. “I haven’t had the chance,” he says, as lightly as he can manage.
It isn’t precisely true. If he found the time to contact everyone else who’d been affected by his spectacular fall from grace during his leave of absence, he could have found the time to reach out to James too, but he hadn’t. The apology he owes James Fitzjames is too big for an email, which he’d, in a truly cowardly fashion, gotten away with for almost everyone else, and the presumption and humiliation of asking for any of his free time as he’d done with some of his subordinates was a bridge too far. Besides, if they’d met up at a coffee shop to talk things out, Francis has no doubt James would have ordered his drink with oat milk or stevia instead of sugar or mentioned a cleanse he was on and Francis would have rolled his eyes and said something awful and then he probably would have had to go to rehab all over again, which would have defeated the point. Francis has been told by outside observers—professionals in the field, for what it’s worth—that he’s making progress, but he’s even more sure that he’s still, at his core, a miserable old bastard. He’s just less miserable than he was before, by a small margin. Unfortunately, he’s not any less old, though. In fact, he’s older, but that’s beside the point.
“You’ll have to face him sooner or later,” Tom says, not quite gently but not as bullying as he could be either.
“I know,” Francis says, covering his face with his hands. “I’ll do it tomorrow. I mean, if anyone’s entitled to an in-person apology, it’s James, surely.”
“After you punched him in front of everyone at the Christmas party and verbally berated him? Yeah, I think something more than a text message might be in order.”
“You accepted an apology text,” Francis says, scowling into his mug. “And I broke your leg. You needed surgery and everything. I don’t even think I broke James’s nose.”
“Only because your aim sucks when you’re wasted,” Tom replies, unbothered. “Gave him quite the shiner, though, if you want to compare wounds.”
Francis sighs. “I already said I’d talk to him. You have my word.”
“What am I? Your bloody father?”
“No, and I like you a great deal better for it.”
“Good, then what do I need your word for?”
“I was just trying to convey my sincerity.”
“I don’t doubt your sincerity, Francis. Never have. It’s everyone else you need to convince.”
“I don’t know what to say to James,” Francis says, into his hands. “I mean, with you at least, we’ve known each other for ages. We can bounce back from quite a lot, it turns out. James, he’s—I’ve never known how to talk to him in the first place. Now I’ve got to do it sober? I don’t know where to start.”
“How about, ‘James, I’m sorry for trying to knock your lights out with an audience present while I was drunk off my ass on the company dime’ to start?”
Francis closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, letting the shame wash over him like a wave and then, more importantly, letting it recede like waves do. He sighs loudly and shakes his head.
“You know, I’ve always regretted I wasn’t the sort of drunk who forgets what he does when he’s wasted. Feels like it might be easier, ultimately. Like, I could say, ‘oh, sorry for whatever I might have done to you, James. The trouble is I don’t remember any of it, but I’m sure it’s nothing I would have done sober, all the same.’”
“Feigning amnesia?” Tom barks, laughing and looking at him sideways. “What’s that? The thirteenth step?”
“Leave me alone,” Francis replies, waving him off but laughing himself despite his best efforts. “I’ve done a lot of owning up to things lately. Can’t I keep one petty grievance for myself?”
“You could probably get away with it, if you’d left it as a petty grievance rather than escalating to violence. And your resistance to dealing with James should tell you making amends there is your highest priority. Discomfort is a good thing here, a signal you’re heading in the right direction. If it were all easy, everyone would do it, you know.”
“That’s lovely, Tom. Will you be cross-stitching any of these aphorisms onto pillows to remind me to stay the course, or shall I just memorize them for when times get tough?”
“Fuck off, you dusty old prick,” Tom laughs. “Hey, what about this? ‘James, I’m ever so sorry for getting plastered and calling you out in front of everyone and then attempting to rearrange your pretty face with my fist! I do think some of the blame lies in you being so pretty and in me having some unresolved issues around my masculinity and my self-esteem, all of which you can blame on my waste of a father figure growing up, but in this case, I suppose I have to shoulder some of the responsibility for my actions myself. Forgive me?’”
“There’s no one else on earth who could get away with saying even half those things to me, you know,” Francis says, even as his blood doesn’t boil or even heat in the slightest hearing them. It rushes to his face instead, no doubt resulting in a fierce blush that the gathering darkness mercifully hides from view.
“I earned it the hard way, my friend,” Tom says, patting his boot.
“That you did,” Francis says, and rises from his seat. “I’d better be going, then. Much to do, after all: apologies to draft, laundry to fold, worst case scenarios to spin out.”
Tom gets up with effort, clunky and inelegant in his boot, but not so proud as to decline Francis’s hand when it’s offered. “I wasn’t trying to scare you off,” he says once he’s vertical.
“You didn’t. It’s like I said, I’ve a lot to do before the big day.”
Tom nods and, after a moment of deliberation, puts a hand on Francis’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, you know.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Francis replies, shifting away from the praise. “More of a bad man trying to be better.”
Tom gives him a long look at that and then shakes his head, smiling. “All that work on yourself and you still don’t get it,” he says, not unkindly. “What else do you think a good man is?”
Francis doesn’t know, but he spends the whole ride home and the rest of the night thinking about it all the same.
*
Francis’s plan of attack, such as it even exists, takes form more easily than he could have predicted. Once he starts thinking about how best to approach James at work and make amends on that front, he finds he knows a lot more about the man than he originally thought. A few years working together, however contentiously, has been enough to pick up on each other’s habits and quirks well enough that Francis can reasonably predict when he’ll be able to get a moment of James’s time without anyone else around. The fact that he can do this and yet never thought to do it before under any other circumstances is the cause of another wave of shame that passes less quickly than Francis would like.
Francis arrives at the City Planner’s office just before 8:30 in the morning with the certainty that he won’t run into John—the man has many flaws but his dedication to never showing up to work any earlier than he absolutely needs to is not one of them, in Francis’s opinion—but that he will, in all likelihood, find James already there and more than likely already working. He also arrives with the materials for a bribe, should that prove necessary.
He’s so worked up, going through everything he’s planning to say one last time in his mind before he actually sees James, that he doesn’t think to knock on the outer door, which is sitting half-open anyway, and just barges in instead. It’s not a great start, he realizes a second after it’s too late to do anything else, and it’s made even worse by the fact that James is there, as expected, and he’s only partially in his shirt, which is not so expected. Francis stops and gapes for a moment with all the grace of someone who’s been tased.
“God, sorry,” he says, and tries to step back, only to collide with the door jamb. “I should’ve—”
“Francis, it’s—good morning, I��this isn’t—I’m the—I’m sorry,” James says, managing to sound crisp and self-possessed even when he’s stammering his way through an apology. “I don’t normally…do this…in the office, I mean.”
“No, of course not,” Francis says, behaving like a teenager in a romantic comedy for some reason and averting his eyes, even though there’s nothing to see. James was in the process of buttoning his shirt when he came in, so it’s really the sight of his clavicle that’s made Francis so uncomfortable. Was he always this much of a ninny? Is that why he started drinking, to cover it up? It’s the only explanation that makes any sense now.
“I went for a run this morning and I neglected to pack a shirt with my work clothes, so I had to use the spare I keep in my desk for emergencies.”
The old Francis (of several weeks and easily a thousand group sessions ago) would have rolled his eyes at any number of things in that small explanation: running to work, keeping a spare shirt in one’s desk, referring to anything related to fashion as an ‘emergency’ and meaning it. Now, he nods thoughtfully and tries to think of it all as part and parcel of what he respects and admires about James: his dedication and planning, his ability to anticipate and address future challenges. The fact that he looks nice in blue. Whatever. It turns out it’s easier to do than he imagined it would be.
“I don’t think you have a habit of undressing in the office for fun, James,” Francis says, instead of any of those nice things. “Don’t worry.”
“Right,” James says, lightly, even as his shoulders remain tense. He does up the last few buttons and his clavicle disappears under the taut poplin fabric of his dress shirt. “Well, what can I do for you, Francis?”
Francis has heard—and, in turn, mocked—James on any number of occasions start conversations with a smooth, ‘to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?’, which is not an expression Francis himself has been treated to in a long time and for good reason. He doesn’t know why he thinks of it now, except that he’d take even a sarcastic reference to the pleasure of his company (of which there is none and never has been for James in particular, he thinks) over the idea that James should do anything for him, at this point.
“You’re training, then?” Francis asks, skirting gracelessly around the question James actually posed. “For another one of the what-do-ya-call-em’s? Not a marathon. The thing you did last year…?”
“The Ironman,” James suggests, looking slightly pained. “It’s a triathlon.”
“Yeah, that sounds right. Another one of those?”
“God, no,” James replies, nose wrinkling slightly before he seems to catch himself doing it and intentionally blanks his expression. “I’m not likely to do another one of those. I already have my bragging rights, after all. Today’s run was just for health.”
“Oh, sure,” Francis says, tapping a fingertip nervously against the cardboard sleeve of his coffee cup. “I’m meant to be doing that now.”
“Running?” James asks, betraying some surprise, which is fair enough.
“Exercising. For my health. To keep me…”
“Fit?”
“Well, distracted,” Francis replies, with a shrug. “There seems to be some thought of it helping to keep me away from drink, though I’m not sure what the logic is there. But I’m meant to be thinking of something I’d enjoy, anyway.”
“Not running, then,” James says, brow crinkling like he’s giving the matter serious thought. James is a fixer by nature—and by profession, of course, being paid mostly to follow John around and make sure the grand promises that flow from his mouth actually happen somehow. He thrives with a problem to solve. If Francis were even marginally less stupid and less proud, he might have thought to come to James sooner. He’s nothing if not several very large problems wrapped in a trench coat. Or a wind breaker, in actuality. The point is, Francis could use all the fixing he can get his hands on.
“Not likely. Never enjoyed it, really. Hard on the ankles, I’ve found.”
“Yes, it can be quite stressful on the joints. You’ve got to take all sorts of precautions,” James says, in the tone he gets when he’s working his way up to a long treatise of some kind, but he stops abruptly and his face betrays that he’s seemingly caught himself. He clears his throat. “So, it’s not for everyone. I understand.”
“Yes, well, my sponsor was saying that I might try tennis or racquetball, but then I’d have to find a regular partner or group, and I’m not sure I have it in me.”
“There’s a club nearby, actually, and they could help you arrange—” James pauses and shakes his head, once again stopping himself from expounding on the different options available the way he normally would. It’s an uncharacteristic amount of restraint coming from James, who loves recommending things to other people almost as much as he loves the sound of his own voice. Francis sees some of his own handiwork in this new display of shame and feels the need to make amends even more keenly than before because of it. “Well, you can Google it, I imagine, and it would be faster than listening to me. It is, uh—it’s in Eagleton, however, so I suppose that won’t do.”
“No,” Francis replies, frowning. “Thanks all the same, though. I imagine I’ll end up doing water aerobics with the rest of the senior citizens at the community center and call it a day.”
“You’re not a—you’re barely fifty, Francis!”
“I’m fifty-two, actually.”
“Oh, well, in that case, I hope you have your affairs in order,” James gripes, as he messes with something entirely unnecessarily on his desk. Francis smiles at the strange comfort of annoying him, which should not be reassuring to him at all but he’s a messed up sort of fellow even on his best days. The smile grows when James clears his throat again and adds, like he can’t quite stop himself, “Swimming’s rather good for the joints, actually.”
“Swimming?” Francis asks.
“Yes, swimming. As in, laps…in a pool. Something else the community center offers, if you were interested. It’s solitary—meditative, even—and good exercise. In—that is, in case you were wondering.”
“If this is you trying to talk me into a triathlon, James—”
James sniffs, more performatively haughty than genuinely haughty, Francis suspects. “I’d never,” he says. “I was merely recommending an activity that you might enjoy more than water aerobics, and that might spare the elderly of our community from dealing your obvious personality disorder early in the morning, when those classes tend to be held.”
Francis, much to James’s surprise from the look on his face, laughs at that. “I’ll take that under advisement,” he says, while James continues to regard him like he’s wild animal exhibiting signs of rabies who’s suddenly appeared in his path, which is maybe a common occurrence in town, depending on who you ask. “Thank you.”
James nods, distracted. “Sure.”
“Well, I—I…listen, I didn’t come here to talk about exercise regimes, which I figure you could have guessed,” Francis says, in a rush, because anything less than a headlong dive into the subject they need to discuss will hurt much worse than just getting it over with, he suspects. “And I don’t want to presume anything about your life, but I also figure there’s a non-zero chance that you’re already familiar with the famous 12 step program, maybe just through cultural osmosis, and I don’t want to over explain any of it to you, but, well, there’s a pretty important part about identifying people you’ve wronged through your addiction and the resulting behavior and making direct amends to said try people and—”
“I’m familiar,” James interrupts, softly. “Not directly, of course, or, um, anything like that—I don’t want to detract—but—”
Francis waves him off. “No need to explain. I just—well, obviously, that list of people, for me, had to include you, because of what transpired between us at the end of last year and how I behaved. The things I said to you, then—how I’ve always spoken to you, really—and of course, I—God, I’m so sorry. It feels absurd to say out loud but I’m sorry for lashing out at you and hitting you, I should never have—”
“It’s fine, Francis,” James says, starchily. He’s got a nervous hand pressed to his ribcage, so intently that it’s almost shocking to look and see no actual knife sticking out from there, somehow. With that, it’s hard to believe the breeziness of his words. “Really, this isn’t necessary.”
“And I’m telling you it is,” Francis explains, as carefully as he can manage. “Maybe it isn’t for you, I don’t know, but it’s necessary for me. Do you—can you understand that?”
“Yes, I’m sorry,” James says, after a deep breath. “Of course. Is there…more?”
“You tell me. Is there any other ways my drinking harmed you that I haven’t thought of?”
“No, I wasn’t—”
Francis holds up a hand to stop him. “That probably read as very sarcastic, given our…history, let’s say, but it was a genuine question. I think I’ve raked myself over the coals for every possible slight I can imagine but if there’s anything I did that I can address for you now, I’d have you tell me.”
“No, it’s fine, really,” James replies, shakily. “I only meant, I don’t really know what goes into all this. Is amends just an apology or is there more to it? I don’t need there to be, I was just curious. That’s all.”
“Well, you’re meant to endeavor to show you’ve changed your ways, I suppose. To indicate that you won’t be perpetuating the same harm in the future. Which, in this case, is tough, because…well, I mean, all I can give you is my word I won’t try to knock you out at work ever again.”
“Outside of work hours, however…” James muses, with a small, mirthless smile.
Francis winces, but otherwise doesn’t react. “I’ll never behave that way towards you again. On my honor, for whatever that’s worth.”
James folds his arms over his chest and looks down at the carpet, appearing like a sullen youth for a brief moment before he raises his gaze and becomes a grown man once more. Francis remembers when he’d shown up with John that first time, how he’d called James an infant to Tom when they finished their initial meeting with him about the town’s budget crisis all those years ago. Tom had laughed at him, wheezing ‘he’s a decade younger than us, if he’s anything, Francis. He’s our bloody peer now, and if you don’t see it, you’re cracked!’ Francis thought—still thinks—Tom is the one who’s cracked, in this case. James looked young, then; he looks young now, everywhere except the eyes, which contain a stormy sea’s worth of disappointment. Francis can be self-centered with the best of them but he knows he’s not the one who put that feeling there in the first place. He’s not that important. For the first time, however, he feels protective of the man in front of him because of it and takes it as his very solemn duty to never be the cause of his disappointment again, so long as it can be helped. All that and it’s not even 9 in the morning yet.
“It’s worth plenty,” James says, eventually, clearly just as uncomfortable with this much emotion so early in the day as Francis is and eager to be done with it. “Thank you, Francis.”
“Yes, well, I won’t take up any more of your time, I’ve been nuisance enough for one morning, but if there’s ever anything you want to discuss or clear up between us, my door’s always open. To you, that is. Well, to anyone, but just in case your particular welcome was unclear, I mean, you should—”
James sweeps a hand out wide in a graceful gesture like he’s literally clearing the air. “Understood,” he says, sincerely, “and appreciated.”
“Great,” Francis says, too cheerily and then winces again. “I mean, uh—right, I’ll just be going then.”
As he pivots back towards the door, the sloshing noise of the ice shifting in one of the cups he’d forgotten he was holding draws his attention. Christ, right. The whole point was—Francis really is starting to lose his mind. He contemplates just leaving anyway, like nothing’s amiss, but he’ll have to explain the two drinks to his team, absolutely none of whom will buy that the iced chai is for him. He’s gone on too many rants about how coffee shouldn’t be iced and tea only on certain occasions. He’s the type to drink hot, black coffee even on the most brutal summer days, though his sponsor did warn him that a lot of alcoholics do turn to sweets as a coping mechanism for replacing alcohol in their daily lives and not to be surprised if he found himself needing additional sweetener in his morning coffee as a result. Francis hadn’t credited it at the time, but he had found himself momentarily tempted at the coffee shop this morning by a sign advertising something called a ‘death by chocolate latte’ as the daily special before he’d gotten a hold of himself, so maybe there’s some truth to it. The point is, dragging this extra drink back to his office will be more humiliating than turning around and giving it to James like he originally planned, no matter how awkward it feels right now.
“Okay,” he says, turning back, “I promise this is the last thing and then I will let you get back to work. There’s, uh—it’s not a bribe, mind you, just an extension of the apology for what happened and for the fact that you’ll have to continue working with me for the foreseeable future and—you don’t have to forgive me, you don’t owe me that, I just thought—”
James looks at him, utterly perplexed, fingertips gently steepled on the top of the desk like he’d already been going back to whatever he was working on when Francis interrupted again. “What is it?” he asks, somehow still not betraying any annoyance at the interruption, hiding it well under an open tone of curiosity.
“The—this,” Francis finally spits out with considerable effort, holding the cup out towards James, rather than try to explain himself further. “It’s for you.”
“Oh,” James replies, with an expression like Francis is trying to hand him a live gerbil and not an upsettingly overpriced beverage like the ones he’s seen James drink on dozens of occasions. “I, uh—that’s really not necessary.”
“You must take it, James. Please. I said you’re not obligated to forgive me, I’m not trying to sway you, really. It just felt wrong to show up empty handed, after everything.”
“I understand, but, really—”
“You’re not on another one of your cleanses, are you? Giving up sugar or…calories before noon or something?” Francis ventures, imbuing his tone with more patience than he normally would, even though he still feels very little towards this thing in particular.
James is already so annoyingly healthy and brisk and handsome, it does take extraordinary amounts of patience to tolerate his talk of intermittent fasting and green juice with the goal of making himself even more annoyingly perfect. Surely, there’s got to be a limit to that sort of thing, but Francis doesn’t know; he’s on the opposite end of the spectrum it seems, having to re-learn the fundamentals of barely looking after himself in middle age without the aid of alcohol. It’s pretty grim, if he’s being honest. It really is no wonder that James has been so consistently earning the gold medal spot in the competitive sport of getting on Francis’s nerves, with that in mind.
His intentional gentleness does seem to pay off in this case, though, since James smiles at him in only mild embarrassment. “Uh, no, I’m not. I just—you’re not obliged to—”
“I know, but—listen, James, I already committed my penance by having to say the phrase ‘dirty chai’ with a straight face to a college student with a lip piercing at eight in the morning, okay? The damage is done. You might as well enjoy the spoils of my humiliation.”
James’s smile widens at that, looking for all the world like he can’t really stop himself. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but that mental image might be worth more to me than the entirety of your apology.”
“No offense taken,” Francis says, finally succeeding in handing off the cup, slick with condensation by now, into James’s care. “I hope it will sustain you for a while yet.”
“Oh, it shall,” James says, placing the cup gingerly onto his desk.
“Right, well,” Francis replies, “that’s all, then. I’ll see you…later, I suppose.”
James nods. “We have a meeting set for Tuesday—tomorrow. It should be on your calendar. Thomas said he—”
“If Jopson says it’s there, it’s there.”
“Great,” James says, easily. “Until then.”
“Yes. ‘Til tomorrow.”
Mission completed, Francis turns once more towards the door and is only interrupted in leaving by the sound of James clearing his throat behind him. He pauses, and looks over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows in question when he meets James’s eye.
“It’s only—forgive me if this is the wrong thing to say, under the circumstances,” James offers, fidgeting with the edge of the notepad lying open on his desk, “but you do—that is, you look well, Francis.”
Francis doesn’t allow himself the liberty of moving even an inch, not to fiddle with his collar or brush back his hair or otherwise indicate he gives so much as one singular damn about his appearance. “Do I?” he asks, tone purposely vague, like James has just told him the weather forecast and it’s only interesting to him in theory, really.
“Yes, very well,” James says, putting his hand flat on the desk very deliberately, like it was giving him away before. At what, who knows, but he’s got it under control now. “This change, it suits you.”
“Well, thank you, I guess.”
James now looks at his computer screen, absently. The next words he says might be something he was reading off of there, if they were anything else. “You look good, is what I meant.”
“How—?” Francis pauses, feeling immense pressure to say this right, somehow. “Sorry, but how would that be the wrong thing to say?”
“I wouldn’t want you to think, well—” James interrupts himself by laughing, just a little and rather joylessly. “It’s not that you didn’t look good before.”
“Oh, right,” Francis says, even as those words continue to make no sense to him in that particular order coming from this particular person. “Wait, you’re saying—I did?”
James meets his eye again, finally, but only to give him the most impatient, long-suffering look in human history. “Is it too much to hope that one of the twelve steps involves learning to take a compliment?” he asks, sounding depleted by the effort. “Because it is one of your most exhausting qualities that you can’t do so without endless interrogation first.”
“And it’s got a lot of competition,” Francis replies, feeling himself smile and choosing to do nothing to stop it, “what with all my other exhausting qualities.”
“You’re really only proving my point here, you know.”
“Thank you, James,” Francis says, dutifully. “It’s very kind of you to say. Better?”
“Much,” James sighs. “You’re showing remarkable improvement already.”
Francis leaves him, then, because to stay any longer would just be exposing himself to further ridicule and he’d absolutely deserve it, what with the stupid smile he now can’t seem to get rid of.
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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 1 year ago
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hm. so the phrase "as above, so below" has a couple related meanings: a) what happens in the microcosm is a reflection of the macrocosm, b) what happens in a higher plane of existence also happens in the lower one, c) the microcosm is affected by the microcosm
all of this means pretty much the same thing: the below echoes the above
so, may i ask, what the Fuck is the bigger side to the so-below image? what is the above to Wally's dark below?
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laneaconite · 9 months ago
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Treatment
“Take this pill,” They say.
Take this pill and it should work
 In a month,
                    Three months,
                                            Six.
Take this pill,
And it will make you tired.
                                        They all make you tired,
Because they act on the brain, 
                                                  You see.
Take this pill,
“We’re sorry the others didn’t work.”
We will smile
                    Sympathetically.
                                                 We do care.
Take this
            Pill.
                  It will make you dizzy.
Take this
            Injection.
                           Since it is treatment resistant
Now.
It will hurt,
                 It will make you itch.
You can still keep taking the old ones,
                                                         In case they end up working
                                                                                                          Too.
Take this pill,
                      It should work in one month,
                                                                    Three months,
Six.
No, we don’t know
                               Why this is happening.
We don’t know
                     How to fix it.
Your blood screening was
                                           Normal.
Your CT scan was
                                Normal.
Take this pill.
-Lane Aconite,
March 5th, 2023
#poetry#my work#lane archives#chronic pain#chronic migraines#chronic illness#this poem is still pretty ouch#the us medical system can really suck in its cyclical lack of progress regarding finding out what's “wrong” with a person#due to crazy long wait times for appointments & processing referrals as well as 4 profit health insurance#my chronic migraines had to escalate into epilepsy for me to be seen by an actual neurologist and be taken seriously & even now I still fee#neglected by the system#not because my drs are bad but because they're overloaded with patients#it's really exhausting & difficult to have to fight at every turn to receive the care we need & deserve when we're bent over in pain#in my experience this repetitive cycle really broke down my ability to advocate for myself for a while because I was just too depressed#but hey if you're reading this and you relate: I love you. You deserve to feel better and to be supported by your physicians#I'm getting better care now but healing isn't linear#and if you have insurance & you're feeling absolutely fucking crushed by the system pls look up if they have a nurse advice line & call the#to see if they're able to set up a complex care coordination plan & if the nurses themselves can set up appointments for you#it really helps to have an insurance lady or 3 you can call to set up appts & referrals or check on them to see where they're stuck#I could write a poem dedicated to all the wonderful women in social services who are literally saving my life every time they call
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only-one-brain-cell · 2 years ago
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I MISSED SPENCER AND PENELOPE WORKING TOGETHER
Emily: well leave you to it
Spencer: let’s start with E
Pen: are you flirting with me?
Spence: 🤨
Pen: cause E happens to be my favourite vowel
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