#effective. tell me i have to complete a project by next month i will vomit and procrastinate

[mybreadsmybutters]

i do the 10 rule where i will do 10 units of the thing. if thats a project, ill work on it for 10 minutes. if its the dishes, ill wash 10 of them. after the 10 is done i reassess and if it still feels sickeningly impossible to continue i stop and do something else. this way at least SOMETHING gets done and it generally alleviates some to all of the mental stress which causes the paralysis in the first place.

Is there a way to fix the paralysis loop of wanting to do something but my brain deciding that it has to feel right and ending up doing nothing all day or should I abuse substances

[bri-rog-deak-fred]

In Good Company

Brian May x Reader : the reader is the 5th member of Queen, and she just so happens to sleeps with Brian when they were both drunk and she finds out she’s pregnant half way through a tour, causing her to try to hide the pregnancy from everyone, especially brian. rock stars can’t have babies, right? note: i’m hoping to make this at least a 4 part series!! we’ll see how it goes! let me know what you think!!

Helping Brian May out with his band project seemed like a great idea at the time, but 5 years later and suddenly you’re apart of the one of the most up and coming rock groups of all time was not the original plan you had set out for life. You were happy to help him though, he was an extremely close friend thanks to your friend Freddie, who introduced you to Smile whilst in college. His looks weren’t the only thing persuading you, though it was a main reason. Brian May was an angel to your eyes, a statue that belonged beside David, or even Aphrodite. If he wasn’t such a kind friend who’s close group of boys had excepted you so quickly, maybe you’d still be studying in college, trying to figure it out as you go. It was only supposed to be extra back ground vocals and maybe an instrument here and there, but it quickly escalated into Freddie’s second leading singer and mostly acoustic guitar or piano on the big stage. The way your voices could all meld together like liquid gold honey, it was obvious that they needed a fifth member, and you were the first and only choice, leading to such a success with their second and third and especially their fourth album, A Night at the Opera. Now here you were, half way through your North American Oper tour, playing a new venue every night, prancing around on stage in brilliant costumes and hearing Freddie’s killer vocal skills. Roger’s drum beats would sent your heart on fire and you could feel Deaky’s electric pull of his bass strings, making you want to dance all night long. Brian’s guitar skills were only ever improving, with new solos and little tidbits that would just dazzle the crowd and you couldn’t help just absolutely falling deeply in love with him and his creations. Every night was brand new and just as exciting as the last, always ending with a grand show, brilliant after parties and the most comfortable of hotel rooms. The lap of luxury was finally caressing every single person of Queen, all loving and hating it equally so.

Road life was hard, constantly around the same people who were all annoyed with each others closeness, but you all managed to try and keep arguing to a minimum after Roger had broken the second coffee machine on the tour bus and you had all been left without caffeine for 3 days as you traveled through the southern states of America. It was quite impressive no one had come close to strangling Roger or Brian from complaining about no coffee or caffeine after it was both of them that had started to fight over who would get the last cup of coffee in the first place. None the less, everything settled and most things were back to order. Most.

Very soon after your visit to the south, the road was getting quite lonely for you, and most of the boys. John was longing for his wife, Roger was getting tired of the same old “young and blonde and in love with a drummer” groupies who would hang around the tour bus. Brian was getting into one of his depressive states and it began to effect you too. The closeness of the tour had pushed you and Bri to new levels of friendship, even on the brink of a budding relationship. The pair of you were too oblivious to see the love between you, but that was mostly from the haze of adrenaline every night. Thankfully, the next show wasn’t until threes days away, so you all stoped in a little town on the way into the next huge city Queen was touring through and decided to have a little holiday to relax and unwind for a little while before the heat of the shows would begin again. Those three days seemed to change your life in many reasons, the first being, Brian May had kissed you. Second, you had both had sex whilst completely drunk, and Brian didn’t seem to remember anything. And third, months later, you noticed just as you were about to go on stage, that you don’t get stage fright and puking before you ran on stage was very not normal.

You tossed a glance back and saw John’s horrified expression as you hurled in a bin, and Brian blinked quickly, wanting to help, but Freddie was already on stage and you pushed those around you forward so they would run on to the stage instead. You quickly wiped off your mouth on your long purple flowing bell sleeves. You swallowed hard as your stomach churned and you grew cold and sweaty. You quickly strapped your guitar on and began to play the opening chords of the set and made your way on stage, creating such a dramatic entrance, pretending as though you hadn’t just been sick. The crowd went wild and the concert proceeded like they normally would.

As soon as you had all played an encore, you escorted yourself directly to your dressing room, wanting to get out of the view of awaiting fans and the eyes of the boys and your management.You quickly close the door, trying to catch your breath. Your stomach was still trying to tear up your insides and you had to sit for a moment, feeling absolutely horrid.

Suddenly you heard a multitude of fists at your door.

“Y/N, love open the door! It’s Freddie.”

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you ill?“ You heard John pipe up.

There were two other faint voices and you knew it was Roger and Brian behind the two shorter men.

You stand, feeling you stomach twist again, and suddenly you were back to puking in a bin.

“Doors... open...” you breath out, leaning against a wall and trying to calm down.

The door creaked open and you felt gentle hands pull you up off the ground, standing you against a warm, bony body. Brian’s hand held the small of your back and his hand at your elbow, gently holding you up. You shudder against his chest, as Freddie pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. “What’s going on, dear? You should’ve said you weren’t feeling well..” he began.

“No, no it’s fine. I’m okay. Must of been stage freight or anxiety or something like that.” You say, voice a little raw from singing and also puking.

“You scared me, Y/N.” Roger mentioned as he grabbed you a glass of water from your makeup stand.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I was feeling fine all day and then I-“ You suddenly stopped talking, your stomach dropping once more and you gagged, turning away from the boys as you got sick once again, this time not really throwing up, but you heaved and heaved, tears coming to your eyes. You felt Brian rub your back and gently coo at you until you felt better. You let out a soft groan, eyes and face furrowed as your stomach cramped and you tried to recover quickly.

Deaky excused himself from the room, feeling overwhelmed by the people and the smells from the sweat and vomit.

“I don’t know what happened. I’ll be alright. Go out there... to talk to the fans and the people. I promise, I’ll be fine.” You gently smile, feeling yourself getting better by the minute.

“Are you sure, Y/N/N? You don’t seem okay.” Brian murmured in your ear, making sure you were stable before letting you go. “I’m feeling a little better. Everything is definitely out now.” You nodded and gave him a crooked smile. “I’ll be okay, just give me a moment and I’ll join you back stage.” You turn to face him and he gently touched your cheek, the skin burning pink under his palm. His thumb rubbed under your eye and wiped the tears that had squeezed their way out.

“Sweet girl. You never stop, don’t you.” He let out a soft chuckle, making your heart flutter. “We’re taking you to bed as soon as we’re done with the press. You’ve had a harsh night, dear.”

“Oh hush. Just tell John I’m sorry he had to see that, poor lad.” You roll your eyes and take his hand, squeezing it gently before he departed from your room, leaving you alone once more.

You downed your water and swallowed hard, cleaning your face and fixing your hair and makeup quickly before you finally joined the rest of Queen, getting pictures taken and talking to many different fans, and the management, who also fretted over you, getting a medic to check up on you once the concert had died down and everyone had left to go home. You noticed that every boy was being like a mother hen, checking up on you constantly. Brian staid by your side, making sure you had someone to lean on if you began to feel ill. Strangely enough, the illness left you as quickly as it came and you felt fine. A little hungry and tired, but you always were after a show. Brian insisted you stay with him through the night, incase you gained a fever or got sick again. After you and the boys had an after show wind down discussion, you said your good nights to John and Roger, pecking then each on the cheek before they went to their own rooms, probably staying up for a few more hours. Brian soon retired as well, telling you he’d meet you in the hotel room. You yawned and let out a sigh, blinking sleep away as you felt someone tug on your sleeve.

“Y/N, darling. Can we speak for a minute?” Freddie gently whispered to you, hand on you arm, and the other pushing his hotel suite door open.

“Of course Fred. Is everything alright?” you inquired as he led you in, closing the door after you both.

“With me? I’m exquisite, dear.” He answered, poring himself a glass of champagne that was left from the hotel staff. He sat next to you on the bed and sighed. He offered you a sip and you took it, noticing how bitter it was. you coughed a little and handed it back.

“I don’t know how you can drink that. It’s awful.” You said, your face twisting in disgust. Freddie furrowed his eyes and looked at the bottle.

“Hmm. I thought this was your favorite. It’s perfectly sweet in every way, I thought you said once.” You looked up and he happened to be right. It did happen to be the only champagne you had liked.

“Odd.” you hummed, shaking your head and fixing your hair. You were sick earlier, so you knew your stomach was probably still giving you a tough time.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Freddie turned to you, looking over your face, trying to find what could be lying underneath. As often as not, Freddie was still quite serious from time to time.

“I feel just fine now. I really don’t know what came over me earlier.” You shook your head, laying back on the bed. You rested your hands in your middle, sucking in a deep breath.

“Brian seems to be really worried though.” You let your lips curl in a slight smile. Freddie has always known about your attraction to the taller man with the wild hair.

“He won’t even let me sleep alone tonight. He keeps bugging over every little thing. Maybe he cares too much.” You giggle and roll over, looking up to Freddie.

“Please.” He scoffed, sipping his bubbly and ruffling your messy hair from tossing it about all night. “I don’t understand why you both won’t just tell each other already.”

“Tell him what?” You say, voice defensive.

“Oh stop denying it. He’s just as in love with you as you are him.”

“He doesn’t love me like that, we’re best friends.”

“Best friends don’t sleep together.”

You were silent at his last remark, forgetting all about it.

“He doesn’t remember that, Fred.” You sat up, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Freddie let out a gentle sigh and wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“It wouldn’t hurt to talk to him about it. The tours almost over and after that, we’ll all be back home and I know you and Brian can finally get a moment alone. He’s absolutely insane for you.” Fred pushes his own hair out of his face and you leaned against his side.

“I just don’t want to make a mistake and ruin what we have already.” Your voice was quiet, but it was as if Mr.Mercury had read your mind.

“Why don’t you head back to your room, get some sleep. You need it tonight. Maybe you should pretend to be sick again so our little lover boy can wait on you hand and foot.” He chuckled and helped you stand. He put his glass down and pulled you into a tight hug. You closed your eyes and buried your face in his neck.

“I love you Fred. Thank you.” You said softly and pecked his cheek.

“And I love you! Now go, go!” He said and begged you goodnight.

You closed the door shut with a gentle click, making your way back down the hall to where you and Brian were staying for the night.

You knocked on the door before letting yourself in. Brian was sitting at a desk, his song book wide open and his guitar sitting across his lap. He was already down to his pajamas and didn’t seem to hear you come in. You stood still for a moment, just watching him hum quietly and pick at a few chords before writing a few things down and starting again.

You must of sighed loudly, causing him to blink rapidly and looked up and saw you, surprised before his mouth turned into a comforting smile.

“Hello love. Back so soon?” He said, closing his journal and setting the guitar down. You walked into the room and went to your suitcase.

“Freddie was being mad as ever.” You shook your head and giggle at the words of his still ringing truths. You grabbed your pajamas.

Brian stood and observed you as you smiled to yourself, your face gaining a much lovelier color than it had earlier. your cheeks were rosy and your eyes were tired, but you already seemed to be feeling loads better.

He smiled, thinking to himself about how much he had enjoyed your company.

You excused yourself to get dressed in the loo and Brian packed his things away, waiting for you to get back.

You came out wearing a green satin button up night shirt with matching shorts underneath. You looked so magnificat in the dim light of the darkened hotel room, Brian couldn’t help himself from staring. He quick shook his head, curls following suit as he grabbed a bin and set it on the ground on your side of the bed.

“Just in case you get sick during the night. Don’t be afraid to wake me if you need any help or want me to get you anything. You need to rest.” Brian’s hand found the back of his neck and he stood mere inches away from you. You lean against him playfully, before giving him a hug. He held you strongly, petting your hair before kissing the top of your head. Thank you, Bri.” You say and begin to climb into the bed, feeling sleep take over your mind and body instantly, barley even feeling Brian climb into the bed next to you.

A terrible nagging feeling hit your gut and you were up in an instant, completely forgetting the bin on the floor next to the bed. You hurried to the bathroom, closing the door behind you before you retched in the toilet, feeling dizzy and your stomach hurting terribly. You just hoped that you hadn’t awoken Brian.

After dry heaving for about 5 minutes, You flushed the toilet and wiped your forehead free of sweat. You looked at yourself in the mirror and deeply sighed, looking at how sick and pale you looked. No wonder why the boys made such a huge fuss. You turned the water faucet on and thanked God that Brian had brought your bag of toiletries into the bathroom earlier. You hadn’t looked through your bag in quite a while, you noticed. Normally, Freddie had a makeup artist and a crew of people to do your makeup for you and your hair. You looked through your bag, finding your toothbrush and tooth paste before your hand found a small unopened box of sanitary pads that you got while you were in a few cities over. You furrowed your eyes and thought about how long it’s gone since you actually had gotten your period. You bit your lip and began thinking back, sighing as you leaned against the counter, back towards the mirror. You pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to keep all fear and panic to a minimum.

That couldn’t be right, you thought. You should’ve gotten your period about three weeks ago. Suddenly everything began to make sense. The sudden illness, the strange taste, emotions running high.

You closed your eyes hard as your world began to crumble.

“Shit-“ You say audibly, putting the box back into your bag, getting a glass and filling it half full with water.

You down it as if it was a shot of whiskey. Your hands shook, still not wanting to admit that everything was falling apart around you.

You gather yourself enough to open the door and make your way back to the bedroom, holding your breath as you tiptoed to your suitcase. You looked to Brian and watch the rise and fall of his chest, face so serene and peaceful. All you wanted to do was kiss his eyelids and press your ear to his heart and lay with him forever. But then you remembered that night. The forsaken night that you both had together and the fact that you both had slept together. You suddenly scare yourself and get dressed quietly. You peaked at the clock and notice it was still too early for anyone to begin to wake up. You knew you still had about two hours before even anyone would begin to awaken.

You quickly throw your jacket on, and left the hotel room, making your way down the busy city streets to find a little drug store. You quickly grab the one product you dreaded, purchased it and continue to make your way back to the hotel, shaking. You really hoped Brian wasn’t awake quite yet, and he wasn’t.

After about 7 minutes of pacing and taking the dreaded thing, you stood in the bathroom with tears in your eyes as you held a positive pregnancy test.

“I’m... “ You breath out and suck in a harsh breath.

“I’m pregnant and it’s Brian’s.”

[elizaviento]

Manipulation (part 6)

Note:  I’m so sorry that I’ve fallen behind the posting schedule.  The Thanksgiving holiday really sucked up too much of my time.  To make up for it, though, I’ve made this part extra long!  :)

NSFW lite -- 5400 words

(FYI: This story is a sequel/companion piece to Assimilation, which can be found in the Rick Fic Masterpost link in my blog’s description along with additional chapters of Manipulation.  Or, you can click the #manipulation tag in this post, within my blog, to access all additional chapters.)

*****

The moment she disappeared into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her, I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.  That breath morphed into a groan as I slumped over my workstation with my head in my hands.

Decades of guarded bitterness was all it took.  I was so practiced in the art of hateful sarcasm that I didn’t even have to try.  The words just materialized in my throat and pushed their way past my teeth and sprung from my mouth like projectile vomit.  And, they produced the desired effect.  She wasn’t the type to yell or scream or throw objects in anger or hold a grudge.  Instead, she’d simply move on.  She’d continue to be cordial and polite, but detached – as she’d been with me since her return.

“You aren’t special.”

I chuckled dryly to myself as I replayed the words in my mind time and again, ripping my hands through my hair.  I was under no illusions that she wasn’t smart enough to suss out the lie.  No matter what, her memories of the way I’d behaved on Unity’s planet would continue to return until the entire puzzle was solved.  At this point, she knew I was under the false impression that she was herself, therefore, she knew that I’d pursued her, not Unity.  So, I was taking advantage of her unwillingness to call me out.  Plain and simple.

Broken from my self reflection by the sound of the front door slamming shut, I quickly rose and punched the garage door opener.  As the door slowly began to rise, I ducked my head to catch a glimpse of tennis shoes as they marched down the driveway, toward the street.  By the time the garage door had finally made its ascent, she was just an outline obscured by the sun as she pounded the pavement – one foot in front of the other, carrying her completely out of sight.

----------

The remaining hours passed quickly as I was finally able to muster up the concentration that had eluded me for the past month.  I worked on several unfinished projects, fiddling around with this and that, while I waited for Morty to return from school.  Unfortunately, this was one of the days that Beth insisted he stay until the very end, which frustrated me to no end.  

One of the projects that I’d decided to take up was improving the inter-dimensional goggles.  I had heard rumors from around the multiverse that certain Ricks had come up with a way to make the goggles completely immersible so that the subject using the goggles felt as if they had assumed the body of their counterpart instead of just watching as an onlooker.  Doing a quick scan, I’d been able to narrow down a few Ricks with such goggles so I needed Morty’s help with looting the chumps.

Just as I was checking my watch with a scowl, wondering how much longer Morty would be stuck at school, I caught a glimpse of him running toward the house from the street.  I’d honestly never seen him run that fast, even from life threatening situations, so I stood from my stool and met him at the threshold of the garage.  

“RICK!  RICK!” he screamed as he approached, his face beet red and contorted in a mixture of concern and horror.  Waiting for him to continue, I placed my hands on my hips as he stumbled toward me, bending at the waist to catch his breath.  “Rick… you – you gotta – she’s laying on the sidewalk.  I-I-I think she – I think she’s DYING, Rick!”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about, Morty?!” I asked, suddenly flushed from head to toe with panic.  I grasped his shoulders and shook, his small body flopping back and forth with each thrust and pull.  

“There – t-t-there’s no time to explain, Rick!  J-j-just follow me, okay?”  He ran away in the direction he’d come and I followed.

About a quarter of a mile from the house, we approached the body of a woman lying face up on the sidewalk – just as Morty said.  She was wearing athletic gear and had ear buds jammed in her ears.  The volume of the music was so loud that it could be heard from a couple of feet away.  Well, her eardrums must be shot to shit, at least, I thought as Morty toppled to the sidewalk beside her, picking up one of her arms to shake it violently in an effort to rouse her.

“HURRY THE – THE FUCK UP S-S-SHE MAY BE DYING OH MY – OH MY GOD!” Morty screamed like a lunatic as I slowed my pace and approached in the most nonchalant manner I could manage.

“Ugh, cut the dramatics, w-will ya Morty?” I groaned.  No sooner had the words left my mouth, she giggled.  Relief washed over me and I felt my spine loosen as I drew closer, standing directly over her.  Her eyes were wide open and she squinted as I blocked out the sun.  “Well, l-l-look at that, Morty.  She lives!”

“Go away,” she said.  “Let me fry my retinas in peace.”

“Yeeeah, nope,” I replied as I bent at the waist to grab her arms and tug.  Thankfully, she found the strength to coax her body upward, making it much easier to pull her into a standing position before wrapping my arms around her thighs to hoist her up and over my shoulder.  She was as limp as a rag doll and I could feel the pounding of her heart against the back of my shoulder as I tightened my hold on her thighs with one arm and dug in my coat for the portal gun with the other.

“I’m fine, Morty.  Just got a bit overheated,” she spoke as her upper body dangled down my back.  Glancing toward Morty, I saw him standing within an inch of her face, his face etched with worry.

“Are you kiddin’ me?  Y-y-you’re less than half a mile from the house,” I scoffed.  The concern I’d been attempting to keep at bay began to creep back with a vengeance.  Something had happened to her and I had my suspicions on what.

“I s-s-saw you while walking – when I was coming home from school,” Morty added.  I felt her body stiffen with this new information – that she’d been lying on the sidewalk for hours.  Then, she giggled again.  Suddenly struck by the recollection that she tended to giggle when she was nervous, upset or unsure, my concern spiked higher as I pulled the trigger on the portal gun and carried her through.

As we emerged in the den, I felt her warm breath penetrate my lab coat and sweater as she forcefully sighed in relief directly against my back before she spoke.

“Just toss me on the bed.”

Doing exactly as she instructed, I cringed as I witnessed her body bounce once on the stiff mattress.  Real smooth, Sanchez, I thought as I exited the room, leaving Morty behind.

Scrapping the plan to drag Morty along with me while looting that evening, I skulked to my bedroom and flopped down on the cot to think.

I was certain that she had suffered some type of seizure or episode of unconsciousness while her brain struggled to recall and interpret the memories of assimilation.  I had never witnessed this myself but several beings I had tracked down years prior had explained similar instances when memories would flood back suddenly without warning.  Most of the time, the assimilated memories would mash together with other memories of the being’s past as a way for the brain to catalog the additions in an acceptable manner.  Usually these episodes would last between minutes to hours at a time and the beings would return to a normal state of consciousness afterward with the memories sorted and cataloged accordingly.  So, she would probably be fine.

Right?

Throwing an arm over my eyes, I willed my brain to shut down.  I hadn’t had a decent sleep since arriving on Unity’s planet so a nap wouldn’t hurt.  Before I could even begin to drift off, however, the familiar sound of the 20th Century Fox intro drifted through the thin walls along with her voice, mingled with Morty’s and Summer’s.  Groaning, I tried to ignore it and even managed to doze off for about an hour before the sound of Jerry’s voice joined them and I gave up entirely.  So, exiting my small room to join them as well, I plopped down on the armchair and fixed my eyes to the screen.

In my peripheral vision, I saw her quickly glance in my direction before focusing her attention back on the B-rated horror film.  I’d remembered her and Beth watching this particular movie over and over when they were in high school, laughing their asses off each and every time.  What the fuck was it called?  At any rate, it didn’t much matter as it was just another of a series of movies featuring some killer doll with red hair and a butcher knife super glued to its hand or something.  And, after about an hour of this shit feature film, Beth walked through the front door looking completely beat.

“Don’t tell me you’re watching Bride of Chucky again,” Beth laughed as she flopped down on the sofa next to her best friend.

“Bethany, my love, you know this is your favorite movie as much as it is mine.  And, this is the special anniversary edition,” she replied, never taking her eyes from the screen.

“You know, you two would, like, totally be called lesbos in school these days,” Summer said from the love seat, tapping away on her phone.

“Who said we weren’t when we were in school?” Beth retorted with her eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” Jerry joined, sounding defeated, “even when your mom was pregnant with you, everyone thought I was just the sperm donor.”

She and Beth both laughed while Morty and Summer cried, “EWW,” in unison.  I, however, audibly scoffed and she threw me a sidelong glance before quickly darting her eyes back toward the screen.

“Do you want me to make you something for dinner?” she asked Beth.

“Nah, I stopped by McDonald’s on my way home and rammed ten chicken nuggets down my throat while driving.”

“Sexy,” she replied as Beth hauled herself up from the sofa to head toward the bathroom.

“I just need a long, hot bath and a box of the finest red,” Beth assured as she disappeared down the hall.

As the night wore on, everyone shuffled from the living room to other areas of the house.  By the time she inserted the final DVD – some shitty zombie affair – she and I were the only ones left.  When the menu appeared on the screen, she took her place back on the sofa to lie down, ignoring me throughout the entire process.  Just as she settled down and appeared comfortable, the overwhelming concern I had attempted to stuff down made a reappearance and I couldn’t fight the urge to confront her any longer.

Rising from the armchair to approach the sofa, I closed each hand around her ankles and moved them toward the floor.  Once she had adjusted herself into a proper sitting position, I took a seat next to her.  Instead of acknowledging me, as I hoped she would, she continued to ignore me, pressing play on the remote control.  

“What – uh – w-w-what happened out there?” I asked, raising my voice slightly to be heard over the volume of the television.  Rolling her eyes, she pressed the pause button and turned her body to face mine fully.  The look of utter annoyance on her face was enough to convey that my earlier words had affected her more than she had initially let on.

“I don’t know, Rick,” she began, her tone icy but determined.  “I had some kind of mental meltdown, I guess.  Let me ask you something.  Have you ever been assimilated by an alien hive mind that’s determined to make its former lover confess it wants to bang someone else?  ‘Cause I gotta admit, that was a first for me and my tiny inferior human brain is having just a little bit of trouble processing the onslaught of confusing memories of what said hive mind did to AND with my body when I had absolutely no control.  Do you even realize that Unity doesn’t completely eliminate the original consciousness of its victims?   I was still in there, the entire time, and there was nothing I could do!  I was completely trapped!  I was essentially raped and, since you had no idea that I wasn’t really me, so were you!  How is this not affecting you, Rick?!  Are you really so disconnected from anything human that you don’t realize – or don’t CARE – what exactly happened or the type of manipulation that was forced upon both of us?!”

She was breathing heavily, her voice thick with emotion, as she glanced around the room to make sure that the rise in her tone hadn’t attracted the attention of anyone else in the house.  When her eyes settled back on me, she allowed them to roam my face for several seconds as she awaited my response.  But, before I could even begin to form one that could accurately convey the guilt that was eating me alive over what had occurred, she got up and left.  Without another word or even a second glance, she was gone.

----------

Two hours later, as the movie she’d inserted prior to her departure automatically resumed, I was taking another swig from the vodka bottle I’d dug from my emergency stash in the garage when my cell phone rang.  Ignoring it at first, I let it go to voicemail.  But, when it immediately began to ring for the second time, I sighed and dug it from my lab coat to check the caller ID.  It was Beth and I already knew what she wanted.

“What is it, sweetie?” I asked as soon as I tapped the answer icon on the screen.  Judging by the loud heavy metal music blaring in the background, they must have gone to the new biker bar that had opened the previous week.

“Dad, you have to come help me.  Please!  They’re so drunk, there’s no way I can get them home by myself!”  

“Ugh, okay.  I’ll be there in a second,” I replied, already removing the portal gun from my coat.

“No, no.  You know how Jerry feels about going through portals,” she shouted over the music, already guessing my plan.  “He’s still terrified that he will be turned inside out after what you told him!”

“If he’s drunk, he w-w-won’t know the difference, sweetie.  I’ll just pull – push him through and he’ll be fine.”

“Dad, I don’t ask much from you – ”

“Beth, listen to me.  I’m portaling there now.  Just – j-j-just make sure –”

“No, you listen to me!  I need your help and you’re going to come here and provide it!  You can get here by portal but you have to ride back in the car with us.”

“Why do I need to do that?!” I asked, raising my voice in frustration.  The last thing I wanted to do was ride home with Beth’s idiotic husband falling asleep and drooling on my shoulder.

“In case one of them needs to puke, Dad!  Look I can handle Jerry.  Can you please just come and help me with – ”

“Yes!” I answered, a little too enthusiastically when I knew I wouldn’t be taking care of Jerry after all.  Reigning myself in, I continued, “Yeah, I-I-I’ll help you with your friend, Beth.  But, that’s it.”

“Okay, fine.  Thanks, Dad.”

----------

“Where’s my money, chump?!” I heard her scream triumphantly as she bent over what appeared to be a chess board with an incredibly large biker man leaning over the other side, a scowl firmly etching his burly features.

“You gotta be KIDDING ME!” the large man bellowed from across the table.  “You’re smashed!  How are you cheating?  I know you are!”

She mumbled something under her breath as she cradled her head in her hands.  She was much more drunk that I had anticipated and I smirked as I approached her from behind.

“What did you say to me?” the large man asked, standing from his stool and leaning over further while placing his hands flat on the table.

“Uhh, she said nuttin’ s-sir,” Jerry slurred next to her before she forcefully shoved him away, stood from her stool, as well, and slammed her hands on the table.

“I saaaid… SUCK MY DICK, BITCH!”  She dissolved into a fit of adorable giggles as the large man across the table contorted his face into an expression of pure shock.  Deciding now was the time to end this little encounter for her own good, I curled both hands around her shoulders and pulled her away.

“Oookay, little miss – miss drunky poo.  Time to – to grow the fuck up before you get your ass kicked.”

“Get your hands off me!” she shouted, trying to shake me off but only losing her balance, causing me to wrap my arms around her waist to keep her from falling flat on her ass.

“Hey, the lady said to let her go,” the large man said as he made his way around the table toward us.

Yeah, good attempt at – uh – chivalry there, Butch or Bear or-or-or Big Bass.  What the fuck ever,” I retorted, possessively tightening my hold on her waist.

“Skinny man, you’re about to get a whoopin’ like you ain’t never –” the large man began before Beth stepped between us.  She could be such a badass when the situation called for it and I couldn’t contain my grin of pride.

“Hey, hi there.  This man is my father and he’s just trying to help me get my very drunk husband and friend home in one piece.  So, thanks Mister uhh…”

“Toby.”

“Toby.  Right.  Thanks for humoring my friend here, Toby.  I’m sorry you lost so much money to her but, you know… bye now.”

“Hey!” Toby called as I continued pulling her backward toward the door.  “What’s your number?”

Fat chance, I thought as I kicked the door open with my foot and yanked her outside with Beth shoving Jerry right behind us.  Once again, that delightful giggle bubbled from her chest as I roughly turned her around and hoisted her over my shoulder for the second time that day.

----------

Again, her body was as limp as a rag doll as I carried her toward Beth’s car.  And, again, I could feel her warm breath penetrating the layers of clothing as she continued to giggle directly against my back.

“I love you so-ssooo much, Beff,” Jerry slurred as Beth directed him toward the passenger side door.

“Yes, Jerry.  I know.  I love you, too.”

“You always been my dream girl,” he continued, throwing his arm around her neck and going in for a kiss, tongue first.  Beth quickly turned her head and leaned back as far as she could while in Jerry’s vice grip.

“Ugh – sheesh, Jerry.”  I chimed in, rolling my eyes.  “Is – is that the line you fed her the night you knocked her up?”

Avoiding Beth’s death glare, I felt a snicker against my back as Jerry fell on his ass while trying to climb into the passenger seat.  Beth groaned in frustration and bent down to try to pull him up by the armpits.  

“Oh, you – uh – think that’s funny, huh?  Little miss one and done,” I commented.

“Had more than one.  Had a bunch!”

“Oh, t-t-that’s impressive.  Now, let’s get you in the car before you – before it’s barf city down my back.”

After opening the door to the backseat, I leaned forward and loosened my grip on her thighs.  As her body slid up into a standing position before me, she slumped forward to press her face just below my collarbone in an attempt to remain upright.  She was breathing heavily and I suppress a moan as she tilted her head upward just enough so that her hot breath wafted across my neck.  Grabbing her biceps, I attempted to peel her from my body and maneuver her into the car, however, it seemed she had other plans when both of her arms slipped under my lab coat and wrapped tightly around my torso.  Going completely rigid, my mind raced as I considered my options, which where few.

I could forcefully pry her arms from my torso and shove her into the car.  Or, I could attempt to gently coax her.  As I was weighing the pros and cons of each option, Beth became impatient and wasn’t shy about expressing it.

“Dad, what’s taking so long?” Beth asked while leaning out the window of the driver’s seat.  Luckily, we were on the opposite side of the car and her view was limited to the top of my head.

“Uhh, j-j-just a second, sweetie,” I replied, my voice wavering slightly as she squeezed her arms around me tighter and took a deep breath.  Having chosen for me with her possibly unintended affection, I settled my chin on top of her head and said, just above a whisper, “Come – come on, baby.  Can you let me – can you be a good girl for me and get in the car?”

Stiffening slightly, she simply nodded against my chest.  Then, settling a hand on her lower back, I walked her backward toward the open door.  When her ass bumped the side of the car, I slid my hand from her back and placed both hands on her hips to gently push her from my body and turn her sideways, lining her up with the opening.  I then slid my hands slowly up her body – making sure to mentally catalog each curve as they roved – until one was again on her lower back and the other settled on the back of her neck.  Pushing slightly to coax her to bend at the waist, I then pushed her inside.  Once seated, she scooted all the way to the other side of the backseat cabin, behind Beth, and slouched against the headrest before I situated myself into the small space behind Jerry.

“Finally,” Beth grumbled, starting the car and putting it into gear.  Jerry was babbling away in the passenger seat like a moron, as usual.

“Hey, Jerry.  Mind – uh – moving the seat up so I have more than two inches of leg room?” I spat, pounding Jerry’s headrest from behind with my fist.  Jerry groaned and flopped forward, banging his head on the dash.  

“Dad!  If you make him barf in my car, I swear I’ll make you clean it up!  And, I mean the old fashion way.  No gadgets or cleaning bots or whatever.”

Without replying, I leaned forward to reach the electronic seat controls in the middle console, pressing the button to move Jerry’s seat up all the way.  And, as I leaned back – without a second thought on what the fuck I was doing or the potential consequences – my hand casually caught her forearm and tugged. Her upper body flopped to the side to rest against my arm, her head on my shoulder.  And, as she peered up at my face, I pulled my arm from under her, swooped it around her neck, and used my other hand to grab her thigh and pull until she was flush against me.  When she snaked one arm around my back, one around my torso, and sank further into me with her head resting on my chest, I slid my hips forward to lean further back in the seat so that her position was more comfortable.

What the hell was I doing?  My daughter and son-in-law were no more than three feet away and here I was – pulling their best friend and twin sister into a forced embrace.  But, she wasn’t resisting.  In fact, she seemed to be reciprocating.  Because she’s drunk, you fucking pervert, my better angel spoke from the shoulder her head wasn’t resting against.  Glancing down at her, I could only make out the outline of her body in the darkness as she wiggled in even closer, curling the fingers of the arm behind my back around the fabric of my sweater in the same manner as when we were watching television with Unity.  And, even though that hadn’t been her, the memory sparked and ignited that all consuming passion for her within me once more that couldn’t be extinguished with something as silly as logic.

Noticing I still hadn’t removed my hand from her thigh and that my thumb had absently been rubbing back and forth across her jeans, I once again gave in to my base urges.  Gliding the arm around her neck to her lower back, tracing my fingers down her spine along the way, I curled it around her waist to rest my hand on her hip.  At this point, her breathing had become heavy and I could tell that she was turned on, which only served to encourage me.  Again, the little voice on my shoulder screamed that she was intoxicated, but somehow, I couldn’t seem to care.  

Gently squeezing her hip, I pulled her even closer.  The hand I had planted on her thigh tugged until her leg was draped over mine and I began to rub slowly up – my thumb sliding smoothly in the junction where her thigh met her hip – and then back down to her knee.  She exhaled a shaky breath and fisted her hand in the back of my sweater in response, seeming to urge me on.  That is, until my hand made its next journey up her thigh, her body stiffened and jerked as she craned her head up from my chest as if she were attempting to see if Beth or Jerry had spied our secret encounter in the backseat.

Tightening my hold on her, I racked my brain for a way to quell her fears before realizing it was much too quiet.

“Hey, Beth – sweetie.  How about t-t-turning on some music?”

Beth complied as she came to a stop at a red light.  Jerry began singing along, swaying this way and that in the front seat.  The light turned green and as Beth began to speed up, I pressed my lips to her hair and slid my hips further forward, sinking us both low enough that I could speak directly into her ear.

“Relax, baby,” I whispered.  “T-t-they can’t hear us.  Don’t – it’s okay.”

She did relax slightly and I took that as my cue to continue, slipping a hand under her t-shirt to dance my fingers along her ribs before tracing the underwire of her bra.  Releasing a shaky whine, she tightened her arms around me as the hand on her thigh made another journey upward – my thumb ghosting her crotch as it slipped once again between the juncture of her hip and thigh.  

“Rick,” she sighed, barely audible above the music.

Pressing my lips to her hair to suppress another moan, I could only reply with, “Hmm?” as my hand, never ceasing its motion, made its way back toward her thigh and repeated the same maneuver.  Only, this time, I applied pressure with my thumb as it slid over her clothed cunt.  

Her reaction was immediate and so fucking satisfying as the hand she had wrapped around my chest flew to her mouth to suppress a moan of her own.  Pressing my lips to her hair once more, I took a deep breath to steady myself as my cock responded in turn – steadily swelling with each thunderous beat of my heart.

And, I continued to roam her body – one hand on her thigh that continued to add more pressure with my thumb each time it found its way between her legs and the other taking its place back under her shirt to trace invisible patterns on her ribs.  Soon, however, I needed more.

All the years I’d known her, the most intimate form of physical contact we’d shared were two hugs that she’d forced upon me – one after I’d danced with her at Beth and Jerry’s wedding and the other after I’d beat the shit out of the douche bag who had tried to take advantage of her in the backseat of his shitty car.  Prior and even after that, it consisted of my arm around her shoulders for photos or her hand lightly touching my arm to gain my attention when I was too wrapped up in work to notice when she or Beth would call for dinner.  As time went on, I shied away from even the most innocent touches as my infatuation for her began to bloom and grow.  I was a better man then, I supposed.  I was the type of man to deny myself carnal pleasures to protect someone innocent and pure, no matter how cliché it seemed.  Now, though?  Now, I was just another piece of shit who was too weak to deny himself further.  Even if she seemed willing now, how was I to know it was genuine?  The last time I thought she was willing, she wasn’t even herself and I hadn’t even noticed.  Her body may not be occupied by a hive mind parasite at this moment, but she was intoxicated, which – let’s face it – was probably worse.  But, still, I needed more.

She flinched when she felt me shift beneath her, but I leaned the side of my body that she was resting upon just enough so that the hand on her thigh could reach her other leg, which I nudged outward to spread her legs further.  Once satisfied with its positioning, I moved my hand back to her other thigh and tugged it further into my lap.  Her legs now adequately spread to my liking, I hummed against her hair in a relaxing manner while placing my hand directly between them, cupping her clothed cunt in my palm.  When she gasped, I chuckled and began to slowly but firmly rub my palm up and down the jean covered mound.  The heat radiating from her sex warmed my fingers delightfully as she issued a moan, which she attempted to mute by pressing her face to my chest.  Absolutely thrilled with her responsiveness thus far, I pressed my middle finger hard enough to sink between her covered labia and, with the way her hips jerked upward to seek more contact, put direct pressure on her clit.

“Mmm, want – want more? I whispered and she quickly nodded in affirmation.

When I pressed my middle finger again, she angled her hips upward and began to grind against my hand.  And, we continued the motion – press and grind – over and over until she was panting and softly grunting with her face still pressed to my chest.  I could tell she was close as the rhythm of her rolling hips faltered and her entire body began to tremble.  I applied more pressure – deeper and faster – softly mumbling encouragement and praise against her hair that I was sure she couldn’t hear over the music but I couldn’t care.  She was so close.  I was going to make this beautiful woman cum with the most basic form of stimulation.  

Then, Jerry woke up with a start, causing to Beth flinch and focus her attention in his direction.  The spell now broken, I immediately pulled my hand back and sat up a little straighter in the seat.

“Ooohhh,” Jerry moaned. “I’m gonna – gonna puke.  Beth, I’m gonna puke!”

“God damn it,” Beth sighed as she pulled over onto the shoulder.  “I knew it.”

As soon as the car came to a stop, Jerry flung open the passenger door – triggering the cabin light to illuminate the debauched scene in the back seat – and projectile vomited on a dead raccoon.

To be continued...

P.S.  Credit for the fully immersive inter-dimensional goggles goes to the lovely @porkchop-ao3 from her story Someone Else’s Shoes, which you can read on Ao3 under her username PorkChop.

[erinthewriter-blog]

My 5 Draft Revision Method

Before I started writing, I imagined Authors as these fabulously miserable people who wrote in silk robes with a pipe in their mouth and bird on their shoulder. Whether it was sacrifices or wizardry, the method behind their magic was always a secret, so today I thought I’d put my Five Draft Revision Process on blast! I don’t use this for essays or poetry, just long form passion projects (Truth Weekend) like books and screenplays. Every story has special needs, but this general frame work gets the job done!

If you’d rather watch my video on this then click here.

Marking Draft One (The Crap Draft)

After I’ve poured my heart into writing the first draft and have completely cut soup out of my diet, it is time to read it over and create a revision map. A revision map is just a fancy list of things you need to fix in your story.

While reading, take note of:

- Any plot holes or inconsistencies so later you have a blueprint of where you need to problem solve.

- All time stamps so the timeline isn’t ridiculous.

- What is your story lacking and what information is missing?

- Which characters could be fleshed out more?

Next, I write up a new synopsis that identifies what my story articulates at this stage and who my characters actually are vs what’s just in my head. This side by side comparison of brain to page helps me see what the gaps in my vision are and how I can fill them in. Lastly, I take the time to sort out plot holes. If it means printing out my outline, cutting it up, and mixing around the scenes then I do it. It’s not easy, but it’s going to be a hell of a lot harder in later drafts. Describe the plot hole, talk it out with a friend (when you say it aloud, the problem sounds obvious), figure out what scenes and characters it effects and change them.

Don’t beat yourself up because your plot is jumbled and your characters aren’t fully realized humans yet. The craft of writing is within the revisions. You already did the hard part of vomiting this genius idea onto the page and most people are too scared to even do that. Now you must sculpt!

Pro tip: talk to yourself in the margins! This unfiltered conversation about stupid lines and irrelevant plot points will help you generate new ideas. The first draft is just there to tell the story to yourself. Now that you know the story, you can edit a better one.

Writing Draft Two

The second draft is all about adding. FILL IN YOUR PLOT HOLES. Don’t get preoccupied with space and conciseness. Lay that shit out. Now is not the time to be nuanced. Whatever didn’t happen in the fever dream that was draft one, needs to be implemented in draft two. Have fun, homie. Now is the time to be on the nose and nerd out on all the geeky lore you spent months creating.

Revising Draft Two (Hell Season)

I hate editing draft two. I think I always will because there’s just so much information and I have a tendency to get overwhelmed. Though, a good thing to remember is that we’ve already done the dirty work of plot holes and weird time jumps so now we just have to trim the fat.

This draft is where I figure out all the scenes and dialogue I don’t need.

-Is this conversation moving the plot forward or letting the audience know more about the characters? No? Cut!

- What Easter eggs can I hide in plain sight?

- What needs to be shown vs what could be summarized vs what could just be mentioned?

- Instead of saying she was angry, how can I show that?

- How can I express their backstory in a way that isn’t an insane info dump? I’m still working on that one.

After draft two is when I usually send it to my editor, Bryt, because at this point I’m sick of looking it and I need someone else’s eyes on it before I look at it on a micro level. I advise you to wrangle up a writing buddy if you feel the same way.

Draft Three

This edit is all about making it look pretty and that’s the phase that takes me the longest and the phase that makes me feel like I’m losing my mind. Here is where I read the whole thing out loud and listen for what sounds unnatural or just ugly. I check for flow, conciseness, tone, and atmosphere. Then I line edit to find the right words to articulate what I mean while taking out fluff words that don’t add to the image. For example, saying a cloud is “fluffy” does not enhance the image. We know clouds are “fluffy” so you don’t need to say it. Find a more interesting adjective.

I also agonize over if my characters sound “uniquely them” while also keeping in mind that there’s still time to break it down, experiment, and find cool new ways to tell this story.

Draft Four

We’re in the home stretch. This is where a lot of people send off their cleanest manuscript to betas and I would go more into that process, but I’ve never done it because I’ve had Bryt by my side for the past five or so years. Nevertheless, I’m now sending my script to film professors who are kind enough to talk out my movie with me.

It is key to print this draft out no matter how long it is. You can even print it front to back. It is essential to read your story this way because it is so much easier to point out typos, especially coupled with reading it aloud. When you read it in the way your audience typically would, it is clearer to see which scenes are dragging, if there’s weird tonal shifts, and an unevenness in POV. So take out your red pen of death and just fucking murder it.

Draft Five

Draft five is just adding all of those murderous micro-changes then reading it aloud, front to back, without wanting to change anything. If your face scrunches up at a line or your eyes glaze over at one point because the scene is terribly boring (granted, if it’s that boring, then it shouldn’t even be there) then you’re not done. Revise until you are obsessed with this piece of material! Don’t stop until you are in love with it and wouldn’t change a single thing.

Alright guys, that was my 5 draft editing process. I hope it helped and that next month is a time of marvelous growth and change for you. Happy writing, bye!

[regrettablewritings]

So . . . I need to say some stuff

As anyone who knows me or has held certain kinds of conversations with me could tell you that I am the absolute worst at confrontation. Even if it’s in regards to something more positive. However, as this post is about something rather negative, it will be harder for me to express exactly what I mean without feeling like I’m coming off as an ungrateful or bitchy. However, as this is an apparent concern for many content creators on this site, I don’t think it’s fair to assume I am.

Please allow me to word-vomit an explanation:

Communication aka I’m a Talking Human Being:

Before I started this blog, I had a tendency to send headcanons and AUs to other blogs through anon. In fact, I still do this quite often, and usually to great effect both on the blog-runner’s part and their followers. One day, I got brave enough to submit a soulmate AU drabble set to a Tumblr user who is no longer on this site and a few people asked for more so, after speaking with said Tumblr user, I was encouraged to start Regrettablewritings. Now in my bio, I refer to this place as a “dumping ground” for my pieces. That isn’t just there out of self-deprecation: This was literally just meant to be a place where I put my stuff. All the ideas I had, the headcanons, the one-shots, etc. I never once indicated that this was a place that took requests.

But I should’ve known it’d happen and for that I will take responsibility for not suggesting otherwise. I was never truly set on the idea of doing requests at all because I’ve seen the stuff that people send in by the droves and there was no way I would be able to keep up or provide what was desired and at top quality. However, I feared that completely avoiding or turning down the ones that inevitably came in would result in issues. Blame my paranoia.

I’m still not entirely sure as to what to do with the requests I get. Some, I will admit, I do fulfill. But for the most part, I don’t always feel up to it. Especially considering that I have, by no exaggeration, nearly 20 ideas already stockpiled. Of these pieces, some have been in the works since I started this blog and I’m always trying to figure out which ones to focus on the most so I go, “Hey, I got this, this, and that. Which ones do you wanna see?” And you know what I always get? Nothing. Nobody says what they want from the list. So I sigh, delete the post after having it up for a week, and do whatever I can when the motivation hits me.

Not long after, however, I start getting entirely different requests. Always. I know it’s not intended, but the idea I can’t help but get is that my original content isn’t exactly what anyone is looking for no matter how much work I’m determined to put into it.

I reblog ask memes because maybe if I prove that I’m human behind the screen or showcase that “witty personality” my real life friends keep talking about, maybe it’ll prove that I’m approachable. If I’m lucky one person will message me and I have to stop myself from begging them to please ask more, lest I look desperate.

So then I figured if I reached out to the nearly 400 followers I currently have and tried to connect with them, then maybe there’d be more luck in the realm of communication. But when I tried Sleepover Saturday, only two people “showed up.” And they weren’t even the people who liked the post where I asked if anyone would do it, or the people who told me to go on ahead and do it. So that was the end of that.

For months, I’ve debating bringing up this issue. I didn’t want to look like a snooty bitch, but I also wanted to express how I felt about the situation. I may write to express myself, but I also write and in the way I do to entertain. In real life, I am very cynical and bitter and a bit of a crybaby with a bottled up temper. But the truth of the matter is, I love making people laugh and feel better. The world is already so full of shit; I just want to put a little goodness into somebody else’s day, even if it’s a weirdass fic about everyone’s favorite Cuban lawyer having a past as an adult dancer or whatever. So when it feels like I’m only needed when you want something, and then shelved until then, it doesn’t make me feel good. It makes me feel like the ideas I want to give you aren’t good enough. I know the notes may suggest otherwise, but we’re gonna put a pin in that for a quick second.

The feeling of discouragement often effects my willingness to write. I’ll still do it because, in truth, writing is one of the only things I can do reasonably well. But what’s the point in doing something well if you feel like you’re being taken for granted for it?

I ask you guys for your opinions and feelings on things because I genuinely need to know. I function by playing around with options. Any friend of mine, in real life or online, will tell you that if I’m working on a project (be it painting, fanfiction, or essay), I will throw my ideas out there or ask you for your thoughts on the matter. For fuck’s sake, I’ve heckled @xemopeachx and @ohbelieveyoume about cologne suggestions for one sentence in a piece I’ve been working on! That is how thorough I tend to be about the weirdest shit. But I also do it because I feel you guys deserve that kind of effort. I need a lot of things explained to me in depth to know how they work, so I make it an effort to use that as a means to help others see exactly what I do. I’m already hard to comprehend in real life. Please don’t let me think this effort is for nothing.

Summary: I work hard to give content but never hear anything back in terms of what you would like to see next. But when this happens, it’s like I’m posting from the void and nobody can see it. However, suddenly people are willing to fall into the void if only to make a request. I try to reach out and be more friendly, but even those are disregarded. I don’t know what to do.

Notes: Regarding Likes, Reblogs, and Messaging:

This is something that a lot of content creators talk about. If you’ve seen a post about always reblogging art, chances are you’ve seen a comment saying something like, “Same goes for fanfic writers.” This isn’t riding on coattails or anything, this is some real mess. And, on top of that, there’s an extended difference between art feedback and writing feedback. Because with artists, exposure for them can lead to commissions. Writers? We do this for free. However, this doesn’t make feedback any less deserving.

I’m not trying to complain here, but nobody writes 7-21 pages worth of content to get 100+ notes where only about 12 of them are reblogs. Now I, as well as many others, will give leeway: There is a definite stigma against people who read fanfiction and they may not want it on their blog. I get that. A lot of writers do. But when the reblog to total note ratio is 12/115, 14/192, and 13/207, things get . . . disheartening.

Because guys? Writing is HARD. I know you may see this statement all the time, but that's only because it's true: You have to remember all these words so you don't sound repetitive, you have to paint a clear enough picture without sound prose-y, you have to somehow translate exactly what the image in your head is and pray you don't lose people along the way, you have to SOMEHOW get from Point A to Point C when Point B is either exceedingly blurry or even nonexistent. And, perhaps the hardest of all, YOU HAVE TO BE MOTIVATED! It takes so much energy and focus just to write one page, especially if you have a hectic life going on beyond the screen. And guess what? A lot of, if not, all writers do!

For example: For the first two and a half months of running this blog, I wrote on my phone for most of the time because I didn't have a laptop and the only times I could use the computer lab in my dorm was when others were done with their work. (To gain a better idea of how vexing this can be, please note that A Practice in Happy Memories was written on my phone and that bitch is 6 pages in Word. Try doing that and see how tired of it you get.) And I’m one of the lucky ones: You’ve got people going through some rough stuff in their lives, people raising families while holding down a job, coming on this hell site to write and share their thoughts and ideas. I’m just some 22 year-old black chick with seasonal depression and increasingly crippling social anxiety and an aggressively negative view of the world!

Forgive me for sounding cocky, but I would like to think I deserve better than, like, 8 reblogs on a 60-noted something I literally tapped to life in-between homework and depression naps. Really, though, every writer who’s had to do this deserves better. The amount of talented writers who bust out quality content in spite of broken technology or, you know, having a life outside of the computer yet don’t get treated with utmost appreciation is unreal.

I’m not trying to shame people here, but if you can’t reblog, then reply. Or send a message. Even if it’s on anonymous. Trust me: You message a writer saying you love their crap, you will make their day and they will treasure that thing and look back on it when they feel like crap. For those of you that do reblog, please tag it. It literally only takes a few seconds. As @locke-writes put it in his own post about similar issues, writers really want/need to know what you thought. A like is equivalent to a quick nod and distant pat on the back. A reblog without a tag is a bit better, but still doesn’t get across exactly how you felt, what we did right, etc. A reblog with comments, even in the tags? Makes our fucking day!

Likes? They’re literally just the person who walks by your free sample booth, takes the sample, and doesn’t even acknowledge your existence.

I know I should feel grateful that I have as many notes as I do at all. However, a ridiculous amount tend to come from people who 1) don’t even follow me, and 2) they’re just likes. I have nearly 400 followers already and the same small handful only ever add into the notes. And even fewer actually comment or anything.

This is a common issue for a lot of writers: We just want to be seen as more than just story-making machines. We desire validation for the time and acknowledgement for the effort we put into something we feel we’re skilled at. But a lot of people may feel uncomfortable talking about it in fear of seeming ungrateful or anything but this feeling just drives them closer to wanting to quit writing altogether.

I’m not quitting Tumblr. At least, not anytime soon. But I still need you guys to know this because it’s been boiling up inside me and it’s driving me nuts. Anyway, I’m sorry if I came off as bitchy here as that wasn’t my intention. My intention was to give you a look into some part of the mind that a lot of writers have. Thanks for letting me get this off my chest.

Summary: Reblogs > Likes. Reblogs with comments and tags ∞ > Likes. And if you can’t reblog, reply or send a message. Your content creator worked to make that piece come to fruition and they deserve to know how they did. They’re not being paid for it despite the amount of time and energy they gave for it, so payment in the form of feedback is the least that they could be given.

In short: Appreciate your fanfic writers. Let them know what you think because every little compliment sticks with them.

[amererk]

Twilight is behind her and now she is a European arthouse darling and a hit on Saturday Night Live, says Jonathan Dean

‘Kristen Stewart is perhaps the best film actress under 30.” I wrote that last year, after an interview with her Twilight co-star and former boyfriend, Robert Pattinson — and this year, I am totally convinced I am right. But it turns out the vampire saga’s fans remain faithful, and some devotees of Pattinson, after the couple’s split, aren’t exactly fond of his ex. My social-media mentions were full of fury for a month. “Because they disagreed with you?” Stewart laughs, when I tell her all this. “Because they were, like, ‘F*** her?’” Exactly. If you have only seen the actress mope adolescently through the Twilight saga, you may think the above claim quite mad. Move on to her most recent work, though, and you will discover a 26-year-old who has evolved into a presence so self-assured, she is now an arthouse star, especially in Europe: the first American woman to have won a César, the French equivalent of the Oscars. Another preconception is that she is all surly hunch and millennial cynicism, hostile to press inquiries after they zeroed in on her relationship with a married director. Her image is kohl-eyed, cool, aloof, and it’s so entrenched that one review of her recent hosting of the satirical American television series Saturday Night Live called her “surprisingly charming”. Does she understand why? “One hundred per cent.” (That’s a chatty affirmation she uses a lot.) In truth, though, Stewart is as engaging to talk to as Tom Hanks, the actor everyone says is the best to interview in the business. On her right arm is a tattoo of the light at the top of Picasso’s Guernica, inked on to remind her that we can overcome darkness if we flip the switch. She seems to be all glow herself these days, and it’s mostly thanks to her professional achievements. “I feel so sturdy on my feet right now,” she says, at her usual fast clip, proud of a run of indie roles that has put her back where she began, and belongs

First came 2014’s Clouds of Sils Maria, in which Stewart more than held her own against the Oscar winner Juliette Binoche, in a more or less two-hander about a young woman’s challenging relationship with her older boss, a sensitive actress. That same year, with moody tenderness, she played Julianne Moore’s daughter in the Alzheimer’s drama Still Alice. Next, there was a small role as an ambitious young lawyer struggling towards greater things in Kelly Reichardt’s Certain Women (just released), one of those films that starts with sad sex and never cheers up.

Best of all is Personal Shopper, the second film she has made with the French director Olivier Assayas, after Clouds of Sils Maria, and her first lead in years. It is difficult to describe. At its most basic, Personal Shopper is a darkly lit adult ghost story about a woman who borrows a lot of high-end fashion for her celebrity boss — The Others meets The Devil Wears Prada. Stewart stands in a haunted house saying “Lewis” a lot. Lewis is her recently dead twin brother, and she is waiting for his spirit to manifest itself in Paris. Both are mediums. To cope with the tension of this binary life, Stewart’s improbably named Maureen smokes lots and rides around town on a moped, looking cool. She receives anonymous texts that say things like “I know you”, which is unsettling enough, especially when you’re looking for a dead sibling. How, I ask, can the film be pitched in one-line Hollywood style? Stewart laughs and, totally believably, says she’s not one for brevity. She barely stops talking during the interview. “It’s about a girl who finds she is suddenly a foreigner, in every sense of the word, not just geographically, but in life. She’s gone through this traumatic event, and it starts an existential crisis, where she questions everything that’s real. She feels completely alone.”

Hold on. Is she still talking about Personal Shopper, or Twilight? Especially her personal experience of making that juggernaut, which brought in nearly $3.4bn at the box office worldwide and took over her life for five films. No, she says, she is not talking about the latter. “I really never felt bogged down by Twilight,” she starts and, rather than leave it at that, continues chewing it over, piling sentence upon sentence

Every step turns you into the person you are, and yeah, [Twilight] shaped me enormously. Not just those movies, but the subsequent effect. It made my involvement in Sils Maria more interesting, for sure — ironic and meta.” You mean the line when your character says, “It’s celebrity news. It’s fun”? Or when she mocks a blockbuster for having werewolves in it, as Twilight did? “One hundred per cent,” she replies. “Those lines in someone else’s mouth would have been interesting, but not, like, ‘Whoa. She really knows what she’s talking about!’” Some of the film’s backers were surprised, Assayas says, when he first chose to work with this Californian tween idol. But he emphasises her courage, shooting in the Dolomites, where it is “not exciting after sunset”, far from home, surrounded by a foreign crew.

European arthouse could be seen as Stewart’s very own panic room, the title of the breakthrough film she made when she was 11, with Jodie Foster. It provides a refuge for her. Assayas agrees that she did seem relieved to be on a film like his; he then goes on to bracket her with the greats. “I’d compare Kristen to Harriet Andersson,” he says of one of Ingmar Bergman’s favourite (and coolest) leads. “There’s no greater compliment.” The best opportunities for me are whenever I feel a little bit scared

On screen, she has perfected a bold yet vulnerable style, all tilted head and low-key murmuring. In Personal Shopper, it is employed to such a captivating extent that, when she says the mad line “She vomited this ectoplasm”, you nod along, rather than cackle. She is, simply, not a showy actress. Foster nailed it when she said: “Kristen isn’t interested in blurting her emotions in front of her.” So this career renaissance in the subtler territory of European art cinema makes total sense

“I’m used to people getting awards for extreme performances,” she says of her surprise César win for Sils Maria. “In the States, it’s rare for people to get critical attention for things that are so quiet. Sometimes, you don’t show how you’re feeling, and that actually speaks louder than shoving it down someone’s throat.” Her next project, though, is not obviously arthouse: Underwater, a film talked up as an oceanic take on Michael Bay’s Armageddon. It’s an odd fit for her, perhaps, but she compares the depth of the story to Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar and insists it won’t be a blockbuster that “stops with the concept, so you think, ‘Cool, that was a great concept’”. Maybe something of this scale is the only logical next step for her. This is an actress, after all, who went to the middle of nowhere up a mountain with a pack of foreigners, straight from being mollycoddled in one of the biggest franchises of all time. She wants to surprise. “I want to push myself,” she says. “In my life, when I’m emotional about something, I’m an extreme person. Subtlety is not my go-to. I just don’t want to fake anything, but the best opportunities for me are whenever I feel a little bit scared.”

Her recent SNL performance featured one sketch, inspired by the sapphic French film Blue Is the Warmest Colour, in which she romped in a kitchen with another woman. Earlier in the show, she had beamed as she told the watching millions that she was “so gay”. She came out in public last summer, and the young star who quivered through half a decade of the Twilight vampire saga, increasingly withdrawn, seemed a completely new woman — a finished painting instead of a work-in-progress. “I wasn’t hiding anything,” she says, when asked why she is now open about her love life whereas before, dating Pattinson, she stayed silent. “I didn’t talk about my first relationships that went public because I wanted things that are mine to be mine. I hated it that details of my life were being turned into a commodity and peddled around the world. But considering I had so many eyes on me, I suddenly realised [my private life] affects a greater number of people than just me. It was an opportunity to surrender a bit of what was mine, to make even one other person feel good about themselves. “If it didn’t seem like a relevant topic,” she continues, her tone both poised and passionate, keeping up a melodic flow, “like something that needed help, I would have kept my life private for ever. But then I can’t walk outside holding somebody’s hand, as I’m followed everywhere. When I was dating Rob, the public were the enemy — and that is no way to live. It wasn’t this grand statement, ‘I was so confused! Now I’ve realised who I am!’ I have not been struggling.” She laughs. “It just seemed important, and topical.” I would be hard pushed to name a more confident interviewee. In January, she screened her directorial debut, Come Swim, a 17-minute oddity that arrived with a research paper entitled Bringing Impressionism to Life with Neural Style Transfer. You just didn’t get that with Twilight. While her future will be on both sides of the camera, she also wants to go on stage one day. It was the “human energy” from the Saturday Night Live crowd that persuaded her she may be cut out for live performance. Another appeal is that theatre is the ultimate challenge for a Los Angeles native born to entertainment-industry parents and raised on that city’s business: the next big test. She has been reading Sam Shepard and loves the way that setting can be implied in his work, rather than having to be there for everyone to see. Which, in fact, rather neatly describes her acting. Imagine her in a Pinter play. She is nothing like I expected, which was that there would be periods of silence and questions unanswered. She is friends with Patti Smith and has been called the female James Dean by the actress/rocker Juliette Lewis. That sort of support and acquaintance is intimidating. Yet she is friendly, honest, humble and, perhaps most impressive, unflappably polite, especially about Twilight, despite the continued bile spat at her by fans who think, in various ways, she has wronged them. “I don’t view the whole Twilight blow-up as being generally traumatic,” she says, delicately. “It would take someone with a really unhealthy amount of ego to be upset that everyone doesn’t love them. It would be silly to say I don’t care what people think of my work and who I am, but stuff is polarising, period.” Back to that line about her being “surprisingly charming”. Does she know why people thought she was distant? “I’d definitely lost my nerve,” she replies. “I used to try too hard, because I was nervous. I felt so uncomfortable addressing the public. I’ve just grown out of it.”

[got7doubleb]

16, 23, 37 MarkJin please. Angst or Fluff will do as long as it's a happy ending.

There are a lot of reasons to hate you but i don’t, Your eyes are the brightest i have ever seen, i am constantly on edge because of you - markjin

Tuesday Coffee and Shared Sweaters - Mark+Jinyoung, fluff, G 2.5k wordsMark realizes too late that he was in love with his best friend and tries to drunkenly confess to him by showing up to his house at 5am in the morning.

a/n: This may not fill in the prompt but i was craving to write a childhood friends to lover dynamic. but like i don’t even know what this was. i’m sorry for my attempt at failed crack. i tried to beta this but yeah. anyway, hope you don’t hate me for this anon-sshi!

Mark probably had a bit too much to drink.He knows this because he is standing in front of Jinyoung’s house and hedoesn’t even know why. Alright, maybe he does know why he was there but stillhe didn’t think when he walked out of the bar he was headed here. It was morelike subconsciously he was walking to Jinyoung’s place.

He is drunk; a bit too drunk. And it’sprobably the break of dawn. so, if the neighbours saw him standing in front ofJinyoung’s house like this they would probably calls the cops.

He really didn’t think this plan through. Well,to be honest, he had no plan.

Whatthe fuck am I doing here and why the fuck am I so drunk?

He had been drinking to try and eliminatethe messy situation in his head. It’s been a mess for the past week now and nomatter how much Mark tried to think it out, it all made no sense at all. Hisheart was telling him one thing and his mind was telling him another.

But why was he in front of Park Jinyoung’shouse at the break of dawn, trying to suppress the urge to vomit, you ask?

The answer was simple. Park Jinyoung wasthe tsunami that flooded his brain with the thoughts of him and leaving ahorrid mess. Mark was beyond repair. So Mark being the very rational adult thathe is (he is 22 years old, he was an adult) he drank till he couldn’t thinkanymore. Or rather he drank until the only thing that was coming out of his mouthwas ‘why the hell did Jinyoung do this to me?’

That was overdramatic but that is theeffect Jinyoung has on him.

From the start of his life, Jinyoung hadthat effect. They had first met in middle school. From the moment he hadstepped into school, Park Jinyoung had been there. He had become the Korean boythat talked to him even though he had no idea how to speak English. The boyhowever, was expressive and they managed to find a common ground of silencebefore Jinyoung learnt more English and Mark learnt more Korean.

So they became friends. Their houses wereonly a block away from each other. Naturally, thanks to the many sleepoversthey used to have as kids, their parents had become great friends. Mark ispretty sure the Park family regards him as their own son and Jinyoung is prettymuch family to his parents too. From that little boy who couldn’t even speakone word of Korean, Mark had gained not only a friend but an extension to hisfamily. And it had happened so smoothly that Mark had forgotten what life waslike before Jinyoung. All he knew was Jinyoung.

So what was it that made everything so differentnow?

They were best friends. Jinyoung knewexactly what reckless thing Mark was going to do before he even does it. Markhad Jinyoung’s favourite coffee shops lists by rank and his favourite order ateach of those coffee shops. They were best friends and for most of his lifeJinyoung had been there.

So really, if there was a problem Markshould just confront Jinyoung.

But the problem was that Mark couldn’taccept it himself. The problem wasn’t Jinyoung. The problem was himself.

It had all started in high school. Atleast, the last week of thinking about this had pinpointed it to the momentwhen Jinyoung had came out to him in high school. They were in their last yearand Mark was talking about the fact that Jinyoung hadn’t dated anyone. Despiteall the confessions he received, there was not one that he accepted.

“I’vebeen meaning to tell you” Jinyoung whispered. The tone of his voice was so lowthat Mark felt the suspense make his heart beat funny. “I’m gay”

Mark remembered the shockwaves that wentthrough his body. It was shocking because never once did Mark suspect it. Neveronce did he take all the jokes that Jinyoung tried to make (which were probablyhints now that he thought of it) seriously. It hit him almost out of nowhereand Mark was too shocked to even try to hide it.

“Ihad no idea”

Jinyounglaughed so hard. “I know. I’m fully aware that I’m friends with a fuckingmoron”

That night Mark couldn’t fall asleepbecause all his life he had only seen girls as an option. All his life he hadbeen chatting up girls in his class, all his life he had never thought of guys.It wasn’t that he wasn’t ok with Jinyoung being gay. He was perfectly fine withit. It was just that suddenly he realized that he was part of Jinyoung’soption. It opened up possibilities that he never saw before and suddenly hefelt happy.

But the next morning nothing had changed.Jinyoung went about his life all the same as Mark went on with his life asthough he hadn’t just realized an enigma that would change their lives forever.Mark had buried that thought deep in his mind. It never saw the day of light asMark continued to try chatting up the hot girls in his school. (He was probablya big playboy but you didn’t hear it from him).

Every day from that day Mark had put a nicelabel on Jinyoung’s head. My bestfriend; itread. He never thought of exploring the possibilities anymore. Jinyoung wasobviously not interested and Mark wasn’t interested in ruining what theyalready had.

Because what they had was great.

When they had left high school and wentinto college, they had different majors. Jinyoung taking up Literature whileMark was an engineering major. It was weird at first going to classesseparately for the first time in his life but they got used to it. What made itworst were the dating rumours that started surrounding them.

When they were in school, people hadaccepted that they were best friends since childhood. Everyone knew they wereattached by the hip since Mark had moved in to school. But in college, thesurroundings were new and their closeness was questionable.

So what if Mark walked Jinyoung to classwith his favourite coffee every Tuesday? Mark knew his order by heart andJinyoung liked coffees before a really long day of class. And what is the bigdeal if they swap sweaters every other day? Jinyoung loves his fluffy sweatersand quite frankly he looks damn adorable in them (don’t let Jinyoung know Marksaid that).

And who the hell cares if Mark letsJinyoung kiss his cheeks and pretends to be super annoyed about it?

Well, Jinyoung’s boyfriend does.

That’s right, just when Mark was gettingthe hang of balancing assignments, projects, tests and his social life; ParkJinyoung decides to find himself a boyfriend. Mark wouldn’t exactly say hedoesn’t like the guy because he wasn’t jealous the way Jackson, his veryannoying roommate, suggests. He was just very wary of this guy hurting his bestfriend’s feelings. And maybe he felt threatened that Mark was no longerimportant in Jinyoung’s life.

But Jinyoung reassures him that Wonpil wasa good guy and would never come in between the two of them, repeatedly. Marknever needed to say anything but Jinyoung could read him like an open book nomatter what.

“Whyare you telling me this? I’m not jealous of your boyfriend” Mark insists forwhat felt like the nth time.

“Ofcourse you’re not” Jinyoung said, completely unconvinced. “If you could alsostop staring daggers at him, every time he is around you that would be greattoo”

So maybe, Jinyoung could tell what he feltbefore Mark even knew it. He was perceptive like that. He knew Mark better thanthe back of his hand. So maybe that’s why when Mark realized he was jealous heknew that he was three hundred feet in his own shit.

He was in love with his best friend and itwas too late.

Mark however didn’t feel like ruining theperfect bubble Jinyoung had with his first ever boyfriend. He would happily eathis own heart if it meant Jinyoung could remain oblivious about the shift inMark’s feelings. But Jinyoung could read his feelings from a mile away and MArkwasn’t about to let that happen.

So he had been trying, with much difficultyto create some sort of distance.

The first step had been making Wonpil fillin his ‘best friend’ duties, so Jinyoung wouldn’t feel the gap and chase him.His Tuesday coffee – one hot caramel macchiato with whipped cream, extracaramel and a dash of cinnamon powder – was to be delivered by Wonpil from nowon. It was easy to make Wonpil obey him; the boy was just as smitten asJinyoung was after all. With Wonpil filling up his role in Jinyoung’s life andthe painful grip oh the thought on his heart, Jinyoung let him go. Wonpil wasthe most solid excuse he had.

Mark had gifted his favourite sweater toJinyoung, insisting he didn’t need it anymore. Mark then moved out of the dormitoriesto rent a place somewhere close enough to campus but far enough from Jinyoung.And slowly but surely the distance happened.

For the most part, Jinyoung seemed quitehappy. They texted sometimes and it didn’t seem like anything was ever out ofplace and for the most part Mark thought he was in the safe zone. He could finallytry to adjust with the life of pretending he didn’t love his best friend bydrowning himself in his academics and an unhealthy amount of online games.

That was until a week ago when Jinyoung hadappeared on his bed snuggled into Mark’s fluffiest sweater with red rimmed eyesand a sniffled nose. Wonpil had broken up with him and he was a fucking mess.

Naturally, Mark should be happy about this.Wonpil was out of the picture and he could finally have his chance. But the sixmonths relationship Jinyoung had had with Wonpil had burned Jinyoung’s heartand Mark wasn’t about to exploit Jinyoung’s vulnerability. It would beextremely selfish if he confessed his affections when Jinyoung was obviouslystill in love with Wonpil.

So, Mark prepared himself for another feastof his own heart.

Each time Jinyoung sobbed with the word‘Wonpil’ leaving his mouth his heart would crack. Each time Jinyoung hugged himas he cried; he was punched in the gut. Each time Jinyoung called him in themiddle of the night asking if Mark was asleep only to fucking cry again, Markwould feel his heart crushed by the weight of his own idiocy. He was on edgewith how much he had to try and hold himself together.

“Jinyoung”Mark sighed and waited for the sharp sobs from the other line to slow downbefore he continued. “Did you love him that much?”

“Idon’t know” he sniffles. Mark could just imagine the pain in his face and hisalready broken heart was shattered into even smaller pieces.

“Whydid he want to break up?”

Thereis a short silence which Mark isn’t quite sure was because Jinyoung was wipinghis tears or gathering the courage to admit the reason. “He thinks I’m in lovewith you”

Marklaughed despite the sudden quickening heartbeat in his chest. “He must be anidiot, then”

Jinyounghowever remains silent for the longest time. There was no hum of approval;there was no sniffling or sobbing. The line just goes silent and finally itwent dead.

After that phone call Mark tried to callhim back but it went straight into voicemail. Maybe it was because Jinyoung’sphone died. So he makes his way to Jinyoung’s class the next morning,determined to ask Jinyoung what had happened to the phone call.

“Imust have fallen asleep” Jinyoung mutters, pretending to focus on his book. Hiseyes were unnaturally focused and his shoulders were stiff. It wasn’t hard totell that Jinyoung was lying. Mark didn’t need to be a genius to know that.

“ButI couldn’t call you back?”

“Itmust have died” Jinyoung said a bit too fast. “Class is about to start. Youshould probably leave”

So, first Jinyoung lies to him. He thenstarts ignoring him and Mark doesn’t even know what he’s done. Everything wasout of place and he didn’t even know what to fix.

Was Jinyoung still mourning his brokenrelationship? Was it something Mark said?

Three whole days of being ignored byJinyoung has finally led to him standing in front of his house, drunk beyondbelief, trying his best to devise a plan on making sure his best friend/heartbreakingcrush doesn’t leave him to rot to death alone. There was a thousand and onereasons for Mark to hate Jinyoung for making his life so difficult but he doesn’t.

Because, holy fuck, he loved Jinyoung. Ifit was anything that he regretted it was the fact that he hadn’t told Jinyounghe loved him. He knew it before. He knew there was a shift in his heart themoment Jinyoung had admitted he was gay. But he hadn’t.

So really, this whole mess wasn’t Jinyoung’sfault. It was his.

He stared at the lock keypad on Jinyoung’sdoor and wonders if it had ever changed, since the last time Mark was around.That was probably before Wonpil.

He contemplates knocking even though it wasprobably 5a.m. in the morning. Or he could just wait for Jinyoung to come outof the house. It would probably be noon by then.

Or maybe Mark was tired of sitting aroundwaiting. Maybe it was just time to barge in take a chance on what he wanted.And right now he wanted Jinyoung to know that he loved him. More than he hadever loved anyone else.

0-9-0-4

There is a ding of the right pass codebeing inputted and Mark smiled. Jinyoung didn’t change it after all.

There is a clank of ceramic breaking as ithits the floor as soon as Mark peaks his head into the house. In front of him stoodPark Jinyoung, in a sweater Mark was pretty sure he had lost at least 6 monthsago, mouth agape, hands frozen in mid air. A broken mug scattered at his feetwith what seemed to be hot tea.

“What are you doing here” Jinyoung stuttered.His expression was alike with an expression of just seeing a ghost.

“We need to talk” Mark intoned, surprisingly composed despite the alcohol slowly buzzing in the back of his head. His feet wasbringing him towards where Jinyoung was standing, tugging him clear of thebroken pieces of glass and hot tea that was on the floor. “I’ll clear this upfirst”

Jinyoung watches him, seeming too far inthe state of shock to even help.

When he was done, he tugs Jinyoung to thecouch.

“We need to talk”

Jinyoung nodded but his expression wasstill haunted. He seemed to swallow all his thoughts and tried to composehimself. He pulls the hem of his (Mark’s) sweater trying but failing to conceal his veryshort pants. Mark tries really hard to focus on Jinyoung’s face but he can’thelp but glance.

“I probably should have told you years ago”Mark blurts. “I love you”

He was damn drunk give him a fucking break for the lack of creativity.

“Well, isn’t it about time you realized?”

[not4eating]

Unfiltered and unedited. Rabid thought produced while thinking about an essay prompt.

should be something of interest to you and something that speaks to your values, ideas, and relationship with your larger social world.

Possible topics for writing project 3

What makes it debatable? What are various directions you could take this topic? Which one are you planning on choosing and why?

God damn, I don’t know. What are the things that are important to me? Fucking fuck this shit. I can’t think about this kind of stuff right now. I’m already stressed enough. My work life balance is so fucking off. As it stands I don’t like any of the stuff that I’m learning about. I’m stressed all the time. I’m working harder than I ever have and I have the worst grades that I have ever received. Wtf. I got a b in my last humanities class and I didn’t even do half of the assigned material. That balance  is incredibly skewed. Like what’s wrong with college. What the fuck is wrong with it. How does something like that happen. Where a student can put in literally no effort one semester and receive straight a’s and then the next semester they try even harder and then can barely pass their class. That actually reminds me. I need to cite socrates for my most recent assignment in Humanities 01. Her class is the one that I’m complaining about here. It’s too difficult. I feel like I’m cracking because of it. I mean. I can lie in that class. If I lied I would probably get a better grade. None of these teachers actually read what you write. They don’t actually care. So if I wanted to I could just bullshit everything. As a matter of fact I think all of school is bullshit. I also think that we should be paid to go to school so we don’t have to fucking work full time just to support ourselves while we have another full time career. Like, at least pay people up until their associates. Ive been going to school for seven years. That’s an insane amount of time to have suffered through academia. I wouldn’t mind if it was only academia that I had to deal with, but the fact of the matter is that academia is the part of my life that I actually enjoy. In order to support myself through college I have to work a job that is mentally draining and I have to do it for fifty hours a week and even then I barely make enough to survive. So what is the solution? Free housing for full time students and a free cafeteria for full time students that serves decent meals that you request the day before. If you don’t request a meal then they don’t make a meal for you. If you want to work while you go to school then you can. But all students must maintain at least a c average in order to remain in the program. If a student falls below a c average one semester then they are put on mandatory academic counseling in order to maintain their access to free housing and food. What happens to students when they lose their access? That’s a good question. Im not sure right now. Punishing them would be counter intuitive. The goal is to create an environment where everyone feels welcome and motivated to succeed.

My whole point is that I don’t have enough time. I can’t find enough time to do all of the things that I need to do. I feel unproductive. But at the same time I need to sleep. I have only been getting about four hours of sleep a night on average. I finish work. I make dinner and clean up and then I get to work on my homework. My whole body shakes all of the time. I get light headed, sometimes I lose hours of my day to nothing. My mind literally blacks out. Would my day be better if slept? Do I still have those multi hour long unproductive spells? Yes I do, want when I sleep. I just lose focus every now and then. Have I tried Adderall? I absolutely have. It helps for certain things. However, at the end of the day, its far less effective than everyone says it is. I’ve worked my way up from 5mg to 40 mg and even then its like “yo, this stuff doesn’t really do what it says its supposed to. Even at sixty mg instant its about as effective as a cup of coffee. The only thing that seems to be able to get me out of my head long enough to be productive is alcohol, which is so bad. I spent all of last semester drunk. I got incredible grades. I had more than enough time on my hands to spend with my spouse, which I can’t say for this semester. The only issue with this is that I was fucking drunk all the time. I gained 40 pounds and spent my work day on the verge of vomiting. I got in a car accident because I was so tired that I could barely keep my eyes open. I am literally killing myself. I am literally killing myself. I am literally killing myself. The structured lifestyle is torture. Day in and day out, the same thing over and over again. I’m worried that when I start estimating its going to be the same thing. Ill be fine for a few months, and then at the eight month mark ill hate my job. I need to be free. I need to be able to write and talk and interact with he people of their world. I need to write, and I need to write about what I want. Is this form of writing any different than writing by hand, I don’t think so? Maybe? Ts fine and all writing on a keyboard. It’s been at least a decade since people have been writing this way almost exclusively. They question is have novels gotta better or have they gotten worse. I can only say that I am almost incapable of reading anything modern. Especially works that may or may not become literary classics. I also can’t read as fast as some people. I wonder how they read all of the books that they read. I think that after I get my bachelors I’m going to focus all of my free time reading new literature. A novel a day would be a good goal. Why should a three hundred page book be difficult to read in a few hours? I recently read a 200page book in a day and had a great time of it. I even took copies nots with is unusual for me. I was ony able to do that because it was a part of the curriculum. If it wasn’t a part of that I wouldn’t have read it and I wouldn’t have been able to even have the time to read it

What really gets me is the academic research paper. Why do we have to do research on random ass Tomic and write papers about it. They always say that you can write about whatever you want to talk about, but when I write about something truly world changing like I did about big data all the back in fucking 2007 when nobody even cared how the teacher tell me that it was in irrelevant topic that was too broad. I mean its not a broad topic alt all. Data collection and the issue that occurs when it is collected. Ie the stealing and unregulated sharing of data is complete bullshit. Nobody cared then, it was n issue that fucking mattered then and it fucking matters now. Big data is so important. What you search, what you read, what you are interested in is your own person. It is who you are. That is what makes it so incredibly valuable. When we live on the internet we think in the internet. Everyone that uses the internet shares there deepest thoughts to google and reddit. Even those that don’t are texting it or keeping it in their notes apps. Its like if someone had access to your diary, your personal conversations, and your alarm clocks, because even alarm clocks are digital now. They have access to this information, and they use it against you. They even know what you watch, and how much you pay attention to what you’re watching because they know when you’re on your phone scrolling through facebook. And this sounds crazy. It would have been crazy 50 years ago. But today it is not crazy. People are watching you all the time. They pay attention to the conversations that you have in front of smart speakers, they watch you on security cameral. They check your GPS data at all times. They read your emails, they look at your nots, they check your interests and disinterests. They know that you slow down when you see s=certain things and they know that you speed up after certain things. It sounds stupid. It sounds ridiculous, but all you have to do is look at the power at your fingertips as you read this very article. Look no further than your damn phone. You fool. If you think anything is private, just know that everything you do is being watched and recorded. Not by people of course. But by computers. Computers who are profiling you. Learning how to manipulate you specifically. What keywords turn you on. What keywords piss you off. All they have to do is out the right thing in front of you and you will either buy what you’re seeing or at the very least recognize it. That’s where this whole thing gets so fucked up. Advertisers, politicians, random Russians, random Chinese people, random anyone with enough resources to make you do a thing. All they have to do is know what catches your attention and then right before or after that they show you the thing that they want you to see because even if you’re only looking at the dog, nike is at the top of the page and even though you're not fucking looking at that shit, you like running, and you like dogs so all they have to do is put that shit in front of you enough times and suddenly the nike swoosh is one of your favorite things in the world. You have familiarized yourself with it. It is now safe says your lizard brain and suddenly it's only of a few dozen things that you like to see. I can guarantee you that if I showed you something that you didn’t understand. Just a random mark. You wouldn’t look twice at it. You might even associate it with something cheap in comparison to nike. This is regardless of the actual range in quality. You would still buy a thing form nike that was produced for half the price but sold to you for double the price than you would the other thing. No matter how smart or how critical you are there are basic human instincts and those instincts can’t be denied.

Can you even fucking change this thing. Is it established in childhood. I have a cat who is skittish as hell. I love cats, I would never hurt one but still she loves me but is afraid as hell of Perone else. I raised her, I adopted her when she was only thee months old and yet she behaves the way that she doe. Was this behavior bred into her or is she skittish because she had observed me being uneasy in front of strangers and therefore learned this behavior. I don’t fucking know man, but its the exact way that internet marketing, marketing in general really. Its how it works. You are more likely to eat at a McDonalds than you are a regional fast food chain when you’re driving through a town. Your more likely to stay at a marmot than you are a Hilton if you were raised in a town that had a marmot and didn’t have a Hilton. You’re more familiar to marmot because its what you’ve seen. Its what you know. It was the nicest hotel in your town  that has other hotels across the world. Even if you associate it with a shitty crowd, you know that its still a good enough place to sleep for a not unreasonable sum of money. Human instinct. If you know a place is safe you know you can sleep there without being completely uncomfortable. Its the same thing with internet marketing. If it doesn’t apply to you think about cable. Think about the groceries you buy from a person behind a counter. Think about the places you use your bank cars which goes through a computer and knows where you are and what you’re buying. You’re shits not private. It never will be as long as the internet exists and continues to improve. The rise of the machines isn’t brought about by a machine that kills you directly. rough about by a computer that divides us against perfectly fine people until we eventually kill each other via nuclear winter. The more we allow the world to be determined by the people that write algorithms that feed us content and places to go the more likely we are to fall prey to an algorithm built with malicious intent. This is because most people don’t know how to read code and the ones that do most of them can’t read or write code at the level of the one percent of the one percent that decide what happens on the internet. Or rather, that the algorithms that they people write that curate the web for them.

Compton could literally be anywhere. La is the creative capital of creative work because the degrees of separation between you and your friend base and the people who decide what’s produces are like two or three at tops. Compton isn’t special. Eve lived in the area. It’s not the hood, everywhere is the hood, Sacramento is the hood. People that live in fucking Ladera heights can claim that they live in the hood. People from Sacramento are just as cultured as anyone from la. people from Folsom are just as relevant as the millions of people from la. hip hop beats are just chill study beats. These people sit in traffic all day every day. That’s all I have to say about that. La is great, but so is Sacramento. So is every other city in the us. Most towns are just as special people just need the encouragement to create. One in 20 is a genius. When you get 20 people together even for a moment you have a guaranteed stroke of genius. People are genius by nature. There’s nothing special about plato, Picasso, or Okonma, they just found a small group of people to speak to who spread their message far and wide and now they are who they are. God I didn’t realize how much I needed to just yell these things to. The thoughts in my mind that sleep in my unconscious thought. I wish that I could just record all of my thoughts. Maybe I would think the same things less often. Venting in a permanent forum Is so nice.

[floraexplorer]

The Ten Most Adventurous Travel Challenges I’ve Ever Faced (And One I Haven’t…Yet)

A little announcement: I’m speaking at a festival!

This coming weekend I’ll be heading to the heart of Oxfordshire, England, where hundreds of people will be wandering around Wilderness Festival. And at some point, some of them are hopefully going to gather round a campfire to listen to me talk about travelling.

For a full forty five minutes.

Sunday, 2pm: IT’S ME!

Giving this talk is a pretty big deal for me.

Although running this site has led me to a number of unexpected job titles, I’ve never been able to call myself a ‘speaker’ before. It’s a new road — one I’m both nervous and very excited about.

So what’s the topic I’m attempting to fill forty five minutes of chatter with?

“Up A Creek Without a Paddle: Travel Tales & Fails From a Solo Female Traveller”

At first, I figured I should be planning a talk which made me sound like a hardened traveller — but once I realised I was on a programme alongside ‘real’ adventurous women (like cycling through dense Indian jungle or motorbiking across Iran), I decided it would be better (and probably funnier) to tell some stories about the bizarre travel experiences I’ve had around the world.

More importantly, to address the fact that things can – and often do – go wrong!

Like being forced to walk/hitch rides for 100km when striking fishermen close the border…

But what’s been interesting is that in the process of writing an outline for this talk, I also began to think about all the ways travel has changed me. Travel ‘fails’ don’t necessarily mean something negative, either. As I jotted down various events to talk about, I started noticing a pattern.

The bigger, scarier, more adventurous and more ‘out of my comfort zone’ an experience had been, the more memorable and life-changing it was.

How adventurously do you live your life?

Being ‘adventurous’ can be defined completely differently from one person to the next.

Some of us want to do every physical challenge possible, but are terrified of travelling alone. I used to hate roller coasters with a passion but was supremely smug about my ability to watch any horror movie while my friends screamed and ran out of the room.

We all have strengths and weaknesses. It’s worth recognising the benefits of both.

The other day, a writer I follow on Twitter asked her followers a question.

What’s something you feel good about having done? (Small/big/long past or recent/for someone else/others/yourself).

— Hayley Webster (@bookshaped) July 29, 2017

To be able to compliment ourselves – hell, just to treat ourselves more nicely – is something everyone should feel comfortable with doing. We deserve a bit of love, particularly when we’re going through something which makes us feel vulnerable and small and unsure.

I’m in that kind of place at the moment. I need bolstering; I need energy, and positivity, and I need reminding that I’ve been strong in a multitude of different ways in the past.

So what makes the following stories particularly adventurous? 

Well, it’s not just physical or daredevil activities which require bravery. Often it’s the smaller parts of life which really challenge us — mentally and emotionally, as well as physically.

And more than that, each of these stories have helped to shape me. They’re moments I’m extremely proud of, and it’s worth a lot to actively recognise that.

1. Walking the Camino route halfway across Spain

When I decided to walk the Camino, I readily assumed I’d be able to get myself geared up in time. What I didn’t account for was my love of procrastination – something which marred the entire project before it had even started.

For months I told people I was walking the Camino, but I still refused to start training, to book my flight to Spain or to actually research how I’d cope as a pilgrim.

Case in point: my lack of research in blisters

Thankfully when I finally bit the bullet and caught a thirty hour bus from London to Leon (don’t follow my example), my Camino proved better than I could have hoped – but it unnerved me to realise how close I’d come to quitting the whole idea.

Four hundred kilometres later, I’d learned so much about the kindness of strangers and the value of community – and I also discovered my body is a lot stronger than I’d thought.

Enough so that I should have trusted in myself much more from the start.

2. A ‘Polar Plunge’ in sub-zero Arctic seawater

On board an expedition ship in the middle of the Norwegian Arctic, a group of octogenarians and I were asked whether we wanted to jump into the ocean outside. All but four of us said a resounding, “NO”.

Of course, part of the job description as a travel writer is to actually ‘experience’ what the world has to offer – but I was secretly terrified of throwing myself at the mercy of the Arctic Ocean.

What if my heart stopped because of the cold? What if I drowned?

As it turned out, the exhilaration and adrenaline from racing into the icy sea was like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Moreover, I knew I’d achieved something I hadn’t expected to even attempt, let alone enjoy – and it opened up a world of possibilities.

The photos were pretty spectacular, too.

3. Skydiving over the Kenyan coastline

I’d just arrived in Kenya (literally that morning) when a group of the volunteers I’d just met mentioned they were off to skydive at Mombasa beach. I was eighteen and nervous about making new friends with this big group of Aussies, Americans and fellow Brits, all of whom had been volunteering in Kenya for at least a month together.

So I guess you could say I skydived for the first time because I wanted to be accepted. I wanted them to think I was cool.

A blurry photo that still means so much!

While this obviously isn’t the best reason to challenge yourself, it’s nevertheless been something which has always stuck in my mind.

Since that first skydive, every other adventure sport, adrenaline-rushing experience I’ve had has been on my OWN terms – be it paragliding in Ecuador, caving in Bolivia, scuba diving or white water rafting in Australia. Every time I’ve considered the idea of backing out, and every time I’ve decided it’s worth doing.

I even skydived for a second time a few years later.

4. Drinking ayahuasca in the Brazilian jungle

Before taking part in an ayahuasca ceremony, I had no idea what to expect. And to this day, I’m not sure whether the experiences I had could ever be replicated.

What I do know is that the ceremony occurred at the exact right time in my life.

Then again, the actual ayahuasca experience as it was happening was pretty brutal. Vomiting and hallucinations, a complete deconstruction of what it meant to be ‘myself’, and the strangest and most surreal night I’ve ever had.

Ayahuasca is a scary experience, and not one to be taken lightly. In fact, if I’d fully known what was in store I think I might have thought twice about drinking. But because of the positive after-effects it led me to a second spiritual ceremony with San Pedro a few weeks later, and it served to open up my mind to the idea that a positive mental outlook can actually affect your life.

Among other things.

5. Perpetually boarding planes despite my flying phobia

Surprisingly enough, I don’t do well in planes.

It’s a fear that’s only got worse with time: the older I get, the more I worry that turbulence is going to cause my death.

It’s also a very common fear, I know: and because travel is an intrinsic part of my profession, I’ll have to keep swallowing the fear as best I can.

This same attitude goes for a lot of common fears and phobias, which many people won’t outwardly admit to in their daily life. Instead, they’ll catch buses which teeter on the edge of steep cliff drops; wiggle their way through narrow spaces in underground caves without fuss; and feel that same dreaded sense of doom when someone’s dragged past them at airport security.

We can’t avoid our fears arising. What we can do is accept their existence and try to live fully in spite of them.

As a result, every time I get off a flight I inwardly congratulate myself because I know that the more irrational part of my fear hasn’t won out.

6. Spending 18 months becoming fluent in Spanish

When I arrived in South America, I could barely speak a word of Spanish. Six months in, I was still pretty rubbish at the language – but over that year, I slowly realised how big an impact fluency would have on my life.

Not just when travelling, but in general.

I’ve always hoped I could one day be bilingual, but throughout school I didn’t really put the required effort in. Once I understood that total immersion was the way I’d learn best, however, everything changed.

Suddenly I was passionate about the Spanish language, to the extent that I challenged myself not to leave South America until I could say I was fluent in Spanish.

Eighteen months later, I was as close as I possibly could be – and I loved it.

7. Getting naked and blue with three thousand people

I’ve been lucky to not struggle too much with body confidence in my life, but I was still a bit terrified about stripping naked in a park at 3am in Hull city centre and covering myself in blue body paint.

Our perceptions of nakedness – both our own and other people’s – have always fascinated me, so when I saw the call-out for participants in Spencer Tunick’s #SeaOfHull photoshoot, I knew I wanted to be involved.

Yet there’s a mental challenge which comes with voluntarily putting yourself in such a vulnerable situation.

We were lucky. Amongst three thousand naked bodies, not one person was insulting to another, and as far as I know every participant walked away feeling stronger, freer and more confident about themselves.

8. Cutting all my hair off in an Indian bathroom

After a month of travelling in India’s soporific, suffocating heat in 2012, I made a decision to cut off my hair.

This wasn’t taken lightly: my hair had been shoulder-length or longer for the majority of my life, and I wasn’t sure how it was going to behave when suddenly cut to just beneath my ears. But I’d had enough of it – so one night in a homestay, an Australian friend borrowed a pair of scissors from the kitchen and began snipping.

It was absolutely liberating. I felt like I was taking control.

Only later did I realise how much I hated having short hair. It stuck out like a triangle and no amount of styling attempts would make it look acceptable in my eyes.

The funny thing, though? Eventually I just had to deal with it. My perception of myself was infinitely less forgiving than other people’s opinions of me, and because there was nothing I could do to fix my hair in the middle of the Indian mountains, after a while I didn’t care as much.

By the time I got my nose pierced on a whim in Dharamshala, I’d understood that spontaneously changing my appearance was OK. It wasn’t automatically a disaster.

9. Admitting the importance of my mental health

The desire and ability to travel by yourself is clearly admired by a lot of people. What’s problematic about that is feeling like you’re less able to stop as a result.

After years of solo travel and the accompanying loneliness which often goes with it, I made a decision. When I’d finished my London-based masters degree, I didn’t head off into the world alone again. Instead, I stayed in the city I was born in, and addressed the anxiety which had been growing stronger for months.

I admitted to myself that, for once, my mental health was more important than my love of travel.

Recognising my needs for their fundamental importance is something I’m hugely proud of. It’s not easy to do – and it’s also not easy to speak about publicly, when years of social conditioning has made anything mental-health-related seem like a taboo subject.

Happily enough, the more I talk about mental health, the more I feel connected to other people. It seems like expressing your vulnerabilities can often lead to something much more positive.

10. Being publicly vulnerable by writing about myself online

When I think about it, this site is also something which has been hugely adventurous in its own way.

I’ve written about my issues with self-confidence and self-deprecation before, but the more I’ve dwelled on it the more I’ve understood that sometimes you just have to try pulling yourself out of it by any means necessary.

I know a lot of bloggers who actively choose to keep their private life private, and don’t talk about their personal feelings online. I’ve found this isn’t what works for me: in fact, it’s almost the opposite.

To be going through something life-changing and devastating as the imminent loss of another parent has made me all the more in need of support from my virtual community. Sharing that here has alleviated so much stress and made me feel loved and cared for.

Of course, this level of openness doesn’t work for everyone. But I do know that this six year process of writing about myself in a public online space has led me to places I never thought I’d go. Because of my growing confidence in my words, I entered a National Geographic contest I never thought I’d win – except then I did.

A year later, I travelled to the Arctic Circle because of it.

If that’s not an obvious reward for challenging yourself and being adventurous, I don’t know what is.

11. Still to come: speaking about my travels at a festival

Despite chatting away on Instagram Stories on a regular basis, I’m still not that familiar with public speaking – so my talk at Wilderness Festival this weekend is no doubt going to be another challenge.

Luckily, I’m more than eager to rise to it.

I figure that if I held a snake the last time I was at Wilderness, I can probably manage to hold an audience together…?!

If you’re heading to Wilderness Festival then please keep an eye out for me! I’ll be down by the Filson campfire at 2pm on Sunday – but I’m also hopefully filming the talk in case people want to watch it later (YouTube, anyone?!)

The takeaway: adventure can (and does) change your life

These challenging travel situations have taught me a lot. Mainly that I could have backed out of every single one, but I didn’t – and as a result, I know how much I’ve grown.

They’ve also made me more invested in continuing to challenge myself. There are too many adventures left to tackle: from driving the Mongol Rally (I need a licence first), to running a marathon (my recent foray into jogging at the local park is a good start!) to learning Mandarin, Arabic and French.

Ultimately, I’m rather proud that prepping for this talk has reminded me to be excited about the challenges to come. If these past experiences are anything to go by, it’ll make my life that much more interesting as a result.

Do you remind yourself of your adventurous achievements enough? What’s the most adventurous challenge you’ve faced when travelling? 

Pin this article if you enjoyed it! 

The post The Ten Most Adventurous Travel Challenges I’ve Ever Faced (And One I Haven’t…Yet) appeared first on .

via WordPress http://ift.tt/2u6Odrq

[somedaypast-thesunset]

you know whats unhealthy?

being made to be upset before 7am about things which are projections of the issues someone has with themselves and needs to find something or someone to blame for their own problem because admitting it is their own problem would be admitting a fault in themselves. 

you know? thats the lack of stability. 

he told me to make a list of my problems. i felt like maybe he should make a list of my problems because he seems to have a different list than i do. 

heres what i know:

a) i have very fast metabolism to the point i need to eat frequently throughout the day in order to feel super super on top amazng healthy. i cannot afford to eat healthier or as frequently as i want to. this leads to buying lower quality food to try and buy “bulk” amounts to last longer or things with “empty” calories just for sustenance. i occassionally buy fresh vegetables and fruits but they are not a good investment when you’re poor. period. a box of rice costs 1.99. three apples cost about the same. can you eat 3 apples for a meal? a very frequent problem is not being able to afford to eat alot in the day and then getting a meal at the end of the day from his home but only being served ridiculously small portions. i’m grateful for anything at all but it’s not enough for me to not feel hungry afterwards. 

however when we eat snacks in the evening and sleep on it, my normal very fast metabolism is not active. this has caused me to put on 10 extra pounds that i have not carried in at least 5 years. what can i do? i dont have alot of options at my disposal. 

b) rheumatoid arthritis runs in my family. this is an autoimmune disease. this means that the genetic line in my background dictates that the dna that makes up my body is suspcetible to creating a being with weaker joints because the body itself - not by injury, activity, or lack there of, is attacking the joints. being prone to having weaker joints means that it is important to strengthen and stretch and be active however it also means knowing that you have some physical limitations in your activity. maybe your activity will be like 30 minutes instead of an hour. but it’s still being active. 

one of the biggest issues i have by far are very weak knees. well .. i think thats actually the wrong word to describe the issue. that automatically implies that i need to strengthen my knees. my knees have painful joints that are unable to maintain repetitive motions such as cycling or walking for long periods of time. maybe a knee brace would help not create so much stress and tear on joints and ligaments that are natually inclined to wear quickly but those cost _money_. 

additionally, i can continue being active after a break. like i can do 20 minutes of very good, heart pumping activity with repetitive motions but then i need a break because its very painful and stressed and once its able to relax, it’s good to go. i don’t think this implies i’m unable to be active. i think this implies that i have a moderate activity level right now that is equal to how much nutrition i get and the expecations i have during activity.

c) i smoke cigarettes. sucks. i dont do chemical or pharmaceutical drugs. i maybe do shrooms once every few years. i smoke weed. i have never been addicted to chemical or pharmaceutical drugs in my life. i have never injected drugs in my life. i have never smoked chemical drugs. i have inhaled drugs probably 7 - 10 times in my lifetime. i only casually drink alcohol and have only drank to excess maybe 7 - 10 times in my ife where i’ve vomited or had a hangover. i have maybe 10 beers over the course of 4 - 6 months at a time. that’s the lvel of “casually drinking” i have. i almost never drink mixed alcohol anymore but used to drink on a more frequent basis and drank orange juice with vodka primarily. so guess what? despite the obvious ill effects that smoking has had on all of my organs, i probably havent created any additional issues to my major organs by doing any of these things. i have not created any stress on my heart or my liver. 

but i do smoke. and that is legitimately the worst thing i do in my life in terms of harming myself or being unhealthy. absolutely nothing in my lifestyle is more unhealthy than smoking. in no way what so ever do i deny the effects smoking has. it is very very bad. not only do i have some breathing issues naturally to begin with including asthma and apnea but i am now putting layers of toxic tar on top of my lungs and much of it admittedly has been unfiltered for almost 10 years and have ben low quality tobacco. not that higher quality is necessarily better but lower seems like its probably even worse. probably like even more random chemicals they dont write anywhere. ive pulled out like pieces of wood from cigarettes before. my dad rolled his own for a long time as well. it’s bad. it’s totally completely bad.

this is going to cause negative side effects in my life in the future. for sure. will i get cancer? maybe. it doesnt run in my family but maybe? lymphoma? copd? sounds like it could maybe happen but again, genetically i’m not pre-disposed but i can cause it by smoking regardless. everyone in my family smokes. they did not age super well in terms of like.. visually. and mentally theyre totally fuked up. but physically theyre oddly in decent shape. like theyre all still moderately active people capable of doing things in their 50s and 60s which is probably a decent sign they’ll be moderately mobile in their 70s and 80s. 

d) depression is the NUMBER ONE DISEASE THAT RUNS IN MY FAMILY ON BOTH SIDES. VERy SErIOUS CLINICAL DEPRESSION WHICH GOeS UNTREATED FOR YEARS IF NOT DECADES. my uncle shot himself in the stomach with his kids in the next room and he was not even blood related. thats how much depression runs in this family. we attract more depression. and it’s not just depression but i’m going to use it as a blanket term because to simplify the pain of this generational experience its that everyone deeply suffers from depression as a disease and not as just like.. a way to describe a deep sadness. a good number of people in my family who are my age but third generation are on drugs. you can clearly tell. my cousin lives in a hospital for huffing glue as a teenager and hes like an old man now. the matriarch on my fathers side literally jujust abandoned all of her children. just peaced the fuck out. literally. thats fucked! 

but what we have to KNOW - we HAVE to KNOW that depression is a disease in this family. trauma is accepted and depression is a genetic disease passed down. if we dont KNOW this then we’re fucked. we’re all fucked. you have to know the enemy. you have to know what youre fighting in order to win. many people so far have passed because of a heart attack or diabetic complications. however the more and more i think about it (which is a lot. like everyday.) my father died of depression. he had zero will to live anymore and its lke.. he had guilt for that because i was there and i was a good kid who didnt do anything but try to help him but he had no will to live. it wasn’t selfish either - he gave me everything he could but he had absolutely no desire to carry on in life and he made harmful choices over and over again partially out of being stubborn, partially because he just did not care. he told me many times that he was WAITING TO DIE. my own father. and do you know what i replied? “i know dad. i’m waiting to die too.” and you know what he said? nothing. nothing. we just existed in silent empathy of eachother - understanding. 

depression will absolutely kill me before any disease does if i do not get taken out by a random heart attack which honestly i am terrible at eating salt in moderation so i feel like im more likely to have like a sodium related issue that in combination with smoking would lead to a random heart attack. but i would never, in my opinion, knock on wood, suffer from a long term disease because i already do and depression will totally kill me way before anything else. right now, at 27, i can see me going until 40. maybe. MAYBE. ive already done 27 years. but the next 10 are going to be fucked. totally fucked. and if i make it until 40 then wow. wowwww. 

e) i am very .. easily persuaded in regards to someone telling me an observation they have about me. i have experienced trauma numerous times by multiple people which has created a personality flaw that leads to very serious emotional & mental instability with how i perceive myself and what i know and what i’ve seen. this is not a “disorder”. this is not an “illness”. this is a personality flaw which has been created through life experiences. essentially, by listening to other people amd choosing to believe them over what i legitimately know to be true is one way of choosing to harm myself. i am “doing it to myself” even though these people could be being assholes at the time. but i am not capable of immediately filtering and having the confidence in what i know - because it’s been questioned so often i question my literal sanity and reality of the world on an hourly basis - so instead of knowing how to cope, instead i allow the traumatic experiences to play out as i am familiar to them acting out. they tell me something, i accept it, question myself, fight with myself and being picking apart things that maybe arent even that big of issues but ive correlated it with what theyve said and now im focused on all these problems i think i have with myself. 

i was told i was sick for a long time. do you get that? i’m not even making this up. like the fact im SAYING THAT should be enough. i was told by my mother that i was sick for a long time. i was told this. she made up all the fucking things she could and told me and told doctors and everyone that i was sick. i had many infections and illnesses and just.. things. i was sick. i was TOLD i was sick. i was TOLD i had a problem i couldnt see or feel or hear. and thus the cycle begins.

i fight it as well - but i’m not sick. i’m not sick. i’m not weak. i’m not stupid. OBVIOUSLY. OBVIOUSLY IM NONE OF THESE THINGS. but im listening to these convoluted assholes spouting opinions which again are projections of their own personal insecurities make me doubt myself and question if i am. maybe i am. maybe i’m so stupid i cant even see what they see. now theyre in a position of power. to counteract i spend my time having one sided arguments and writing personal essays about how i’m none of these things and this doesnt even make sense because all this other shit happened!  but now ive stressed over something that meant nothing to my being for x amount of time, become tired and stressed out, emotional and depressed. 

~~~~

last night i kind of felt like i didnt really want to be sleeping at his house. i was uncomfortable and had trouble breathing and the silence combined with his heavy breathing is soo grating it takes sometimes hours to fall asleep. i still like sleeping with him. i do. after this conversation, i dont realy feel like i want to hang out with him again anytime soon anyways. 

i have to balance and meditate on my own knowledge and perceptions because i have not been wrong before about how he infers more “important” or “bigger” emotions. we have been together for a year but he refused to acknowledge a relationship until last week. which means we are not emotionally affectionate - we don’t express affection in words either but we are both very aware that we are in love. 

i believe he knows that i am both the problem and not the problem at the same time. i believe he has a lot of love for me on a lot of levels and would do just about anything for me. i believe he wants a future with me and wants to have me in his life “forever” but he can’t be promised forever if i’m dead at 40. he cant invest all this emotional attachment to someone whos going to die. he needs to know im not going to die and everytime i light a cigarette in front of him im choosing that over living with him until im dead. 

i lso believe some of the frustration comes from knowing he could live with me in some capacity if we didnt smoke weed or i smoked cigarettes or we ate junk food because we would have more money to build an appropriate life (possibly to his standards) together. 

quitting smoking is not something im considering right now because its acrutch. its a daily crutch that gets me from one difficult 5 minutes to the next. i am very scared to live without it because i am not capable of handling long term stress emotionally & mentally right now. i also have no real personal desire to stop. its not a big deal to me and if i did quit i am sure they would all ask me if i felt better etc. and ii’d just shrug and tell them sure. they feel better, clearly, so i guess i feel better because i dont listen to them put me down for my personal choices in life anymore. just another thing im told. im told. im told. 

his ignorance to the legitimate issues and difficulties of living in long term poverty is overwhelming and to add trauma and depression on to it .. incomprehensible. 

additionally since he has no self control he wants other people to be his self control by not smoking weed or eating junk food and promoting an active lifestyle. he said he couldn’t take me biking or for  a run - and that’s fine; it’s not fun to do those activities with him. i’m not interested in exersizing with him, i’m interested in just being active and going at break neck speeds are not fun at all for me. i enjoy a level of activity that gets my heart rate going but is still leisurely and like.. not aggressive. i’m not looking to run aggressively, you know? if i die in a freak accident because my stamina is not good enough to run aggresively well then i die. it’s cool. i probably died in a fucked up way anyways if i needed to run aggressively away and at tht point kudos to me for trying at all. 

when we tried to canoe it was terrible. just a shitty experience because he likes adrenaline and the rush that pushing himself gives him but you know what? maybe - maybe. some people. just want to have a casual leisurely canoe ride. okay. thats not fucking terrible. they arent weak. theyre fucking enjoying life and the experience. thats how they enjoy it. go make some adrenaline junkie friends. let us slow pokes enjoy the ride. i am not required to fulfill every role in his life. i am not required to be his clone and like all the things he likes and do all the hings he does the way he does it. we have a ton of things in common already and we get along super well. his mother frequently buys pretty terrible pre-packaged foods and granola bars full of sugar and stocks his lunches full of fruit and like honestly fruit is good for you but you cant just eat fruit and say youre healthy. you cant eat shitty grocery store bread and say youre healthy. 

however we both like the same foods. whenever i cook for us he has never complained but openly complains about his mothers cooking. the only time he has complained is when i try to bake frozen fries in a fucking oven because his mother thinks its just “tht much healthier” when you’re eating fucing mccains frozen fries to begin with and then baking them until theyre brown to simulate cripsyness. 

if we lived together i could actually feed him healthy foods that are homemade and not store bought as i have done in all my previous live in relationships. i made dinner with multiple food groups every night too. alot of my lunches would be salad or soup or a sandwhich or all of it together. did i also eat snacks? fuck yes. did all i eat qualify as a snack? no. i ate healthy. and i actually ate even healthier as i got older and included more vgetbles and fruits in my regular diet. 

but living between two places and having his mother feed us once a day is pretty fucking stupid. sry2say. buy your own foods. know that the cupboard doesnt restock magically. when you make foods you actually accept in eating left overs of or create lunches a week a head of time like other people do  its not as easy to turn to snacks either.

but what do i know.

i’m just sitting here waiting for this guy to figure out that hes still causing 50% or more of the “problem”.