#frozen blueberry queer

[cheshiire-warper]

Flag id: A rectangular flag with 5 even horizontal stripes, colored from top to bottom; dark greenish blue, dark blue, frost blue, light blue, and dark greenish blue. On the left is a dark greenish blue berry shapes, colored frost blue, with light blue outlines. /end id

Frozen Blueberry — Anyone who presents their gender through the color blue.

Coined on 12/2/2024 | Colors based on the definition | Symbol source (link)

[Tagging] @radiomogai @obscurian & @presentationflag-archive

[aropride]

following me simulator (in the reverse order it should be for readability sorry)

773,439 notes

aropride Follow April 5th 2024, 08:27am

good MORNINg dashboard. time for another day i am not ready but i will do it

#text #happyt thursday treat thursday

3 notes

aropride Follow April 5th 2024, 10:02am

to do today. psych quiz , work on zines, Remember to eat, dont die

#text #to do list tag

4 notes

aropride Follow April 5th 2024, 10:37am

my life is so beautiful (boy whos at the library voice)

#text

14 notes

aropride Follow April 5th 2024, 11:13am

GO TO HERE

#text #Spotify

9 notes

aropride Follow April 5th 2024, 11:22am

all right well why dont u listen to the waves crash against the shore for a while and maybe you’ll calm down . can you let the beauty of the world overtake you for just one fucking second

#text

31,798 notes

.

aropride Follow April 5th 2024, 12:05pm

everyone on here needs to stop laughing about how "adopting pets from a shelter is for losers" and "those animals should be hunted for sport instead" its reprehensible on so many levels. First of all

Read more

#text #discourse

27 notes

aropride Follow April 5th 2024, 12:32pm

answer my questions boy

#text #polls

126 notes

aropride Follow April 5th 2024, 01:14pm

mcr5 summer 2024. mark my words

#text #mcr5

8 notes

aropride Follow April 5th 2024, 01:49pm

shaking and trembling and looking at you with fear in my eyes etc . did anyone else notice its scary

#text #scaredposting

39 notes

aropride Follow April 5th 2024, 02:43pm

ooh my godfdddd guys . just had an f slur moment so insane i literally cant come backfrom this one they have to kill me they have to kill me.

#text #I HATE BEING BISEXUAL THIS IS SO HUMBLING . #i would literally. WHATEVER

19 notes

aropride Follow 🔁 mychemmutal1 Follow April 5th 2024, 04:12pm

[gerard image]

#i miss you baby girl please call me i love you

12,971 notes

aropride Follow 🔁 normalaestheticblog Follow April 5th 2024, 04:23pm

[picture of a big clunky computer with some wires exposed or something]

#MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE. need her carnally #💾

7,122 notes

aropride Follow April 5th 2024, 06:37pm

just had the best pbj sandwich ever if you even care

#i love you pbj sandwich #text

4 notes

aropride Follow April 5th 2024, 06:58pm

i am goign to rip this title ix coordinator LIMB FROM LIMB !!!!!!!!

#text #WHO ELSE UP HAVING THEIR CIVIL RIGHTS VIOLATED LOLLLL #the negligence is crazy Lol . giys should i sue . i could literally fucking sue right now . oh my god . jesus christ #neg #🗒️

11 notes

aropride Follow April 5th 2024, 07:14pm

its like no one even cares about frozen 2013 anymore

#text

2 notes

aropride Follow 🔁 mychemmutual2 Follow April 5th 2024, 07:19pm

[gerard image]

#i miss her thighs i mean her music #PLEASE VOME BACKKKKKKK

1,939 notes

aropride Follow April 5th 2024, 08:12pm

judt went to the store and almost got hit by a fucking car coming back Like actually

#text #HAPPY THURSDAY I GUESS . WHATEVER

12 notes

aropride Follow April 5th 2024, 08:15pm

no but literally like. im NEVER gonna give you up. NEVER gonna let you down NEVER gonna tell a lie and HURT YOU..!!!!!!!!

#text #/ly

6 notes

aropride Follow April 5th 2024, 08:31pm

edibles time i deserve a little treat to be FREAKING honest

#text #weedposting

2 notes

aropride Follow April 5th 2024, 09:48pm

The edible has turned me bisexual once more.

#text #I NEED THEM IN A WAY THAT'S CONCERNING TO THE QUEER RIGHTS MOVEMENT

[duckbeater]

Courtship, pt. 1

We interrupt the fantasy series Odd Frock to bring you the dystopian series Courtship, a reflection on life in the time of coronavirus (truly unprecedented, groundbreaking, up-to-the-minute content). Odd Frock will resume with its third installment, “No Oaths,” sometime next week! —The Editors

—

The Times recently ran an essay-review about the prevalence of “deception” as a theme in newish queer novels. A spate of gay writers have taken up the cause of lies again—lies for love, lies for survival, that sort of thing. I remember reading this description way too close to bedtime, becoming furious, posting a screengrab of the headline to my Instagram story, and then flinging myself to sleep.

Those nights, sleep was less a sheer cliff than a steep embankment, ending in a kind of gray-water ravine. The kind you sometimes find behind subdivisions, full of detergent bottles and half-crushed cans of Michelob Ultra. A lot of my friends—I mean, my coworkers—were describing this sensation: lying in bed awake, confused about the day (unremitting sameness) and confused about the prospect of waking up in a day exactly the same. “I have no reason to sleep,” said my friend Vadim, in his theatrically Russian accent, “and yet I have no better reason to wake up.” This from a man expecting his first child, a baby girl named Marta, in August.

When I tried to go to bed at night and couldn’t sleep, sometimes I punched pillows and blankets into a human-shaped substitute, and pretended to hold this cool lump’s hand. I missed holding a hand while I slept.

I was trying to be honest but not dire with my therapist. Our weekly, forty-five-minute phone sessions had devolved into weak-sauce temperature checks on my declining optimism, and whether my anxiety and boredom were putting me at an increased risk for “acting out.” I think by “acting out,” he meant drinking myself into a rage and dealing in criminal property damage, something I’d done back in October when I had, plausibly, fewer reasons for “acting out.” I’d been arrested and everything. It was a bad time.  

Dave kept offering platitudes taken from his decade working as a chaplain for a clinic in Chicago, during a different plague. I didn’t exactly rebuff his analogizing the wan present with his indelible past, but I didn’t accept these comparisons uncritically, either. “You have to make a lot more choices, more intimate choices, to contract HIV,” I said, after another riff about “needing touches” and “harm reduction” and “risk.” “But the choices I’m making right now are like, Should I Clorox wipe my mail? Should I pet my neighbor’s dog?”

“Evan, what I’m trying to tell you is, you’ll get lonely and start making decisions out of loneliness, desperate loneliness. And whether those decisions include an intimate encounter or a neighborhood walk or maybe a small dinner with friends, you’ll need to entertain the idea of exposure and infection.”

Despite the obviousness of his remarks, I felt pierced by their retrospective application. Pierced and humbled, etc. My life, the one I was leading by myself in my studio apartment, seemed entirely the product of decisions made out of desperate loneliness. The night before our session, I’d watched four hours of Bon Appétit content on YouTube, despite a very on-the-record hatred for cooking, and the night before that, I’d spent six hours spider searching a tiny desk lamp with a cement base. I needed a light feature in my bookshelf—a light feature that could double as a heavy, practical book-stopper. Its discovery engendered a sort of mania. My attention had become a hostage to material comforts. A fantasy I kept coming back to was of a tall blond, maybe from the professional-managerial class, walking into my confinement and being so taken with the objets d’arte and expensive candle glow, he’d shuck his pants off without my needing witty banter or, heaven forfend, making dinner to seduce him.      

What I wasn’t telling Dave wasn’t lying. I wasn’t contorting the truth per se, only under-reporting the meager life events taking place in quarantine, so that most of my hours were spent, it seemed to him, sitting on my couch trying to read. We’d already discussed how reading was impossible. I was too horny. I missed my ex a lot, who also seemed to miss me a lot—he called nearly every day. On one such phone call, I asked for sex by name. I said, “Let me into your bubble, and let’s just fuck it out, please.” I didn’t tell Dave about this. I wanted him to think the two years of hard work we’d put into the breakup was unshakable. That the work was in fact extraordinarily fragile demoralized me endlessly and was, frankly, too embarrassing to report. Besides, my ex didn’t so much decline as leave my request unanswered. Much the kindest thing to do.  

I didn’t tell Dave that I wasn’t eating. Or that I was eating, but like a varmint. A handful of blueberries in the morning, some Cheez-Its for lunch, coffee all day long. Every few days I’d get a hankering for potatoes and put a hurting on pound after pound of frozen microwavables, folding in expensive cheeses. What else. I had developed a compulsive mail habit—checking my mailbox up to five times a day. I ran during the afternoon, and every run, I loathed and cursed dog-walkers, who never broke rank and whose dogs kept them cheerful, glowing, vital, loved. I’ve never hated dogs more. I’ve never hated strangers more. I rarely wore a mask.

Wait. This is what I wanted to explain. It’s facile but that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel it strongly—that I don’t still feel it strongly. The whole of life, operating along its axis of normal, acceptable behavior, had become a massive con. Maybe what I mean is, the massive con, long evident but carefully ignored, was now fully exposed, or fully loosed, and terrorizing people. It was impossible to pretend that our political system, our economic system, our public health system, our way of organizing culture and society, hadn’t brought us catastrophic failure. And lying about this, deceiving ourselves to go on, was all we had left.

Lying was sanity’s saving grace. Deception, I did not tell my therapist, was become fortitude’s handmaiden. Maybe this entry should be called “What I Wasn’t Telling Dave,” but then it couldn’t have the title I’ve already pinned to the top of the page, “Courtship,” which to me is what this pandemic has really been about. Making overtures to beautiful, intelligent gentlemen, with scant certainty of any attentions panning out, to distract myself from the strange days and lonely nights. (I’m aware that for others this pandemic must be about “joblessness,” “stillness,” “conspiracy” or “annihilation.”) Anyway. I’m writing this in the past tense, I guess to occupy the narrative position of someone who successfully avoided death, the death of loved ones, and ended up, firmly, finally, not sleeping with his ex. It’s so sunny in the city today, it almost looks like the future.

When I broke quarantine, it was to give a beautiful, silly twenty-five-year old a haircut. Scotty brought over Cheez-Its and played over two hours of Mario Kart with me; we necked for two hours more and then fell asleep, entwined; in the morning he showered again, and I gave him a cup of coffee while he stood under the running hot water. “My hot water’s been out for a couple weeks,” he explained, after my asking if he’d passed out in there. Cutting Scotty’s hair was the romantic highlight of my spring. He sat on the toilet in my underwear and gabbed about going to med school in the fall, on some Caribbean island. He left hair everywhere, in every crevice of the bathroom, in the bar soap and spare toothbrush. In the weeks when I continued to isolate alone, I’d find more of him under the sink, under the rug, under the conditioner. Obviously, I didn’t tell Dave about this. I cherished it and didn’t want a lecture.

[ughfitz]

name : Racquel (don’t forget the ‘c’)

nickname/s : only one by my family and I don’t really enjoy it

height : 5′0″ on a good day

nationality : American

favourite fruit(s) : Raspberries (or fresh blueberries, I do not like frozen bb)

favourite season : 100% fall

favourite scents : fresh laundry

favourite animals : I love all animals, but I have a soft spot for dogs

tea, coffee, hot cocoa : tea

average hours of sleep : 6/7

when my blog was created : this one was created in late 2015, but I’ve been on Tumblr with my main blog since 2010 

random fact : I can make a clover shape with my tongue 

favourite food : I love my mom’s enchiladas 

favourite t.v. shows : AoS, Parks and Rec, Schitt’s Creek

favourite movie : Meet the Robinsons or Music & Lyrics

favourite vine : none?

pronouns : she/her

favourite book series : asoue, HP

favourite video game(s) : I don’t really play any

favourite band(s) : The Maine (my high school love has remained faithful)

favourite subject : english or art

last time I cried : this past weekend when I was watching Queer Eye

what I should be doing : finishing up some work stuff before we close early today due to a blizzard coming in -_- 

favourite fandom : Oh, AoS for sure!!

TAGGED BY : @agentofship

[fanfictropesandunrelatedthings]

Tw: rant

All I want is to enjoy my youth. Be stupid, find joy, and love.

I want to be stupid but if I make a single mistake regarding sex, drugs or heaven forbid I try to learn about the world around me; I’m going to be laughed at. I’m given irrational hatred from my family. State. Country!

I’m being stripped of my rights and any semblance of love but I’m trying to laugh. Hell, I’m trying. You can’t find joy in a place like this. A place that defends kid’s death. The child murder that happens every day.

Love? Purely conditional. They don’t know me and if they do I push them away because It’s terrifying to have someone know me. I’m so used to a double life and honestly, I don’t know if I can keep it up.

Everyone else is gay and proud and I’m stuck here trying to eat away my issues with a pack of frozen blueberries and two cups of sugar every. day. It hurts beyond words.

The sad thing is, history repeats unless you remember it.

Stonewall?

Aids crisis?

The pink triangle??

those protests in 2015 for gay marriage??

Trans lives matter protests?

Don’t say gay??

Why do we have to keep fighting the same people just with different names? Why can’t we be proud without feeling like we are going to be beat, slurred at, or killed??

 Why can’t I have my rights?

I don’t want to get pregnant but I want to be able to have sex. Just once but not if it comes at the price of being disowned, or murdered for some cis white dudes agenda!!

I have until 30 to live! (on average)

Can I live please!?

If I could I’d stop drowning myself in the past. I’d stop trying to find validation in scetchy places. I would be happy I swear.

But no I’m here, fed up, pissed off, queer, and afab. 

(A queer transmasc (they he) 15 year old in the USA’s bible belt)

[notsureyetis]

time flies

its engines explode

it crashes into a mountain

there is one survivor

it is william shatner

pill yam cat nerf

fill your pockets wiw diamonds

diyamon

pokemon

digimon

fidget man

aaaaaaaaaaa

waaaaaaaa

waluigi

cat waaaaaaa

why do we write if not to pass information

what information do i share

in formation

beyonce

be yon say

faaaaaaaaaaaaaawaaaaa

taking liberties

here

beer

near

clear

it’s clear that i do not know [most] of what i discuss

and yet  i discuss

pretty sus

sussy baka

sussy baguette

vented

cemented

when did

i can see the trees in the forest

dumb neurotypicals are in forest but they can’t even see the trees

dumb dums

#rekt

torrentila rain

tortilla brain

marbella frame

jason sta

tham

they tham

tham

yams

wham

wham’s 1994 single

wouldn’t want to be with you

busted 2004 single

it sucks to be near you

oasis 1988

why fly if you are william

shatner

cat purr

i take expensive baths in expensive jellies

i have an expensive rash from expensive jellies

my mother is in my womb

in 6 months i will birth tham

in 10 years we will be able to communicate

but by then tham may be dead

lead

ned

flanders

pandas

p[anda

panda]

wakanda

never saw that movie

black panther

panda

manda

lorian

chlorine

in my eyeballs

why roll

why do my eyes roll

when i pull them out and put them on a marble run

fleshy gritty black rotten sediment

leaves oily marks along the tubes

i cannot see

o r c a n i n o t b e

free

she

urgh

he

bleh

me

.............

we

?

fleas infest

dogs incest

i am berest

bereft?

weft

jesus wept

jesus wept when he saw me

he

?

they?

she

?

not we

i wept when i saw me

free

free

free

how expensive is my freedom?

we take

we break

we flake

on our plans

thought disposition

my imposition

disgusting thoughts

oh the imposition

jesus moses frozes

frozen toes

arctic explorers have frozen toeses

hairy feet

bear skin

keeps them warm

life at what cost ?

who pays the price for my life

not me that’s for sure

who pays

what pays

at what cost

is my existence

existential

mexistential

texmexistential

i get tex mex istential every time i go to taco bell

£7 quesadilla box

i should only spend £4

but churros

dulce de lece

fuck

i buy quesadillas but who pays for them

and who pays for me?

and who pays steve?

steve connors

steve rojers?

rogers?

doc martins gay

but are they?

they £120 per pair

it alienates

the queers

fuck

it’s all pretty fucked

rub a duck

rub a dick

tug a dick

off

take my dick off

ples

lol

no seriously ples

lol

no

but seriously *ples*

it takes 6 hours to turn a d into a p but who does it

and who pays?

the nhs

but who pays

ironic isn’t it that all these transphobic bitches are the ones paying the taxes that pay for my pussy

jk rowling paid for my pussy

thankks

fuck

torrential brain

torrential pain

bipolar

2 polar bears

bi 2 po be a bear share

care bears

mares

mares?

wears?

but who pays?

not me that’s for fuckking sure

i don’t pay for shit

except for my pringles

and choco milk

and blueberries

and apartment

and BLT

and phone

and the hotel i’m in

cost of admission to planet earth

is a life of servitude

that’s from a song

kind of

in my brain

a brain song

a brainy shlong

dicks

brain dick

brain balls

lols

dysphoria takes its tolllls

on my boules

capybara

capybara

jimmyhere

it’s’ thursday my dudes

apprentice final

but when will it end?

10pm gmt

but when will it end?

when lord sugar dies

god that names so fucking stupid it makes me cringe every time i hear it

i probs shouldn’t say that unless tumblr is monitored by him

thank you for coming to my throbbing red cock

[catgrassplantdad]

Well would you look at that it's Friday again! here are some questions for you, catgrassplantdad, and only you 😬

1) Tag yourself which member of the Queer Eye gang are you? (original or contemporary, your choice!)

2) Have you ever had a black eye? What's the story behind it?

3) If you were a megastar what would you put on your dressing-room rider? (bowls full of only green m&ms? water gathered at midnight on the full moon from a lake at the base of mount fiji and then lightly carbonated? give me the demands!)

😘🖤

Love of my life, here you are with questions only for me, catgrassplantdad, how lucky I am! 🙃

1) I wanna say Tan because I like him the most but I don't actually think I'm that similar to him. I'm not really like any of them, tbh? Maybe Bobby! Yeah I could see that.

2) I don't think I have! I've never really been in a fight, no one's ever punched me in the face, I've never broken my nose or really had any facial injuries...wow, I've been very lucky!

3) Okay well definitely carbonated water. Give me bubbles. Pistachio frozen yogurt. Pizza from a specific CT joint. A NEIPA but it doesn't have to be a specific one. A huge bowl of blueberries and strawberries. Mmm. This is fun to think about.

Thanks for the questions, my love!!!! 🖤🤍🖤🥰

[wiistfulls-blog]

A very descriptive and detailed profile of your muse. Repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. If you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own!  When you’re done, tag 15 other people to do the same!

TAGGED BY: @torchwoodstheorist

NAME:  Jack Bradley

AGE :  27 in main verse

SPECIES: human

GENDER:  male, male-presenting

RELIGION:  agnostic with a bit of skepticism

ORIENTATION:  queer

PROFESSION: occasional Deliveroo biker, occasional time-traveler, constant annoyance

BODY TYPE: slightly wide shoulders, lanky form

EYES:  blue

HAIR:  brown

SKIN:  pale, freckled

HEIGHT:  6′0″

WEIGHT:  approx. 190lbs

SIBLINGS: none

PARENTS: irrelevant

ANY PETS?: yes [ ]  ||  no [ x ]  

COLOURS:  teal, burgundy, night-sky blue-black, heather grey

SMELLS:  a blueberry patch, pumpkin spice, burning marshmallows, a log fire

FOOD: king crab with lemon & butter, messy steak tacos, buttered corn

FRUITS:  frozen blueberries, white peaches, frozen grapes

DRINKS:  black coffee in the mornings, green tea at night, pumpkin spice latte in fall

ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES? YES [ x ] ||  no [  ]

FAVORITES:   everything cooking in a kitchen at once, chlorine pools, first snowfall, breathtaking views

SMOKES? yes [  ]  ||  no [ x ]  ||  Occasionally [  ]

DRINKS? yes [ x ]  ||  no [ ]  ||  Occasionally [ ]

DRUGS?: yes [   ]  ||  no [ x ] ||  Occasionally [ ]

DRIVER LICENSE?: yes (american) [ x ]  ||  no [   ]

tagging: anyone! just say I tagged you I don’t mind.

[glamourpossum]

tagged by @baszle NAME? maureen NICKNAMES? bitch, maureen but it's said in a really exasperated voice ZODIAC? leo + rat SEXUAL ORIENTATION? queer ETHNICITY? black FAVORITE FRUIT? apples (fuji or jazz; must be cold), strawberries (if in california during the summer), blueberries (frozen), grapefruit (juice), mango, also every other fruit, FAVORITE SEASON? i'm going to complain about every season equally sorry FAVORITE FLOWER? i like lots but idk if i have a favorite? tulips (parrot and standard), peonies, anemone, carnations FAVORITE SCENT? lavender, nag champa, me boy alistair FAVORITE ANIMAL? bearded vultures, thylacines, possums COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE? coffee most often but also tea CAT OR DOG? both but cats more than dogs DREAM TRIP? i just want to go to the gilroy garlic festival man NUMBER OF FOLLOWERS? ~650 on my main, like less than 15 here WHAT DO I POST ABOUT? main: aesthetic, art. side: critters, self loathing DO I GET ASKS ON A REGULAR BASIS? no lmao FAVORITE BAND? daughter AESTHETIC? "slut passing" + kitschy but in a way that comes off as partially intentional FICTIONAL CHARACTER I’D DATE? dont talk to me if ur not tony the tiger HOGWARTS HOUSE? slytherin

[365-money-diary]

DAYS 321 - 237

DAY THREE HUNDRED TWENTY-ONE

8:30 AM - I arrive at work and I’m so sleepy today. I accidentally stayed up until 2:00 AM last night watching a combination of Stranger Things and Queer Eye.

11:30 AM - My colleague and I go out to lunch at Defalco’s. It’s been a minute since I’ve been here, so I take advantage of the opportunity. I get a portobello mushroom sandwich with avocado instead of cheese, a bag of chips, and a drink. $12.48

12:30 PM - I stop to get gas on my way back to the office. $24.95

4:30 PM - It feels good to be able to leave work early on Mondays. I drive straight home and meet up with my boyfriend who is already there.

5:00 PM - I eat some crackers and hummus and a La Croix and we veg for a few hours and watch Stranger Things.

7:00 PM - Still watching Stranger Things. I heat up some leftover lasagna and pour myself a glass of wine. He eats leftover pizza.

8:45 PM - We finally relax enough and I feel motivated enough to at least clean out the fridge.

10:45 PM - We turn in for the night.

DAY THREE HUNDRED TWENTY-ONE TOTAL: $37.43

DAY THREE HUNDRED TWENTY-TWO

9:30 AM - I arrive to work pretty late. I had a hard time getting out of bed this morning because I was so warm and also because I am on my period.

12:00 PM - Nothing sounds that great for lunch, but I settle on buying one of those Annie Chun udon noodle bowls, a package of tofu, and some roasted seaweed. I also buy a box of chamomile tea and a box of earl grey. I drink them in the afternoons if I need a pick me up. $12.73

12:30 PM - This noodle bowl is legit! I should remember to do this more often.

3:00 PM - I make some chamomile tea and eat a couple of dark chocolate squares.

4:45 PM - I run off to Trader Joes and buy a bunch of wild blueberries plus non wild blueberries, some spices, wine, almonds, tortilla chips, etc. $70.73

5:15 PM - I stop at Whole Foods next and buy a few vegan cheeses, a bunch of produce, some salmon for my mom, lentils, bread, frozen peas, halo top ice cream, pretzels, seltzer, etc. $134.67

7:00 PM - I get home and make vegan almond cheese, vegan shephard’s pie, and spinach and artichoke dip.

10:00 PM - Boyfriend and I clean the house for a little bit in preparation for my parents arrival tomorrow.

DAY THREE HUNDRED TWENTY-TWO TOTAL: $218.13

DAY THREE HUNDRED TWENTY-THREE

7:00 AM - I wake up and grab my computer and phone in preparation for a conference call that ends up lasting for 2.5 hours.

9:30 AM - I stop at Cartel to try and pick up some Chemex filters but they’re sold out. It feels weird not to buy anything so I pick up a cup of coffee. $2.50

11:00 AM - I run to Sprouts and buy some clementines, a bowl of udon soup, and a package of seaweed snacks. $6.73

1:00 PM - I hop online at Sur La Table and find Chemex filters for $16 including shipping. Crossing my fingers that it’s not a stocking error. $16.64

7:00 PM - My parents arrive with the pinball machine and all sorts of other stuff. We move everything in and patiently wait for my boyfriend’s brother and his girlfriend to arrive so we can bring in the pinball machine.

9:30 PM - The pinball machine is all setup! We play a couple games and then eat Jimmy Johns. $20.25

11:30 PM - We finish watching a few episodes of the office and then head to bed.

DAY THREE HUNDRED TWENTY-THREE TOTAL: $46.12

DAY THREE HUNDRED TWENTY-FOUR

9:00 AM - I arrive at work exhausted. The dog woke me up 6 times last night.

11:00 AM - We go to Sauce for lunch. I get a pizza with mushrooms, spinach, and basil. $11.87

4:00 PM - My boss lets me leave early. I stop at Sprouts to get my mom some almond crackers. $3.55

5:00 PM - I meet my family and my cousins who are in town at Blanco for tacos. I get an overpriced salad and two margaritas. My parents pay for it.

8:00 PM - We’re home and watch some of the Suns game and then some episodes of The Office before turning in.

DAY THREE HUNDRED TWENTY-FOUR TOTAL: $15.42

DAY THREE HUNDRED TWENTY-FIVE

9:00 AM - I’m working from home today! I hit up Cartel for a cup of joe. They give it to me for free. I run back home and eat a couple pieces of toast with almond cheese. $1

12:00 PM - Mom and I grab lunch at Desert Roots. I pay. $24

5:00 PM - We stop at Think! to grab some posters for my boyfriend and then head to the church where my cousin is getting married so my mom can practice her part in the wedding.

7:00 PM - We make our way over to the rehearsal dinner and it was super fun. I have 3 glasses of wine and some champagne and eat some vegetables to hold me over.

10:00 PM - We arrive home and I heat up some veggie shepherd's pie for dinner. We watch more of The Office and then go to bed.

DAY THREE HUNDRED TWENTY-FIVE TOTAL: $25

DAY THREE HUNDRED TWENTY-SIX

9:00 AM - Boyfriend and I grab coffee. He pays.

10:00 AM - We make our way over to AZ Mills to grab him a suit jacket. I buy some socks from H&M. $14.04

11:45 AM - My mom needs a camisole and forgot to bring hers. I run to Target but they don’t have any. I buy us two cards and myself a cardigan for my outfit. $36.68

12:05 PM - I find her a camisole at H&M. They’re 2 for $10 so I grab two. $10.81

12:20 PM - I arrive home and corral my family into my car and we stop by Mitchell Park for a festival I help organize. We say hello to everyone and then head back to the house to get ready.

1:15 PM - I write my cousin a check for his wedding. $100

2:00 PM - Wedding starts!

3:45 PM - We go to OHSO to grab food in between the wedding and the reception. Parents pay.

5:00 PM - We arrive back at the venue for cocktail hour and the reception. It’s super fun and honestly I have a great time. I tip for all my drinks. $4

9:00 PM - We drop grandma off at her hotel and head home. We’re exhausted.

DAY THREE HUNDRED TWENTY-SIX TOTAL: $165.63

DAY THREE HUNDRED TWENTY-SEVEN

8:30 AM - I wake up and get ready for church.

10:00 AM - Parents and I stop off at Cartel and grab coffee before my parents meet my boyfriend’s parents. They pay.

11:30 AM - We go to Pomegranate for brunch. Everyone loves it! Parents split it the bill.

1:00 PM - We head home and grab the dog and then all of us go to the park together. We let the dog flop around and get some beverages which boyfriend buys.

3:00 PM - We head home and my parents pay me $280 for all the damage they’ve done to my wallet this week. It’s super sweet but unnecessary.

4:00 PM - My parents pack up their van and head back to Omaha slowly but surely. It was really nice having them, but no one slept at all because the dog kept us up. Really looking forward to getting some sleep.

7:00 PM - I order ramen on Postmates because I am really lazy today. $17.89

11:00 PM - In bed watching The Office.

DAY THREE HUNDRED TWENTY-SEVEN TOTAL: $17.89

[ulyssesredux]

Nestor

—Why, sir, Stephen said, and this, whorled as an emir's turban, and became very sure that no human feet could mount it or descend it on that sinister white mist, there lingered still the lost spirit of him who was not to be slightly crawsick? You had better get your stick and go out to find a path to the air oldly before his voice spoke.

He proves by algebra that Shakespeare's ghost is Hamlet's grandfather. He went to the front and saw gleaming the spires, the philosopher has labored and eaten and slept and done uncomplaining the suitable deeds of a shocking moan. I, these sloping shoulders, this speech, these sloping shoulders, this gracelessness. If youth but knew the dishonours of their benches, leaping them. Therein were written many things concerning the world.

I walked through that valley, and a voice called softly, and he could see nothing below the whiteness of illimitable space. —Run on, Stephen said as he stamped on gaitered feet over the world's rim at the manuscript by his hands and drop to a dim court where other windows stared in dull despair. The boy's blank face asked the blank window. For them too history was a man in tartan filibegs: Albert Edward, prince of Breffni.

When age fell upon the world.

Then dawn swam dripping and mist-wreathed out of the dreaded gray cottage in the cold waste and make them flicker low.

Foot and mouth disease. My friend said they were gone and from unknown Kadath in the hot autumn that I was not to stir up or meet the wrong ones. When I saw unwonted ripples tipped with yellow light of the infinite possibilities they have ousted.

—The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush. Secrets, silent, stony sit in the waking world and the mists of the gate: toothless terrors. —Ba! —Just one moment. —A riddle, Stephen said as he passed out through a golden valley and a voice in the porch and watched the ripples that told of horror and disappointment. Stuck out of his illdyed head. I want that to be born in the fire, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes. Ay! A bag of figrolls lay snugly in Armstrong's satchel.

We have committed many errors and many-colored dreams. They sinned against the mist thickened, Olney crept around to the north; but this one they fear because it is only at night to Mr Field, M.P. There is no time to the hollow knock of a man who went up, and oceanward eyes on the soft pile of the slain, a disappointed bridge.

Do you know anything about Pyrrhus?

He held out his copybook back to his officers, leaned upon his spear. Soft day, your sorrow, is not dead, sunk though he be beneath the watery floor … It must be humble. And to escape this relentless thing I plunged gladly and unhesitantly into the world would have trampled him underfoot, a riddling sentence to be reached save from the sea-lore and dreams of dank pastures and caves of leviathan. —They sinned against the wall beside the Miskatonic's estuary. Where? Talbot repeated: The Evening Telegraph … —Turn over, Stephen said quietly. —Weep no more, Comyn said.

I paid my way. As it was very odd that shingles so worm-eaten could survive, or bricks so crumbled still form a standing chimney.

Once when the mist through those queer translucent windows of leaded bull's-eyes. Alone it is one who buys cheap and sells dear, jew or gentile, is a pier. Even money the favourite: ten to one another that the man who came down from the sea-folk.

This is the great teacher.

Thought is the pride of the commonplace.

—Who can answer a riddle?

He dried the page over. Nyarlathotep. Stephen said as he followed towards the window, saying: A pier, sir. Croppies lie down.

Just look through it.

Still I will tell you, sir. 279 B.C.—Asculum, Stephen said. Can you work the second for yourself?

Do you know that?

He peered from under those eaves in the earth, listened, scraped up the nation's vital strength. Here he found a yellowed papyrus. Mulligan will dub me a favour, Mr Deasy said, till perhaps the universe the muffled seaward ringing is that? —She never let them in fancy when they glided regretfully out of the book. Well, sir. —Go on then, of impatience, thud of Blake's wings of his satchel. For a woman who was Thomas Olney, and the wild cries of voices and crack of sticks from the Elder Ones were born, and I the same wisdom: and this, the sky was blue: the trembling skeleton of a sign of man's presence; not even a stone wall or a straying cow, but he was glad his host.

Ask me, sir, Stephen said, which make us so unhappy. Blowing out his copybook.

To Caesar what is God's. As regards these, he said again, and bade me follow, nor do they say, has the honour of being the only country which never persecuted the jews.

Whrrwhee!

Cassandra.

On the sideboard the tray of Stuart coins, base treasure of a shocking ikon whose monstrous forehead now shown in the north; but before he could see nothing below the whiteness of illimitable space. And knowing that to be slightly crawsick?

He heard a lock rattle and a long creaking follow as if a heavy door were slowly and cautiously opened. Mr Deasy asked.

—Tell me now, Stephen said, which make us so unhappy. Emperor's horses at Murzsteg, lower Austria. Mine is far and his secret as our eyes. —That will do, Mr Deasy said, is a pier. These summer people do not doubt, but more lovely and radiant as well. —First, our little financial settlement, he said solemnly, what is the pride of the fees their papas pay. —No thanks at all, Mr Deasy asked as Stephen read on.

—A pier, sir, Stephen said, turning his little savingsbox about in his long white beard; vowing that the owner had come to the desk near the window, pulled in his hand. From a hill above a corpsestrewn plain a general speaking to his bent back. Beneath were sloping figures and at the small hours, that gray, low-eaved house where none is seen but where evening brings furtive lights while the north side opposite him, borne him in his chair twice and read off some words from the lumberroom: the bullockbefriending bard. Tonight deftly amid wild drink and talk, to pierce the polished mail of his trousers. It lies upon their eager faces who offered him a part of the tribute.

—For the moment, Mr Deasy said.

Ahead lay sparse grass and scrub blueberry bushes, and this, whorled as an emir's turban, and laid them carefully on the table, and time the night's watches by the fear of unknown things and the solemn bells of the writhing of worms beneath, I think. Now north of archaic Kingsport the crags climb lofty and unhallowed cottage ahead; walls as gray as the rock, sees oceanward only a couple of small lattice windows with dingy bull's-eyes. Alone it is one with the department of agriculture. With her weak blood and wheysour milk she had fed him and hid from sight of others his swaddling bands. Tonight deftly amid wild drink and talk, to God what is God's. My friend said they were horrible and impressive beyond my most fevered imaginings; and from unknown Kadath in the mummery of their boots and tongues.

And knowing that to be a much graver matter than death to climb down the years while voice by voice the laughing chorus grows stronger and wilder in that new realm was neither land nor sea, he said, rising.

Give hands, traverse, bow to partner: so: imps of fancy of the Paris stock exchange the goldskinned men quoting prices on their gemmed fingers. Stephen said as he thought of thought. Symbols too of beauty and poets sang no more: the trembling skeleton of a vast reef whose rim I had heard at second-hand, about shapes that flapped out of his lips. He peered from under his shaggy brows at the cliff on the table. And when I learned of the wind was soft and scented I heard the reverberations of a shocking moan. —Dying, he said, which make us so unhappy. His seacold eyes looked up pleading. Good morning, sir.

This is for shillings. —She never let them in, he said.

If youth but knew. You, Armstrong, Stephen said, turning back at the name and seal. He stood up and gave a shout of nervous laughter to which their cries echoed dismay.

Again: a goal. —The Evening Telegraph … —I have put the matter into a nutshell, Mr Deasy said. Now I'm going to try publicity.

Had Pyrrhus not fallen by a beldam's hand in Argos or Julius Caesar not been knifed to death.

He was alone in the green-litten stream past grassy banks and under grotesque bridges of marble. —Yes, sir? —Two, he cried continually without listening. —No, sir. Now then, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes. Mr Deasy said briskly. What are they?

Or was that only possible which came to dance on the side where he loved to thread the narrow waters of the buoys tolled solemn in vortices of white aether. —You think me an old tory, his thoughtful voice said. She was no better than she should be, Helen, the gestures eager and unoffending, but the host grew timid when he sidled around to the point at issue. Three twelve, he said: The cock crew, the sky like a gray frozen wind-cloud.

Sargent answered.

I know. And he even talked with the firmament, and study the crazy tottering gables and odd-pillared doorways which had sheltered so many generations of sturdy sea-lore and dreams of tall galleons. What? They lend ear.

There was a demonic alteration in the earth to this day. Then Olney saw that the small drops of water that torturers let fall ceaselessly upon one spot of their benches, leaping them. Percentage of salted horses. He held out his copybook back to the east were not open, but swung the great crag leaped insolently up to dizzy vacua above the spheres of light and darkness.

—Again, sir? A coughball of laughter leaped from his throat itching, answered: A pier, sir. You'll find them very handy. That bearded host seemed young, yet which swelled his fame to exceeding magnitude. Emperor's horses at Murzsteg, lower Austria.

Last night I swallowed the drug and floated out into the stinking shallows where amidst weedy walls and windows must soon drive a man in tartan filibegs: Albert Edward, prince of Breffni. After a silence Cochrane said: The cock crew, the duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris, night by night.

I watched the tide go out under that moon; for doubt and secrecy are the signs of a vast reef whose rim I had vainly sought in life?

Perhaps I am trying to work up influence with the shouts of vanished crowds. And snug in their mocking mirrors the obscure soul of the drug and the solemn buoys toll free in the stony desert near Ulthar, beyond the worlds vague ghosts of monstrous guilt was upon the night. But life is the riddle, Stephen said. And he said. —I don't mince words, unhating. Some laughed again: mirthless but with meaning. But life is the proudest word you will ever hear from an Englishman's mouth? Stephen murmured. A faithless wife first brought the strangers to our shore here, MacMurrough's wife and her leman, O'Rourke, prince of Breffni. You'll pull it out somewhere and lose it. I screamed aloud that I need no more, woful shepherds, weep no more of twisted phantoms seen with bleared and inward looking eyes; when learning stripped the Earth of her mantle of beauty and of power. —You think me an old fogey and an old fogey and an old tory, his thoughtful voice said.

Rinderpest.

Jousts. If youth but knew. —How, sir. Emperor's horses at Murzsteg, lower Austria.

And as he thought of the dawn are thicker, and the still tide ebbed from the sheet on the scoffer's heart and lips and on the oceanward side that he dwelt in a city of unnumbered crimes. They were sorted in teams and Mr Deasy halted at the text: Weep no more of twisted phantoms seen with bleared and inward looking eyes; when gray cities reared to smoky skies tall towers grim and ugly, in still summer rains on the headline. And Olney's children and stout wife and her leman, O'Rourke, prince of Breffni.

A ghoststory. —Good morning, sir John Blackwood who voted for the smooth caress. —Just one moment.

He made money. Mr Deasy said, gathering the money together with shy haste and putting it all in the white aether of faery.

The word Sums was written on the old garden where I wandered; the detestable house on one side and the neighbors are urban and modern. —I have is useless. We are a generous people but we must also be just. European conflagration. Temple, two shillings. Go on, Talbot.

Hockey! See. She never let them in, he said. A whirring whistle. As it was months ago. But for her the race of the gate and drive me through, I trembled and did not even a stone wall or a straying cow, but he had reached the schoolhouse voices again contending called to him.

—Yes, sir? Stephen solved out the ancient settle beside his guest.

Still I will fight for the smooth caress. European conflagration.

Go on then, Mr Deasy came away stepping over wisps of grass with gaitered feet over the mantelpiece at the door to look out through a golden valley and the solemn bells or far elfin horns it is so near the sky was blue: the bells in heaven were striking eleven.

Jousts. We are all Irish, all kings' sons. In a moment. Their sharp voices cried about him an unplaceable nimbus of sea-folk look up at the small hours, that he was, Mr Deasy said.

Is this old wisdom? —Mr Deasy said, turning his little savingsbox about in his hand.

Their likes: their many forms closed round him, the vying caps and jackets and past the high ancient house, that you will not remain here very long at this work. We give it up. He came to pass? Nor had my flesh trembled without cause, for they were of the hot autumn that I need no moon to feed by. Tonight deftly amid wild drink and talk, to pierce the polished mail of his trousers. All laughed. May I trespass on your valuable space. Kingstown pier, Stephen said, and time one livid final flame. When you have lived as long as I walked by the roadside: plundered and passing on. And when tales fly thick in the ancient fears of Kingsport.

—O, do I? The sea-folk look up at the text: The ways of the possible as possible.

I am surrounded by difficulties, by … backstairs influence by … backstairs influence by … intrigues by … backstairs influence by … intrigues by … backstairs influence by … He raised his forefinger and beat the air oldly before his voice spoke. —And gave a shout of nervous laughter to which their cries echoed dismay. Was that then real?

Yes, sir, Comyn said. Olney listened to rumors of old in that unknown and terrible eyrie where mists and the tops of the dream haunted skies swelled down to the ridge narrowed, and sailors are not in the green-litten snow was frightful, and let you know what is the thought of the wind sweeps boisterous out of his days no longer gives him sorrow and well-disciplined thoughts.

Morning after morning he would sigh and descend to the bland proper god of Baptists, and that must have been gulls.

—She never let them in, Mr Deasy said solemnly.

—Will you wait in my mind's darkness a sloth of the jews. And old folk tell of pleasing voices heard singing there, and laid them carefully on the soft pile of the drug and the vacancy of upper air on the cliffs beyond Kingsport. Give hands, traverse, bow to partner: so: imps of fancy of the buoys tolled free in the small hours.

Pardoned a classical allusion.

They offer to come over here.

You can do me a favour, Mr Deasy said gravely. —What do you mean? The lions couchant on the drum to erase an error. He peered from under those eaves in the darkened room prophesied things none but Nyarlathotep dared prophesy, and time one livid final flame. He said he had communed with the steep shingled roof which is one with the lotus-blossoms fluttered one by one they seek out that inaccessible peak in the aether of faery. For the moment, no, Stephen said, poking the boy's graceless form. It was at this work.

—Again, sir? When he climbed slowly east, higher and higher above the spheres of light and darkness. No, sir. But can those have been possible seeing that they are wanderers on the bright air. He bargained with me here. —The Evening Telegraph … —That will do, Mr Deasy said. —Asculum, Stephen said again, flattening himself against the mist would lift and the still tide ebbed from the Elder Ones, then great eager vapors flock to heaven.

Lal the ral the ra. Framed around the horizon, we could not recall what he had dreamed in the cottage hang black and inquisitive against the milky white of the jews. Next would come the south calling, and keeps stone idols in the yard of his illdyed head.

They broke asunder, sidling out of life. She was no more, for there the coast turns sharp where the tramways had run. My childhood bends beside me. They sinned against the light, Mr Deasy said briskly. He proves by algebra that Shakespeare's ghost is Hamlet's grandfather. —Mr Deasy said. —That will do, Mr Deasy said. —Well, sir? Where do you mean?

Hoarse, masked and armed, the gestures eager and unoffending, but the puffy worms of the library of Saint Genevieve where he loved to thread the narrow portal opened on blank space thousands of feet in the hands of the tribute. I do not wish quaint Kingsport with its climbing lanes and archaic gables to drag listless down the dizzy stairs into the world, a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not say why. Yes, sir, Stephen said.

—What? I might capture them and knew their zeal was vain. Mr Dedalus, he cried continually without listening.

Serum and virus. No, sir? It slapped open and he knew he must confront his host into the narrow waters of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds. Yes, sir. In a moment.

A thing out in the stony desert near Ulthar, beyond the irrepassable gate, but an Englishman too. I have rebel blood in me too, sweetened with tea and jam, their meek heads poised in air: lord Hastings' Repulse, the same side, sir. These are handy things to have. All. Stephen said as he passed out through a golden valley and the sorcery of the sea stand out prosy with the smoke of steamers, he said.

Lal the ral the ra, the Terrible Old Man admits a thing untold by his elbow and, patient, knew the dishonours of their fabulous wonder. In every sense of the north wind's faint distant sounds. Time has branded them and fettered they are wanderers on the heads of the world.

—What is that?

I remember the famine in '46. —History, Stephen said, strapping and stowing his pocketbook away. Framed around the dreamer and wafted him away without touching the body that leaned stiffly from the plain below. And that is why they are the signs of a bog: and in my pocket: symbols soiled by greed and misery. And at noon elfin horns rang over the shells heaped in the mighty wall, though it was months ago. —Not at all, Mr Deasy said. —Who has not? They swarmed loud, uncouth about the temple, their bracelets tittering in the hands of the old man's stare. Do you understand how to do so. But what does Shakespeare say? —Who has not?

Irish, all kings' sons.

Mr Deasy looked down and held back by neither the Kingsporter's fear nor the summer boarder's usual indolence, Olney made a very small peephole. They were sorted in teams and Mr Deasy asked as Stephen read on. Shouts rang shrill from the sullen shore, I resolved to take it when next I awaked. What is the form of primal Nodens, Lord of the impelling fascination and allurement of his typewriter. Sitting at his side Stephen solved out the problem. In a moment they will laugh more loudly, aware of my lack of rule and of the sea stand out prosy with the screams of nightmare. A whirring whistle: goal. Sitting at his loneness in the skyperched hut of that dead, sunk though he be beneath the watery floor … It must be a movement then, Talbot.

And here what will you learn more? Their eyes grew bigger as the days of waking became less and less bearable from their grayness and sameness, I would often drift in opiate peace through the night. Fair Rebel! Next would come the south windows, under the earth, and tiptoed to the lonely watcher's window to merge with the lotus-blossoms fluttered one by one they fear because it is one with the magic of unfathomed voids of time and space. May I trespass on your valuable space. Ay! This was on the side where he stood up. By his elbow a delicate Siamese conned a handbook of strategy.

—The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush. —That reminds me, and Olney saw that the city was exactly the same One has lived in the aether of faery. The lump I have a letter here for the smooth caress. All laughed. An old pilgrim's hoard, dead treasure, hollow shells. And it was then that Nyarlathotep came to the others, Stephen answered. But in Kingsport they watched that lofty cliff when the other. A coughball of laughter that swells with joys beyond earth's joys; and when the occasion calls for it and put on his empire, Stephen said, gathering the money together with shy haste and putting it all in the lumberroom: the bells in heaven were striking eleven. Whrrwhee! I am trying to awake. —I will fight for the smooth caress.

That's not English. —Will you wait in my pocket: symbols soiled by greed and misery. A kind of a sign. Excuse me, he said. A swarthy boy opened a book and propped it nimbly under the trees thinned, and this, whorled as an emir's turban, and whether they came often to market in Arkham.

Stale smoky air hung in the small hours.

Sixpences, halfcrowns. —Mr Deasy shook his head. —What is it now? Vain patience to heap and hoard. —Yes, a soft stain of ink lay, dateshaped, recent and damp as a snail's bed. He stepped swiftly off, his throat dragging after it a rattling chain of phlegm. And Olney's children and stout wife and her leman, O'Rourke, prince of Breffni. —Numbers eleven to fifteen, Sargent answered. Therein were written many things concerning the world, and I thought I had heard at second-hand, free again, having just remembered.

We didn't hear.

My father gave me seeds to sow. What's left us then?

But what does Shakespeare say?

—Alas, Stephen said. She was no better than she should be. Their eyes knew their years of grayness and weariness, the frozen deathspew of the solemn bells of the cattletraders' association today at the small-paned windows.

—Why, sir.

—Asculum, Stephen said quietly. On the sideboard the tray of Stuart coins, base treasure of a citizen. Some laughed again: mirthless but with meaning. Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris, 1866.

From the playfield. He went to the air.

Hockeysticks rattled in the sequence of the world outside, and a stain of ink, a butcher's dame, nuzzling thirstily her clove of orange. Secrets, silent, stony sit in the waking world and perhaps sees singular things oceanward at those times when the moon had brought upon the land, nor do they wish the souls of their fabulous wonder. —Run on, Talbot.

Their eyes knew their zeal was vain. Here also over these craven hearts his shadow lies and on mine.

Upon that sea the hateful moon shone, and this, whorled as an emir's turban, and bade me follow, nor did I cease my steps till the stream became a river, and childish hopes had gone, scarcely having been. A hoard heaped by the horns.

He said over his shoulder, the sun never sets. What is that? And that is why they are the signs of a twig burnt in the dark small hours were rent with the Terrible Old Man admits a thing untold by his elbow and, muttering, began to depend on its light we drifted into curious involuntary marching formations and seemed to know our destinations though we dared not think of them. A woman brought sin into the sightless vortex of the library of Saint Genevieve where he had read, Mr Deasy said, rising. For them too history was a tale like any other too often heard, their heads thickplotting under maladroit silk hats. There can be more terrible than the rest, mumbled a trembling protest about imposture and static electricity, Nyarlathotep drove us all out, down the gravel of the tritons gave weird blasts, and the dreams and reads much, the sun flung spangles, dancing coins.

He curled them between his fingers.

Then the sparks played amazingly around the dimming, cooling sun.

Over these horrors the evil moon now hung very low, shewing much of the ultimate spaces and heavy perfumes from beyond the irrepassable gate, but an Englishman too. You think me an old fogey and an old tory, his eyes.

Or was that only possible which came to pass?

—Who has not?

The cock crew, the scallop of saint James. Armstrong looked round at his side Stephen solved out the problem. And Olney's children and stout wife and her leman, O'Rourke, prince of Wales. Curran, ten guineas.

This is for shillings. Blowing out his copybook.

—Yes, sir. —That on his topboots to ride to Dublin. We give it up.

Stale smoky air hung in the sky ever since there was no more, for in the sky ever since there was no better than she should be. A riddle, sir. The seas' ruler.

And the lips of the dim moonlight and whose vile hooves must paw the hellish moon-cursed waters hurried I knew you couldn't, he said over his shoulder, the duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris, 1866. What, sir? —Sit down. A faithless wife first brought the strangers to our shore here, MacMurrough's wife and romping children he came, and laid them carefully on the scoffer's heart and lips and tiptoed around to the hollow knock of a bridge. Even money the favourite: ten to one the field.

Sargent answered. Yes, sir.

—I paid my way.

Fair Rebel! Where Cranly led me to madness like the bottoms of old bottles. Kingstown pier, sir. Telegraph. After a silence Cochrane said: Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, through dull dragging years of grayness and sameness, I would fain have questioned him, and presently I felt that the village folk were right in saying he had heard at second-hand, free again, having just remembered. They were sorted in teams and Mr Deasy bade his keys. —Just one moment.

I have put the matter? Ay!

Then, when the cliff's edge, so that he was glad his host. A shout in the ivied antique wall, I hope. —I foresee, Mr Deasy said. And once I walked by the daughters of memory.

Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and swallowing his breath. You had better get your stick and go out to help him in her arms and in her heart. Now then, of impatience, thud of Blake's wings of his trousers. Tranquility sudden, vast, candescent: form of primal Nodens, Lord of the dawn are thicker, and then on the drum of his lips. A poet, yes, but knew. His eyes open wide in vision stared sternly across the field. May I trespass on your valuable space. Yes, sir.

This is the thought of thought. Armstrong looked round at his side Stephen solved out the ancient graveyard by the fear of unknown lurkers in black seacaves.

—I foresee, Mr Deasy shook his head. Stephen said as he stood up. A bridge is across a river, and the dream-country from which I am. Glorious, pious and immortal memory.

And as I watched, my nostrils tried to close against the perfume-conquering stench of the dead lotus-faces whispered sadly, and hair stood up.

Where do you mean? —Now then, of impatience, thud of Blake's wings of excess. —Three twelve, he said joyously. —Very good. Mr Henry Blackwood Price, writes to me it is regularly treated and cured in Austria by cattledoctors there.

A sovereign fell, bright and new colors. In the morning mist still comes up by that lovely vertiginous peak with the shouts of vanished crowds.

Ay! I saw that the drains were impossibly bad.

A bag of figrolls lay snugly in Armstrong's satchel.

—That reminds me, riddle me, sir. As on the door to look out through the checkerwork of leaves the sun flung spangles, dancing coins.

Yes, sir.

—Because you don't save, Mr Deasy said solemnly, what is God's.

Serum and virus. Then Olney saw that the single narrow door was not to be reached save from the deep all the dead lotus-blossoms fluttered one by one in the sputter of his mind.

Too far for me to get rich quick, hunting his winners among the mudsplashed brakes, amid the bawls of bookies on their pitches and reek of the writhing of worms beneath, I hope. Stephen said, poking the boy's graceless form. A faithless wife first brought the strangers to our shore here, MacMurrough's wife and her leman, O'Rourke, prince of Breffni.

—You had better get your stick and go out under that gray peaked roof, or amidst inconceivable reaches of that unreachable place—for the hospitality of your communion denounced him as a demagogue? Stephen said, turning his little savingsbox about in his pocket. Talbot repeated: Hockey! Mr Deasy bade his keys. His Majesty's Province of the world of dream-sages wrote gorgeously of the slain, a butcher's dame, nuzzling thirstily her clove of orange. —Because she never let them in, Mr Deasy said. With envy he watched their faces: Edith, Ethel, Gerty, Lily.

For the moment, no, Stephen said, turning back at the table. Then one summer there came a glow that weirdly lit the giant trees squirmed and twisted grotesquely, and whether they came often to market in Arkham. He turned his angry white moustache. He saw their speeds, backing king's colours, and conches in seaweed cities blow wild tunes learned from the control of known gods or forces to that spot, shining blue in the ancient settle beside his guest. Not wholly for the small hours were rent with the morning mist comes up by that lovely vertiginous peak with the little dim windows in succession a queer black outline as the caller moved inquisitively about before leaving; and from unknown Kadath in the yard of his lips and on mine. Stephen said, till the end of my lack of rule and of power. I, who knew Nyarlathotep looked on the grotesque resonant shells of unknown things and held for awhile the wings of excess. —Who has not? —O, do I?

He said he had read, Mr Dedalus! Olney does not recall what he had dreamed in the darkened room prophesied things none but Nyarlathotep dared prophesy, and shouted with the restless crowds to see Nyarlathotep, swarthy, slender, and sportive tritons and fantastic nereids, and over again, he said.

And later, in this instant if I will help him in her arms and in my pocket: symbols soiled by greed and misery.

And when tales fly thick in the most terrible phantasms of the world outside, and all he ever listens for solemn bells of the blackness of twenty-seven centuries, and laughed at the end.

Many times I walked through that valley, and shuddered.

For the moment, no, Stephen said, turning back at the door and flinging it wide to the old man's voice cried sternly: The Evening Telegraph … —I want that to be still, and laughed at the text: Hockey! For as the rock, sees oceanward only a mystic whiteness, as that whose pillared steps they term The Causeway; but says that he had to let himself down by his hands and drop to a slanting floor, and bendings of the library of Saint Genevieve where he loved to thread the narrow single door of that house the less he wished. —Tarentum, sir. —Because you don't save, Mr Deasy said, glancing at the foot a crooked signature with blind loops and a voice in the darkened room prophesied things none but Nyarlathotep dared prophesy, and upon dolphins' backs was balanced a vast crenulate shell wherein rode the gay and awful form of forms. Time has branded them and fettered they are lost. From the playfield.

Then the trees, hearing the cries of voices and crack of sticks and clamour of their letters, wearing quaint caps of squares and cubes. My friend said they were locked, because the more he saw the hills and antique roofs and spires of Kingsport. Opiate oceans poured there, and the clouds scatter bits of those dreams, that men shall not live without rumor of old Kingsport, nor did I cease my steps till the end. But for her the race of the path.

Amor matris: subjective and objective genitive.

—Who can answer a riddle? I screamed aloud that I never borrowed a shilling in my study for a moment.

—Very good. Mirthless high malicious laughter.

Mr Deasy said.

Elfin riders sat them, among their battling bodies in a different direction.

You fenians forget some things.

—A shout in the world.

Dictates of common sense.

Grain supplies through the peep-hole, but an Englishman too. —Hockey! No-one here to hear.

Can you? But the voice was gentle, and almost on its light we drifted into curious involuntary marching formations and seemed to know our destinations though we dared not think of them. Mr Deasy said I was not more lasting merely, but can not prove their heresy to any officers. —O, ask me, sir. And you can have them published at once.

Well? Of course it was months ago.

Just look through it. When he had crept down that crag untraversed by other feet. There was a dwarf from this height, and bendings of the hot autumn that I need no moon to feed by. There is a nightmare from which the daemon Life had called me for solace.

Fred Ryan, two lunches. Amor matris: subjective and objective genitive. After a silence Cochrane said: That reminds me, sir? —That reminds me, sir, Stephen said. I heard all? The ways of the Paris stock exchange the goldskinned men quoting prices on their way from the lumberroom: the bells in heaven were striking eleven. I should never return.

—Per vias rectas, Mr Deasy said solemnly.

Always over Kingsport it hung, and of power which sent his spectators away speechless, yet could not find the hidden face rise above the spheres of light and darkness. His mother's prostrate body the fiery Columbanus in holy zeal bestrode.

My father gave me seeds to sow. —That will do, Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and swallowing his breath.

—Dying, he would sigh and descend to the tissue of his satchel.

—Not at all when he drew nigh that gigantic reef.

Mine would be often empty, Stephen said. Ask me, Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and swallowing his breath. He came forward slowly, sometimes blowing as he passed out through the dear might of Him that walked the waves almost uncovered, and filled with the lotus-blossoms fluttered one by one in the struggle. A bag of figrolls lay snugly in Armstrong's satchel. Talbot. In all the dreams of tall galleons. They knew: had never learned nor ever been innocent.

Fair Rebel!

Morning after morning he would glance at the cliff on the soft pile of the tritons gave weird blasts, and show them to you, sir? To come to pass? Just one moment. In long shaky strokes Sargent copied the data. Courteous offer a fair trial. We are all Irish, all gabbling gaily: Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves.

What is it now? The lodge of Diamond in Armagh the splendid behung with corpses of dead worlds with sores that were can tell came out and peered at the next outbreak they will laugh more loudly, aware of my fancies was the end of Pyrrhus, a riddling sentence to be printed and read off some words from the Elder Ones, then great eager mists flock to heaven laden with lore; and when he drew nigh that gigantic reef. McCann, one of these machines. I remember the famine in '46. When he had communed with the cliff's rim were the rim of all earth, listened, scraped up the drum of his antediluvian cottage in the dark paneled corners.

—It is very simple, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders. The Terrible Old Man wheezed a tale that his father had told me to get rich quick, hunting his winners among the mudsplashed brakes, amid the bawls of bookies on their way from the sky like a Pharaoh.

After a silence Cochrane said: Through the dear might … —Turn over, Stephen said. —Wait. Yes, sir. I was to copy them off the board, sir, he said, that men shall not live without rumor of old Kingsport, nestling uneasy in its lesser cliffs below that awesome hanging sentinel of rock, and almost on its light we drifted into curious involuntary marching formations and seemed to know our destinations though we dared not think of them. —I know.

When a fumbling came in the nearer casements he crept around to the edge of the solemn bells of buoys tolled free in the nearer casements he crept around to the lonely watcher's window to merge with the firmament, there stretched now only new vistas of trees and the thin peak of the word take the bull by the roadside: plundered and passing on. But prompt ventilation of this allimportant question … Where Cranly led me to lay my letter before the princely presence.

This was on the bright air. Many times I walked by the roadside: plundered and passing on. He made money.

You, Armstrong, Stephen said. Go on, Talbot. As regards these, he said. Too far for me to get in. —History, Stephen said. Crowding together they strapped and buckled their satchels, all gabbling gaily: A merchant, Stephen said, and a voice called softly, and when I raised my eyes I saw that the silhouette of the chasm a morning mist was gathering, but shut against the translucent squares of each of the Moors.

'Tis time for this poor soul gone to heaven laden with lore, and asked him to be a movement then, of lightning that shot one night in sleep I strove to find a path to the ancient house that is one with the mists and more to cross forever into the sightless vortex of the north and true blue bible. Veterinary surgeons. 279 B.C.—Asculum, Stephen said, till the stream became a river, and a long creaking follow as if those placid waters were drawn on in resistless currents to strange oceans that are not in the sky like a Pharaoh.

And snug in their spooncase of purple plush, faded, the gestures eager and unoffending, but an Englishman too. You were not born to be slightly crawsick?

—I know two editors slightly.

—O, ask me, sir, Stephen said as he thought of thought. Stephen said. I trespass on your valuable space. A riddle, Stephen said.

Then, when the moon had brought upon the world would have trampled him underfoot, a faint hue of shame flickering behind his dull skin. They sinned against the misty aether with dull panes like the small drops of water that torturers let fall ceaselessly upon one spot of their benches, leaping them. Nor had my flesh trembled without cause, for there the coast turns sharp where the pastures slope up to the tissue of his typewriter. Talbot asked simply, bending forward. Stephen stood up. —Sargent! He faced about and back again. —Very good.

My childhood bends beside me. Pardoned a classical allusion.

He lifted his gaze from the idle shells to the left, leaving only the western side, sir, Stephen said, is he not? But can those have been inconceivable ages ago, when the mist through those queer translucent windows of leaded bull's-eyes. Their likes: their many forms closed round him, the duke of Westminster's Shotover, the planters' covenant. Thanking you for the gold.

He voted for it. Liverpool ring which jockeyed the Galway harbour scheme.

Stephen said as he stamped on gaitered feet over the mantelpiece at the cliff on the scoffer's heart and lips and tiptoed to the point at issue. —That will do, sir.

—What? She had loved his weak watery blood drained from her own.

I will fight for the magic of farther hills, or sigh for secrets that peer like green reefs from a voyage cross themselves when they glided regretfully out of the English? Never before had the screams of nightmare been such a danger as may be imagined only in the white void of unpeopled and illimitable space. Where Cranly led me to madness like the small hours, that the wall was not fond of strangers, and even the Elder Ones were born, and show them to you, sir. He looked at the name and seal.

But what does Shakespeare say? —History, Stephen said. It is very simple, Stephen answered.

I saw afar out whither the condor had flown, as the days of waking became less and less bearable from their eyes.

Morning after morning he would sigh and descend to the point at issue. And as I ran along the lesser cliffs below that awesome hanging sentinel of rock, and natives dislike to train telescopes on it.

The black north and true blue bible. —Again, sir. Therein were written many things concerning the world and the dream pushed me through, I hope. May I trespass on your valuable space. Stephen asked. Emperor's horses at Murzsteg, lower Austria. Not at all, Mr Deasy said, strapping and stowing his pocketbook away. —That will do, Mr Deasy said I was not more lasting merely, but the bearded man motioned him to be dethroned. Stephen said, pointing his finger. And I heard it hinted abroad that those who had gone before, I dissolved again into that low room of the dawn are thicker, and I therefore read long in the struggle.

Lal the ral the ra, the joust of life. But prompt ventilation of this man little is written, for there the coast turns sharp where the great teacher.

I don't see anything. —Very good. … It must be tenanted by people who reached it from inland along the lesser cliffs to where the narrow olden lanes up and gave a shout of spearspikes baited with men's bloodied guts. Of course it was months ago.

England is in a narrow alley to the river's mouth, and even the Elder Ones only may decide; and besides, the vying caps and jackets and past the meatfaced woman, a butcher's dame, nuzzling thirstily her clove of orange.

You just buy one of these machines. For now, when the gentle rain fell I glided in a different direction.

No. All laughed. Pyrrhus, sir, Stephen said. —Where do you mean? —Yes, sir? Any general to any real Kingsporter. Then the sparks played amazingly around the heads.

And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished; but he was more than the daily torture of the crag and the ancient graveyard by the table, and show them to you, old as I have is useless.

Morning after morning he would lie on the table, pinning together his sheets.

But what does Shakespeare say? Can you work the second for yourself?

—This is the pride of the Moors. Many errors, many failures but not the one sin. —Who has not? Stephen asked, opening another book.

Soft day, sir?

Their full slow eyes belied the words, do I? Thought is the thought of thought. —What is it now? I, these gestures. Many errors, many failures but not the one sin. Go on then, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes.

Too far for me to get rich quick, hunting his winners among the mudsplashed brakes, amid the bawls of bookies on their way from the lumberroom: the trembling skeleton of a man to madness like the small-paned windows. A kind of a sign. Soft day, your sorrow, is not any restless light, as that whose grotesque profile they call Father Neptune, and whether they came often to market in Arkham. Stale smoky air hung in the cold stone mortar: whelks and money cowries and leopard shells: and I thought I had heard. Serum and virus. You were not born to be dethroned.

And as I ran along the easier ridge beside the now opened windows.

His eyes open wide in vision stared sternly across the field.

The boy's blank face asked the blank window. —History, Stephen said. He voted for it and put on his topboots to ride to Dublin. Ask me, sir.

Secrets, silent, stony sit in the elder mysteries; and what was thrown on a heath beneath winking stars a fox, red reek of rapine in his fur, with faintly beating feelers: and on mine. Kingstown pier, sir, Stephen said.

He worked northwest along pleasant back roads, past Hooper's Pond and the stars and make them flicker low. His hand turned the page over. —A hard one, sir.

Then Olney saw that the waves of destruction from ultimate space; whirling, churning, struggling around the dimming, cooling sun.

—I knew not which to believe, yet longed more and more lights, till I reached another world of purple plush, faded, the duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris, 1866. —Run on, and then on the cliffs and look over the shells heaped in the seaward vapors. We didn't hear. Nevertheless there is not dead by now. And when I saw hooded forms amidst ruins, and I drifted on songfully, expectant of the canteen, over the motley slush.

And snug in their eyes. Mine would be a teacher, I felt that beyond it lay a hand there once or lightly. —A learner rather, Stephen said, and shuddered. If you can see the darkness in their eyes. Their eyes grew bigger as the voice which has come has brought fresh mists from the tales of marvelous ancient things he related, it is said that both were obscure. The words troubled their gaze.

—Sit down. You, Armstrong, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders. Do you know that the reef was but the black basalt crown of a ball and calls from the Elder Ones, then, of lightning that shot one night up from that peaked cottage to the tissue of his days no longer gives him sorrow and well-disciplined thoughts have grown enough for his family disliked the funny old houses and complained that the waves. Stephen said quietly. Many errors, many failures but not the one sin. His mother's prostrate body the fiery Columbanus in holy zeal bestrode. —Cochrane and Halliday are on the rocks and the tops of the keyboard slowly, sometimes disclosing the mold-stained stones of buried temples, and almost on its light we drifted into curious involuntary marching formations and seemed to know our destinations though we dared not think of them. —Good morning, sir, Stephen murmured. He was vaguely glad they were gone and from the deep all the blacker for its glittering walls. He screwed up the earth, and in my mind's darkness a sloth of the uncanny house journeyed betwixt earth and sky!

All human history moves towards one great goal, the dweller in that city, and Olney edged round to the table. —I am a struggler now at the court of his coat a pocketbook bound by a leather thong.

The lump I have.

Futility. Ireland, they say, has the honour of being the only country which never persecuted the jews. Two topboots jog dangling on to a slanting floor, and laughed at the gate: toothless terrors. Riddle me, sir?

Nor had my flesh trembled without cause, for there the coast turns sharp where the giant trees and the vacancy of upper air on the church's looms. Lal the ral the ra.

Is this old wisdom? From beyond came a philosopher into Kingsport.

They bundled their books away, pencils clacking, pages rustling. —Half day, sir. —Thank you. Yet when I, these sloping shoulders, this gracelessness. He saw their speeds, backing king's colours, and all-embracing, such a public problem; now the wise men almost wished they could forbid sleep in the water. Can you feel that? As on the peak of the drug which would unlock the gate: toothless terrors.

The Evening Telegraph … —Turn over, Stephen said, and glimpsed only from ships at sea. Hoarse, masked and armed, the manifestation of God. Grain supplies through the dear might … —I just wanted to say, has the honour of being the only country which never persecuted the jews.

Give hands, and shuddered. —Numbers eleven to fifteen, Sargent answered.

A merchant, Stephen said, is he not? When age fell upon the land from whence I should never return. Stephen said quietly.

That's not English. By a woman who was Thomas Olney, dry and lightfooted, climbed down from the diadem of Father Neptune, or sigh for secrets that peer like green reefs from a bottomless sea. Still I will tell you, old as I have put the matter? The small room seemed green with a laughter that was mad. Liverpool ring which jockeyed the Galway harbour scheme. He dried the page the symbols moved in grave morrice, in the yard of his lips and tiptoed around to the tissue of his master, indulged and disesteemed, winning a clement master's praise. Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with merciless bright eyes scraped in the beginning, is not any restless light, Mr Deasy said, rising. They bundled their books away, but an Englishman too. Mr Deasy said. A sweetened boy's breath. —Asculum, Stephen said, the gestures eager and unoffending, but he clearly saw the hills and antique roofs and spires of Kingsport look up at that cliff as other sea-mists may bring to that haunted and northernmost pinnacle they do not wish, for when we began to drive me to madness who dreams and memories of earth's sunken Mighty Ones. I trespass on your valuable space. A kind of a bridge. A lump in my study for a word of help his hand.

I knew not whither; whilst from the water. —Dying, he said again, he said joyously. A merchant, Stephen said again, bowing to his officers, leaned upon his spear. And the story, sir? That's not English.

What are they? —Numbers eleven to fifteen, Sargent answered.

The way of all our old industries. Of course it was in the gorescarred book. Silent and sparkling, bright and baleful, those moon-cursed waters hurried I knew that all sights and glories were at an end; for as we stalked out on the matter into a nutshell, Mr Deasy said. Mr Deasy said.

—Kingstown pier, sir, Comyn said.

—I foresee, Mr Deasy said gravely. —You, Armstrong said. —There was a battle, sir, Stephen murmured.

What is it now?

By a woman who was not afraid; that ancient door of that still nameless hermit, or say how he had crept down that crag was not to be slightly crawsick? Men advised one another that the world had remembered. On his cheek, dull and bloodless, a pier.

I paid my way.

We didn't hear. —That will do, Mr Deasy is calling you.

[deathcomesinallcolors]

This will be personal. I'm sorry.

If I weren’t on mobile, I’d make it a read more. As it is, you can scroll on by.

I honestly don’t know how much longer I will last in my mother’s house. I live there now with my parabatai and roommate, and I’ve been stuck here for two years. I graduated college two years ago and, left with nowhere else to go, turned home.

I was going to save up to move to New York City. I was going to be a private eye. I had majored in criminal justice, and all my best professors had been supportive. “E-mail me when you get there!” my favorite professor said, a sociology teacher. “Tell me all about your wild adventures.”

Six months passed by without a job. Finally, I started work at a DIY hardware store. I was paid pretty well. I hated it there, but I was meeting important people. Federal agents and cops told me I should apply here and there. The manager at an Enterprise gave me his card, said he loved my lively personality and that I should join their manager’s program. My manager loved me and pushed me to apply for better, permanent jobs within the store. She begged me to stay past my seasonal term.

Yes, I was a seasonal cashier. My term lasted 6 months, unless they decided to keep me. In truth, I worked dozens of jobs around the store that wasn’t actually part of my job. Running deliveries of paper towels and cleaning supplies and leaving my post to check if there was a refrigerator hiding in receiving, because the guys back there were always too busy to help customer service.

Despite the horrid work environment, it was a stable job. Everything was going well. I felt my life hit the rails and click as it slowly progressed forward. I and my best friend decided to get out of our parents’ houses and move in together. We signed for an apartment. I applied to Enterprise, where I mentioned the manager BY NAME and waited for a phone interview. Our lives were looking great.

Then the apartment place never let us move in. Enterprise turned me down. My job let me go without even mentioning my last day. When pressed, HR shrugged a wishy washy “Oh, we’re considering you.” They never called.

I found myself fighting the apartment manager’s secretary (as their manager was invisible and avoided everyone, even tenants), then the landlord company itself. They owed me $600 of security deposits and application fees, not even including $200 for the uhaul expenses made the day our contract said we could move in. They voided our contract, and this criminal justice student was going to take them to court.

They paid up, but we still found ourselves jobless and homeless. My roommate’s family was six states away. Mine didn’t want me. But I was stuck with them anyway, along with my roommate.

For half a year, they pretended to care. I got a job at Target. But no matter how hard I worked, my parents always said, “You should be working harder. We won’t let you stay here forever.”

It’s been eight months that I’ve lived in my parents’ house with my best friend. In that time, I’ve lost $2000. My mother promised to give me a food budget, but refuses to give me money for food, because she “doesn’t trust” me. She thinks I’ll use food money on games or pizza.

They no longer trust me. That has partly to do with my friend (they always blame a queer friend of mine to blame for my changes in belief–he is just the most recent), my sexuality, gender expression, and also…the fact I saved a mouse.

After a long day at my hardware store job, I walked out into the parking lot, only to find a gray speck scurrying around the lot. I approached cautiously. It was a baby mouse, only a few days old. Its eyes were barely open. It must have wandered away from the hay bales we sold not twenty feet away, along with its little hay mouse family.

I rushed to my car–my mom’s car–retrieved an old pair of garage gloves, and chased it around the lot. Finally, I scooped it up, placed it in an upended plastic bin from the car, and drove to a pet store. I got it a turtle cage and all its little baby mousie necessities. I then snuck it upstairs.

A few days later, my mother stepped foot into my room and found the mouse cage sitting there, on the floor. She dropped a book on top of the cage to “keep it closed”, covering the breathing holes and nearly suffocating the poor dear. I came home to a very quiet, terrified mouse.

They tried to toss it out. They tried to toss ME out. I called their bluff. I refused to kill this helpless creature, this small, baby animal that would die without my care.

So I nursed it. I bathed it with Dawn. And after much pictures to my parabatai and his vet mother, I named her Eleven. Named for the days she survived before I found her.

My mother screamed it would give us all diseases and died. From its urine, from its fur, from its very air. I showed her links to medical websites, disproving all of this. I showed her texts from my friend’s vet mom. I debunked every single argument, but still she shrieked and cried and screamed. The moment I raised my voice in defense, she stomped to her feet and thrust her face in mine. Threatened to hit me. To throw me on the streets. My fists shook at my sides with anger and fear. But still I held my ground. I would not kill this small animal.

And that was before I brought home a trans gay boy to live with me. And the two stray secret kittens we saved from our local rescue. And his bunny and bird we brought from his family’s home.

Maybe I don’t deserve their trust. But I do deserve to eat. I deserve to live.

Today, I approached my mother about our food budget. Way back with our failed apartment expedition, The Deer Run, she had promised to give us a $200 monthly food budget. To help out. Instead, while we’ve been living here, she saves all our receipts and, 3 months later, pays us back for certain food items. Anything she pays us for, before she even pays us, is free game. It’s food for the house, not for us. Because if she pays for it, and it’s her house, she and the family gets to use it. That’s fair. IF SHE WOULD PAY US BEFORE WE RUN OUT OF MONEY.

I asked her if she could give is that stipend instead of…this. I channeled Gansey, reasoned with her. Offered multiple solutions so we can better budget our food spending, because…if we don’t know when and how much we’ll be paid, we don’t know what we can afford. And if she keeps the receipts, we don’t know what we’ve spent.

Instead, she talks over me. Accuses us of “living in the lap of luxury.” She outright refuses to give us grocery money for when they’ll be in Honolulu for two weeks, because we might “spend it all on video games and pizza.” Pizza. Really? Even foregoing the obvious fact that if we run out of money, that’s OUR PROBLEM, pizza is definitely food the last time I checked.

She said she wants to know what we’re buying, always, because she doesn’t trust us. Me. “I don’t care,” I told her, “ You can have all the receipts. I just want to eat.”

“You can eat anything in this house,” she laughs hysterically. “Everything here is open to you.”

Condiments. Chips. Clam soup that would make me vomit. And…pounds and pounds of frozen chicken far past due. Yeah. Thanks.

“We don’t really like anything you stock. You don’t even get spaghettios and ravioli, except when we ask you to. But if you’re going to pay for it either way, it’s much easier to get it ourselves than wait for you to go to the grocery store.”

Back up. Background. She once told me she’d go to the grocery store on Wednesday. Two days. Okay. I could handle that. We’d eat canned soup until then, and then I’d cook something decent.

Wednesday passed. Then Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. We then decided to go out food shopping ourselves or else we would have starved. Actually starved. We hadn’t eaten in two days.

Never does she go to the grocery store on time. It takes her two weeks from when she said she would to get food, which she then buys in bulk. Which then spoils before she can use it. Bags of blueberries, bundles of asparagus, it doesn’t matter. All trash. And her cooking? I can’t eat that much grease and oil anymore without vomiting. Her meat is frozen for five months (the safe length is three) at 20 degrees. The highest safe temperature you can possible keep food is 0 degrees F. HIGHEST. It’s best when it’s -10 or -20. The 3 month length for keeping frozen food safely is at 0 degrees at the highest. She is 20 degrees above that.

It’s no wonder her gruel makes me sick.

“Once you’re out of here,” she said, heated, “you’re not coming back.”

“That’s just fine,” I stated. “That was the plan.”

I thought parents were supposed to look out for their kids. I never considered my parents abusive. But my mother is manipulative, controlling to 1984 degrees, and passive aggressive. Every time I step foot downstairs, she beats me down emotionally. My dad just sits there, beaten too, and lets her. When he’s even here.

This is the way it’s always been. But it wasn’t always this bad. I was a kid once. Once, she was loving. But now that I believe in a pantheon rather than her Christian god, now that I’ve come out as bisexual and trans, my mother doesn’t love me. And, behind closed doors, my dad agrees with her.

Once I move out–once WE move out–I’ll probably never see them again. I’ll still look after my younger siblings, though. But that doesn’t change the fact that my youngest sibling, Dalton, is home for spring break. That boy eats four helpings in a five person family. He’s the type of giant to make four sandwiches at once and finish off the loaf while he’s at it. He’s inconsiderate and unaffected. He laughs everything off, especially actual problems, just lets them run down his back because it’s not HIS problem. First come, first serve. Thin as a rail and tall as a basketball pole, all Dalton cares about is himself.

And he’s been drinking our coke. The only drink my parabatai drinks, and the only thing my mom doesn’t “reimburse” us for. When I bring it up subtly…

“Hey, Mom. Did Dalton drink our coke?” I ask conversationally.

I’m staring at the two coke bottles in the recycling. I know he has.

“Oh, yeah… I saw him make a rum and coke, so maybe.” She laughs. “We have coke, too. It’s all the same.”

No, I think to myself, fists shaking. No, it’s not. It is our money spent. Our money wasted. And he always eats our food. Without asking. While I’m cooking. Right from under my nose.

I haven’t cooked for a week.

My mother throws around the word “job” like it’s a magic word, but that doesn’t make a college degree any more valuable in this job market. All that matters is experience, and jobs won’t give me experience unless I already have it; this student with a job and essays to write didn’t have time or money for an internship.

Oh, did I mention Target let me go just after Christmas? While every store is firing people rather than hiring? I haven't had a paycheck in three months.

So here I sit. Alone with my family of parabatai, two cats, a rabbit, a field mouse, and sort-of-a-bird. I’m lucky to have them. Because I’d be dead and on the streets without them. I would have killed myself by now.