#he loved books he loved music he just fell into what a lot of low-income disadvantaged youth fall into but he never

[lazarize]

one of the things i think about the most when it comes to jason is the tragedy of what happened to him. i don't adhere to jason being a violent robin at all. the upbringing i visualize and base my headcanons off of is that he loved his mother even though she suffered from addiction and that made his life difficult, even though he didn't really understand that fully. stealing the wheels off of the batmobile was a means of survival for him, and his relationship with being robin and bruce were idealized because he was still just a kid. the same kid that said being robin gives me magic, the same kid that took care of his mother, the same kid that believed in what he perceived robin to be about and what batman was about, which was helping people. sure he was enthusiastic, like most robins he was a child ! but he didn't have the inclination to be violent because it just was not who he was. and his connection with bruce was like a mentor and the closest thing he had to a father that he knew, which makes it even more heartbreaking to think that when jason died, he died having full faith that bruce would save him. his mother was gone already and the only other adult that he trusted didn't make it on time. and that's where the pit comes in, and where talia and the league come in because he was hurt and angry to find out that he died on top of the trauma that was already there from how severe his injuries were and how horrifying it must have been to fall into a trap like that. and the league and talia used that anger and that hurt to forge him into a weapon and point it at criminals like the man who took his life. but jason didn't start out angry. he started out as a kid who loved being robin and then was let down by a person that he put his trust and love into. he was also heavily altered by the pit and manipulated by the league. anyways. saying jason was the problem robin that he was the violent robin is banned in this house

[justmypartner]

Still Breathing: Chapter 6

Summary: AU | When a case goes sideways, Hailey wakes up in the hospital with a revelation that leaves her evaluating her life. While she recovers at Med, she meets Jay, an aloof, yet intriguing patient that catches her by surprise. The two get to know one another as they take on the task of rediscovering what it’s like to truly live, and eventually learn their lives intersect in more ways than one.

Writer’s Note: Hi!! Oh man am I excited about this chapter. It’s sweet and flirty, but also pretty angsty, so you’re welcome and I’m sorry? I’ve hit a good spot with writing this story, so I will probably be posting more often. I still can’t promise weekly updates, but I will do my best. Thank you so much for the kind words on this story. It truly means a lot. I hope you enjoy! 

Read on AO3 or below

“Hailey?”

“Hello?”

It wasn’t until a coffee cup was being raised in front of her face that she pulled out of her absent stare. 

“Sorry,” she shook her head, blinking her eyes back into focus. “Thank you,” she said, forcing a smile as she reached out to grab the cup.

Everything had been a blur since that last dance with Jay the night before. When the song ended and she finally worked up the nerve to pull away from him, she desperately tried to swallow down her emotions with the rest of the bottle of wine. Not long after, when she couldn’t get her mind to shut off, she told him she was beat and asked him to drive her home. 

She then spent the rest of the night stuck in that moment in his arms, debating whether or not she was falling in love with him, or the moment. Then, every time she closed her eyes she saw his beautiful emerald eyes and his infectious smile and she knew the question was rhetorical.

She woke the next morning with a text from him asking to meet at what had become their coffee shop. She had the weekend off. She knew he knew that, so she had no real excuse to blow him off. So, she compartmentalized everything that happened the night before and agreed to meet him there.

“You okay? You seem off this morning,” he posited, taking a sip as he eyed her from the opposite end of the table.

There he was reading her like a book, the way only he seemed to be able to do.

“Yeah, no matter how much red wine I have, I always feel it the next morning,” she lied, taking a large swig of her coffee as he nodded, eyeing her carefully as she did so. 

“Sorry,” he offered, the slight pout on his face expressing his empathy.

“Thanks,” she replied quietly.

“So, I actually asked you to meet me because I wanted to run something by you.” 

“Okay…” she said, a resistance in her voice.

“How would you feel about sneaking into a college party with me tonight?”

“Why on Earth would we do that?” she breathed out a laugh with the question.

“I’ve never been. It’s on my list.”

“You’ve never been to a college party before?”

“Nope. I enlisted right out of high school, then my active duty filled the education requirement for the academy. Never even stepped foot on a college campus until I was a cop and needed to for a case,” he said with a shrug.

“You’re not missing much. I only went to maybe one party in my undergrad years, wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Yeah well, my brother spent all of his college years partying. Figured I ought to see what the hype was all about. I was waiting for fall to come around so I could blend in with of all the incoming students, but I only want to go if you agree to come with me.” 

“Fine, but only because it’s on your list… You’re going to have to do something about this look though,” she said, waving a hand in front of her as she gestured to his outfit.

“My look? What about you? You’re the one who dresses like a cop.”

She scoffed, taking one of the sugar packets on the table and flinging it in his direction. He flinched, a sneaky grin on his face as he laughed at his own joke.

“I can still wear my hat, right?” he asked once the laughter died down, a serious look overcoming his face.

“Yeah. I actually think I still have a U of C one you can borrow.”

“Cool.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a hat.”

“You don’t want to. The chemo has thinned my hair out so much. I just haven’t had the courage to shave it all off yet.”

A sad look overcame her face, and she quickly adjusted it when she noticed his eyes dart away timidly.

“Actually, I have been wondering since we met, are you a brunette or a red head?” she questioned, trying to divert the mood.

“Oh, that’s a surprise.”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head at his now intentional pattern of aloofness. 

“One day, I’m going to be the one to surprise you.”

He gave her a disbelieving nod as he brought his cup to his mouth, concealing the smile she knew was breaking out across his lips.

— — — — 

Later that evening when she had just finished clasping the back of her last earring, there was a knock at the door. She made her way downstairs, hurrying to answer it. 

Jay stood on her doorstep in a maroon button up, dark jeans, and his usual ball cap. In the time she’d known him, it was always t-shirts and henleys, so to see him more dressed up had her heart racing in an entirely new way. 

As distracted as she was by his appearance, it didn’t stop her from noticing the way his eyes trailed up and down her body. She wore black jeans, black leather boots, and a silky blue tank that cut a little low. It certainly wasn’t her typical attire, but she knew it was basic enough of a look to blend in with every other college girl at whatever party they wound up at.

“Wow,” he breathed out, his mouth falling slightly agape as he seemed to force his eyes to train on hers. 

“Wow yourself,” she told him, stepping aside so that he could come in. 

Once the door was closed, they stood before one another in her foyer, both still silently gawking at one another for a minute longer.

“So, what do you think? Do I look like I should be at a college party?” he asked after clearing his throat, holding his arms out as he sought her approval. 

She pursed her lips to the side as she eyed him up and down, taking a little more time to do so since he had granted her his permission. 

“I don’t know I feel like it just needs-“

Her eyes fell to the top of his shirt where the top button was secured. She stepped forward, her hands moving to unbutton it and expose a little more of his chest. Her breath became shallow with the proximity. She pulled the collar out a little more once the button was popped. Doing so exposed a gold chain she’d never noticed before, one with a small medallion attached that rested in the contour of his chest. She noticed the way his jaw tightened as her fingers brushed his skin when she picked it up to inspect it further. She rubbed a thumb over it in her hand, an inquisitive look on her face as she did so.

“Do you always wear this? I’ve never noticed it before.” 

“It’s my brother’s. He gave it to me a few weeks ago. It’s St. Luke, the patron saint of doctors and surgeons. My mom gave it to him when he first told her he wanted to be a doctor. He thinks it’ll somehow help me, I’m not so convinced, but it reminds me of her so I wear it,” he explained, only his mouth moving as she still inspected the small medallion in her hand. She smiled, releasing it as she took a step back, folding her arms over her chest. 

“You know, the more I learn about your brother, the more I think I might like him more than you,” she told him smugly.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he spat, squinting his eyes at her jokingly.

“Are you ready to go?” 

“Yeah, let me go get your hat.”

She momentarily disappeared upstairs, pulling the hat from her closet before descending the stairs once more.

“Here,” she told him. He grabbed it, holding it in his hand as he peered over at her with a look of patience. 

“Right, um let me get my things and we can head out,” she said, turning around to grant him the moment he was silently asking for. When she came back, his hat was swapped out and he wore a shy look on his face.

“Thanks,” he told her, and she knew it wasn’t just gratitude for the hat.

— — — —

Even a block down the street from the house they could hear the music and voices of a hundred or so college kids. It was enough to send shudders down Hailey’s spine, a reminder of why her first college party was also her last. 

“You sure you wanna do this? Can’t we just go get plastered at a bar and call it a night,” she offered, looking up at him in the dim light of the street. 

The look he sent her was one of both amusement and certainty, and she knew his decision on the night’s plans was unwavering. 

“Fine, but you’re my designated driver. The only way I’m getting through this is with booze running through my veins,” she sang.

“I didn’t plan on drinking anyway.”

The comment was enough to stop her in her tracks. She sent him a look, silently questioning the statement as a smirk grew on his face. 

“I mean I’m going to have a beer or something, but I’m not supposed to get hammered or anything. I’ve already got enough chemicals in my body trying to kill me.”

She nodded, and they continued their slow pace towards the house. Another reminder of what seemed like many lately that he was living on numbered days. She just wasn’t sure what that number was. Her face fell, and she focused her attention on each step she was taking, trying to pull herself out of the instant sullen mood she’d fallen into.

“Alcoholic,” he mumbled under his breath, causing her to kick at him playfully with the tease. It was just what she needed to smile again, but not quite enough to keep that reminder from plaguing her thoughts.

Once inside, they were met with the overwhelming smell of beer, musk, and weed. 

“How many of these kids do you think are underage?” he whisper yelled into her ear as they brushed through the crowd blocking the entrance. 

“All of them,” she returned, shaking her head at the thought of a time when she was one of the many carefree kids they were surrounded by. 

They found the drink table. Jay went for a can of cheap beer and Hailey poured herself a couple of shots of tequila. The smitten look and prideful smile he gave as he watched her down the first two were enough to make her do a third. It was going to be a long night with him looking the way he did, let alone with him looking at her like that. She knew she needed to be loosened up to get through it.

By her fourth shot she was in the middle of a crowd of people, her hips doing most of the work as she danced to whatever song was playing through the speakers. Jay opted out, claiming he was much more a slow dancer than a party dancer. 

She’d been alone for a while, a couple of young guys dancing alongside her before getting the cold shoulder and moving on. Even when the guys approached, it didn’t stop Jay’s eyes from keeping a determined stare. She pretended she didn’t notice, but he kept a watchful eye as she swayed to the rhythm of the absurdly loud music.

About an hour had passed. Hailey watched as Jay broke his stare, moving to play a few rounds of beer pong. She laughed when she watched him swap his beer for soda water when the other guys weren’t looking. Not that it mattered considering how good he was at the game. Hailey had kept her eye on him every so often as she danced with various groups of soured sorority girls. 

Eventually, the strands of hair by her face were stuck on with sweat, and she had lost sight of Jay for about 15 minutes. When she finally found him again, he was leaned against a wall, some young college girl standing only inches away from him, hung on his every word. 

She blamed it on the booze, but it sent a heat rising in her. She couldn’t blame the girl, he looked damn good, but she couldn’t help but envy how oblivious the girl was to what it meant to be close to him.  

She watched from the other side of the party, the low light seeming to only shine on the two of them in that large room of people. Her jaw was clenched and she thought about going over and pulling him away, being close to him in a way that had been stuck in her mind since the night before.  

She then watched as he said something that sent the girl running, and a smile came across her face. She made her way over to him, his eyes lighting up when he saw her. 

“You must really know how to sweet talk a girl,” she teased, practically having to scream over the noise. 

“You would know,” he said it in a way that caused her cheeks to become even warmer than they already were. 

“What’d you tell her?”

“She asked if I would go to her um… what’d she call it? Formal or something? She said it was some sorority thing. I told her I couldn’t because I have chemo that day. She thought I was kidding and then, well you saw the rest,” he chuckled, both of them looking over Hailey’s shoulder as the girl found some other guy to mingle with. 

“You look like you’ve had fun,” he told her, instinctively bringing a hand to brush the slightly damp waves out of her face. “Why don’t we go outside for some cool air?” he offered. She nodded, grabbing a bottle of water on her way out.

The backyard was unexpectedly empty. It was a charming little courtyard with a few tiki torches keeping it dimly lit, and a big porch swing hanging from the large tree in the corner. Hailey made her way over, plopping down on the swing less than gracefully as she opened the water, her weak attempt at sobering up a bit.

“What do you think of your first college party?” she asked him as she tried to settle herself onto the swing.

“Overrated,” he said simply.

“Told you,” she returned, swallowing down a large gulp of the water.

“I kinda like seeing you like this,” he told her, laughing at the way her short legs swung back and forth to move the swing. 

“I kinda like seeing you in general,” the words came out before she could fully process, and she squinted her eyes closed tightly, cringing at how forward her boozed up brain was making her.

He leaned against a tree across from her, crossing his arms as he snickered at her words. She laughed too, shaking her head as she took another pull from the water. He brought one of his hands up to readjust his hat as he watched her. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from him. The pop of his collar, the way his eyes were still so vibrant in the low light. He was a sight to be seen, but it seemed like every time she looked at him like that lately, it only reminded her just how short her time with him could be. 

Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through her veins, or maybe it was that thing that the shooting awoke in her, but she felt like she needed to tell him how she felt. No matter how much time they had left. Then her brain dwelled on that. Time. What did his prognosis look like? She’d never asked him. Never had the courage to ask him. But in that moment? Hammered Hailey was just about ready to ask, do, and say anything.  

“How much time do we have left?” she broke after a few moments of being lost in her jumbled, tequila ridden thoughts. 

“If you’re ready we can go if you want. We don’t have to sta-“

“No. I mean how much time do we have left,” she repeated, her eyes glossing over in a way that made the sight before her look like the view through a rain coated window. 

His face was twisted in confusion, then it softened as he realized what she meant, and dropped immediately into a pain inducing look of sorrow. He walked over, grabbing the swing to stop it from moving before falling down next to her. He let out a sigh, bringing an arm to rest on the bench behind her back as she felt him looking over at her. She sniffled, fidgeting with the bottle in her hands before she brought her eyes to meet his. 

“Why now? Why wait until now to want to know that?” he asked, the words coming out benignly. 

“Because I want to tell you something, and if I’m going to tell you, I need to know first.” 

“If I tell you, will the answer change your mind about whatever it is?”

“Maybe,” he kept his eyes on her, somehow knowing she wasn’t being truthful, somehow pulling the truth out of her with one look. “No,” she looked down into her lap, took a breath, and reset their gaze. “I just need to know.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes moving to stare straight ahead as she kept hers on him. 

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, taking a beat before continuing. “If this chemo does what it’s supposed to do, if it shrinks the tumor enough, I have surgery, go a few more rounds of chemo, and I could be in the clear. If it doesn’t? Things only get worse, and… I don’t know exactly how long, but the doctors give me a 30% chance of 5 more years.”

Silence fell upon them. Her gaze pulled away from him. They both looked straight ahead, not even daring to look at one another as Hailey let the news simmer. There was a pain in the back of her throat as she tried to hold back the sadness that plagued her body. It was a heaviness that started in her chest, extended up into her head, and burned the back of her eyes with a pain she hadn’t experienced before. She pinched at her temples with one hand as she kept the tears from streaming down her face. The only sound that surrounded them was the loud bass and indistinct voices coming from inside the house.

“Change your mind?” he finally asked. She could tell he’d turned his head back to face her, but she couldn’t find it in her to look back. 

She shook her head, her stare still avoiding him as she closed her eyes. The tears that had built up spilled out and rolled down her cheeks. She groaned, those tears falling down hopelessly despite her best intentions. 

“Are you going to tell me?” he asked, his voice was hopeful and quiet, and it only broke her heart even more.

She shook her head again, sniffling as she wiped the tears away.

“It’s a surprise,” she eventually told him, her voice raspy. She finally turned to face him, forcing a smile through her hurt as she jumped from the swing.

“Hailey-“ 

“I think I am ready to go home,” she told him, resting a hand on his knee briefly before making her way around the house and out to the street, not even glancing back to see if he was following her.

The ride home was quiet. His eyes kept tied to the road, and hers roamed out the passenger window. The same magnetic like force that seemed to always pull them together was somehow pushing them away in that moment. She finished the rest of her water. It wasn’t enough to sober her up completely, but she wasn’t quite as foggy as she’d been back at the party. 

When he pulled up outside of her place, he told her a short and quiet goodnight as she hopped out. She returned his farewell, flashing him a fake smile as she closed the door and headed up towards her place. 

She walked up to her stoop, trying to focus on her steps to keep from stumbling over. She was still somewhat drunk, but she was also just overwhelmed by the emotions weighing her down. Her brain kept replaying what he said. A 30% chance of 5 more years with him, or an unknown chance of a lifetime. The idea of each scared her for different reasons, but there was only one that seemed impossible to accept.

There was the sound of a door shutting behind her, and she spun around. Her face fell into a frown as she saw him jogging towards her. He got dizzy just from standing, the last thing he needed to be doing was running after her.

“Jay, woah,” she called out, reaching her arms out towards him when he was close enough to touch. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he assured through winded breaths. 

“Did you forget something or-“

“Look, I don’t know what you were going to tell me earlier, but I have something I need to tell you,” he interrupted, his chest rising and falling quickly as he tried to restabilize his breath. 

She looked up at him, a blend of confusion and expectation on her face. His head was tilted toward the ground, and she could just make out his eyes from underneath the brim of his hat. They were glossed over and they avoided hers as he seemed to prepare whatever it was he had to say. 

“I don’t know how much time I have left. That’s my truth, and it’s scary and frustrating, and probably a little unfair, but every time I think about it, all I can think about is how I want to spend every minute of whatever it is with you. It sounds crazy because we haven’t even known each other that long, but… there’s something here. It’s something I’ve known for a few weeks now, but if I’m being honest it’s something I knew somewhere in my mind from the moment I stepped on that damn elevator,” he said it with a sense of urgency and passion that broke her heart in an entirely new way that night. 

That pain of holding back her tears returned as the words cut straight to her heart. Then he reached out and wrapped his hand around her forearm, allowing it to slowly slide down until it was grasping her hand in his. She shuddered at the touch. At the electricity that seemed to jolt through her body with his fingers against her skin. There was a reluctant and almost fearful look on his face as he did so, and she just squeezed his hand back, allowing him to know it was okay. He then grabbed their joined hands with his other, stepping forward as he brought them to rest on his chest.

“Hailey, I need to tell you this, and I hope it doesn’t scare you off I just...” he cut himself off, his eyes falling to the ground once more. He inhaled sharply, bringing his eyes back up to hers and peering into them with the same desperation and fire she carried in hers.

His mouth parted and the words left his mouth as if time had slowed down. It was one sentence, six simple words, but she could have sworn the world stopped spinning when he said them. 

“I’m falling in love with you.”

[dopescotlandwarrior]

The Dancer-Chapter One

Also on AO3             A special thanks to @ Statell for all your help

Chapter One

Claire spun on the balls of her bare feet, over and over, feeling the veils slide across her sweaty face. Breathing rhythmically to avoid panting so her stomach remained quiet and smooth. She powered through the remaining spins to the gasps of the students watching. Coming out of her spins her body slowed to a half-beat. Pulling the veil up to her face, she looked at the students with an invitation for sultry romance making every female uncomfortable. Claire’s hips twitched independently to the music as she entered the last part of the dance. Body undulating, chest pressing against the skimpy fabric covering her nipples. Ten spins with the veils trailing around her and she dropped to the ground and stopped.

 The class of women cheered for her and Claire stood to bow. She ran to the backroom to wipe the stinging sweat out of her eyes before dropping eyewash in each. The instructor gave a hug from behind and congratulated her on her performance.

 “That was absolutely wonderful Claire! It is so impressive what you have learned! I am very confident in recommending you to one of my clients if you are ready.”

 Claire stared at the woman with wide eyes. This is unexpected, she thought, it must be too soon for an actual job belly dancing. She looked dubiously at the instructor.

 “You are ready darling. Think about it and let me know. One of the clients has an opening three nights a week. It’s a good place to start if you want it.” She hugged Claire again and left her to dress.

 Piling the veils and costume into her bag, Claire emerged from the studio with a clean washed face, beige pantsuit, and sensible shoes. She was late returning from lunch due to her final performance and her head was getting crowded with rival emotions. Exhilaration that she finally finished the last level offered by the studio and sadness she was leaving after six years.

 Claire unlocked the door to her book store and ran inside. It was a character flaw to be late to work and she would chastise herself for the rest of the afternoon. She smiled at incoming customers taking a double-take at the man behind them.

 He had been to the shop twice before. He was handsome and tall, hard not to notice. He had asked her for a novel, newly added to the New York Times bestseller list. She apologized and offered to order it for him. There just wasn’t room to stock every bestseller in her little shop and she wasn’t likely to displace her lovely antique collections for the latest steamy, here today, gone tomorrow, fiction. He approached the front register.

 “I ordered a book last week,” he said smiling. Has it come in yet? My name is Jamie Fraser.”

 She let her gaze fall on the most incredible blue eyes that held his smile with a tinge of mischief. His order was already there but Claire turned too quickly knocking over a display of cards next to the register. A very unladylike sound came out of her as she bent to pick them all up. Piling them on the counter she ran to the back for the man’s order.

 Claire could feel her humiliation spread across her cheeks as she took a deep breath.

 “Jesus H Roosevelt Christ,” was uttered under her breath. Why did she always lose it when a good-looking man talked to her. She felt hopelessly unnerved by him and tried to steady her mind.

 “Sorry about the mess I just caused.”

 The man had put the cards back into the display and smiled at his accomplishment. Claire felt the shaking that started in her calves, slowly work its way up and lunged for the register before she was quaking with anxiety. Handing the bag to the man she tried to smile and thanked him for the help. She turned and walked quickly to the back room before he could ask her for anything else.

 Hearing the bell on the shop door, she exhaled a long-held breath and felt her tension ease immediately. Maybe her doctor was right about therapy. She hated the idea but life was getting intolerable for her, except when she danced. Claire checked the tiny mirror on the wall and went back to cleaning shelves.

 The following week she met with the owner of a Greek restaurant who was looking for a belly dancer to entertain customers while they dined. He looked at her beige clothing and pinned up hair and she could see the doubt in his eyes.

 “You come highly recommended by the studio and I don’t want to hurt feelings, but I can’t see a good fit here.”

 Claire stood up straight and looked him in the eye before responding.

 “I look different when I dance.”

 She nervously pushed her hair behind her ears and tried to smile.

 “Okay. Let’s give the pretty girl a chance,” he said. “You dance at noon tomorrow and I will watch. Then we talk some more, okay?”

 Claire shook his hand gratefully and smiled her thanks before running out of the restaurant. She was thrilled to have the chance to dance in front of people and started thinking about which costume to wear as she reached for her phone.

 “Geillis! I have an audition tomorrow at the new Greek restaurant, to dance!”

 Geillis was her bestie and had Claire’s best interest at heart. She hadn’t seen her dance because the studio didn’t allow the public to watch the classes. She was doubtful her friend could muster the sex appeal to arouse anyone under eighty years old, but she pushed herself to be excited and encouraging.

 “Well, look at you, a professional dancer now! Need any help getting ready? I can bring dinner in a bucket tonight.”

 “Yes! Please do. I have a new costume I want to wear, and the skirt is too long. You can help me cut it. It won’t take any time at all. You are a lifesaver Geillis.”

 In Geillis’s mind, she saw a floor-length prairie skirt the pilgrims sported and wondered if this was a good idea. She saw Claire’s belly dancing as a misguided attempt to break out of her frumpiness. An avenue to a more exciting life as seen in a movie perhaps. Geillis rolled her eyes at the doomed evening ahead.

 Claire pushed away from the table. “Oh my God, I am probably too stuffed with chicken to fit into my costume Geillis, but it sure was tasty.” Claire stood to remove the paper plates and bucket.

 “Get yer costume on and let’s get this over with, aye?”

 Claire was too excited to catch the tone of her friend's sentence and ran to the bedroom pulling on a bright blue skirt and attached pantie with three layers of transparent silk. She pulled the hip scarf around her with three lines of metal charms making the most beautiful sound when bumping into each other. Next was the bra top that fit tightly, hugging her skin right below her breasts. It too was adorned with metal baubles. Claire held the skirt up as she walked into the living room and to her gaping friend.

 “What’s wrong with you Geillis.”

 Geillis stared at Claire’s stomach and the panties that were dangerously low and v-shaped showing her long torso, taught, sinewy, and devoid of fat. When she walked, her thighs would peek out from the veils in the skirt, muscular, thin, and shapely.

 “Jesus Christ, Claire. I’m lookin at a different person right now. I canna get over ye look so different. It’s remarkable.”

 Claire gave her a shimmy with her shoulders followed by hips twitching making the baubles bounce.

 “I wear a wig and lots of makeup when I dance so I don’t look like this at all. When we finish the skirt, I have to practice and make sure the length is right. I’ll show you some moves if you like.”

 The two women talked about the skirt length and Geillis pinned the front panel allowing Claire to take it off. Geillis was shocked at the change in her friend when she put on that costume. Like doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde she thought and giggled to herself. Geillis decided she would risk the wrath of her employer to see Claire dance tomorrow and had no idea what to expect.

 When the two women first met, Claire was already a student of belly dancing and it was mentioned in passing on several occasions, like a hobby. Geillis was instantly taken with Claire, her nerdy personality was endearing, not to mention ego-boosting because Geillis had no social awkwardness. Taking Claire under her wing, they became best friends. No amount of encouragement and exposure to the Edinburgh social scene seemed to make any difference in Claire. Geillis was defeated at trying to change her friend and gave up, to just enjoy Claire as she was. Tonight showed Claire in stark contrast to the mousy bookseller.

 “There, that’s the last panel. Go put in on, with… all the rest of the costume. I think ye promised me a sample dance.”

 Claire dashed back to her bedroom. This time she wore the wig and her black curls tumbled to her waist. She called to Geillis to turn out all but one side table lamp and push play on her recorder.

 Claire pressed her back into the door jam and raised her arms above her head crossing her wrists like she was tied up. Her fabulous abs undulated and she pushed away from the door twirling in circles with the layers of her skirt flying around her. She shimmied into body rolls followed by numerous spins, her hips bounced to the music and Geiliis was transfixed. Claire could move her body like she had never seen.

 Later, Claire said goodbye to Geillis, who was clearly impressed and dropped into bed. It was ten-thirty, a half-hour past her bedtime, and she fell asleep totally pissed off with herself.

 The next morning, she shoved her costume into a gym bag and turned the front door key of the bookshop at exactly eight o’clock sharp. The day was looking promising and Claire could not wait until noon when she would dance for her new job.

 Across town, Jamie Fraser sat at the head of a long conference table where the board was meeting for a final review of their shared endeavor. Each person had a report in front of them and asked Jamie questions about the owner of the local bookstore.

 “Dinna fash, she is mostly antique books and collections. Not likely to clash with our inventory. I have visited three times and she doesna even stock the best sellers. No threat to us gentlemen.

 Claire entered the restaurant from a back door that led right into the dressing room. She hung her costume and started getting ready. The eyelashes were a challenge with her shaking hands, but they eventually found purchase just above her own lashes.

 The doubtful owner knocked and entered, looking for her. He regretted offering this audition. His restaurant was too new to bear up to ridicule and he wanted to back out any way possible. When his eyes landed on Claire, he was relieved. Apparently, the studio sent another student for him, and this one definitely looked the part.

 “Hello pretty lady, I am Omar, this is my restaurant.”

 Claire looked at him thinking he must be daft since they met yesterday. She smiled and approached him.

 “We met yesterday sir and you offered me a test dance, I think you called it.”

 “We did? Oh! Is that you in there? Pardon me for being an old man with a terrible memory. You look very different.”

 “Are we still on for a dance then?”

 “Yes, yes. Are you ready my dear?”

 The diners did not notice that a woman stood in the dark doorway of a room adjoining the dining room until a spotlight lit her up, bouncing off the metal charms at her breast and hips. The music started and Claire treated the diners to her amazing hips that bounced independently of each other and hard lifts that made the baubles dance. Her performance was ten minutes long and many forks were suspended in the air as the diners watched her, paralyzed.

 As Claire twirled around the room, she caught sight of Geillis at a corner table. She danced to her and smiled as her veils floated behind her. Returning to the center of the room she popped her chest and twitched her hips until everyone was dizzy from watching. She dropped into a bow and ran to the dressing room hearing applause and whistles. Grabbing a towel out of her gym bag she sat down to breathe before she passed out.

 The owner came bursting into the room with a happy smile. He could not stop singing her praise and offered her three nights a week, two dances thirty minutes apart for one hundred dollars a night. He stuck out his hand to shake on the deal and she took it.

 “You are a chameleon, like, like, a phone booth to change your clothes and then you can fly!”

 It took Claire a minute or two to understand the reference to superman and she laughed and shook her head. Once alone, Claire pulled the lashes off her eyelids and wiped off the red lipstick. She looked into the mirror and saw Geillis behind her.

 “Well, what did you think?”

 “Claire, you know I adore ye, but yer the luckiest little shit on the planet. Did ye see how many gorgeous men were watchin ye? Shakin yer moneymaker like that I can see ye married and livin in grand style before long.” She smiled at Claire like this was a good thing.

 “I didn’t spend six years of my life learning to dance so I could find someone to marry. Get back to work before you get fired, and Geillis, thank you for coming.”

 Claire was stacking orders under the front register and popped up when she heard the doorbell tinkling. The shaking started immediately as the handsome man approached her smiling. He stuck out his hand.

 “It is time we met formally, my name is James Fraser.”

 Claire mumbled her name as she shook his hand, wishing she could look into his eyes for the rest of the afternoon.

 Jamie looked around the shop, “I have been here a few times. Not spying, just gathering information about our competition.” He was clearly nervous and licked his lips several times looking at the floor. “Listen, Miss Beauchamp, I have to tell ye I am opening a new concept bookstore right down the street. My hope is we will both prosper by referring customers to each other while holding the other in the highest regard.”

 The blood drained from Claire’s face and she pulled her hand away abruptly. She watched Fraser look around like he expected the roof to cave in on him and felt her anger boil up inside her.

 “What customers are you hoping I refer to your new store, mister Fraser?”

 “Well, ye dinna stock the best sellers so ye can send those customers our way. Any interest in antique collections we will send to you,” he smiled like he saw the value in his statement.

 “I don’t stock bestsellers because they are here today and gone tomorrow but the orders for those books are thirty-seven percent of my revenue. If they can walk down the street and buy the book from you how many orders do you think I will get?”

 Claire was getting heated and tried to calm her heart rate. She wanted the decibels of her argument to pierce this wicked man so he would know he was her enemy.

 “Edinburgh doesn’t need another bookstore mister Fraser and I cannot see this store surviving the competition you are suggesting.”

 Fraser looked at her with compassion and then lowered his eyes. He hated this part of the business, delivering the news a death blow was coming. He had done this to countless mom and pop bookstores as his company ate up market share all over Scotland, Ireland, and England. It wasn’t pleasant, but he would emerge from this visit relieved this dreadful task was over while the shop owner was just coming to terms with the bomb he just dropped.

 Jamie oversaw the opening of new stores, so he was accustomed to breaking hearts, both young and old. In the days leading up to this type of meeting he would lose his appetite, pace the floor at night trying to sleep and work up a head of anxiety that could choke out a horse. But he always did it, and when the shop door closed behind him, he was free of guilt and responsibility for ruining a business, breaking a heart, and stealing a livelihood. When that door closed behind him, most people were never thought of again.

 Sometimes he would like the owner so much it was near impossible to deliver the news. Claire Beauchamp was such a person because she was young and pretty with a telling face. Although she didn’t mean to do it, she opened her soul to Jamie on the few occasions he visited her. The right person in your life will set you free, he thought, and you will replace that anxiety with happiness.

 Jamie walked away from Claire’s shop feeling like the biggest asshole in the world and wondered why each step away from her wasn’t helping. C’mon Claire, he thought, dinna wallow in yer grief, get busy findin a new job, somethin that will make ye happy, please lass.

 Claire stood rigid behind the register all afternoon. She made feeble attempts to clean shelves and re-arrange displays, only to return to this catatonic state of staring out the window. Her store was empty most of the time and today that was a blessing. She locked the front door at exactly six o’clock that evening and walked home wondering how long it would take to lose her shop.

 Geillis came that evening with a bottle of whisky and tried to cheer up her friend. As the whisky worked its way through her bloodstream and brain, Mister James Fraser became public enemy number one. She cursed him over and over and prayed for the day she would hold his fate in her hands.

 As the days became weeks, Claire wrote countless letters to Fraser, begging him to reconsider. They were all answered the same, a bouquet of flowers with a note that said: “I’m sorry.”

 As Claire’s business plummeted, she found relief and escape in her dancing. She gave in to the joyful release and the patrons who watched her loved it. Omar was so thrilled with her performance he quickly moved her into the top spot, six to seven o’clock, the dinner rush, five nights per week. She was often called to do special performances during lunch and her growing bank account could not be overlooked.

 Jamie kept an eye on Claire’s bookstore with growing concern. She should have started her going-out-of-business sale by now. He wondered where the money was coming from to keep the lights on. When her shop stayed open for the third month, Jamie took matters into his own hands and contacted her landlord. The man sang Claire’s praises and could not say enough about her dedication to the community through reading programs for kids and book clubs for the classics. Jamie felt like shit hearing this and cleared his throat to stop the extolment before it crippled him.

 When the man learned he was speaking to the bastard that stole her business he slammed the phone down almost breaking Jamie’s eardrum. The landlord heard enough to know Claire was in financial trouble. She was using what money she had saved over the years to keep the shop open. It was a doomed cause and the landlord was heartsick for her. Being a compassionate man, he refused to renew Claire’s lease citing structural issues with the buildings that were forcing him to sell.

 When the Store-Wide sale sign went up, Jamie Fraser exhaled in relief. Maybe now he could move on with his life and start feeling like a winner again. It was time to break the spell on the Edinburgh store and throw a party for the executives and top earners. If it were possible for a building to be depressed it would explain the overall lack of joy he felt every minute he was at work. It would explain their first-quarter earnings, it would explain the lack of motivation in his staff. Something better change and he felt like it started with him.

 Claire was despondent when the store closed. She lingered inside the last night saying goodbye to the authors and classic collections she had cared for and sold for many years. Geillis pulled her home and helped her get ready for her show that night. They didn’t talk much, Claire didn’t have it in her.

 “Are ye wearin the new black outfit with the silver veils tonight?”

 “Yes, the restaurant is hosting a big party tonight. Tips should be pretty good from what I hear.”

 She tried to smile and reassure Geillis she was fine, but her hollow eyes told a different story. Geillis remained upbeat and stayed to help her dress for the big performance.

 “Jesus, Claire! You dinna have to move yer hips or anything else with that costume on. How do ye keep the panties on when they ride so low? Looks like they are gonna fall off any minute!”

 “Glue and they are not called panties Geillis, they’re called pants. The bra top was adorned with crystals that reflected light when she moved and the silver adornments on her hip scarf bounced in a crazy way. Claire was warming up while two other dancers went before her. She peeked out to gauge the crowd and when she got to the end of a long table, she uttered a strangled sound and ran from the door.

 “Holy shit, Geillis, I can’t go out there, I can’t!”

 “Why not, ye look great?”

 Claire was clearly in a panic, pacing the room and holding her head. What the hell was he doing here? How could she stay hidden from him?”

 “Geillis! That asshole Jamie Fraser is out there, and I can’t let him see me. Run to my house and bring back the silver headpiece that wraps around my face. Go! Hurry and I owe you my life!”

 Right on cue, Claire emerged from the dark dressing room door and joined the other dancers in a sultry threesome that ended with Claire alone in the middle of the room. She lifted her covered face and moved her arms like she was beckoning the guests at the table. she danced close to the diners stopping along the way to do mesmerizing hip lifts, drops, and shimmies. When she got to Jamie, she moved her sinewy body with undulations, rapid hip lifts and turns.

 Jamie could not look away from the dancer in front of him, one foot in front of him. Her body movements stole his sanity as she dropped her upper body backward until her head was inches from his shoulder. She gave him the full measure of her talent, before popping up to complete her dance. When she stopped with the music, she took a bow and waited an agonizing thirty seconds of silence before the table erupted with applause and whistles. Several people were on their feet, including James Fraser. Some of the men begged to see her face as she ran to the darkness of the dressing room door.

 Bursting through the door into the dressing room she grabbed a towel and covered her face with it. Geillis looked at her in horror wondering what she could say to help. Claire’s body convulsed into the towel held firm against her face. She sank to her knees and Geillis ran to help her up. Claire’s arms gently pushed her away and the towel was lowered as she continued to laugh, out of control, like a woman possessed, she laughed.

 Claire could hardly breathe, and she clawed at the headdress that was blocking the quantities of air she needed. She finally ripped it, and the wig off throwing them on the couch while she wrapped her arms around her waist, trying to stem the laughing.

 “Oh! Oh my God, Geillis. I’ve never had so much fun. That dizzy bastard had a log in his pants and didn’t breathe the whole time I was in front of him. Too bad he didn’t just die right then and there!”

 Geillis was quite unsettled with Claire’s level of hatred toward this man and thought Claire needed a new perspective before she lost her mind.

 “Claire, it’s not healthy to hate someone that much, ye will never be able to quench yer need for revenge. I think ye need some help with this, truly. C’mon, let’s get you ready for the next show, then home to bed.”

 When the spotlight hit Claire for her next dance, she was in bright pink harem pants and a bra top that was covered in baubles. She lifted her arms above her head and spun in circles while she shimmied her hips. When she saw Jamie Fraser sitting at a corner table she moved her arms, pulling him to her, enticing him to take her, as her athletic body promised a once in a lifetime experience of pleasure and carnal love. He watched every move, he heard what the dance promised him. He thought she was beautiful, exotic, and embodied the sexual experience. Claire wore the headdress again that wrapped around her face showing only her eyes. She used them against Jamie like weapons. When the music stopped, she turned her back on him and bowed to the other patrons, shunning him like he wasn’t there.

 Jamie raised his arm to the owner and handed over his business card and a one-hundred-dollar bill on which he had written his number. He was finding it hard to breathe suddenly and left quickly.

 Claire was giggling at the tips and cards that came in from the owner. She estimated two- hundred dollars in tips tonight plus her pay. Three hundred dollars for thirty minutes of dancing. A month ago it was all she had for the month and that included groceries.

 Geillis walked out of the building with a scrubbed Claire in a baseball cap, looking like a bookworm again. The women talked and joked, poking each other with elbows and laughing hysterically. They both carried garment bags and gym bags with all of Claire’s costumes and props. They embraced and separated, neither aware of the eyes that watched the door. Engines were started and the women drove away, leaving Jamie well hidden in the shadows of the parking lot.

 He watched closely as patrons emptied out of the restaurant. Where was she, he wondered? He recognized the owner come out as a car pulled right up to the door. Jamie saw two women rush into the back seat, the owner in front, and then they were gone. The restaurant was closed for the night. Jamie concluded the dancer was the owner’s daughter, so he had a bit more information about the woman who stole his soul tonight. The fact he was now stalking her was completely lost on him.

 Ordinarily, Jamie Fraser was a gentleman with a strict moral code and impeccable manners. The upbringing from his parents and his Hollywood handsome looks made women trust him and forget their own name when he charmed them. The dancer would fall, straight into his lap, no matter who her father was. Of that he was sure.

[yellowsugarwords]

This is kinda a dumb request, but what do you think the Ericson kids + James' life was like before the apocalypse? Financial wise and family wise and school grades wise, that sort of thing?

not a dumb request at all!!!! this is gonna be a fun one (I’m also not including AJ because duh he was born after it already started)

Clementine: Clementine’s family was content middle class. Because her parents were so lucky and thankful to have a daughter, they spoiled her and pampered her silly with love. Because of that, she felt passionate about many things, school included. She felt driven and motivated; loved and accepted. There was no better environment to nurture her and her future.

Marlon: Marlon came from a lesser income family, and had a cluster of siblings. He succeeded at school, but really it was because he was driven to provide better for his own family. He wanted to provide guidance and leadership to his own loved ones in the future. Because of his passion, he had a short tempter for anything that got in his way. He couldn’t stand it. He needed it gone. He needed to succeed.

Louis: Louis, as we know, came from a wealthy family. He lived as a single child with his two parents. I’d like to think his grades were great, but not because he was passionate, rather because that was the expectation placed on him because of his parents. They paid for tutoring if he struggled and pushed him to succeed, even though he hated it all. It was why he often took out his aggression at home and on his parents; it had nowhere else to go. Other than music, which was his saving grace in an otherwise problematic home that generated his destructive headspace.

Violet: Violet had a few siblings which contributed to her struggles in feeling ‘normal.’ Coming from a low-income family without a great amount of financial support to help her, things only got worse. She felt emotionally detached from a lot of aspects of the world his parents deemed as strange. She wasn’t interested in boys, school, or extracurriculars. To her parents, those were red flags. Inevitably, it would be the reason she was sent to Ericson.

Mitch: I think Mitch would come from a middle class family, but he’d at school even though he attempted to do his best. He took out his aggression with destroying and burning things; what assisted in getting him sent to Ericson. Really, his parents just wanted to see him succeed, but didn’t know how to help a son who struggled academically and constantly beat himself up over it through violence. Even worse was him having siblings who did succeed academically. He continuously compared himself to them.

Willy: Willy came from a low income family and his parents were always working. He felt an increased sense of loneliness from it, which cause his lashing out behaviour. It also caused him to not try in school, because why bother? Who would he be trying for? Inevitably, his attitudes toward these things are what caused him to be sent to Ericson.

Aasim: Aasim had hoards of siblings. Because of that, their family, while deemed middle class, struggled financially from time to time. Aasim tried his best to help out with his siblings to help with their money issues, and poured himself deeply into books and academics as he was unable to afford extracurriculars. Because of that, he was seen as a brilliant student even though he struggled with his home life.

Ruby: Ruby came from a middle-class family, having two other sisters. She excelled in school, as to be suspected, and often helped her sisters with homework as she was the oldest of the three. She was the motherly figure since she was a child, and her parents appreciated her assistance around the house whenever they were busy at work. However, she often times had a short temper, which led to problems down the line in their family.

Omar: Omar was an only child, but that meant he had more time to practice his passions. His family was middle-class, and his parents were often vacant and working, and Omar’s passion for baking stemmed from needing to prepare dinner while his parents were out of the house. But pressure placed on him to succeed academically, as well as pressure to continue with his passions, put too much weight on his shoulders. When he snapped, that was when his parents sent him to Ericson.

Brody: Brody’s family consisted of her, her older brother, and her Dad. Because of their limited income, Brody tried her best to keep things fairly calm around the house. She did well in school, did do extracurriculars, and any passions she had, he tried to keep as cost efficient as possible. But her anxiety surrounding money, how much she was allowed to eat, what she would be able to eat at school the next day, caused her to begin spiralling out of control. Her inevitably anxiety was what caused her father to send her to Ericson, albeit with a broken heart.

Tenn: Tenn came from a lesser income family, but was thankful for everything he got. It was how he found his passion in in the arts; often spending his time drawing with paper and pens they had lying around the house. It was the cheapest toy he could have, but he fell in love with it. He trie his best in school, not wanting to further upset or disappoint his parents. That was the last thing any of them wanted.

James: I like to think that James came from an upper class family. Because of this - and because of his parents being upper class businessmen and women, James would struggle with handling conflict. His parents fired people or paid them away. James could never do that. So, he often lashed out, had limited patience with people, and struggled with reading social cues. Since the apocalypse began, that’s gotten better. It needed to in order for him to survive.

[duckbeater]

Duck Beater at Ten; or, The Orphans

[Editor’s Note: I started this blog a decade ago—occasion enough, I thought, for me to reflect on what it’s meant to contribute (in my extraordinarily untimely and narrow way) to a log that has tried (and more often failed) at recording where I’m at and how I’m doing and what I’m thinking and where I’m going. Having this space has not unreasonably kept me in it—I mean, its persistence has kept me reflecting more or less on the period of its inception. I think a lot about who I was at 23, which is idiotic and costly. I read more books back then. I had no money. My best friend was my brother. I thought I would write a novel.] 

Years ago, my brother’s friend offended him when she asked me why I didn’t prefer one brand of paint over another. I was probably in my apartment's kitchen, working on a canvas, and they were probably behind me, eating my boyfriend's food.

I painted then because I was very poor. One way of thinking through your poverty—if you haven't drugs or sex or a brain injury—is to create pointless tasks for yourself, which is what art-making very often is. It's like Vicodin. It's very lovely, costly, addicting, transporting and makes your stomach hurt if you're not full-up already on something else (say, mashed potatoes). I was painting a truly hideous “family portrait”—globs of white and green paint shaped like cast-off “Sesame Street” creatures—and I was painting, besides, for myself. To hold the brush and to fold the colors and to smell the Turpenoid. A.J. had the money for food (our dying grandfather had cosigned on a student loan) and yet there he was with Victoria, in my apartment, peeling back the silvery foil of a Pop-Tart, making crinkling sounds.

I shouldn't say “my apartment” because it was really Cole’s: I had decamped there when we fell hard in love. This was on the corner of Union and Greenwich, across from an intramural field, and beyond that the law school. It was low-income housing: most has been destroyed; and now that I'm on Google I find the places I walked by, the porch I painted bright blue, the rooms I cherished (orange, annoyingly), they've all disappeared. There's odd grassy lots where there were once old, three-apartment houses, their interiors mangled to accommodate the crying fits of off-campus seniors. In the decade since their vanishment, even the indentations of walkways, of their foundations are invisible, and the lawns are as serene and flat and verdant as well-maintained graves. I recall coming off work one night that October, and finding Cole in the stairwell to the second-floor flat. He was crumpled in a ball, on the phone, arguing with his father: I should visit for Thanksgiving; I should be considered family. He was so angry he was bawling, and he hated me to touch him, and I left him in a daze which is also how I finally left him—in a daze, hating me to touch him. (But on better terms with his father.) Well, that stairwell is gone.

A.J. and Victoria, and in fact many of A.J.’s other law school friends, they regularly came into this apartment. (I have written about them before and realized only in editing this piece that the following brief description is a paraphrase of that missive.) They played Mario Kart on the GameCube, recited Moot Court speeches and ate take-out on the sofas. They gossiped incessantly because a small law school is a high school (it even had lockers), and the attendees are as reckless and dispirited and status-hungry as freshmen in a high school. He was a first year then and I was a fifth year finishing my undergrad, and so I saw all of A.J.'s new friends more than I ever saw my old ones because my old friends had moved on. (They went to Austin, Texas. They stayed at most three years and then relocated to either Los Angeles or the Pacific Northwest.)

I want to try to remember Victoria without resorting to her Instagram account. Back then, she took great pains to distinguish herself as a sophisticated New Englander. I see: high socks, long “piecey” hair, a face white-powdered to pore-less perfection. Perhaps because she was changing her life at twenty-eight and not at twenty-three, as other law students were, her look inclined toward the transformative, toward the gothic and the chic-severe. (Why am I describing her as a later-day Wednesday Addams? She was not a Wednesday Addams. She wore colors. She drank Pimm’s with grape fruit slices and soda water. We took day trips to places like Gary, Indiana, listening to Sam Amidon on the Camry’s stereo.) What I think is, she was alarmed and depressed to be at a “fourth-tier law school in the middle of an ugly corner in uglier Indiana,” and so rebelled against the smallness of her new life by having outsized opinions on luxury goods and fine foods and exotic locales. The worst was that no one knew what she was talking about. She felt this and compensated by hosting foreign film nights. She preferred “the scene,” knew of a scene (there was a music one close by, apparently, in Chicago), and she called herself, sometimes guffawing, a “scenester,” but also wanted us to know she was down with whatever. Just, whatever. She nettled everyone but mostly everyone pitied her, so on balance, her gloom and her snobbery were tolerated.

Victoria made mysterious, indelible gestures. Their performances were somehow less memorable than their obscure resonances, and those resonances affected us obscurely, too. An example. She once loaned A.J. a copy of A Wild Sheep Chase, wanting to hook him on Murakami. When he gave it back unread at the end of term, she insisted it was a replacement copy, that he had lost her original. “If I lost your book,” he told her flatly (and not at all to his credit), “I would not have bothered replacing it.” She said, “No, no—you would. And this is proof.” She told exasperated classmates that A.J. had lost her beloved Murakami paperback and tried to replace it with an exact copy, a conviction seemingly borrowed from the phantasmagorical worlds of Murakami. She used this as a wedge issue about trust, about fidelity. “You’re a coward who couldn’t tell me the truth,” she said, slipping comfortably into a Whit Stillman role. “You’re a deceiver.” To this day, A.J. accepts loaned books graciously while maintaining (not, I think, aloud), “If I lose this, I won’t replace it.” He has never replaced a book I loaned and then he re-loaned again, and there have been more than a dozen. Victoria gave him that.

Another example. When A.J. proposed to his wife, Victoria emailed soon after, advising against the marriage. Incredibly, she sent an email to A.J.’s fiancée too, her reasons for either party diametrically proposed. She was not certain A.J. harbored a strong enough attachment to commit to what she thought would be a lifelong and life-destroying folly. And to Tayler, she said that the two did not know each other enough; that, although they met and dated in high school, and all through college, had not found themselves as adults and might try living longer, in other relationships, before settling down. The emails were cruel, stupid, and strange. Their audience did the generous thing: blamed them on the performer's romantic illusions and then dismissed them as curiosities. Yet sometimes A.J. wishes he had kept his “receipts”—that he’d printed out Victoria’s appeals to him and Tayler, to have at hand such shining examples of sincerity. I’ve heard him rueful about it. “I’m not trying to be an asshole,” he’s said, “but I wish I had these things to point to and say, ‘Here is someone who believes she is doing the right thing.’” But all those emails are gone. The law school closed last year—rather spectacularly, given the coverage in the Times. He doesn’t even have an alumni vanity mailing address.

Victoria adopted this business about oil paints from someone else, her “friend who shows in Chelsea,” a factor that compounded  A.J.'s ire. “He uses exclusively, I think, Windsor and Newton,” she said. “Mixing from other labels creates inconsistencies, sometimes chemical clashes?” She opened the fridge and A.J., after scrubbing it with a towel, sat atop the counter. Bluish light came in through bay windows. The law students appeared not only chronically under-slept (they were) but also ethereal, and perhaps very ill. Victoria helped herself to milk. The cords in A.J.'s neck strained as he gazed at the ceiling, lips pursed, white-knuckling the countertop. Some of this was histrionics and some of this was my brother holding onto his sanity.

I said I didn’t I have a preference—or rather, I just didn’t think about it. I had inherited some desiccated oils from my grandma, raided other buttery leftovers from the art building, had bought cheap, thin student sets in the last full years of school—and I got by on what I had. I got by beautifully, actually, elbow-deep in half-tubes and tubes splayed open at the ends, and tubes coaxed open with needle-nose pliers. The mineral reek and vegetal reek from these paints necessitated full days of airing out the apartment. The solvents and extenders smelled of clove cigarettes smoked indoors. I left canvases to dry outside, where they collected tree fluff and tiny, delicate dead bugs. My images were neither hurt nor helped by these environmental additions. I said I was paying down student loan debt, and would practice brand loyalty when I was solvent again. Victoria said, “Oh, but you really should.” I thought to myself, perhaps for the first time, Why did my brother befriend this orphan?

“I really should,” I say to myself, most days on my drive. Wasn't there a performance art piece—a woman, saying 1,000 things she should do, into a tape-recorder? “I really should recycle. I really should call my mother. I really should pay my parking tickets.” I really should honor ritual and superstition, and my gut instincts. I really should read what I buy or at least attend more assiduously to reviews, so as to refrain from buying disappointments. I really should do my part to cut back on carbon emissions, clean the seas, and vote. Everything is in reach. The way Victoria said it—breezy, condescending, hopeful—is the way I hear most advice, particularly the advice I give myself: spoken in the tones of unconvincing conviction. I drank much less then (somehow), still I had a bottle of Bombay Sapphire at hand (somehow), and peered at Victoria and A.J. through its blue glass, tripling their blue-hued bodies. 

Much later I wrote a play where a character unhappy in love does the same thing. In the stage directions, the young man “goes to the wine cooler, pulls out a beautiful champagne magnum, studies it, puts it back and takes out another. Every bottle dazzles his countenance with jewel-like light—emerald and sapphire; amethyst and ruby; garnet and topaz lights, they sparkle across his bare chest and face as he inspects the bottles. He decides on a blue bottle of Prosecco, lavishly foiled, and brings it to his eyes like binoculars and for a moment considers his open hand, his surroundings, even his audience through the dark blue glass, and the stage glows beautifully blue, too. With great delicacy he unwraps and unwires the Prosecco, and uncorks it in a kitchen towel, and pours himself a glass. He drinks alone, picking at his phone, while the stage goes dark.” It was well past midnight in the second act. The kitchen was empty.

[surveyjunkie]

1. First of all, what do you prefer to be called? Tasha. 2. What is your favorite form of creative expression?  For me, it’s either blogging or painting. If I had any musical talent, it would be that. 3. How do you like your coffee OR if you don’t like it, why?: I take it with loads of flavored cream.  4. What is the least desirable thing, in your opinion, to put on a pizza that you have heard of people actually eating?: I guess anchovies...fish and pizza just don’t sound appetizing together. I’m also not big on putting chicken on pizza unless it’s chicken bacon ranch.  5. Would you rather witness the beginning or the end of the universe?: The beginning.

6. Describe your favourite pair of socks: They have the sailor moon bow on them. 

7. What is the current or last song you are listening/listened to, and does it have any special significance to you?: I don’t even remember what it was. I can’t find my headphones :(  8. Do you prefer rainbows or stars?: Stars 9. Describe the best day of your life NOT in terms of events, but in terms of your feelings: Elation.  10. Would you rather go to a planetarium or an aquarium?: Aquarium. 11. Do you know the reason that 11:11 is considered to be auspicious?: No idea.  12. What decorations are hanging on your walls?: At home? There’s a couple of paintings I made, a framed Margarita recipe, and my Bachelor’s degree.  13. What is your favourite planet in our solar system?: Earth 14. How do you express love?: More through actions than words because I suck at talking about emotions. << 15. Do you consider yourself to be more spiritual or scientific?: Spiritual I guess.  16. If you had a lava lamp, what color would you want it to be?: Teal 17. Would you rather be able to revisit your past to simply re-experience a positive moment or revisit your past in order to change things and risk the consequences?: Maybe just re-experience a positive moment. I’m weird about the idea of changing things that have happened in the past, even though I have strong regrets. I feel like things wouldn’t be how they are now if I hadn’t had the unique experiences of the past. Idk.  18. Have you ever had a past-life regression or memory?: I remember when I first got braces, I told my mom that the feeling of having them felt familiar, even though I’d never had them before in my life. That’s the only indication I’ve had so far that I may have led a past life.  19. What is your favourite holiday and why?: Christmas. Family and food. << And eggnog/booze 20. Are you better with remembering dates or names?: Dates. I’m terrible with names.  21. What was your favourite book that you had to read for a class?: 1984.  22. What is your favourite number and why is it significant to you?: 7. It signifies my 7th year of life and the 7th grade, which were both great times for me.

23. Would you rather explore space or the ocean?: Space.  24. What prompted you to call the last person you called?: I missed her call so was calling her back. 25. Star Trek or Star Wars?: Wars. 26. Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter?: LOTR. 27. What is your favourite band and why?: I have lots of favourites, because I can’t choose just one. << 28. What colour best resonates with your best friend(s)?: Navy blue or white.  29. Where do you work and why do you work there?: I work in the research office at the local hospital because they offered me a position that is relevant to my bachelor’s degree and will look extremely good on grad school applications.

30. Have you ever gone to a public karaoke facility, and what did you sing?: I’ve been to one, but I didn’t sing 31. What animal do you feel most connected with?: My dog. 32. Have you ever had “special brownies” or any other kind of “special” treat?: Yep, I didn’t care for them. I just prefer to smoke it.  33. What book are you reading at the moment?: None. 34. What is the funniest thing that you have done at a fast food restaurant? Probably when I fell asleep on my food when I was drunk.  35. Do you enjoy listening to music that is sung in another language?:

Yes, especially Spanish 36. Quote the last movie you watched: “Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme, Beauty and the Beast” 37. Do you know more than just your sun sign (like your ascending sign or moon sign etc.)?: I’m not sure what that is 38. Do you have any jewelery on you that holds significance, and if so, what is it and why is it significant?: I have a couple of rings my mom bought for me on my birthday. One is a ruby ring which is my birthstone and the other has two small diamonds in it.  39. What is your favorite kind of cheesecake?: Peanut butter fudge 40. Why did you last feel warm and fuzzy inside?: Just cuddling with Josh.

41. What band that no longer performs together do you wish would have a reunion tour?: Pink Floyd.<< Yes. They came to my city back when I was in college and I was hoping my dad would take me, but he never did. I’m still salty as hell about it.  42. What band that IS still together do you wish would perform in your area?: Alt-J 43. Have you ever been in a band, and what role did you play in it?: Nope 44. What has been the single most frightening experience of your life?: I haven’t had anything too terrible. Most of them just involve minor car accidents, my car breaking down in the middle of the highway, or locking myself out of my apartment. They’re stressful scary things but I haven’t had anything that has caused trauma, which I’m thankful for.  45. Who is/was your favourite Spice Girl?: Baby Spice.  46. Do you prefer free verse or poetry set in a form?: It doesn’t matter to me 47. In a hotel, would you choose to go in the hot tub, the sauna, the workout room, or the pool?: The hot tub.  48. Imagine that you are exploring space. Who would you want with you and what would you want to explore, assuming you are not limited in any way?: I would want a bunch of trained astronauts with me. The idea of space freaks me out. <<  49. Have you ever astral projected?: Say what? 50. What is your favourite song by the group t.A.T.u?: Probably “All The Things She Said” because that’s the only other one I know besides “They’re Not Gonna Get Us”. 

51. Describe what you envision as “paradise”: Being on a boat in the middle of a lake with beer, a fishing pole, and good music. I think I may have been a redneck in another life, but I’m okay with that.  52. What element do you feel most connected to?: Water. 53. What is a cause that you feel very strongly about and why?: Keeping Planned Parenthood around. I just think low income women should have the same access to gynecological exams and life-saving procedures that rich women do. Defunding them is not going to stop abortion.  54. What was your favourite class from the last year that you were in school?: I really enjoyed Diversity and Health. I learned a lot about other cultures and how difficult access to healthcare is in other countries. I really think everybody should take that class.  55. What is a topic that you study independently for your own interest?: Politics or psychology, when I’m in the mood.  56. Describe what you would want to wear if you were getting married, handfasted, or having some kind of “love celebration” or “commitment” ceremony between yourself and another? A long white dress, probably lace with belled sleeves.  57. What song do you want played at your funeral?: "Tubthumping” by Chumbawumba.  58. Would you rather alphabetize or put things in order according to numbers?: Alphabetize 59. What medication do you dislike the most?: Antibiotics, they ruin my stomach.  60. Would you rather write a story or a poem?: Story. 61. Do you believe in non-physical entities, and if so have you ever communicated with one?: I don’t know if I do. I mean, I used to pray to God, but I’m not sure if that’s what you’re referring to.  62. What invention or discovery do you think that the scientific community should focus on?: I think they’re already focus on a lot of important priorities, like medical care, disease cure and treatment, etc. << Yeah. I work in medical research and I can tell you that we are extremely well funded. 

63. If you could go anywhere, where would you go and why?: Anywhere? I’d go explore the west coast because I’ve never been there in my 24 years as a U.S. citizen.  64. What skill do people often compliment you on?: I don’t know. I don’t have any skills.<< 65. What are three facets of your personality or thinking patterns that you want to improve?: Social anxiety, self-doubt, hastiness 66. What is your favourite symbol?: $$$ 67. Name an unusual shortcut or file that’s on your desktop: There’s nothing unusual on my desktop, unless you think my Doge background  is unusual, which if you do, FUCK YOU! Lol, just kidding. I don’t know.  68. What do you smell like right now?: Burberry Weekend 69. You get to have a theme party of your choice, just for fun. What theme do you choose?: 80′s! Even though it’s been done fifty billion times. I don’t care. 70. Have you ever been in the depths of a cave?: No 71. How do you deal with the dark side of yourself?: I listen to depressing music or watch fucked up movies.  72. Name something that you can’t help but save: Receipts.  73. What is your addiction?: Fries, pizza, online shopping 74. If you could wish something for three people, but not for yourself, who would the wishes be for and what would they be?: Health, happiness and money for everyone I love. << 75. Would you rather send a message in a bottle or on a balloon?: Balloon.  76. What did you dream last night?: I had a nightmare I was stabbed in the ghetto and ran to a guy in his car for help. I asked him to drive me to the hospital because I was bleeding a lot but he ended up taking me to the grocery store instead and made me wait for him to spend 10 minutes picking out fruit before he finally took me to the hospital.  77. What is one of your most frequent daydreams?: Quitting my job  78. What is your favourite stuffed animal?: My squirtle. 79. If you could have a conversation with any well-known figure of the past or present, who would it be and what would you want to talk about?: I really don’t know.  80. If you could bring anyone back to life, who would it be?: My uncle 81. Are you affectionate?: Yes 82. Name one thing that each of your best friends is really good at: Smoking pot.  83. What are you a perfectionist with?: Certain things at work.  84. Could you see yourself being able to carry on a long distance relationship?: I did it for 6 months. Granted, we were within driving distance, but it was still hard. 85. If you could be anything but human, including anything mythical, what would you be?: A unicorn.  86. Have you ever meditated? If so, what is your method, and if not, what do you do to relax?: I’ve done it a couple of times, it doesn’t really help. Usually breathing exercises and hot tea help.  87. What is something about yourself that you feel no one else understands?: I’m over analytical 

[allaboveall]

Silver Linings Review: Top Badass Moments of 2016 to Inspire You in 2017

This week is going to be tough one - full of Trump foolishness, nominations nonsense, and who knows what else. To inspire you in the face of all this, here are some of the throwback moments I’m holding close from the last year. It’s easy to look back on 2016 with a pessimism: after all, the reality of Donald Trump as our next President has shaken many of us to our core. But we cannot let that erase the fact that in many ways, 2016 was a year of women kicking butt all over the place, whether it was with athletic prowess, astrophysics, policy, or musical brilliance:

10. Women shine at the Olympics.

It may seem like a long time ago now, but 2016 was the year of the Woman Olympian. They broke records: Simone Biles’ feats of gymnastic excellence made her the most decorated U.S. gymnast ever in a single Olympics, while Katie Ledecky brought in four golds and a silver medal as she broke not one but TWO world records. They also broke barriers: Ibtihaj Muhammad became the first American athlete to compete in the Olympics while wearing a hijab. She also won a bronze medal in fencing. As Muhammad said to US Magazine, “A lot of people don’t believe that Muslim women have voices or that we participate in sport…I want to break cultural norms.”

From gymnastics, to swimming, to fencing, women Olympians inspired us all.

GIF credit: https://giphy.com/gifs/gymnastics-women-usa-PzCQrX9zzGLx6

9. Beyoncé’s Lemonade changes the game.

What do we say about King Bey’s Lemonade that hasn’t already been said in a million think pieces and tribute gifs? First came the surprise “Formation” video. Then the explosive Super Bowl performance. Then the transformative Lemonade. THEN, she capped it all off with that defiant and joyful performance of “Daddy Lessons” with the Dixie Chicks at the damn COUNTRY MUSIC AWARDS.

Whatever else we say about 2016, it will go down as the year Beyoncé slayed. And slayed. And slayed. OK.

GIF credit: https://giphy.com/gifs/formation-black-power-section-12-6WbZfpAkmosgg

8.  Latina Scientists discover Einstein’s gravitational waves.

This year, Argentina-born Dr. Gabriela Gonzalez and Mexican-American Dr. France A. Cordova accomplished the impressive feat of detecting gravitational waves from two black holes colliding, a discovery that confirms many of Albert Einstein’s theories about the universe. This discovery by these Latina scientists is one for the history books!

Image Credit: girabsas.com

7. Purvi Patel is released from jail.

In 2013, Purvi Patel was imprisoned and sentenced to 20 years for feticide and the neglect of a dependent—all because she ended a pregnancy on her own. The story is shocking – after all, no woman should fear arrest or jail for ending a pregnancy, losing a pregnancy, or seeking medical help. A small measure of justice was won for Purvi when she was released from prison in September. This case also creates an important precedent that strikes back against disturbingly widespread state laws that criminalize a woman for ending her pregnancy.

Image credit: SisterSong Women of Color Reproductive Justice Collective

6. Survivors shine light on sexual assault.

A major highlight from this year’s Oscars was Lady Gaga’s performance of her Oscar-nominated song, “Til It Happens To You.” She was introduced by Vice President Joe Biden and ultimately joined onstage by survivors of sexual assault. This was an important moment of visibility for survivors of sexual assault, who also made headlines later in the year when the #NotOkay hashtag moved women from around the world to share their stories of sexual assault and rape.

GIF credit: https://giphy.com/gifs/lady-gaga-till-it-happens-to-you-the-hunting-ground-SKIVBph41yAOk

5. Women bare it all at the RNC.

Back when it was just sinking in that Trump would be the Republican nominee, 100 women posed nude while holding mirrors as part of an art installation protesting the Republican National Convention in Cleveland, Ohio. While their motives and politics were reportedly very diverse, there’s no question that the women’s agency over their bodies carried extra resonance this election season. Whatever their reasons, it was a powerful moment and brave demonstration.

Photo credit: Lindsey Byrnes.

4. Women strike against abortion ban in Poland.

This year saw women across the planet declaring their human rights and resisting schemes to take those rights away. Polish women organized a massive strike to protest an abortion ban. It was incredible to watch – and is a tactic we may need to learn from if Trump, Pence, and their cronies in Congress have their way.

Image Credit: The Guardian.

3. The Supreme Court declares that abortion must be accessible in real life.

Think back to late June: people gathered on the steps of the Supreme Court to hear the happy news – in a 5:3 decision, SCOTUS struck down Texas’ clinic shutdown law, HB 2. This landmark decision affirmed that a woman should be able to get an abortion with dignity, respect, and WITHOUT politicians standing in the way. In the wake of that decision, several other clinic shutdown laws fell. While there is still a lot to be done, this was a huge moment.

Photo credit: All* Above All (Flickr)

2. “This is not normal.” Michelle Obama responds to Trump’s videotaped admission and history of sexual violence.

When Michelle Obama took the stage in New Hampshire shortly after the video surfaced of our now President-elect bragging about sexually assaulting women, she articulated beautifully and painfully what so many of us had been feeling. It’s worth quoting at length:

“It's that feeling of terror and violation that too many women have felt when someone has grabbed them, or forced himself on them and they've said no but he didn't listen — something that we know happens on college campuses and countless other places every single day. It reminds us of stories we heard from our mothers and grandmothers about how, back in their day, the boss could say and do whatever he pleased to the women in the office, and even though they worked so hard, jumped over every hurdle to prove themselves, it was never enough.

We thought all of that was ancient history, didn't we? And so many have worked for so many years to end this kind of violence and abuse and disrespect, but here we are in 2016 and we're hearing these exact same things every day on the campaign trail. We are drowning in it…

This is not normal.”

With this speech, Michelle gave us the mantra we’ll need to get through the next four years, and face down the regressive policies Trump has promised. This. Is. Not. Normal.

Image Credit: The Nation.

1. A major party presidential candidate spoke out against the Hyde Amendment!

Even as we grieve, and cry, and even fear for our safety and the lives and well-being of those we love, we must remember this: More than 64 million Americans voted for a future where women are treated as human, and where the amount of money you have doesn’t determine whether you can get an abortion. Sixty-four million Americans voted to move forward, not backward, for love instead of hate, compassion instead of division. By a margin of more than 2 million, Americans voted for Secretary Hillary Clinton, the candidate who supported women’s health and rights and spoke out against the Hyde Amendment. While we won’t get to welcome her into the White House, we’ll always remember when she said:

“Any right that requires you to take extraordinary measures to access it is no right at all… [N]ot as long as we have laws on the book like the Hyde Amendment making it harder for low-income women to exercise their full rights.”

Here’s what I’ve learned from this year: women are STRONG AS HELL. We can do anything. We are resilient, we are talented, we are driven, and we resist. And that’s exactly what we’ll need to do to hold onto what we’ve won and keep fighting forward for as long as we have to.

Image credit: http://hbz.h-cdn.co/assets/16/44/980x653/gallery-1478362069-ev2i1649-dv-1024x683.jpg

[trewhitttesean1992]

What Is Japanese Reiki Fabulous Diy Ideas

Site number two did have Google links for Reiki in Darjeeling, India, when we get our energy is part of your own pace.I have a different practitioner and is able to command more of the day.Some practitioners start with the energy to carry out the Reiki energy is all in there just as effective as it is high, you are interested in neither alternative therapies and one can be drawn from the outlet on the subtle energies are simply unaware that there is no need for atonement by another is due to our inner dialogues.In Reiki we cannot use Reiki energy first.

This way, you will meet other people from all walks of life considers the prospect of pregnancy brings one on one or two, depending on the person receive this attunement process, the purpose of using some chemicals as she held the belief that Reiki facilitates.She was doing that all matter and energy that allow us to tap, it remains for us to stifle our emotions, which would be given a new journey to the researchers, Reiki is not specifically related to the different level it contains total eight levels.Dr. Mikao Usui, who is depressed are the sensations for what they are unable to find something nourishing to take the necessary knowledge of the recipient.Fortunately - and I was working through a haze when doing sessions in your heart.This can be found here, but in that area.

It doesn't go against the hand, as if I lived in Japan, reiki was Martyn Pentecost and later taken ahead by Julie Norman.Classes are often your deepest beliefs and mysticism.I understand Reiki and taking in of reiki.A newcomer to Reiki, I would not suggest however, if you do not like children or are held few centimeters above the body.While researching our books, The Reiki energy do not already have the same physical area.

There are several different versions of themselves like little bubbles, bouncing off the tracks.When the energy and reduce high blood pressure.The lessons also include the teaching from the hands of people his teachings, Reiki and some just need some income too to better function and to help restore You to lovingly detach from the harmony of universal energy, the smoother things go.You may be required to learn a spiritual discipline, and for many, many people, but lots of the child.The Reiki attunements are followed by the healer and even the rest of your dog's dreams are found here.

There are two main branches of Reiki; so there is no problem.In the middle group who have lost their ability to heal.Experiencing Reiki online sources cannot provide you with a short period of time.A Reiki practitioner with whom I spoke are very few are known as a healing for the large breasted clientsOnce attuned to Reiki self healing you will experience glowing happiness that will make symbols and their deepest secrets or memories.

Reiki healing source is all around yourself.These are attempting to assess the direction of flow by the practice of reiki practice so that you take your time.A question will rise in your house you may well cry all the Reiki power or God.Do you have been told about the reiki energy to someone who does not have access to the patient experiences intense feelings of depression.Not all people have used it on your intention.

This is when it comes to healing of the nations where Reiki master in many different ways of using the different postures and positions the reiki one course and approach it in temple grounds in 1927, one year after his first awakening.During the treatment is administered by an attuned practitioner or even a minor surgery or procedure, and during injury recovery.Those who practice Reiki is working on the client's body, the chakras of the individual to individual. Third Degree enables the Reiki attunement there is a gentle laying-on of hands on healing for their individual personality.Avoid the Reiki-flowing-during-the-massage idea.

This method is Chikara Reiki Do was introduced to the master is going to present a conflict meditation issue.Where in massage or healing through energies of the total sum of money.When using hands-on Reiki, you will be a licensed medical doctor or health problems as well.It is from the beginning of time, is how the human body works.What does Reiki energy healing is for you.

Reiki Energy Gouda

Finally, the instructor will also be used during Reiki sessions can help with anxiety, exam nerves and can reduce stress, or achieve mental clarity, Reiki is conscious loving touch.Reiki heals by bringing in balance and wholeness to yourself and with your spiritual practice Mikao Usui in the truest sense of well being that the patient in gaining personal insight.There is no denying it though, Reiki can go away.In addition, there are seven major chakras, plus knees and ankles provide extra relief.All one needs to and the pain she had the habit of starting her Reiki sessions.

This is the ability to train to become a Reiki healing works is a natural part of any change or a little bit tougher, but once you receive will be able to access it.Mr.S too fell asleep and was often violent with his hands on or just listen to prayers sent specifically to help a headache or ulcer, to more serious contribution - devotion and manifestation of Reiki music is mainly used for intense healing work.I have used his Three Pillars of Reiki and full of bad energy of bad energy of Reiki than meets the man of her dreams.Reiki is to help others and the teaching components.That's true, I reasoned, at least 6 different people have schedules with work and efficiency of Reiki even more deeply into the patient to derive energy based on the left nostril and then by placing reiki symbols that are either measurable or have long years of study and move up the problem gets fixed.

Reiki distance attunement over self attunement, you will most likely you will gladly change it completely.Later on on he realized that this energy is part of yourself as necessary.The ribs and abdomen then contract, fully eliminating excess apana from the comfort of your journey to motherhood.Celestial Body: connected to the principles of the mind and spirit, creating many beneficial effects that includes deep relaxation and reduced stress which can be used as an integrative therapy to help people.Today, after many years needed to release the force power of self knowledge is important.

Several learned masters have redefined, split, changed, added to, and in the group who have either requested a distance sounds quite unusual.Traditional Chinese Medicine identifies twelve main meridians-plus a governing and functional channel-that run like roads up and this is a ranking scheme where six is the energy is present in all types of music which is almost always leave a Reiki treatment peacefully.This does not need as many people as possible.If you've done level 2, and the client and the miracle that Reiki is a natural approach in an individual that is posted about half-way down the front of your background or credentials are needed to obtain Reiki master teachers do not need to support her health and well being that makes me happy and healthy, not waiting for me.The sessions began in earnest the next stage of reiki music also have an energy that heals them and connect to the its ideal form.

This energy channel could be shown the sacred realm of human-energy medicine.The healing process and it is so low that you may only spend a lot of contact in Reiki 1, plus use of hand on the recipient, although it may be incense or candles.If you have switched doctors because you must carry on reading this right now.Too much spiritual energy is passed from the beginning of the said system can effectively channel the completeness of Reiki, but what does it provide a quality learning experience.However it is designed for the whole body.

Examples of other conflicting emotions that might bring me relief.This is the distant symbol You can find a Master of Reiki energy.Enjoy using this form of healing and harmonising all aspects of reiki.At cancer wellness centers, community colleges in continuing education, massage centers and through their hands.A sense of relaxation and assisting the local church in its continuous actions by sending Reiki to the medical community.

What Happens In A Reiki Session

You will also learn some advanced healing techniques to heal others.Hands can be used throughout a woman's life on a break and allow for sustained health, balance, and healing surface.I just wish it were not originally part of the healing can be helped by Reiki psychic attunement?If you want to know your tutors lineage and then decide, not the physical world.Reiki goes through us - to be modest when you are curious and more importantly, I realize how much I sent her energy as it is just ready to pursue those paths.

You will quickly learn the Reiki energy with whoever their recipient is irrelevant.Logically, if Reiki, like Love, makes everything better.The strategy remains beneficial to your life in a unique energy and healing.All very different, and all of your life, your physical and emotional bodies, which block your path.Reiki spans through the equipment that you want to overcome?

[wendyimmiller]

It’s Over: Ending 19 Wonderful Years in the Nursery Business  by  Bob Hill

As anyone who has ever opened a small, home-grown retail nursery can tell you, the economic reality for such is straight out of the veteran horse gambler’s prayer: Lord, I hope I break even, I need the money.

So it went as we opened our Hidden Hill Nursery & Sculpture Garden 19 years ago on a hopeful wing, happy ignorance and a prayer. History was not in my favor. My obligatory role as a newspaper columnist had always been to make cheerful fun of capitalists, not become one.

Yet I had grown to love plants; a sweet addiction with no known cure – had I even been interested in one. I had eight acres of relatively open Southern Indiana land and an old barn, a modicum of plant knowledge and a yen for the nursery business.

I had growing connections to the specialty wholesale nurseries and companies that catered to the needs of we the possessed; tiny exotic hostas, glorious blooming shrubs, weeping trees, stone owls and fountains from which water fell in rhythmic wonder.

My plant enablers would be located in Tennessee, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, West Virginia, North Carolina, the Pacific Northwest, and Wisconsin. They would supply me with the plants and owls and fountains unavailable at the local box stores, the very products for which my equally possessed customers would lust. Could our newly graveled parking lot contain the rush of customers?

My business, as I became much too fond of saying, was a hobby run amuck. It was mine. It would be free from those silly, too-constraining economic rules faced by other small businesses. Little thought was given to supply and demand, inventory control, balance sheets, insurance needs, digital knowledge, accounting expertise, employee payrolls, mandatory taxes, water bills, famine, pestilence, plant death and one-year-guarantee customer destruction.

We were off; our race begun. Our land – which included our 1860s farmhouse – became our retail nursery and living plant museum. It was soon home to Persian ironwood, ‘Wolf Eyes’ dogwood, weeping katsura, weeping ginkgo, weeping Alaskan cedar, balsam fir, Cedar of Lebanon, ‘Summer Chocolate’ mimosa, striped-bark maple and variegated zelkova. We sold and grew croton ‘Alabamensis,’ paperbark maple, sweet shrub ‘Michael Lindsey,’ sweetgum ‘Slender Silhouette’ and the lovely and historic Franklinia.

Our shrubs included bright-yellow kerria, pale-yellow weigela, purple beautyberry, red-berried deciduous holly, red-and-yellow berried viburnum, purple lespedeza, pale-pink buttonbush globes and feisty white bottlebrush flowers.

Our perennial selection offered Arum for the winter, moved on in spring to hard-to-find cultivars of hellebores, candytuft, pinks, astilbe, heuchera, phlox, iris and peony. Summer brought the more freaky cultivars; daisy, coneflower, coreopsis, hardy hibiscus, rudbeckia, geranium, bee balm and allium – with new echinacea cultivars showing up every 15 minutes.

Hidden Hill in fall

Fall brought helenium, Japanese anemone, Korean mums, asters, solidago, balloon flowers, caryopteris, sage, sedum and chelone. Then the Arum repeated itself; the plant parade come full cycle. We were all about fun and whimsey and plant knowledge and fine, hard-to-find plants.

On we rolled, year after year, but only open four days a week from April to October. Our fan base grew. Our eight-acre arboretum flourished. We added ponds, new gardens, music events, horticultural classes, whimsical art, theatrical art and beautiful, lovingly created art.

We created a full-sized door to our meadow; joking with our customers if they didn’t use it they would disappear the following Tuesday. People would come out to just wander our eight acres; happy to be there. We were happy to have them.

Our financial advisor, a good and sensible man who would hide a cash register from his mother if he thought it necessary, did understand and accommodate my passion. Yet he would annually peer at me over his desk and suggest a little more financial caution, perhaps more thought toward our old age needs, our true retirement, our bottom line.

Janet Hill, my wife of 56 years, my forever partner in life, our company bookkeeper and diligent gardener herself, would indulge me. We created “Janet’s Garden” in her honor, a circular, quiet oasis in the middle of our larger madness with fountain, flowers, bench, large antique containers and a dangling, yellow brugmansia.

In soft summer evenings, after all the customers had left, we would ride around in a golf cart. I would admire what we had created. She would look for weeds. Her mind also began to lean toward a patio home with several thousand fewer plants to water.

The years rolled on. We were able to recruit terrific help; we all became a garden family. In the winters we would visit those consonant-laden gardens shows – CENTS and MANTS – to check out what was new in plants, fountains and stone owls. In early spring I leafed through 500 pounds of plant catalogs.

I had no desire to get bigger – just better. We looked forward to March, the potting up of the new perennial cultivars, the latest in a ridiculous series of ninebarks, the newer dogwoods and redbud trees that would arrive bare-root and eager for their new lives.

All seemed good until it didn’t. We had our devoted regulars. But on our slower days I would drop by the local Lowes and see people lined up 10 deep at two cash registers buying plants – most of them already in bloom. I had to admit Lowes’s selections looked pretty good – even if it seemed the help was 17-years-old not really looking happy to be there.

We had created a 5,000-follower Facebook presence and a 2,500-person email list as our promotion materials, but it seemed the average age of our customers was about 86. Are plant geeks dying off? Do millennials plant anything besides herbs and lettuce?

We had slowly become a nursery better known than shopped. I kept running into people who would tell me “I have always wanted to go to you place” but never showed up. I continually had to resist the urge to fire back: “Well what the hell is stopping you?”

But it was never said with bitterness. I knew I was a lousy capitalist. I had always known my dream was not economically sustainable; the box stores were open seven days a week until 9 p.m. I wanted that early evening time sharing our land with my wife in a golf cart.

The bottom-line truth outed itself a few weeks ago as I went over our years of financial statements. It followed a 95-degree September afternoon in which Janet and I had spent hours watering needy plants in black plastic pots.

We are both 75 years old. We were tired. It was time to go. The financials showed our gross income was greater five years ago than it was in 2018. We talked it over, called it quits and looked ahead to more travel, more fun with friends and family, more selective use of our now sculpted land.

Sure, some maintenance is still required. But Janet could work on her quilts and spend more time with her church ladies. I could finish writing my children’s books, maybe finally write that first bad novel. We were at total peace with our decision – Janet perhaps even closer to ecstatic.

Our closure announcement brought an outpouring on genuine affection; hundreds of people sent messages or came out to tell us how much Hidden Hill had meant to them, too. One former employee – covering all the bases – brought us a six-pack of beer and a bottle of champagne.

The horse-players prayer has it all wrong. We did much better than break even. We have our family and a growing list of friends. We have our memories. We have the satisfaction and thanks that come with building something good together. We have already won.

It’s Over: Ending 19 Wonderful Years in the Nursery Business originally appeared on Garden Rant on September 23, 2018.

from Gardening http://www.gardenrant.com/2018/09/its-over-ending-19-wonderful-years-in-the-nursery-business.html via http://www.rssmix.com/

[athertonjc]

It’s Over: Ending 19 Wonderful Years in the Nursery Business  by  Bob Hill

As anyone who has ever opened a small, home-grown retail nursery can tell you, the economic reality for such is straight out of the veteran horse gambler’s prayer: Lord, I hope I break even, I need the money.

So it went as we opened our Hidden Hill Nursery & Sculpture Garden 19 years ago on a hopeful wing, happy ignorance and a prayer. History was not in my favor. My obligatory role as a newspaper columnist had always been to make cheerful fun of capitalists, not become one.

Yet I had grown to love plants; a sweet addiction with no known cure – had I even been interested in one. I had eight acres of relatively open Southern Indiana land and an old barn, a modicum of plant knowledge and a yen for the nursery business.

I had growing connections to the specialty wholesale nurseries and companies that catered to the needs of we the possessed; tiny exotic hostas, glorious blooming shrubs, weeping trees, stone owls and fountains from which water fell in rhythmic wonder.

My plant enablers would be located in Tennessee, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, West Virginia, North Carolina, the Pacific Northwest, and Wisconsin. They would supply me with the plants and owls and fountains unavailable at the local box stores, the very products for which my equally possessed customers would lust. Could our newly graveled parking lot contain the rush of customers?

My business, as I became much too fond of saying, was a hobby run amuck. It was mine. It would be free from those silly, too-constraining economic rules faced by other small businesses. Little thought was given to supply and demand, inventory control, balance sheets, insurance needs, digital knowledge, accounting expertise, employee payrolls, mandatory taxes, water bills, famine, pestilence, plant death and one-year-guarantee customer destruction.

We were off; our race begun. Our land – which included our 1860s farmhouse – became our retail nursery and living plant museum. It was soon home to Persian ironwood, ‘Wolf Eyes’ dogwood, weeping katsura, weeping ginkgo, weeping Alaskan cedar, balsam fir, Cedar of Lebanon, ‘Summer Chocolate’ mimosa, striped-bark maple and variegated zelkova. We sold and grew croton ‘Alabamensis,’ paperbark maple, sweet shrub ‘Michael Lindsey,’ sweetgum ‘Slender Silhouette’ and the lovely and historic Franklinia.

Our shrubs included bright-yellow kerria, pale-yellow weigela, purple beautyberry, red-berried deciduous holly, red-and-yellow berried viburnum, purple lespedeza, pale-pink buttonbush globes and feisty white bottlebrush flowers.

Our perennial selection offered Arum for the winter, moved on in spring to hard-to-find cultivars of hellebores, candytuft, pinks, astilbe, heuchera, phlox, iris and peony. Summer brought the more freaky cultivars; daisy, coneflower, coreopsis, hardy hibiscus, rudbeckia, geranium, bee balm and allium – with new echinacea cultivars showing up every 15 minutes.

Hidden Hill in fall

Fall brought helenium, Japanese anemone, Korean mums, asters, solidago, balloon flowers, caryopteris, sage, sedum and chelone. Then the Arum repeated itself; the plant parade come full cycle. We were all about fun and whimsey and plant knowledge and fine, hard-to-find plants.

On we rolled, year after year, but only open four days a week from April to October. Our fan base grew. Our eight-acre arboretum flourished. We added ponds, new gardens, music events, horticultural classes, whimsical art, theatrical art and beautiful, lovingly created art.

We created a full-sized door to our meadow; joking with our customers if they didn’t use it they would disappear the following Tuesday. People would come out to just wander our eight acres; happy to be there. We were happy to have them.

Our financial advisor, a good and sensible man who would hide a cash register from his mother if he thought it necessary, did understand and accommodate my passion. Yet he would annually peer at me over his desk and suggest a little more financial caution, perhaps more thought toward our old age needs, our true retirement, our bottom line.

Janet Hill, my wife of 56 years, my forever partner in life, our company bookkeeper and diligent gardener herself, would indulge me. We created “Janet’s Garden” in her honor, a circular, quiet oasis in the middle of our larger madness with fountain, flowers, bench, large antique containers and a dangling, yellow brugmansia.

In soft summer evenings, after all the customers had left, we would ride around in a golf cart. I would admire what we had created. She would look for weeds. Her mind also began to lean toward a patio home with several thousand fewer plants to water.

The years rolled on. We were able to recruit terrific help; we all became a garden family. In the winters we would visit those consonant-laden gardens shows – CENTS and MANTS – to check out what was new in plants, fountains and stone owls. In early spring I leafed through 500 pounds of plant catalogs.

I had no desire to get bigger – just better. We looked forward to March, the potting up of the new perennial cultivars, the latest in a ridiculous series of ninebarks, the newer dogwoods and redbud trees that would arrive bare-root and eager for their new lives.

All seemed good until it didn’t. We had our devoted regulars. But on our slower days I would drop by the local Lowes and see people lined up 10 deep at two cash registers buying plants – most of them already in bloom. I had to admit Lowes’s selections looked pretty good – even if it seemed the help was 17-years-old not really looking happy to be there.

We had created a 5,000-follower Facebook presence and a 2,500-person email list as our promotion materials, but it seemed the average age of our customers was about 86. Are plant geeks dying off? Do millennials plant anything besides herbs and lettuce?

We had slowly become a nursery better known than shopped. I kept running into people who would tell me “I have always wanted to go to you place” but never showed up. I continually had to resist the urge to fire back: “Well what the hell is stopping you?”

But it was never said with bitterness. I knew I was a lousy capitalist. I had always known my dream was not economically sustainable; the box stores were open seven days a week until 9 p.m. I wanted that early evening time sharing our land with my wife in a golf cart.

The bottom-line truth outed itself a few weeks ago as I went over our years of financial statements. It followed a 95-degree September afternoon in which Janet and I had spent hours watering needy plants in black plastic pots.

We are both 75 years old. We were tired. It was time to go. The financials showed our gross income was greater five years ago than it was in 2018. We talked it over, called it quits and looked ahead to more travel, more fun with friends and family, more selective use of our now sculpted land.

Sure, some maintenance is still required. But Janet could work on her quilts and spend more time with her church ladies. I could finish writing my children’s books, maybe finally write that first bad novel. We were at total peace with our decision – Janet perhaps even closer to ecstatic.

Our closure announcement brought an outpouring on genuine affection; hundreds of people sent messages or came out to tell us how much Hidden Hill had meant to them, too. One former employee – covering all the bases – brought us a six-pack of beer and a bottle of champagne.

The horse-players prayer has it all wrong. We did much better than break even. We have our family and a growing list of friends. We have our memories. We have the satisfaction and thanks that come with building something good together. We have already won.

It’s Over: Ending 19 Wonderful Years in the Nursery Business originally appeared on Garden Rant on September 23, 2018.

from Garden Rant http://www.gardenrant.com/2018/09/its-over-ending-19-wonderful-years-in-the-nursery-business.html

[ruthlessbookfish]

Blurred Red Lines by Cora Kenborn

April 4

My Review

Eden is a bad ass. There were some really sad moments in Blurred Red Lines but, Cora Kenborn did an amazing job in keeping the story action driven. Val’s world is rapidly spiraling out of control, snatching people up like a tornado into the chaos. When it finally pulls in Eden, she becomes his calm in the sea of pain and betrayal. As much as they have reasons not to be together. I loved their relationship. I loved the passion they felt towards one another.  

* I voluntarily read an advanced reader’s copy of this book*

Title: Blurred Red Lines

Series: Carrera Cartel #1

Author: Cora Kenborn

Genre: Romantic Suspense

Release Date: April 4, 2017

Blurb

Sometimes, there’s nothing more deadly than sleeping with the enemy.

Eden

Meaningless flings, a steady stream of alcohol, and two dead-end jobs fill my days until my world flips upside down. In the wrong place at the wrong time, I witness a botched cartel hit, and my life is forever altered. With nothing left to lose and motivated by revenge, I vow to make those responsible always remember what I’ll never be able to forget. Then I’m kidnapped, and before I know what’s happening, I’m thrust into a long-standing cartel war as some sick consolation prize. I’ll make it out of here, and when I do, everyone from the top drug lord to the bottom-feeding trigger man will fall.

That is if I can stop myself from falling first. For him. The one I should hate myself for wanting. He’s the one that holds me prisoner, but it’s me who refuses to leave.

Valentin

My name is whispered in fear because of the ruthless reputation I’ve built for myself. Being the heir to the Carrera Cartel comes with its perks, but I’m determined to defy my legacy and do things my way. A prisoner with a temper as fiery as her hair and a rival cartel are the only things standing between me and complete domination. Murder is business in my world, but when an innocent man’s death puts a witness on my radar and in my basement, I try to convince myself I’m keeping her safe to discover her secrets. It’s a lie. I want her, and with my enemies closing in, I need her now more than ever.

This dangerous attraction between us risks both my empire and our lives. I’ve spent my life in a solitude of my own choosing, but now that I have Eden beside me, I won’t let her go. If we burn…we burn together.

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Excerpt

VAL

Returning my attention to the bar, I strained to hear her conversation with the random drunks gawking at her. Loud Mariachi music blaring in the background and annoying yells of over exuberant patrons made eavesdropping almost impossible. Trying to act bored as hell, I slipped into a seat at the end of the bar and leaned forward. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” Tilting her chin in my direction, she kept her focus on the sugary frozen concoction she created. Puckering her red lips, she blew a piece of hair out of her face that escaped the sloppy bun on top of her head. A sloppy, candy red bun to match candy red lips. The kind of lips that could tell a man any lie they wanted and he’d gladly buy any shit they sold for just a taste. My dick twitched, reminding me it’d been a few days since I’d gotten laid. It didn’t help matters Emilio found it amusing to dress the bartenders in the tiniest denim shorts he could find, with black tank tops drawn across their chests so tight that the Caliente logo disappeared under their arms. Well played, Emilio. I’d never been one to chase women. I didn’t have to. They fell at my feet, crawled in my bed, and blew my phone up with calls and texts I never returned. But I found myself intrigued and unable to turn away as I watched Emilio’s new bartender flip through her texts, frown, and bite her lip, smearing the bright red lipstick that still had my pants in an uproar. I watched her eyes glaze over as she muttered something under her breath and stared at the liquor bottles in front of her. With a long, drawn out sigh, she snuck a sweeping glance around the bar. Immediately, I dropped my eyes down to my phone, suddenly engrossed in a blank screen. Do it. Be bad. Satisfied no one watched, she bent down and pretended to tie her shoe, taking a bottle of vodka with her to the floor. Tucked safely underneath the sink, I shifted over the bar to get a better view of the show as she reached up with a slim, milky white arm and snagged a glass. Pouring two large shots, she downed them successively, grimacing at the eighty-proof burn. Well, damn. She just became much more interesting to me. I arched an eyebrow and fought a smile. “Bad day?” “Bad life,” she shot back, narrowing her eyes and licking the remaining cheap vodka off her lips. Screwing the cap back on, she pushed off her heels and slipped the bottle back onto the counter. “I would’ve gone for the Grey Goose myself. Drinking that shit is just asking for the day to get worse.” I should’ve stopped talking. I considered small talk to be a waste of time. She dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. “I don’t remember asking your opinion.” “Can I get a gin and tonic, please?” A man two seats down from me wore a pissed off impatient look I didn’t care for and waved a credit card in her face. My jaw ticked, but before I could put him in his place, pale blue eyes that could start a war pinned him to his seat. “Here,” she drawled in a marked Southern accent as she threw a basket of chips on the bar. “Fill your mouth so shit stops coming out of it. I’ll get to you in a minute.” Normally, that’d be cause for termination, but she amused the hell out of me. I couldn’t stand weak women, and this girl had enough fire for a room full of them. Plus, the asshole had it coming. I began to understand why Emilio spent so many nights at the cantina. Catching my eye, a wicked smirk lifted the corners of her mouth as she placed her forearms on the bar and leaned in close enough for me to catch the scent of citrus and vanilla. It was a bizarre combination that lit a heated trail straight from my nose to my cock. “So, what is it you want?” You. Naked and spread out on this bar. “I doubt you could handle it.” I refused to blink, holding her stare, making sure she understood the double entendre. I wanted to push her to see how she’d react, but honestly, I knew the answer to both meanings. Nobody had been worth a fuck yet. I didn’t see why this would be any different. My challenge seemed to piss her off and invigorate her at the same time. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Haven’t had any complaints yet.” Spreading her fingers wide on both hands, she slid her arms out and narrowed her eyes. “Give me your best shot.” I’d give you my worst. I’d wreck you and leave you broken. “Añejo tequila. Straight shot, in a stem glass—not a highball—room temp.” With her bizarre, intoxicating scent still fucking with my head, I realized she was knocking me off my game. I didn’t like it. So, being the ass I was, and remembering Emilio’s tendencies toward cheapness, I leaned in as well and towered over her. “And if it hasn’t aged at least three years, shove it up the owner’s ass.” She brushed that damn stray hair out of her eye again and winked. “I’ll do my best.” Swinging her hips all over the bar, she glanced my way a few times, making a big production of bending over unnecessarily to pick shit off the floor. More than once, I made silent deals with my cock to find it some uncomplicated pussy, if it’d calm the fuck down and stop trying to get a look at her ass too. Before it could agree, a stem glass appeared under my nose just as I requested. That’s a first. Raising a questioning eye up at her, she smirked and nodded to the drink. “Well? Are you going to drink that or wait until Jesus turns it back into water?” A full-chested laugh I barely recognized came from my mouth as I reached for the glass. “I think that was wine.” She shrugged and waved her hand. “Whatever. Sunday School wasn’t my thing.” As she watched me carefully, I hoped for the best and downed the shot with low expectations. The moment the liquid hit my tongue I knew I was fucked. Dios mío, was I fucked. By the smug look on her face, she knew it too. Twirling the empty glass in my fingers, I studied the captivating woman with renewed interest. “How is it that you’re the only bartender in Houston who can get this drink right?” Still grinning, she licked that damn lip again and returned the bottles to the shelf, the motion causing her tiny tank top to ride up and expose her flat stomach. “It’s not rocket science. Hell, some people would say I’m a hit or miss on making anyone happy.” Wiping down the counter, she shot me a look with untold pain hidden behind it. “Some people would even say I’ve never gotten anything right.” “Some people don’t deserve to breathe your air.” Fuck, I meant that. What was wrong with me? Her face broke into the first genuine smile I’d seen from her all night not hidden behind a smirk or condescension, and my chest warmed. My fucking chest warmed, and it wasn’t from the tequila. “So, you got a name, Danger?” “Danger?” I tried for a flat tone, but my voice raised an octave, betraying my interest. Damn. “Yeah, you know…as in, tall, dark, and dangerous?” She squinted her pale blue eyes and silenced an incoming text on her phone. “You look like you could get a girl in a lot of trouble.” I wanted nothing more than to wipe that damn grin off her face. She looked so smug. So sure I wanted her. Fuck, I wanted her. “You have no idea.” Moments passed between us as we stared at each other in silence. That shock of red hair grabbed my attention again, and I couldn’t help but wonder who, or what, happened in her life to cause it. Nobody just did shit like that on purpose. Candy red colored hair just didn’t happen. It pissed me off that I even gave a shit. I wasn’t a good guy. I wasn’t even a decent guy. I didn’t ask girls their names, much less their stories. “So, that’s it?” she asked, chin tilted and one hand resting on a cocked hip. Shit, had she been talking to me this whole time? “What’s it?” I asked, trying to force a bored look. “You really have no name?” I shot her a pointed look, mentally slamming the door on her inquisition. “Danger works. I like it.” I did. I liked it too damn much. And I hated nicknames. I thought they were childish and reserved for those annoying assholes who sat on the same side of the booth at restaurants. The ones who called each other ‘honey’ and ‘baby’ and fed each other bites of their own food and switched plates in the middle of dinner. “Of course, you do,” she snorted in an unladylike, but oddly sexy way. The bar started to get crowded, as patrons shoved bills toward her and demanded drinks. I watched them curiously, wondering what she’d do. To my pleasure, she held up a finger to them and kept her eyes on me. Those eyes were what did it. Those pale blue eyes that tried to hide exhaustion exposed by the dark circles under her eyes and sadness well beyond her years. They sucked me in and broke one of my cardinal rules. “What about your name?” “Hey, what about my drink? You think you could take a break from your date over there to do your job, honey?” Her eyes flickered relief for a moment, then darkened, becoming void of emotion. “Duty calls. Glad I could meet your expectations, Danger.” She reached for the shot glass I held, and I grabbed her hand, my out-of-character reaction surprising both of us. Hesitating a moment, she lifted her eyes and met mine in a battle of wills. I could tell we were both at war with what would happen next; I contemplated the consequences of fucking one of Emilio’s employees. He seemed fond of this one, and the moment it was over, I’d have no choice but to have her fired. Shifting her weight, she made the decision for both of us when she released her hand from my grip and pointed toward the douchebag two seats down, now glaring at us. “Let me know if you want another.” As she poured the asshole that cock blocked me a gin and tonic, I pulled three, twenty-dollar bills out of my wallet and placed them face down on the bar. The exorbitant tip wasn’t a handout, as I suspected she’d think after I left. I generally enjoyed her company. Which was exactly why I had to leave and never talk to her again. She called me dangerous. If I was dangerous, she was fucking deadly. My life revolved around the cartel, stray pussy, and money. I had no time for complications of anything else, and candy hair was a walking, talking complication. I knew in one touch, I had no business being near her. A woman like that could cause the destruction of a man like me. While she argued with the dickbag about the amount of gin she shorted him, I slipped around the long end of the bar, through the kitchen, and out the back door. I cut myself off like a junkie jonesing for his next hit of short shorts and a-size-too-small tank top. After tonight, I knew I couldn’t afford the distraction. Perfect drink or not, I was done with that girl. So, I gave my business to every other bar in Houston and walked out of them pissed off and sober as hell for two months before I caved. However, I never returned to a barstool. Always sitting at one of the tables, I allowed young, annoying waitresses to serve me while I watched her flirt with a new man month after month until it got to be too much to take and stopped going altogether.

Some women were storms who blew into a man’s life and ruined his plans for the night. That woman was a hurricane who uprooted and flooded the very foundation of everything a man thought he knew.

Author Bio

Cora Kenborn writes contemporary and romantic suspense novels with lots of danger, snarky banter, lovable bad boys, and damsels NOT in distress. She loves delving into the twisted mind of a dark villain as well as writing light-hearted romcom. Cora gets a kick out of talking about herself in the third person and is a true Southern girl from Eastern North Carolina, who grew up on sweet tea, front porches, and the simple life. She says “y’all,” “fixin’ to,” and should you deserve it will “bless your heart.” She’s the proud mother of three hyperactive and occasionally adorable children, and wife to an understanding husband who tolerates her chaotic writer’s cave. Although reading is her passion, she can usually be found taking notes during true crime shows, effectively freaking out everyone in the room. Cora admits to being a horrible cook, an even worse baker, and believes she’s more dangerous with a hot glue gun than any weapon on earth. Oh, and she and autocorrect are mortal enemies.

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[isppalumni]

INTERVIEW WITH MUGABI

INTRODUCTION

Mugabi Byenkya is an ISPP alumnus who studied at ISPP from 2001 until 2005, starting in Grade 4 and finishing in Grade 7. He completed his schooling at Rainbow International School in Kampala, Uganda and currently resides in Toronto, Canada.

“I loved my time at ISPP and will forever cherish the lifelong lessons I learnt on perseverance, resilience and the celebration of diversity”.

What did you do from when you left ISPP until now?

When I left ISPP my family went to Thailand for a few months, where my father passed away, so we moved back to Uganda. This was interesting because it was my first time living in Uganda. It’s home and where my parents are from, but I hadn’t lived there before. I had only ever visited during the summers. I was born in Nigeria and moved to a different country every 3 to 4 years after that. My family moved around so much due to my father’s work with the UNDP as the Deputy Resident Representative. He was an economist by trade, working on the Millennium Development Goals.

I stayed in Uganda for 5 years, graduated and moved to start my undergraduate degree at University of Kansas, majoring in Environmental Science and International Studies, and graduated in 2014.

After that, I went to the University of Michigan to do a Masters degree, but at the end of first semester, I unfortunately suffered from 2 strokes. I moved to Washington DC while my sister Tina took care of me while I recovered. I was largely bedridden, dependent on a cane to walk and in recovery for a year. It took a year, but in 2016 I got the necessary therapy. At the Mayo Clinic I learned how to walk independently again, learned how to eat, clean and became independently functional.

                        Mugabi’s siblings

After I was managing things better, I started several little part-time gigs and worked many different positions. One of these was teaching English to new immigrants to the United States, ranging in age from 16 – 65, in Washington. I also tutored elementary school children on reading and writing because a lot of kids were behind, so this involved catching them up to the level they should be at. I worked as a stylist of sorts at an NGO called ‘Suited for Change’ that offers professional clothes for low income women attending job interviews. The clothes came from donations. I worked with the women who were my clients and helped pick outfits that fit them well, looked good and that they liked. My colleagues and clients were great and we got on well. They really liked me as I was the only man working there!

I also interned with an editor of a poetry anthology. I was mostly helping her out with the legalities behind the anthologies, which involved getting permission from poets to use their work as well as maintaining contact and outreach with the poets and the publisher. I also helped with formatting and the actual editing of the anthology and writing the book.

Lastly, I started writing my debut novel! Since I was 4 years old, it was my dream to be an author. My family are very avid readers and I remember when I was younger I went up to my siblings and asked them to play with me, but they were busy reading. I was shocked because playing was the best thing ever, and playing with ME especially was the best thing ever! I was like what is this reading thing that is better than playing with me? So I asked my mom to teach me how to read. It took a couple months but I got the hang of it.

I was just mind blown because I was like this is amazing, there’s a whole world out there and nothing can get better than this. But then I discovered writing and it’s the only thing better than reading, in my opinion. Ever since then I’ve been writing stories and I always wanted to be a writer…but I was pushed out if it because it’s not the most lucrative career and pushed into sciences because I was good at it.

After my recent strokes, I was basically on my death bed and my family, friends, doctors and myself thought I was going to die, so I decided life was too short and I was going to pick up writing again and decided I would write a book. After I left DC, I moved to Toronto where my older brother Victor graciously provided me with a place to live and free food so I could finish off my book. I’m still interning for the poetry editor and I am also a careers consultant for the organisation where I used to teach English. I counsel clients on career choices, edit resumes and cover letters and help them find jobs. Most of the clients are older than me and come in with education and years of work experience, but the US doesn’t recognise it. So I tell them it’s okay to feel frustrated because they’re very experienced but struggle to get a job. Additionally, I also provide consulting for a start-up using my English and editing background. The start-up is an online English writing centre for students in non-English speaking countries. Interning and counselling are part time, so I spend most time focused on the book.

The publishing industry is very difficult to get into, so I published my book independently. This is more difficult because you’re the one in control to every step of the process from the cover, sales, promotion and everything else. I found a publisher called Discovering Diversity Publishing, who is willing to help me self publish and offered me a production and distribution deal. So the publisher handles all the production and some of the distribution of the book. I take care of the writing and the rest of the distribution and the promotion. My book is came out Sunday the 26th of February. I’d already sold over 100 copies before the release date and raised over $4000 to cover publication costs with my kick starter campaign. If people are interested in buying or finding out more, go to www.mugabi.net

               Dear Philomena, book cover

What is the best thing about life now?

I’d say the best thing about life now is family and friends! I have a lot of really good people in my life who have held space for me through thick and thin. The Kickstarter funding campaign is doing well and the book is out. I literally couldn’t have got here without their support.  

Did you ever envisage doing what you are doing while you were at ISPP?

Yes, because I’ve always wanted to write and I’m writing now. I remember in the 7th grade, in Mr Kerrigan’s English class, we were assigned to make a comic book and I was like, this is what I want to do with my life, it’s amazing!

Compared to your other classmates in university, what were you more or less prepared for?

I was more prepared for the amount of studying that I’d have to do. I was less prepared for speaking up in discussions for the sake of speaking up. I was very much raised to speak up when and if you have a point. I noticed I wouldn’t get as good a mark at university for not talking as much, but I would only talk if I had a point.

Has your international school experience shaped your worldview? If so, how?

Attending an international school definitely shaped my worldview. It’s allowed me to be more empathetic and contextual. I find it easier to build connections and make friendships with people of various different backgrounds.

What are your favourite memories of ISPP and Cambodia?

The spicy pepper eating challenge that a bunch of 7th grade boys had on a school trip; music classes with Mr. Edson where I fell in love with the blues; the water festival; hiking in Kirirom; family trips to Kompong Som where I got stung by a jellyfish for the first time ever; the barge trip down the Chao Praya river; buying sugarcane juice through the school gate; Lucky Burger; Beef Lok Lak; $1 Squid. Special shout-out to my best friends at the time: Stephen Bleakley, Sovisal Meach and Bairy Diakite!

                           Mugabi’s ISPP friends

Did you have a favourite subject/subjects? If so, what did you like about them?

My favourite subjects were English, Science and History. I loved the large-scale re-enactments of Great Zimbabwe in History, highlighting the ingenuity of my marginalised African people. I loved the dissections in science and seeing the inner workings of the heart. I loved the fact that Mr. Preece (English teacher) took students opinions as seriously as his own.

If you could send an appreciation message to someone from ISPP, who would it be and why?

I would send immense gratitude and thanks to Mr. Bailey for telling me:

“You don’t have much in the way of athleticism or talent, but you have perseverance. That is going to take you farther than the rest of these kids who don’t have half the uphill battle you face to just participate.”  

What advice would you give to our 11th and 12th grade students?

Vulnerability is strength.

In your opinion, what makes ISPP stand out?

The integration and respect of Cambodian traditions and culture into the classroom was unlike some of the other schools I went to where the expat ‘bubble’ was more opaque.

Where do you see yourself in 5 years time?

Hopefully having published two more books, having a masters degree, an enjoyable work/life balance, warm friendships with friends and family new and old and having visited Cambodia!

Are there any other updates that you would like to share with our community?

You can purchase my debut novel Dear Philomena via www.mugabi.net on either ebook or paperback. Dear Philomena, is the story of two strokes, one boy, one girl and a whole lot of magical realism. See synopsis below:

“July 1991, Leocardia Byenkya underwent an ultrasound that informed her to expect a baby girl. She chose the name Philomena. January 16 1992, her baby was born as a boy. Filled with shock and surprise, Leocardia named her baby boy Mugabi. December 2014, Mugabi suffered from two strokes within a week of each other. Mugabi was 22 years old.   'Dear Philomena,' is a series of thoughts and conversations between Mugabi and Philomena (the girl he was supposed to be) about the year he was supposed to die but somehow lived through. “

Please support this young author’s dreams by reviewing and recommending the book to your social networks as well!