#hope i'm not catatonic tomorrow

[drakonovisny]

doing laundry and cleaning my room, not mentally ill anymore 🎉💪💯

[starfirewildheart]

Chapter 17

Summary: Sy and his lady both retire from the army but not before tragedy befalls Sy. He slowly tries to adjust to life again on their ranch.

Pairing: Sy / OFC

Word count: 2,512

Rating: no one under 17. I'm not responsible for what you read. Kindly police yourself.

Chapter 17

August glanced over his shoulder into the back seat. Three weeks and two surgeries later the hospital finally agreed to let Debbie go home. She still had a long road ahead and it still didn't guarantee a full recovery and her anxiety was through the roof at times and at other times was so depressed she was nearly catatonic and a few normal days scattered in between. She was refusing to eat and in general sulking like a brat. Sy hoped getting her home would help.

Mike had been released after a week and a half. Walt had taken custody of him and Napoleon and Will were staying with them as security until everyone was jailed, including the corrupt cops. He was recovering physically but emotionally he was distant and shutting them out.

Geralt turned onto the long, tree lined drive admiring the land and imagining what it looked like in summer. He loved the country and a working ranch brought a warm feeling to his heart. He drove past the barns where a few work trucks sat along with ranch hands tending horses noting a beautiful chestnut mare before turning his attention back to the drive. Finally they pulled up in front of the large ranch style home and parked. Everyone got out, Sy helping Deb out and lifting her into his arms bridal style while Geralt and August got everyone's bags.

Deb took a deep breath of the fresh air ecstatic to smell anything besides anesthetic and medicinal scents that she'd been trapped in for weeks. 

“Where's Aika?” Deb asked, seeking out their furry friend. 

“She's with my sister and the kids. They are bringing her home tomorrow. “ He gently bounced her in his arms. “Where would ya like to get comfy sugar?” Sy asked as they all walked in. All the Christmas stuff was still up even though it was after Christmas now because they hadn't got to celebrate yet.

“Bath.”

 “Baby,” he started but was cut off. 

“Bath,” firmer.

“You want to wash off again?” He could see wanting to smell like their soap and not hospital bath in a bag shit so he started toward their ensuite bathroom. He sat her on the edge of the bed with her bad leg up and started gathering clean clothes for her.

“No Sy, a real bath.”

He turned to her. “You know you can't get your leg wet Deb. Your stitches could come apart or you could get an infection.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled.  “I don't care. I've not been in a bath or even a shower in three weeks!” When he arched his brow at her and crossed his arms over his chest she sighed and stood shakily on her good leg. “I'll do it myself!”

“Sit down!” He yelled and stepped forward. She sat down and blinked up at him with wide eyes. He hated yelling at her after all she'd been through but he refused to let her act out like that. “Little girl, you will not hurt yourself or cause any further injury just because you want to get your way.” He gripped her chin in his big hand and forced her to hold eye contact. “I'm gonna try to get you into the bathtub but if it doesn't work I will give you a sponge bath and you won't fight me on it. Got it?”

“Yes sir,” She agrees . “I'm sorry I yelled. I just feel so dirty and I haven't… I know I've been washed but I just

.. I still feel their hands on me and i…I just want to wash it all away.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. 

Fifteen minutes later she was perched on the vanity in nothing but a shirt and bulky leg brace that went from her upper thigh to her ankle. 

Sy was filling the tub with water when something hit him in the back of the head. “Woman,” he turned to face her, suddenly realizing it was her shirt she'd thrown and she was now sitting on the vanity completely naked. “Fuck,” he rasped all blood flow in his body going straight to his dick. 

“I hope so,” She grinned,  crooking her finger and beckoning him to her. When he was close enough she fisted his shirt and pressed their mouths together in a heated kiss. Sy pressed against her, hooking her good leg over his hip and she felt him pulsing against her through his cargo pants. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

“Are you hurting?” He asked as he wiped a tear away with his thumb.

She shook her head , eyes locked with his while she tried to get her emotions under control enough to speak. Swallowing past the huge lump in her throat she pressed her hand to his bulge rubbing it and relishing in his sharp intake of air. “You still want me.”

“What? Of course I want you Deb. You're my life.” He didn't understand how that could even be a question but he could see the doubt in her eyes. “Debbie?”

“I just,” She didn't know how to express how she felt. Like she couldn't form the words much less say them. “I…”

“Talk to me darlin’, please.”

“Sy, the water,” She pointed to the nearly overflowing tub.

“Fuck!” he ran over and shut the water off just before it spilled over the edge of the tub. He laughed but drained enough of the water that she could get in without it pouring on the floor then went back to her. Cupping her face in his hands he leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. “Please talk to me. Don't shut me out Deb. I know you remember the hell we both went through when I tried to hide my thoughts from you. I was lost in my own hell and putting you through it too. We promised to tell each other everything after that, remember?”

She knew exactly what he was talking about. When he was recovering from his POW time he felt like he was too much, not worth the work, or the love she had for him and he tried everything he could to make her leave him but she refused. It nearly broke them both. “i..I'm not the one for you. Not your soul mate anyway. You're settling for me because I'm safe and comfortable.”

Sy felt like someone punched a fist into his chest and was crushing his heart. “You're my world Debbie, my heart, my everything. I'm sorry if I haven't shown you what you mean to me. Please, give me a chance to….”

“Austin, no! It's not that at all. You treat me like a queen and I know that you love me!” She hugged him tight. “This isn't about anything you've done or not done. It's about me. It's about me not being enough. I mean family is everything to you and your mom hates me. I turned your dream ranch into an animal rescue because I needed to feel like I was doing something helpful. I just latched on to you and didn't even notice that you weren't settling down or or ,” he head was pounding.

“That I haven't given you a ring so you couldn't possibly be what makes me happy? Isn't that what Lindy told you that night at the restaurant?” When he watched her he'd dip down because she couldn't look at him he gritted his teeth. “I haven't given you the ring yet because I wanted to be sure I could be the man you deserve,  that I could overcome the PTSD enough to give you a life, sugar. It has everything to do with you but not how you're thinking. I was so afraid of not being good enough I didn't show you how much I can't live without you.”

She shook her head, “No. It's not your..”

“We both said that but clearly there is a problem, sugar because you are doubting us.”

“Doubting me,” She explained quietly.

Realization washed over him and it all became crystal clear. She'd been his rock for so long he'd forgotten how she was when they first met. The chip she had on her shoulder because she felt like she had to prove she was good enough, that she could be the best at everything. He took it as a woman having to prove herself in a man's military at first but the more he was around her he realized that she was afraid to let anyone close, trusted no one to even have her six. She lived like she herself was the only one in the world she could trust or depend on. It led to a lot of being reprimanded, write ups, push ups, pull ups, and finally a talking to that finally made her see thongs from Sy's point of view about having to trust her team or they were all in danger. That was when he really started trying to get to know her in earnest, when he eventually learned about her abuse and abandonment. She'd come so far and he'd been through so much that he didn't realize she needed reassurance he wasn't giving her. He was a fucking moron. 

She gasped when Sy grabbed her face and kissed her and didn't stop until her tense muscles finally relaxed against him and she was breathless. She didn't even register him removing the leg brace until he was lowering her into the hot water, careful to keep her bad leg resting on the side of the tub. She sighed contentedly as she leaned back. Sy chuckled, “Feel good?”

“So good!” 

They both jumped at the knock on the bathroom door. Sy stood and went to see who it was.

“Your sister is here,” Geralt told him. “She needs to talk to you.”

“I'll be right there,” he sighed. He went back to Deb. “You stay put. If you aren't in the same position you are now when I get back I'm going to spank you until you can't sit and when that ass starts to cool down and feel better then I'm going to do it all over again and again until I feel like you learned your lesson and if I get tired I'll let Gearlt and August takeover.”

She fully intended to protest but what came out of her was more of a strangled whimper. He cleared his throat to hide his chuckle.  “I'll be good, I promise.”

“I know you will, sugar.” 

Sy went to speak to his sister and Debbie soaked in her hot bath. She sat still for a bit but really wanted to wash. Chewing her lip she pondered if grabbing the soap would be against the rules. Stretching her arm out she reached the soap without moving her butt at all and took it as a victory. Lathering up her bath puff she started washing herself. Once she felt squeaky clean she grabbed her razor and started shaving … everywhere. After three weeks she resembled a sasquatch except the leg and arm (shoulder) they'd done surgery on. When that was done she settled for a few minutes but quickly got bored, she was all alone after all. “Oooo jets!” Pressing the button the jacuzzi jets bubbled to life and massaged her sore muscles only with her bad leg up at an awkward angle it exposed her to the full force of the jets causing her to jerk and gasp. The pain that shot though her leg was almost instantly replaced with need as she used her finger to further expose her clit to the jet. Using her other hand she slipped two fingers into her slit working them hard and fast chasing the pleasure she didn't realize she needed so badly. Turning her body a little toward the side of the tub the jet hit the perfect spot and even though she couldn't reach the spot inside due to her awkward positioning the jet was doing the trick. Her hips slowly started to flutter as she threw her head back and whimpered through her release moving her hand away from exposing her clit as the pulse of the jet became uncomfortable. She hadn't noticed Sy come back in or even approach until she felt his fingers pushing into her still quivering hole. “Fuck!” She squealed at the stretch and shock of it.

He lifted her ass up out of the water enough to latch his mouth onto her clit and switch between sucking and licking until he'd made her cum two more times, the last time screaming out his name with a series of loud moans.

Sy got her out of the tub and carried her straight to the bed. It was tall enough that he could just bend her over the edge, carefully resting her bad leg out to the side up on the bed leaving her open to his hungry gaze. “You ready for me sugar? Gonna take my dick like a good girl?”

“Please,” he begged, trying to rub her ass back against him. She gasped when his big hand smacked against her ass leaving a burning ache in its wake.

“Be still, your brace is still off. You're in trouble as it is, little girl.” He grinned when she went still, knowing she was thinking about the spanking he told her she'd get if she moved earlier. He took the distraction to push himself in up to the hilt causing them both to moan at the sensation. “So fuckin tight for me, like your made to fit my dick.”

All she could do was moan incoherently as he railed her from behind, each thrust causing her to gasp as he pounded against her cervix. It was painful but the pull out and push in up to that point was bliss. She was losing the battle of control over her body and clamped down on him as tight as she could, wanting to give him some of the pleasure he'd Given her.

“Son of a bitch,” he growled as she squeezed him so tight he thought his brain was coming out of his cock. Reaching under her he started rubbing her clit. “Cum for me. I want to feel you come apart when I fill you full of cum.” A few more circles to her bundle of nerves and she was rutting between his cock and fingers.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” She cried as she exploded around him and he emptied inside of her, the wet squelching sound of their combined releases echoing in the room as he collapsed breathlessly beside her.

Tag List

@shellyshellshell

@enchantedbytomandhenry

@mrsevans90

@summersong69

@mollymal

@warriormirkwood

@bloodyinspiredme

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@liecastillo

@mollymal

[daryldixonsjizzrag]

An angsty little drabble ab my oc bc I'm feeling depressed as fuck 👍 (send help I'm literally sleeping in my school clothes so that I don't have to get dressed tomorrow morning)

Warnings: prior drug use (heroin), prior self-harm, a whole lotta angst, really crappy writing that's meant to be read slowly, daryl being season 1-3 teenage angst daryl at the start

Pairing: Daryl Dixon and Original female character (my girl Tallulah :) )

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

"What the fuck is this?" Daryl stormed into Tallulah's room from her bathroom, holding up a needle and bloody bandages. "I was just tryna take a piss and I see these!" He shoved them closer to her, eyeing down the track marks on her forearm. No wonder she's been wearing long sleeves lately.

"It's not your business" She said quietly. She knew he'd find them, not that she intended for him to. She was in a near catatonic state as his voice drowned out into the background, merging with all the other sounds, like the air conditioner whirring for example.

"But it is. Tell me what you did." He pushed, clearly pissed. Breaking out in a sweat, Tallulah turned the air conditioner up. She felt so numb that even crying didn't feel like an option.

"Isn't it obvious? I shot my veins with heroin and took a blade to my arm. It's the usual. You already know I've done it before. Fuck, you've seen the scars and track marks. I don't even know why you're surprised" She ranted, biting her cheek when she finished. "Now just chuck those away. I don't wanna see em"

"When did ya do it?" He asked, a softer side coming on. The question made that pit form in her stomach, the one she felt like she could fall in. The one that made her feel a little too human for comfort.

She bit her lip and huffed her answer. "Last night." She was being blunt, but at least she was honest. A tear threatened to fall. If only she could just push it back into her eye, but that was impossible. She made herself smaller, tucking her legs up to her chest and hugging her knees.

Daryl noticed and tossed the used needle and bandages in the bin. "Why?" He asked gently, gliding his hand by her lower back. He hated touch, but he knew she needed it.

"... because I missed it" She murmured. He never really understood, but he had experience with marijuana. He understood the feeling, in his own way.

The silence afterwards wasn't particularly comfortable nor awkward, but it wasn't very inviting either. All she could do was hope that this didn't change things. Being honest was the best choice, so she spoke up.

"Can you tell Rick? I just... feel like he should know..." She said, her voice hardly even a murmur. She studied and watched her fingers, wondering how they moved and how she could do whatever she wanted with them, feeling detached.

"Yeah, I can. You uhh... need anything?" He asked awkwardly, holding the edge of the bed where the seam of the mattress was as he adjusted himself.

"Just some water. My mouth is dry" She knew why it was dry. Of course, the drugs, but her smoking had gone completely out of control. Only she kept it secretive, not wanting to hurt Carl or Sophia, or anyone else for that matter.

"Sure."

More deathly silence filled when he left with the trash can that contained the needle and bandages. She didn't know what to think. She was, of course, sad, but in a way she felt embarrassed.

Daryls footsteps entered the room, and he had some tap water in a glass. "Sorry it doesn't have any ice" He apologised, though there was no need to.

"Don't worry about it" Tallulah noted, taking the glass of water and spilling a little in the process. She stared at the puddle, processing what happened for a moment before she drank, her head going a little too far back, making water dribble from the corners of her mouth and onto her shirt.

She felt the need to apologise, but didn't anyway. It wasn't needed. She handed him the glass and layed down, sprawled out on the bed. The hangover was horrible. The pounding headache, the sickness, the hot flushes, everything about it made her want to die, in a mostly figurative sense.

"I'll go" Daryl made way for the door, hesitating about a yard away from it. He forced himself to leave, ignoring the pull she had on his heartstrings, not wanting to bother her. He knew he'd come back later, though. That was inevitable.

[glitterpeachtree]

Dani's Little Sister: Part 2

Trigger warning: Self Harm

You were Dani's little sister. You liked spending time with Dani and Six. However, you didn't like how Dani and Six treated you. They would sometimes treat you as if you were glass. A story in which Dani and Six live together, and you, have Schizoaffective Disorder.

It was one of those days. One of those days where you didn't want to leave your bed (with no snakes this time). It was one of those days where Dani sat in a chair next to your bed, and held your hand, trying to get you to talk, or drink, or eat, or persuade you to take meds. I wouldn't move for hours, I would just stare off into space. I couldn't control myself. I just felt tired. So tired. I felt like I was in a dream and I was frozen. I knew Dani was there. I knew she was talking. I just couldn't understand what she was saying. It sounded like she was talking to me underwater.

....

"(Y/N)? Hey I'm gonna go make lunch okay. I'll just be in the kitchen. And Court will be here if you need anything. I promise I'll be right back. Maybe you'll want to eat something by then? How does that sound, hmm?" She stroked my hair. I heard her footsteps getting quieter as she walked away.

......

"She responsive yet?" Court asked, as he sipped his coffee. He always gave Dani and (Y/N) space. He got nervous when (Y/N) wasn't doing well. He wanted to support the both of you, but didn't not interfere at the same time. He didn't want to overstep any boundaries.

"No. I feel like she's getting worse. These catatonic days are getting more frequent. I'm scared." Dani set 2 slices of bread aside for her sandwich. Then she opened a can of soup for (Y/N).

"It'll be okay. We're going to figure this out. Maybe they just need to adjust her meds again." Court put his hand on Dani's shoulder and stared into Dani's eyes. Dani put her hand on his hand, and she took a deep breath. "Could you just, sit with her while I get this ready?"

"Yeah." Court walked to (Y/N)'s room. He sat down and took her hand, rubbing his thumb over your inner wrist. He looked at you and sighed. He did this for about 10 minutes before Dani walked in with a soup bowl in one hand and her half eaten sandwich in another.

"Hey look. You hungry?" Court looked at you hopeful, like you were going to answer. But you didn't. You just sat there paralyzed and underwater.

"C'mon. Please come back. Please just do something so I know you're in there." Dani was begging you to wake up. But you just couldn't.

.....

After this everything was a blur. You recall hearing something about a hospital, but that's about it. About an hour later you started waking up out of your daze. You start moving your head around, fluttering your eyes. You see Dani sitting in the chair next to you reading a book, and Court was leaning up against the doorframe.

"Hey." He signalled to Dani, indicating that he saw your wake in consciousness.

"(Y/N). Hey. You with us?" Dani took both her hands and leaned forward rubbing your arm as if you were cold.

You started breathing heavily, and teared up. It was almost traumatic coming out of these states. Overwhelming even.

"Can you tell me what my name is? Say my name." She always asks basic questions when I come to. Like I'm a child or something. Court got up and left. He thought it would be less overwhelming with him there. He stood outside the door and listened in to make sure nothing bad was happening.

"I'm not stupid." I sighed.

.....

Later on that day, Dani told you that they found a psychiatrist that can make house calls. He's coming tomorrow, no excuses.

"What?!" I exclaimed. I hated talking to shrinks. Let's just say I had my fair share of therapists.

"He can help you. Better than we can." Court and Dani both looked at me with puppy eyes.

"No! I'm not going to talk. I'm not going to talk to him!" I shouted as I went into my room and slammed the door. There were no locks on the doors. Court had replaced them after I had threatened to kill myself one summer. So I wedged a hard back book into the seam of the door. I wanted to be alone. I heard Court and Dani's footsteps frantically behind me.

"(Y/N)? Hey open the door. I know you are mad right now. But we can't leave you alone. Just open the door so we know you're safe. Please." Court knocked on the door, waiting to hear a response. When he didn't hear anything, you heard him say that he was going to kick the door down to Dani. You didn't care. You just needed to be alone. You started scratching at your wrists. It was something you sometimes did as a result of stress.

BANG!

The door slammed open. They both ran in. Dani saw your wrists. She sighed and knelt down next to you and restrained you from doing more harm. Court went into the bathroom and got a wet washcloth and first aid kit.

"Court? I think we should go to the hospital." She looked him straight in the eyes.

"Is it really that bad?" He looked shocked.

"Her wrists aren't that bad. But I think she needs to be seen by professional, like right now." He did notice right away that you were mumbling something over and over, and that your breathing was irregular. You started to wriggle out of her grasp, but she held on tighter as Court called an ambulance.

To Be Continued.

.....

[dopaminergicaddictions]

I woke up at 2:30. I'm at thr glass place now. I can't wait to have a new Windshield. The astigmatism will disappear. It won't be covered in nicotine anymore. It's going to be wonderful.

I'm here about 30 minutes early. They said it takes anywhere between 1 hour and 1 hour and 30 minutes. My appointment was at 4 and they close at 5 so I wanted to get here early.

I'm thankful for the ability to take the higher dose when my circadian rhythm gets in the way. I still have to consider getting a psychiatrist tbh... cause my doctor won't go up. And I have a feeling Xanax is going to be forever.

I have to reschedule my medical marijuana renewal as I don't see the point in spending 75$ on a renewal I can't use for at least 2 more weeks. I guess you're considered a renewal for 60 days after you expire so that a good thing. I expire tomorrow.

I still have to deal with Mike I canceled for today but Erin will be out next week so I scheduled him for Friday. I'll see Erin Monday, Danielle Tuesday and him Friday. I do have to talk to him about it though.

I'm still hallucinating. Nothing has changed. So I mean I guess my brain is broken forever. I have deemed this my first episode... everytime i hallucinated on the thc pills short term was just hallucinating...

July 28th to July 29th wasn't even 24 hours... it started somewhere between 9-11 pm on the 28th and ended on the 29th somewhere between 2-5 p.m. it wasn't even a full 24 hours. The only good new is usually people can recover from their first episode psychosis. I don't thinkna stretch of under 24 hours is considered psychosis.

I am losing hope that it will stop.. I only have roughly 14 more days.... my Dr recommended holistic medicine... not covered by insurance as I won't consider antipsychotics... Erin wants me to talk to a herbal healer... like I can afford any of this. So yea. I'm starting to looking up how to lower dopamine in the brain naturally... and it's kinda a let down... exercise! I can't even walk back and forth to my car without developing a rash and a cysts........ no nicotine... yes right.... let's just cope with hallucinating by doing meth then right? Cause I need a vice... no sugar... yes right.. let's spend all my money on things without sugar and not drink or eat anything I enjoy.... I don't have as much sugar as you'd think.. it's really just in my juice ans red bull.

I guess it's just going to have to be natural. I have control over my mental images now almost entirely... so I mean there is that. They aren't sexual even though psychosis really tries to male me see the creature with hair and see genitals. It doesn't really work anymore cause I can change it. I know mental images get really effected from psychosis.

I'm worried that even though I know it's psychosis, that my brain can't heal naturally. Everyone needs to do drugs....like I've joined all these groups asking if anyone healed from it naturally and no one responds... it's like everyone hears the voice ot goes catatonic and just takes drugs. If I didn't have the knowledge i do I would have probably taken drugs but I have too much knowledge of them. In the group I was reading some people posts and the a lot of people were talking about latuda... I read about it. It's fucked. The side effects and all that. It really will ruin a person.

So this is like day 117 or something. Idk I'd my brain will ever re-regulate.... all I know is supposedly you can heal from psychosis.

I keep seeing this mental images of a pink brain with blackened connections. 2 weeks ago the blackened wires were like the size of a soda can bottom just square shaped. Today it's like the size of a red bull can but square shaped. I feel like my brain is trying to tell me it's getting more Nirmal... idk. I kinda expect to be like this for life.

[yamikakyuu]

"We've got this."

[gay-war-crimes]

Hey, I know this might be late or dumb, but wanna vent/talk? I'm here if you want to, even though you don't really know me. I'm just a person who's here for anyone to vent to/talk to.

Either way, I'm sending positive vibes to ya! I hope ya feel better!

It's just I was gonna go to a concert on Friday it was gonna be the first time seeing a concert and some of my favorite bands would all be playing.

Due to really bad traffic and about 9 crashes on the highway we made it about 45 muintes away after a 2 hour drive. By the time we would have gotten there we would have 3-4 hours late and all the bands I wanted to see would be over

This basically just led to me spiraling into a melt down and just going catatonic (this happens alot when I get stressed or feel rejected in any way, I'm working on it) but while I was like this one person felt the need to continually almost yell at me and repeatedly told that 'you need to stop this is ridiculous' and a bunch of stuff to that affect

They also kept trying to make it seem like I was blaming them I was just upset in general but they kept acting like I was blaming them and asking me what I think they should have done cause this wasn't their fault and telling me to just stop and I was being over dramatic

After this I also went through a few minor inconveniences which pushed me into a long overdue depressive episode im not sure how long it will last as I'm still currently unmedicated but I do go to school tomorrow and being around people tends to help

[thegreaterlink]

Reviewing Star Trek TNG - S3E22 "The Most Toys"

Sorry this one's a bit later than usual. I've been on holiday for the past week.

THE PREMISE

A trader named Kivas Fajo (Saul Rubinek) is selling the Enterprise a large amount of hytritium to cure another planet's water supply, with Data overseeing the transportation via shuttlecraft. As he prepares to leave with the last shipment, he is incapacitated by one of Fajo's servants. The empty shuttle explodes in transit, and the crew can only assume that Data was killed.

Meanwhile, Data is reactivated in a secured room and is greeted by Fajo, who explains that he collects rare and valuable artefacts. As Data is a unique being (just forget that Lore exists for a second), Fajo has taken him to be the latest addition to his collection.

Because as we all know, you can’t make an omelette without kidnapping a few eggs.

MY REVIEW

Why is the best episode of each season always immediately followed by disappointments like this?

Anyway, Rubinek's performance as Fajo walks a fine line between being enjoyably hammy and annoying and occasionally loses its balance, but he's a good enough villain for this episode. He's also a lot more competent than you'd expect, coding the exit to his DNA patterns and using a force field to protect himself from Data so he can't escape.

But strangely enough, Data doesn't make much of an effort to escape. Sure, he shows resistance, but you'd think someone of his strength and intelligence would've been trying every possible solution the moment Fajo left him alone.

Fajo of course tries to manipulate Data, who obviously isn't having it, even after he tries to get some sympathy with his backstory about growing up on the streets.

“Your past does not excuse unethical or immoral behaviour, sir.”

A helpful line to use whenever a character tries to use a tragic backstory to justify their shitty behaviour.

Even so, Fajo dissolves Data's uniform, forcing him to change (though he says that he'd be fine letting him walk around naked - not sure if they were trying to imply something) and later brings around a guest whose design I can best describe as “it's 3AM and the deadline’s tomorrow.”

He'd better hope nobody comes near him with a magnet.

Unsurprisingly, Michael Westmore called this the worst work he ever did on the series. I don't blame him for it - he was just working under difficult conditions, between Fajo being recast a few days into filming and Jane Daly refusing to wear the rest of the makeup designed for her.

Anyway, Data being Data, he goes completely catatonic and refuses to do anything. Good scene.

Meanwhile, the Enterprise crew has been mourning the loss of their second senior crewmember (exactly two seasons after the last one, come to think of it), with Geordi and Wesley going to clear out Data's quarters. While it's nice to see them properly mourn this supposed loss, it can feel somewhat pointless since we know that Data is still alive.

Even Geordi has his doubts, unable to determine what could've gone wrong. Later on he informs Picard that he can't find any explanation, and Picard says that he's fine with Geordi continuing to investigate, but still expects him to be rested for this mission. It’s a good moment of Picard showing a divide between sympathy and his devotion to duty, especially since he's clearly feeling Data's loss himself.

He's not the only one feeling the loss, since Worf gets his second promotion to replace a dead colleague, though we get a good insight beneath his usually stoic demeanour when he explains how he honours his predecessors by performing as well as they did.

But Geordi still smells a rat, which seems even more likely when they beam down to the planet and discover that the contamination they were supposed to cure (yeah, I'm surprised it was relevant too) was artificial.

Pretty sure I saw this place the last time I went to Seaworld.

Then they realise that it's awfully convenient that Fajo just so happened to be in the right place at the right time with the exact amount of the exact resource they needed to cure their problem. One look at Fajo's inventory of valuable objects tells them all they need to know, and they head off back to the site of the "accident."

Meanwhile, having realised that he needs to take the discipline up a notch, Fajo uses his Varon-T disruptor (basically a very powerful and very illegal phaser) and threatens to kill Varria (Jane Daly) - his... wife? Girlfriend? Servant? Friend with benefits? - unless Data obeys his orders, which he does.

Fajo threatening to murder her is probably the closest he ever comes to being an intimidating villain.

But strangely enough, Varria doesn't take too kindly to a fucking death threat and helps Data escape. They make it to the shuttlebay, they're caught after a scuffle with Fajo and the guards, during which Fajo is obliterated.

As fucked up as that is, this probably would've had more of an impact if this wasn't like the... fourth total disintegration we'd seen in this series alone.

However, this does lead to a legitimately great moment where Fajo taunts Data over his lack of emotions, his inability to feel rage over Varria's death, daring him to kill him or else have more blood on his hands, while Data struggles with a conundrum he was never programmed to deal with.

"...I cannot allow this to continue."

But just as Data seems to come to a decision... he's beamed out.

Bit of a cop-out, but O'Brien does confirm that Data pulled the trigger. So at least we have that... even if Data tries to lie about it, which seems a bit out of character.

Anyhoo, Fajo is taken into custody, with a final exchange which I quite enjoyed.

"Oh, have you come to see me to repent? Your final satisfaction? Want to see me beg for mercy? You're not going to get any of that from me."

"I expected nothing."

"Our roles are reversed, aren't they Data? You're the collector now. Me, I'm in a cage."

"So it seems."

"Don't count me out too quickly. I had you in my collection once. I can have you there again."

"Unlikely, sir. Your collection has been confiscated. All of your stolen possessions are being returned to their rightful owners. You have lost everything you value."

"Must give you great pleasure…"

"No sir, it does not. I do not feel pleasure. I am only an android."

Strangely enough, I struggled quite a bit with my ranking on this one. It’s undoubtedly mid, but I just wasn’t sure which level of mid would best describe it. Fortunately I was able to come to a decision.

4/10 - Some standout moments, but the end result is nothing special.

Why is it that whenever I write off an episode as mediocre I always seems to find out that it got positive reviews?

[sanders1665]

What will I be like when I'm frail and old, will I lament over long departed youth and innocence, will grand-children listen to my stories of daring and suspense, or will they vex my patience causing me to shout and to scold. What will it mean for me to be a senior citizen, will tomorrows youth give me some respect, will I still use social media hoping to connect, maybe callow youth will place me among the wise men. Will I marvel at what new technologies are invented, or will I become apathetic and nonchalant, when I'm older will I be fully contented, perhaps I will be an old codger who children love to taunt. I still have my enthusiasm for learning and fresh experience, still hoping everyday that I matter and make a difference, or will I abandon my current interests and worldly understanding, too much to ruminate over when contemplating ones aging. How many summers will I remember their joy and vitality, maybe I'll become incontinent and suffer indignity, perhaps I will be overly critical over modern decadence and immorality, or become a true gentleman who exemplifies charm and geniality. Will I continue to be stubborn and independent, or will I swallow my pride and accept a helping hand, will I still loudly listen to my favorite rock 'n' roll band, even when I'm wrinkled from head to toe and bent. Will I become less critically vocal and more mellow with age, as each day passes by printing a new page, will I read between the lines and gain fresh insight and wisdom, becoming a man I want to be, full of compassion and altruism. Will there still be romance and idealism for me with fellow old timers, shall I wear pajamas all day long or trousers with the bottoms rolled, I would cry the day if I was diagnosed with the dreadful Alzheimer's, not remembering anyone that I love, cherish and lovingly hold. I do not fear the the day when I realize I have more memory than future, if I can retain my sense of wonder and peculiar brand of humor, remaining active and passionate and not fall into a catatonic stupor, enjoying all my future days with my wife, who everyday becomes cuter.

[frostbitepandaaaaa]

here's some of my initial thoughts on Chapter 1. under a cut cause there's some dark shit.

IN SUM: some of the characterization choices are... interesting. i'm not sure if i'm sold on it, yet. i am here for allowing Mulder and Scully to actually work through their pain and trauma (a real life luxury they are rarely permitted in the show), and for exploring some of the more toxic, self-destructive elements of their relationship. but, i already feel that it's been taken to the extreme. honestly, it seems like they can't fucking stand each other, might even actively hate each other, right now. again, something that does and has happened, both to couples in life and in the show, but it seems... off.

more under the cut.

While Scully was coaxing a near-catatonic Jamal out from the closet, I looked at the neck of the closest child. He was one of the lucky ones--shot right off, instead of having to stand in line as his classmates were slowly executed. There was nothing out of the ordinary, except for a lot of blood and the fact that the kid was a stiff as a dried cod.

The kids hadn't been merchandise.

Even while the Rangers and the other Fibbies pounded Scully on the back in congratulation, her lips thinned and she stared at me with gas flame eyes over a pile of dead bodies.

-- Iolokus, Chapter One, rivkat & Mustang Sally

i don't have anything to say, just that this is simply haunting.

The palm of his hand was warm on my cheek, Mulder's hands are always so cold, and I wanted to just roll over and surrender, touch something normal, touch something simple, uncomplicated that wouldn't poison me afterwards. I saw Ed Jerse's face over Zippy's for a moment, and I jerked out of his touch so fast that I knocked over my beer.

"Autopsy tomorrow," I babbled, realizing that I'd taken the same witless staccato tone that Mulder gets, "I have to go."

I rose and he didn't stop me. I felt his molten eyes on me as I left.

-- Iolokus, Chapter One, rivkat & Mustang Sally

"...and I wanted to just roll over and surrender, touch something normal, touch something simple, uncomplicated that wouldn't poison me afterwards."

i can get on board with this. Mulder's touch cannot possibly be simple or normal for Scully. not after all they've been through, and everything they are and aren't to each other. and, in typical msr fashion, any touch would have the capacity to poison her afterward-- to tie her more steadfastly to him. to further complicate her life.

but, i think the authors try to sell it a bit too much. but, again, i haven't heard the whole "pitch", yet, so-to-speak.

The fact that I was her creature didn't mean that she should be too confident of that fact. Zippy had touched her, she'd let Zippy touch her, which constituted loitering with intent as far as I was concerned even if she hadn't followed through on it. Obviously something hadn't clicked and she was back to her good ol' standby, fucking Fox Mulder. (And I mean "fucking" as a gerund, though she probably thought of it as an adjective.)

I hoped that she'd led Zippy on until he'd gotten the world's worst case of blue balls and then laughed at his pencil-slim dick. Scully wasn't averse to taking the easy shots.

I was ready to hurt her now.

"Did you have a good time?" I asked as though she hadn't just tried to suck my tonsils out of my head.

-- Iolokus, Chapter One, rivkat & Mustang Sally

the... cynicism and self-loathing is not off-brand, but the dripping disdain, the sheer contempt seems a bit too hard-edged for the Mulder that lives in my head. i understand that this is a somewhat newly disillusioned Mulder, that his hope for his sister, for everything else he believed in, has been stripped away, but this reads as a man who hasn't tasted hope or love in a very, very long time. perhaps ever. "i was ready to hurt her now" also stunned me when it came to him thinking of Scully. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ this seems off.

also, side note, why the fuck is Mulder so fucking obsessed with this dude's dick? i understand that we all think (or, in fandom's case, know for a fact) that Mulder is bi, but what the fuck? it comes across as machismo that, again, Mulder does not really have.

In California I'd learned that I'd made a terrible mistake. The Scully I carried around inside me, whispering logic and somehow still managing to drown out all the other voices in my head, the one who'd eaten me whole and accepted it all--she was my own invention. I needed her, and I thought I'd found her. She needed a quick fuck, and she thought she'd found it. The only difference was, she was right.

-- Iolokus, Chapter One, rivkat & Mustang Sally

fuck. now, you see, the self-loathing in this is spot-on. Mulder can, has, and will romanticize everything in his life that isn't actively trying to destroy him. his assumption that Scully just needed a quick fuck seems a bit dramatic, but that, again, is not super out of the ordinary for him. but, what i learn later on, is that a quick fuck is all Mulder is (or seems to be) to Scully (at least at this point in time) and that just seems... silly.

why would Scully use Mulder for a quick fuck at this time? after Emily? if that's all he was to her, why wouldn't she take the chance earlier? if she needed to feel alive, to scrub the stain of life from her, why not after Duane Barry? after Pfaster? after her remission? even after Jerse? i don't know it just seems... weird. especially since she goes to fuck him again after witnessing the death of children right after this. what the fuck, Scully? i know that she's weird, that she's complicated and has some dark impulses (she's a rebel, she's into pain, into being dominated) but, like, what is the pattern they're trying to establish here? lol

When we finished with them, despite all the care I'd taken, there was blood everywhere. Nineteen bodies adds up, even if they're just kids. Blood on the floor, on the outdated porcelain tables, dripping thickly down the scales used to weigh organs, smearing across the chalkboard used to record data. The chalk was so bloody that I had to break a piece in half to get something that would actually write, and even then the blood had soaked in a pink ring around the white center.

The children, contrary to Abrams' claims, were just ordinary dead American kids. On the other hand, Abrams himself exhibited many of the strange scars left on Duane Barry's body. Naturally. I found no implants.

-- Iolokus, Chapter One, rivkat & Mustang Sally

jesus christ the description of the blood, and how she had to snap the chalk in half... shivers.

and the enormity of the tragedy here, that all these kids died because of a belief of a madman... a madman who could have been correct according to what Scully has seen re 'Emily' is terrible.

i like it, i do. the writing is superb and the prose interesting. each narrative voice is distinct. there's a certain gallows humor throughout, especially in Mulder's POVs that makes it seem very real. but, man, i'm not sure about these characterizations. we'll see, though.

[finsterhund]

Great now I'm dealing with aggressiveness too.

Universe said "hey you're already suffering from like four different layers of PTSD tonight wanna see some dumb fuck shit on youtube?"

As if I already wasn't miserable.

I'm at that point where tomorrow is going to be unbearable.

My friend pointed out that our neighbors probably got a christmas puppy (which is a trigger in and of itself since Spot very possibly was too, or in the very least I was so in love with Spot that I just had her instead of any presents in those photos) but then my friend is just like "it sounds like a lonely puppy" my god. I feel like I've emphasized enough that this is a trigger, no? That a large chunk of my experience with childhood PTSD is bad things happening to my dogs? I swear to fuck.

I feel bad about complaining because after that he went into discussion with ex roommate about how it seems everyone else in our complex has a dog so it's not fair I've been unable to get my service dog yet but the damage was done and I was just motherfucking crying.

I took my meds to sleep but the mercy is not coming to me. It's probably because I was freaking catatonic all day except when I checked the internet twice and ate something I think. I can't remember. Point is I've been out most of yesterday. So I think I can't sleep now.

I keep thinking about how much Zippy would have been suffering through these horrible days, incapable of being helped. And then everyone being all fucking happy is INESCAPABLE on social media.

I just can't deal with it. I just wanna go out into the middle of nowhere and lie down and just succumb.

I just want the cold to take me.

People tell me that I'll feel better on boxing day are forgetting that's the day Zippy actually died so please don't do that also. Just a reminder as I've had someone do that.

I'm just so jaded, heartbroken, and bitter tonight. I don't think a single sliver of magic will ever be in my life again. I just have no hope left.

[unwrittenwishes]

Y'all. I gotta say this.

For some reason... I relate hard with the lil paper dude... he charged in with all he got and then just got kicked right the fuck back down. But. He got right the fuck back up.

That's that spoonie resilience. We hurt, we suffer, we endure. Day after day. We don't quit. We don't give up. Even on the precious self care days we take, we are always fighting. Even on the days when our bodies feel more like cages or prisons, we don't quit. We dig deep into our reserves. We get the fuck back up. We face the next day.

Bad. Ass.

(This started off with me relating to it entirely different. I was feeling like I was weak and pitiful and nothing I did amounted to anything. Then I just stared at the gif as it replayed over and over, my mind one level above catatonic as I just mindlessly watched it repeat. Then it dawned on me. Yeah he's tiny and his attack is basically a joke but he keeps pushing anyway. That's when the truth just hit me like a sack of rocks and I saw the lil paper dude, and therein also myself, in a whole new light.

I may re-read this later tomorrow and see just the insane late night ramblings of a mostly stoned insomniac and think "Wow, I was tripping hard!" OR, and I'm really hoping for this one, I will re-read this with pride tomorrow and be like "Fuck yeah".

Time can only tell.)

[rudderless-in-an-ocean-of-stars]

of broken mirrors and haunted rooms (i'm empty inside but so are you)

Avatar: The Last Airbender was one of my first fandoms, and still is to this day, so I dug up a half-written fic from a few years ago and cobbled together a little something.

Bear in mind, this was one of my first attempts at fiction of any kind.

Read it here or on Ao3 at:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10998975

Summary:

After nearly half a decade in a cell, the decision to take Azula’s bending away has finally been made.

Someone has to break the news to her, and who better than the Avatar, who has spent the past three years trying to show the princess the kindness he realized she’d never known.

Note: Assuming Aang was 12 coming out of the ice and 14 at the series finale, this takes place roughly 5 years after that. We don’t ever really get to find out the ages of the other characters, so this fic is going by my rules.

This makes Aang, Azula, Katara, Sokka, Mai, Ty Lee, and Suki all about 19 years old. Zuko, canonically one year older than Azula, so he’s 20. Toph, as the youngest, is only 18. You only see Azula and Aang here, but I just wanted to let you know where everyone else stands in my little fanfiction universe, just in case this ever expands.

The Avatar doesn’t take away her bending.

Doesn’t need to, because that’s what the drugs are for. It takes the doctors years to figure it out, how to make something that will block her chi and nothing else.

She’s told that the Fire Lord was adamant that the medicine only bind her powers, not her mind.

She’s heard the stories of what drugs like this do to people. How it takes away their bending. How it takes away everything else, too. Hollows them out until nothing remains but a practically catatonic shell that once used to be a functioning person.

That’s why it’s taken them so long to cook up a recipe that wouldn’t leave her virtually brain-dead, all at little Zu-Zu’s behest. She didn’t realize he still cared so much.

Maybe he just wanted her awake enough to be able to gloat.

If only they knew that their work was wasted on her.

Ozai had taken great care to strip out her insides and replace everything warm and living with cold, dead things a long time ago.

There was nothing left for the Fire Lord to preserve, but his misplaced affection for the little sister he wished she could have been blinds him to the fact that Azula has been scraped empty long ago.

She sees it in his eyes every time he comes to visit- the little boy he used to be. The big brother, responsible for his baby sister.

She’s neither a baby nor his sister anymore.

Would that they could, Azula knows they would have preferred to slip it into her food without her noticing at all.

But the taste is too bitter for them to mask, to crush pills into powder and stir it into her tea, so they are forced tell her up front that she will be medicated.

Rather, they send in the Avatar to do it, terrified of her reaction to the news.

She hasn’t actually burned anyone in years, merely sent out flashy displays of sapphire flames as a warning to anyone who draws her ire. But her scare tactics have worked well over the past few years, and work well even now.

“I’m sorry, but it’s the only way.” He looks at her with wide, apologetic eyes, brimming with a mixture of hope and compassion that turns her stomach at the sight.

“Why?” She snorts, rolling her eyes, “Isn’t being in this glorified prison misery enough?”

The corners of his lips twitch downwards as he averts his gaze.

His reaction to her words elicits a harsh bark of laughter from her throat.

“I see. The rest of the world isn’t content to have me simply locked up for the rest of my days. They want me to suffer.” Just like I made them suffer, she thinks, pursing her lips to keep the wayward thought from escaping her mouth.

In typical Airbender fashion, he redirects her barb with fluid ease. “And you consider being here punishment enough for your crimes?”

Ah.

Punishment.

Azula’s least favorite word after Ozai and Father and dutiful.

“It doesn’t matter what I think or who I am.” She nods towards the evenly spaced steel bars stretched out across her window. “What matters is what everyone else beyond these walls wants.”

It’s never mattered, none of it. None of her hopes and dreams and desires and fears. None of it has ever mattered to anyone. At least Ozai had the decency to be up front about what he wanted from her. About how he saw her, what she was.

The Avatar narrows his eyes at her, and she can almost see the gears turning in his head as she stares back, unflinching in the face of his unwavering gaze.

The past few years have changed him just as much as they’ve changed her.

He’s older now, leaner.

If she’s correct in assuming that they’re both around the same age, he’s nearly twenty now, like her.

Age has stripped them both of the baby fat that once softened their features half a decade ago when they first met, children fighting a war started by people who didn’t fully understand that the price to pay for power was blood.

Or perhaps they did understand, and chose to spill it anyway, painting the world crimson and leaving stains that would likely never wash away.

Thinking about either option for too long always makes something in Azula’s gut twist.

He’s grown into himself, no longer looking like someone far beyond their years trapped in a childish form.

But his eyes remain the same, youthful and ancient all at once, and still gleaming with the unmistakable spark of hope.

Azula hasn’t looked into a mirror since the day she shattered her mother’s reflection, but she knows that her own eyes carry no such emotion.

Hope was something that Ozai had taken pains to ensure would never blossom in Azula’s heart. He’d stolen it from her as soon as he was able, extinguished from her childish eyes to be replaced with the cold steel of blades forged in angry flames.

They sit like that for several moments, neither one moving. Neither one looking away.

Then he speaks, and it strikes at the wobbly foundations of sanity she’s struggled to build ever since the day she shattered her mind along with that mirror.

“So who are you, Princess Azula?” She’s long-since lost any right to the title, but that never stopped him from using it, not three years ago when these visits first began and certainly not now. “And what do you want?”

She turns away from his piercing stare, the hand buried in the folds of her skirt curling into a fist as her nails bite deep enough to draw blood.

For the first time, she is the one who looks away.

The significance of the gesture is not lost on him- she can tell as much by the way he stiffens in surprise. But she cuts him off before he has a chance to speak again.

After all, her fragile tether on sanity could only take so much in a single day.

“Don’t ask questions you aren’t ready to have answered, Avatar.” She says it quietly, voice low and tight with an emotion she knows he can’t quite place, because neither can she.

Don’t ask questions I’m not ready to answer, she thinks, but the words go unsaid.

She doesn’t know if she can trust her voice to carry them.

She doesn’t know if she can trust the Avatar to understand.

For the first time since he started visiting, her voice shakes.

Azula looks brittle, as if the next wrong move could shatter her and every single bit of progress he’s spent the past three years trying to make.

As much as he wants to push, to finally solve a piece of the puzzle that is the deposed princess, he knows he can’t. Not if he wants there to be anything left for him to solve.

He bows his head in acquiescence. “I apologize, Princess.”

She nods silently in response, now peering carefully at the embroidery of the silken scarf resting in her lap despite the fact that they both know she could care less about its craftsmanship.

The piece is exquisite, its stitching flawless- he knows this, because he’s the one who bought it for her. It’s become something of a tradition- giving her a tiny token of appreciation for allowing these visits, for speaking to him when they both know she could simply treat him like everyone else who tried to arrange a meeting- with the stiff, regal silence befitting her former station.

He’s still not really sure why she tolerates him in the first place.

Zuko tells him it’s because he’s the Avatar, and if there’s anything Azula respects, it’s power.

Aang thinks it might be something else.

He can wield the four elements, but the princess is a prodigy in her own right.

He may be the Avatar, but she is Azula.

Azula, who possesses sapphire flames and a mastery over the most difficult of all firebending skills- manipulating lightning.

Three years ago, when he’d first dared to enter her room, Azula had no need to respect his power. Not when she was already so sure of her own.

She was still the same girl who had struck him down with a bolt of lightning, the same girl who had shown no fear at the prospect of confronting the Avatar.

The same girl who had left a scar on his back that not even Katara’s considerable skills as a Master Waterbender and healer could dissolve.

But for some reason, she tolerated him.

And over three years of regular visits and carefully worded exchanges over tea, he’s never asked why.

One day, he hopes she’ll feel comfortable enough to tell him.

But the dismissal is evident as she skims a hand along the silk of his latest gift to her, firmly ignoring his presence.

“Until tomorrow, Princess.”

For a single second, her eyes dart back up to meet his, golden irises flashing bright in the light spilling through the bars of her windows.

“Until tomorrow,” she echoes, casting her gaze back down to the fabric in her lap, the expression etched across her features still unreadable.

He’s nearly out the door when he hears her call out behind him, hesitant and unsure.

“Avatar?”

He stops and turns back instantly- uncertain isn’t a word he’s ever associated with Princess Azula, but it’s how she sounds now.

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow, you said they’ll begin giving me medication during tea.” Again, the flicker of her aureate eyes looking up to meet his lasts only a moment, too fast for him to read the emotions glimmering within. “Will you join me?”

I don’t want to be alone.

It goes unspoken, but they both hear it just the same.

He realizes it then, how much this must scare her.

From the little she’s shared and the information he’s managed to pry out of Zuko, Mai, and Ty Lee, her firebending has been the one constant in her life.

And now, like everything else, it’s being taken away.

All this time, he’s waited for her to open up, to show the vulnerability he’s never doubted she possessed, not since the day he watched her lose her mind as well as her crown. It had struck him then, that she must have lost as much, if not more, than he and his friends. The cost of the war had been paid by both sides of it.

But this is not the way he’d wanted to get her to open up.

He bows, not deep enough to appear subservient, but deep enough that his feelings are made clear.

“I would be honored.”

Good? Bad? Absolute trash?

Should it end here or should I pick it up after all these years and turn it into something longer?

Let me know down below. :)

[cosmomoore]

I posted my previous post before I left my work's parking lot and I'm not going to lie, I don't know if catatonic is the right word to use, but I drove home mostly stunned trying to remember how Monday went.

I think they popped their head into my office twice, once with a mask, once without on Monday morning. They only put on the mask after being told they were going home.

I've been keeping my mask on all day while I am at work, and I wore my new rainbow mask with the double layer of interfacing as a filter that day.

I am hoping that my mask protects me from getting it.

That being said, they interacted directly with three other people in the building that I am aware of, all maskless, so I am just going to assume we all have it until I receive my test results which if I go Saturday, hopefully I will receive Sunday... I would go sooner, but I know the test isn't as accurate if you haven't had it long enough.

That being said, if my co-workers do have it, that means they have active infections and will start being able to spread it themselves tomorrow/Friday (according to everything I read, the spread window begins two days before symptoms show up for people who exhibit them). That means my work will be a hotbed and honestly I'm afraid if I don't have it now, but they do have it, I will be infected tomorrow or Friday even with a mask.

I know I am being paranoid, but I'm honestly scared.

While I don't think I will die if I do catch it, a) that is something no one can be certain of, b) I don't want to be sick and, more importantly, c) if I don't die, I also don't want long-term complications.

I know there are such things as being overly cautious, but I'm not sure in the age of coronavirus there is such thing.

Regardless, when I got home I decided I needes to do a little self-care so I made a frozen pizza and I think I may take a bath. My anxiety is through the roof right now.

Going to talk about covid-19, so I'm going to put it under a read more.

My state went from <5000 new cases per day to 6000+ over the weekend.

We are currently below 400,000 total cases, but I don't expect it to stay that way for long at this rate.

At this rate, since I'm the only one wearing a mask at work, it isn't a question of if my co-workers will get it, but when will they get it and will I get it?

We are so close to a vaccine, but due to the manufacturing and distribution methods it is widely accepted that widespread vaccination won't be readily available until May. That means the infection and death rate will continue to increase.

It still boggles my mind that people can't stop going out to eat and doing stupid stuff like that. I wish there were a way to freeze the economy, so people could stop worrying about that, and we could go under lockdown and slow the spread. (Since we all know that the US government cares more about $$$ than about citizens.)

If the Thanksgiving aftermath has been this bad, I cannot even fathom what will happen after Christmas.

Anyways, I just wanted to vent some of my anxiety. I'm trying so hard to prevent the spread, but working with people who do not care (the person who thought they may have been exposed thinks they may have been exposed again) is so annoying.