#how stupid of me to think I could go on a fun outdoor excursion and not experience crippling back pain the next day

[hummingbirdsaltimolockia]

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[jjbaconsumedmysoul]

Rohan x Reader: “Please”

The summer of 1999 was coming to a close. The serial murderer had been found and dealt with, and you were about to begin your first school semester abroad in Japan.

You had run into Josuke and the other stand users unexpectedly when you encountered them as they confronted Yoshikage Kira for the first time, unintentionally awakening your own stand powers to in order to protect yourself.

You soon grew close to these friends you’d made in Morioh. You treated Koichi and Hazamada like younger brothers; you caught up on the latest gossip with Yukako and Reimi, and sometimes even Yuya’s girls; you earned money babysitting Shizuka while Mr. Joestar was lazy. And Josuke and Okuyasu had always been your best bros; you three would pull the stupidest shenanigans together.

But Rohan Kishibe… he was different. You certainly admired the brilliant mangaka, though his arrogance sometimes annoyed you. Occasionally you accompanied Koichi as he observed how the manga was created, and became quite fond of silently watching the ink stroke across the page. Rohan was rarely seen outdoors, by you or anyone else, and seldom came to any social outing he was invited to. His work consumed him entirely, or so it seemed.

But sometimes, you would come over without Koichi. You couldn't really say why. You would offer to make him tea, cook him a meal (though Tonio’s exquisite ravioli certainly put your overlooked stir fries to shame). You would ask if he needed anything: more ink, another pen from his desk. Hell, if he needed basic groceries you would go out and get him something.

You always had an affinity for art of any kind, and, after he had piqued your interest in ‘Pink Dark Boy’, you came to love the series from more than just a fangirl standpoint. You would ask him about his newest characters, suggest ideas, laugh about the latest fan theories on the web. Usually he would roll his eyes, tell you that your notions were entirely idiotic, then continue working. But after a while, he warmed up to your conversation. Eventually, you even got to a point where he wouldn't slam the door on you every time you showed up on his doorstep.

 “Come on, (y/n)! Just one last time before we all have to go back to school!” Okuyasu groaned at the thought. Josuke and he had approached during the last two weeks of vacation to expose their brilliant idea: a party! They seemed to be convinced that it would be the best night Morioh-Cho had ever seen. You didn’t shrug the idea off, but social events weren’t exactly your cup of tea.

“We can invite everyone! Even Yuya and Mikitaka, and we can even get Tonio to cater…” Josuke rambled off his list of ‘ingenious’ ideas as you turned to look at Koichi.

“And you’re in on this as well?” you questioned. He rubbed the back of his neck as he looked down embarrassed.

“Well, I think it might be a fun idea. I haven’t been to many parties before.” you chuckled. These boys were so precious, and, honestly, you would do anything to humor them.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Just get everyone on board! People like you, they’ll definitely come if you invite them. We’ll take care of the rest. My mom is helping us clean up Oku’s house and everything!”

You laughed off the boys’ stupid ideas. Over the next week made sure to tell everyone who had helped you defeat Kira. Yukako was set on going with Koichi. Jotaro rolled his eyes, but agreed to attend. Mr. Joestar overheard the conversation and said he’d love to attend as well. Yuya and his girls were extremely excited. Mikitaka was intrigued by the opportunity to attend an ‘earthen celebration’. Tonio even offered to cater for free. Hazamada asked if there would be girls. You stepped on his foot. You even invited Hayato, as you had always felt sorry for the child. He hugged you, muttering thanks, as tears filled his eyes.

Last was the infamous mangaka. You had been going to his house almost every other day, yet you still hadn’t quite gotten up the nerve to invite him. You knew he was sure to refuse, but it would be impolite not to ask, but you might annoy him by asking, but he might actually want to go…

Thoughts swirled through your mind as you handed him a cup of jasmine tea. You brought your own steaming cup to your lips, blowing gently so as to not burn yourself. He had been staring at a blank page for a while. He rarely used a pencil, but at the current moment he would quickly sketch an idea in graphite, only to erase it and redraw something else. Something must have been on his mind.

“Rohan,”

He paused, not used to you interrupting his work. But he wasn’t seriously working right now, so you thought you might have a chance. He turned in his chair to stare at you grimly

“I know you’ll probably refuse my offer, but Josuke and Okuyasu,” He scowled at Josuke’s name.

“Well, they’ve decided to throw a party before the end of the summer–”

“And you think I’d want to come?”

“No.” You simply said. “I’m sure you’d be more content locked in your room all by yourself,” you stopped yourself. That sounded wrong. “I mean, I know I certainly would…” You trailed off. He had a curious look on his face.

“The point is, everyone’s coming. Koichi,” you paused, trying to think of any other people Rohan didn’t hate. “Tonio is catering–”

“And you’ll be there?” he cut you off, yet again.

“I kind of have to go,” you chuckled dryly. “Who knows, it might be fun. Or it might be that I spend the entire night reading on Okuyasu’s stinky couch.” You faltered. “Sorry, I just wanted to let you know–”

“I’ll come.” he stated firmly, looking straight into your eyes. Your mouth remained open, as you searched for the proper words to convey your shocked but amused state. You ended up laughing stupidly.

“That’s wonderful!” It turned into a giggle of delight.

“But don’t bother me for the rest of today. I just got the latest volume of ‘Pink Dark Boy’ in color, go read that on the couch.” He shooed you away. You smiled as you snuggled onto the antique sofa. This might be an okay party after all.

The day arrived. You were going to be busy setting up several hours before the party (despite Josuke telling you that you wouldn’t have to do anything). You had chosen to wear one of your best dresses for the occasion. The front was a bit low cut, and you felt slightly uncomfortable with the amount of cleavage you were showing. But you smoothed it out as you admired yourself in the mirror. Somehow it managed to show off your curves in the most flattering way possible. You had doubted your body would ever look good in a dress like this, but you grinned with surprise.

As you walked up to Okuyasu’s house (though it looked more like a haunted mansion) the door swung open. The two high schoolers burst out simultaneously. Oku began.

“Hi (y/n)– Whoa.” He faltered, a blush rising to his face. He rested one arm over his stomach as his hand came to his mouth. You looked down, laughing nervously.

“It’s not the dress, is it? I don’t know, I haven’t been to many parties before, and I thought I should dress up. I can take it off if it’s too much.”

“Nonono!” Josuke countered, smiling cheekily. “It’s just, really pretty.” The dress really was a far cry from the dumpy rags you usually wore. And something about their reaction gave you a sense of confidence. You proceeded to set out snacks, prepare the soda, and do everything else the boys were too clumsy to handle.

Guests began to trickle in. You helped Tonio unpack his scrumptious buffet. Josuke turned up the music and started doing whatever the hell teenage boys to at parties. You rolled your eyes, but laughed. You were slightly enjoying the small excursion, but you still hadn’t seen him.

The night grew darker, and still the curious mangaka had not shown. You were getting bored talking Yuya’s girls, as all they wanted to talk about was Yuya himself. You excused yourself for a moment, as they continued to chatter, and made your way into the backyard to get a breath of fresh air.

At one point in must have been a beautiful garden, but the flowers had gone unattended for years, and vines snaked up the cracked fountain. However, your eyes weren't quite adjusted to the dim light, so you couldn't make out the detail. You spotted a bench, and breathed in the cool air as you flopped down.

“It’s much too loud in there.” A familiar voice sounded from beside you and you stifled a squeak. He didn't react, merely continuing to observe the decrepit fountain as he sketched its outline.

“Sorry,” you caught your breath. “I’m a bit tired. Wait, how did you get here? I was waiting for you to arrive, but…”

He smirked.

“So you enjoy my company?”

“Of course I do,” you smiled, still awaiting his response.

“I didn't come through the front door. There was quite a commotion going on inside, so I merely slipped into the backyard. This garden is a very good reference.” He continued to sketch as you shook your head amusedly.

“You could have at least said hello.”

“Why?”

“Because it's polite?”

“Why be polite?” You dropped the topic, knowing it would take hours to explain common courtesy to the great Rohan Kishibe. But, somehow, you found his obstinate personality to be endearing.

“Would you like a drink or some food?”

“Tea.”

“I would like a tea, thank you very much.” You corrected, snickering at him as he rolled his eyes. You returned to the din of music and laughter, preparing your usual beverage for the two of you. As you made your way outside, he reached for the glass. You held it out to him, but stopped your hand just inches away.

“What do you say?” You smirked maliciously. He looked up at you for the first time that night.

“Give me the damn–” He faltered mid sentence, mouth still hanging open. Though you could barely see through the darkness, you still noticed as his cheeks reddened.

“Put the tea down.” He demanded. As he was acting strangely, you obeyed him, placing his tea next to him on the bench.

“Yours too!” He shouted as he rose from his seat. As soon as you had stabilised the mug he whisked you away into the garden. At the back there was a stone wall. He firmly pressed you to the cold stone as you gasped slightly. Your mind rushed with thoughts of what a gesture like this could mean. However, he took no notice as pulled one of your hands up above your head.

“Keep your hand looser.” He told you. You remained where he had positioned you as he took your other arm to reach across your waist.

“Now, place your weight on your right foot, bend the left knee. You did as you were commanded. Finally, he trailed his finger along your jawline, delicately turning your face to gaze at the ground.

“Perfect,” he whispered. “Stay there.”

Rohan had done things like this before. He would notice some detail about his environment and become completely engrossed in depicting each and every feature of it. However, usually he focused on a flower, a sunset, never a person. You were honestly flattered, but a bit shocked by this behaviour. And there was something else you felt.

You couldn't deny that you cared for Rohan deeply. Something about him enchanted you, his passion, his artwork, the sheer unpredictability of his actions. You knew it could never be more than a friendship, so you repressed any romantic fantasies that managed to slither into your head.

But now… This was difficult. You held the pose, feeling the cool night breeze ruffle your hair. How you wished he would run his hands through your–

You focused back on the feeling of cold stone behind you. You could hear the strokes of his pencil against the sketchpad. Minutes passed. But all you could think about was him.

Your eyelids drooped. Your mind began to slip into wild fantasies. You let go of all control, just for a moment…

“There,” you heard.

“Rohan,” your voice came out as a low whisper. “May I move now?”

Rather than answering your question, he walked over to lean on the wall next to you, holding out the portrait. You gasped.

It was gorgeous. He had drawn the ivy so it wrapped up and around your legs. He had perfectly captured your silhouette, the wrinkles in the fabric of your dress. Your hair was swayed by a gentle breeze.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

“I merely capture the truth.” You flushed at that thought.

“So you think I'm beautiful?” You muttered, half hoping he wouldn't hear you. He was silent for a second.

“I-I guess.” Was that a stutter? did the great Rohan Kishibe just stutter in front of you?

“Rohan,” You turned to look at him. His eyes shone emerald in the moonlight. You couldn't help glancing at his lips longingly, just as he turned to meet your gaze. Suddenly, you made up your mind.

You quickly leaned in to place a short kiss upon his lips. It was short but wonderful, soft and warm. You could swear that you tasted a slight hint of green tea, as you relished the kiss for as long as you possibly could.

He lurched away. You hid your face, looking down embarrassed.

“What the hell was that?!”

“I'm sorry,” you muttered. But he didn't move. You could hear the chirping of cicadas, as the two of you stood quietly for a long while. You held back tears. Then, you heard his voice again.

“Why did you stop?”

You whipped your head back up to take in his face. He was just as red as you were. But he also seemed… pleading? Slowly, you lifted your hand to graze across his cheek. He shuddered and looked into your eyes. You gradually leaned in, however, before you could even peck his lips, his arms wrapped around you, hungrily. One hand rested on the back of your hip, pulling your torso to collide with his chest. You gasped, feeling his chiseled abdomen through the thin cloth of your dress. His other hand snaked its way up the back of your neck and into your hair, crashing your lips into his. Your knees felt weak at the sudden embrace and you moaned. He took this opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. All you could do was hold him close and wait until his lips parted from yours.

You couldn’t believe what had just happened. You were so confused, but you loved this, but…

“Rohan,” you whispered, gazing into his eyes. “Do you have feelings for me, or,” you paused. “Am I just another one of your pawns.” His grip around you became firm, but not enough to hurt you.

“Don’t take this the wrong way… I don’t know. I just saw you tonight and realised,” he turned your chin up, almost as if to inspect your face.

“You’re perfect.” And there it was again. That overwhelming desire to touch him, to kiss him.

You threw him around to cage him against the wall, ferociously attacking his lips. He grabbed your ass as you moaned with pleasure. You drew your palms down his chest and he pulled you closer and began to fiddle with the hem of your dress. His lips broke away from yours, proceeding to peck at your neck all the way down to your exposed chest. Your face grew heated as he sucked and bit at a spot just above your cleavage. Suddenly you heard a sound.

“(Y/n)!” Josuke’s call echoed through the trees. You could feel Rohan scowl at the interruption.

“Sorry,” you blurted out, “I-I should go.” You turned to leave, but he grabbed your arm.

“We’re going out to dinner tomorrow. On a date.” A shy smile graced your face. He finally added:

“Please.”

[itinerantscribe-blog]

Day 10 of 56

So, what about today? Exhausted upon waking again but I am fairly confident of the explanation for this. In the meantime, the rain was still present. How lovely to wake to discover a friend is close at hand, even if of the non-human variety. I was up early, typically in these embryonic days of abstention, my delight at embracing a new day only marginally tempered by the fatigue that managed to withstand the cleansing assault of sleep. I worked almost at once, aware that the day was light of load and that there were no potholes foreseeable that might trip me up and impose a stressful burden upon shoulders that had no interest in fighting today. There was no real need to exit my walls at all this day, free will the only piston that might impel some outdoor activity. That said, at the hour of opening for my local coffee shop, I decided to exploit my friend’s ongoing benevolence and mask my excursion under the same mantle as that employed yesterday. Off I went, at speed of course, the rain ideal for the purpose, and by 8 am I was safely ensconced within the welcoming interior. There is something about the aroma that issues from the earth following a fine spray of rain, something familiar and nostalgic and fresh, another of those minor details, a bagatelle which can have such pleasant impact when accompanied by clarity of thinking. 

Returning to the bosom of my domicile, unladen of that work load already complete, I paused to reflect on this anxiety, this agoraphobia, this all of it that has for so many years and still plagued me so, as I have many times over the years but always with a divergent approach when free of alcohol’s influence. I once more tried to recall the early years, my age now advancing to a point wherein I cannot be entirely convicted of an accurate recollection of events now half a century and more old. I tried remembering the first conspicuous appearance of anxiety, and as always, the only immediate and earliest example that ever comes to mind is the playground episode when I was trying to steal Ladybird books to save my mother from her unavoidable death ( https://www.amazon.co.uk/LOSS-MOTHER-TRUE-STORY-ebook/dp/B00LERZ63Y ).  I don’t believe that I really believe that this is an example of the type of anxiety that really came to visit and take up residence many years later. I don’t believe so.

Which leads me, as always, to the relationship between alcohol and my ‘condition’. I suspect, text book psychology notwithstanding, that exposure to constant rows, a cold and barren home and role models for whom alcohol was as ubiquitous as oxygen are factors that are going to mould a child in a certain way, subject to that child’s interpretation,  sensitivity and other modifying elements. It is no surprise then, that the product of such an upbringing might later on present as an on edge individual, anxious and highly strung as a consequence of nurture thus applied. In the early years of adolescence, when my father still resided above ground albeit assiduously sowing the seeds of his own destruction at what with retrospect was an alarming pace ( https://www.amazon.co.uk/Loss-Father-Daniel-OLeary-ebook/dp/B00PUQ68V4 ), I do definitely recall my own personality, prepared to attempt anything to avoid the outbreak of a mini war at  home, placid and easy to please by disposition. I recall no anxiety, no problem going out and all in all, accepted my lot with a stoical perspective. Even the day of my father’s funeral, when the keys to my home were so savagely reclaimed by the aunt who would continue in residence for many years thereafter, exiling me to survive entirely on my own wits alone, I drove back to university in a borrowed car at high speed with not even a suggestion of inner discomfort.

Now it is true, that by this point, drinking was in the proverbial frame, but I could still have just a pint or two, always real ale, and desist and press on with other things. There was no suggestion at all, anywhere, at any time of a bubbling cauldron of anxiety or agoraphobia. University done, I went abroad, Italy, as a rep for a travel company. I glided through airports (oh happy days indeed...) without a care in the world, supermarkets? Big deal! Driving on motorways? In my sleep. But the drinking was at this point quietly escalating, however, it prevented me not one jot from functioning fully and fulfilling all the tasks that fell within my remit. I was the life and soul, care free, carousing, smoking, womanising, fun loving young man who was soaking up every morsel that life offered. I was no more hampered by panic than a tank could be hampered by a twig. Yes, I was a tank, bulldozing my way through life....

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hjl-CDpDP9g

The change was slow at first, only over time becoming increasingly noticeable. I digress, enough of the chronological progression for now. Fast forwarding through the years, in the time I spent being therapised, in the time I spent therapising, I recognised only one consistently present communality amongst those souls so egregiously afflicted by anxiety and paralysing agoraphobia, and whilst this is not definitive nor even necessarily helpful, it is of some interest to me. Intelligence was not the link, stupidity neither, gender nope, age not a bit, the thread seemingly shared was sensitivity. Heightened sensitivity. Now it could be postulated that this feature is a consequence of the condition not a cause, but regardless of which way round it appears, diluting this sensitivity must de rigueur dilute the impact and severity of the condition itself.

Consider my state yesterday, my entire physiological system on red alert, not an uncommon event, just hard to predict, this inability to predict ultimately resulting in a permanent state of high tension, coiled spring, ready to go. At any point yesterday as I walked towards the library, I was ready at the drop of a hat to  roar into a sprint, to run away (run away from what?? I can’t outrun me!!), to move at electric pace fuelled by the constant accumulation of adrenaline. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FVWqfoPQUcI

You just have to look at the common and oft cited symptoms of anxiety to recognise this scenario, the body working overtime, the perspiration, the elevated heart rate, the need to evacuate the bowel. Eyes darting, every sound magnified a thousandfold, modest illumination suddenly assuming the intensity of a flare in your face, these are just basic features of an episode. Constant tension. Horrible. Coffee of course, does not help but I still refuse to forego one of my few pleasures. I have discovered over the years, that the most effective, head and shoulders above the rest, the inarguably best result achieving device and antidote is exercise. Walking is fine, running is better, high intensity for me the best. This burns off the excess adrenaline, do enough exercise and the resultant fatigue just won’t allow entry to Mr P (Mr Panic), although to achieve a total bar of that nature requires a LOT of exercise. Get rid of the sensitivity, get rid of the condition, or at least contain it. No matter how hard you try to resist, not that presumably you would, exercise will create the chemicals, will burn the adrenaline, will automatically deal with the condition, like it or not. Better than brandy, better than Valium, better than anything. 

But what of the alcohol? How is it, how was it then that it could contrive, that I could allow it, a way into the interior of my dominion? How has it managed to construct a position of almost permanent residence? See, these elements are all independent, and yet conflate to create a seemingly unbreakable coalescent alliance. There are a myriad of factors at play here, but they can be unravelled and disentangled. One by one. But let us not forget one of the primary and pivotal ingredients. Choice. More about choice another time.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_HEnohs6yYw

My young friend sounded in fine mettle today. Her tone was an unmistakable indicator of her mood. Calm, collected, peaceful. I could hear it, she could hear it. I was calm too. I went out later in the day earlier to buy provisions. Whilst the heightened senses were still heightened, they are pretty much always heightened to some extent, they were much less today than yesterday. Who knows their complexion come the morrow? I was at all times ready to run away today (it so DOES amuse to re-read that, run away! Run away from what!!!???), but didn’t need too. My young friend and I have never had a conversation like the version of today. She is creative, more than I knew, although I am prepared to gamble that we have covered the same material previously but not ever before on a platform of mutual sobriety. Tomorrow we will meet, first meeting since our contract began, to consider our intentions, the levels of allegiance to our goal, the purpose of our enterprise. There is no obstacle on the path immediately in front of either of us, no event waiting to ambush us. We have a clear road ahead, a full tank of petrol and at least one of us is wearing sunglasses. The only danger on the horizon is boredom. This is a major threat. This is one of those threats that seem easy to defuse. This is really not easy to defuse. Danger close..... Day 10? DONE!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gvKs2VLmVnY

[probablybipolar]

Feeling low

My best friend visited me at uni last weekend, coming for 16 hours overnight to go clubbing and see me. He literally had 2x 5-hour coach journeys the mad bastard. I told all my uni friends about this two weeks in advance and asked them to be there and to hang out and go out with us. On the night only 2 out of the 10 were really there. The others all fucked off with various excuses. I can’t put into words just how at home and happy I felt having my mum visit me last week and then my bestfriend too. There was no drama, easy conversation and just relaxation in general.

When I talk to my uni friend AS he is unbelievably insecure. Every thing he brings up in conversation is some kind of masculinity competition I swear to god. I eat my dinners with him as we are both catered and every night he talks about how many push ups, pull ups and sit ups he’s done, how many fucking nuts he’s eaten and why they are such great food, complains about the same fucking girl who he’s already been rejected by but continues to be her best friend all day. When he went on this stupid camping trip over the weekend he walked 90km in 3 days. He talks about how it was an ‘adventure’ and how the ‘danger’ made him feel revived and alive. He talked as if he’d done something amazing I should be in awe of. Seriously though? I wouldn’t give a flying fuck if he’d climbed Snowdonia. The danger he was in? It was just him being a fucking idiot e.g. walking down a marshy hillside AT NIGHT or being subjected to only eating beans all weekend WHEN HE COULD HAVE JUST BROUGHT SOMETHING ELSE. There’s a weird pretentiousness that some people have about the outdoors and he most definitely has it. I love camping and hiking myself don’t get me wrong, but in my opinion it should be a relaxing experience focused on talking to people and campfires and NOT walking all day long from dawn until after dusk when it’s too dark to make a fire and focusing on photography all day to the point that you don’t fully experience it. He just won’t shut up about it either but he clearly can’t take a fucking hint that I actually respect him less for this stupid excursion rather than more.

The next issue on my mind has to be my girl failures. I consider myself to be pretty optimistic about the future in general. Not until recently had I considered that I might not even have a successful romantic/sexual interaction with a girl before the end of uni. This situation is dire though. I’m not meeting many girls at the moment but even at times when I AM meeting many, I don’t get anywhere. I don’t know why either. I’m no longer either too forward or too shy, I try to flirt (though I suck at it I guess), about half the girls I’m into are quite rude to me etc. They say that you need confidence to be successful romantically but how can I have that kind of confidence when I have only failed and failed and failed my entire life? I kissed a girl on a summer camp type of thing when I was 15 but that’s it. I’m 20 at the end of the year and I’ve made no progress since then. It hurts me internally so badly because my girl failures have always been at the forefront of my mind. I’ve never been able to get fully engrossed in a hobby or subject that I’d forget girls and so it’s always been a painful hindrance to my existance. What’s more, nobody seems to give a shit that I don’t get with anyone. My friends don’t give me advice because they’re too self-centred for that shit and often it feels like they think they’re in competition with me over everything rather than being up for helping me. I’ve been feeling very low for the whole last week except when my mum and friend came to visit. Literally both days they were coming I was hoping they wouldn’t come because I wanted to be alone but then the moment they arrived I felt so happy. 

When I see and talk to my real best friends I genuinely have a warm feeling in my heart. My best-friend/crush CF who lives on the other side of the world snapchats me still. I kid you not that girl is so pretty not only on the outside but she is such a kind soul with a beautiful creativity I can not resist. When She takes a good photo of herself I cry a little. My heart skips a beat and I can’t help but admire her face. Maybe that sounds weird but when I’m looking at her picture, even during a hectic pre-drinks, I’m in a warm bubble and it always makes me smile. With some people on snapchat you just delay opening their snaps because you can’t be fucked to reply yet or maybe you want to wait the appropriate time. With her, I either open it immediately or if I’m very busy I save it for when I need something to just calm me down. I do think I’m somehow in love with her which is silly but even my drunk self thinks so. Drunk-me has declared on multiple occasions that I’ll marry her.

On a totally different note I want to talk about national identity. I claim 5 which makes this very confusing. By heritage on one side of the family I’m Greek. I’m happy to be called Greek and I love Greece - the place, the language, the people, the food. The issue is that it’s my mother’s side so nobody thinks I’m Greek which means they’re always surprised when I defend it in arguments and talk about my love for the culture. I joined the Greek society at uni in the hopes that I might get more in tune with the culture here but unfortunately that went terribly. I just feel so alienated when I go to the society meetings because everyone just speaks in fluent Greek and ignores the ones like myself who are not fluent. On top of that like half of the people there are Cypriot so they have a weird fucking accent which makes understanding them even harder. There’s literally no point me being there and they make me feel like an outsider. Even though I’m on a Greek intramural football team, the other members just ignore the fact that I don’t speak it for the most part. This is exacerbated by the fact that I’m 100% the worst player on the team though I’ve greatly improved and I know for sure that one of them is always mouthing me off in Greek behind my back. I just don’t belong. Similarly I joined Balkan society cos my Dad’s side of the family is Serbian. It’s such a small society and spread out over different ages that I can’t just blend in-it’s shitty af. I have two Bosnian friends at the uni and they joked about how I still can’t speak the language a couple weeks ago. They also understand Balkan culture so much better than I ever could and wear adidas trackies unironically. Again, I just don’t belong with this crowd. I’m just not even like the other Serbian members of the family because they are so aggressive and nationalistic and all that but there’s no way I could ever be that. I don’t have a passion for the motherland, I don’t enjoy plum brandy moonshine, I don’t speak the language, I haven’t been in protests against NATO and the UN bombing Serbia. Because of my surname, I get called a Serb a lot. Lots of annoying nicknames which I don’t enjoy if I’m honest, even if they are lighthearted. Things like being compared to Vidic (who’ll fucking murder ya) or Slobodan Milosevic, being called a vampire, serial killer, genocidal maniac, squatting slav etc. etc. It’s just not me and it made me feel like I was not really welcomed fully into being a Brit even though I was born in London and lived there my whole life. My accent and my surname prevent me from being seen as British by pretty much everyone. My accent is a totally fucked mixture of various English ones and then Canadian + American too. The North Americans give me strange uncomfortable looks when I try to say I’m one of them because I never really know their culture in detail enough to fully be one despite possessing citizenship. To sum up I don’t feel like I’m any one of my nationalities and I would gladly be seen as any of the 5 except Serbian - the only one I get labelled as thanks to my surname - as it is something I will never truly be.

This kind of leads me on to my fake exterior. I think I’ve been over-compensating with gimmicks and characteristics so I could distract people from who I really am. Things like making jokes about the peculiarities and eccentricities of my Serbian family, wearing cowboy boots/ slavic football kit/ sunglasses to the club, only drinking absolutely terrible novelty factor drinks such as Buckfast wine and WKD or the big one which I can’t help telling new people about: my gollum impression. I do all this random shit because I think it makes me seem exciting and fun to be around but when I run out of them, I realise I’ve made friends who don’t really know about my serious side. When I put away the gimmicks they still expect me to be overly-outgoing and excitable so when they see me in either a normal state or a low-one, they seem to leave me alone to the point that I get very lonely. I don’t feel like I can talk to anybody about any of my problems because I only hang out with these people when I’m being weird. I can’t live my life normally with my uni friends because I don’t live in their flat all together. I don’t get little interactions whilst making breakfast or doing some work. All i get is pre-drinks and clubbing. I do enjoy it when I get people on their own and we have proper conversations. I’m good at one on one chats whilst we do things together which is why my date with that girl a few months ago went so well despite us being diametrically opposed in every aspect of life. I just feel like something’s missing here. This loneliness enhances my desire to find a girl for once. I genuinely feel so sad all the time at the moment. At school I didn’t use gimmicks and an overly-outgoing side - I was only myself and serious around strangers and then friendly among friends. It resulted in me having very few friends and feeling very isolated but now me trying the other way around helped me make lots of friends initially but then has not led to as many deep meaningful connections as I would have liked.

What really doesn’t help any of this shit is the fact that I am a catered uni student. Unfortunately this means I don’t fucking get lunch served to me BUT I ALSO DON’T GET ANY FUCKING KITCHEN APPLIANCES APART FROM A MICROWAVE WITH WHICH I CAN COOK. This means I’m fucking starving most of the time and when I get hungry I get emotional - especially angry or sad. What am I supposed to do? Pot noodle is so unhealthy and I don’t like eating pre-made meals out of a microwave very much. I really miss having the opportunity to make my own food I can’t tell you. I eat so much junk food just because of the lunch situation. Luckily I have a fucking steam engine of a metabolism so I don’t gain weight from it but imagine how healthy I could be if I was able to prepare fresh food. Oh my. So sad.

[lesserplaces]

Two weeks ago Angie and I did something strange: we took a vacation.

To be honest, I hadn’t really wanted to go. With Baby Number 2 coming just around the corner, and me nearing the end of my dissertation, I had wanted to stay home and keep working. Angie took the choice out of my hands, however, and we settled on a compromise: Jack would stay with my parents and we would take a quick trip to Greer. Looking back on it now, I’m happy we did.

Greer is just as far away from everything as it sounds. Nestled along the Little Colorado River, at the end of a highway that goes nowhere, it’s a solid four hours from Phoenix, and feels like a completely different world from the low deserts that make up a big chunk of the state. We hoped that it would be secluded enough for us to scratch the “get outside” itch without crossing the line into type two fun, and ended up in a “motel room” at the Greer Lodge, which was the perfect combination of rustic and comfortable.

Unfortunately, things didn’t start well.

As I got out of the car my pair of trusty mountain khaki’s decided to not be so trusty. Happy that I had remembered to pack another pair of pants, Angie and I put the debacle behind us and wandered down to the Little Colorado River, which, as it runs through town, is a bow-and-arrow-cast-into-a-few-deep-pockets stream.

It was the middle of the day and the fish weren’t biting. Angie was getting tired of watching me catch nothing, so we walked back up to the lodge for a little R & R.

Unfortunately I am terrible at R & R. About 30 seconds after we settled in our hotel room, I started fidgeting. Within 10 minutes, I was desperate to find something to do when the small ponds just outside our door caught my eye.

It might not have been the most sporting thing in the world, but at least fishing these little ponds gave me something to do. I set up my rod, grabbed a glass of my favorite libation, and headed down to a pond I was fairly certain had no fish in it.

Except I was wrong– there were a great many fish! I fished the pond until just before dinner, when I finally hooked up on something big. The fish bent my poor little four weight all the way to the cork, and we fought for a good five minutes before it launched itself out of the water and threw my fly from it’s mouth.

Suddenly the pond was quiet. I cast, and recast, and recast, and recast, but nothing came of it. Finally Angie gave me we’re going to dinner right now or we are going to lose our reservation at the only restaurant in this town look, and I gave up. At dinner I kept talking about how I’d misplayed the fish until Angie had finally quipped:

“What is this, your white whale?”

“Call me Fishmale,” I replied.

We laughed.

In the morning I decided to do a little serious fishing, driving over the pass to the Black River. Around Three Forks, I noticed what looked like a deer facing away from me, standing on the side of the road. As I pulled up behind the “deer,” I kept thinking it looked strange, until finally it raised it’s head:

Nope, not a deer. Thank God I learned my lesson from the wolves last time I was in the White Mountains and actually had my camera in the front seat with me.

The Black is one of the hidden gems of North American fly fishing. It offers everything. Near the headwaters it is a tiny mountain stream hiding native fish. As you move down, the stream grows, turning into a tight, fast creek, before finally opening up into a full fledged trophy brown trout river. Best of all, it is far from everything and the little fishing pressure it attracts tends to stick close to a few easy access points. If you are willing to walk (and get wet) you can have a blue ribbon trout stream all to yourself.

Knowing I didn’t have much time before Angie got upset with my little excursion durring our couple’s retreat, I headed straight for my favorite hole and tied on my favorite summer set up (an Arizona Wanderings Mini-Hopper with a small caddis dropper). Results were fantastic. Over about half an hour I’d caught one big fish:

One medium fish:

    And so many little guy’s that I got sick of taking pictures.

But time was short. I had a couple of miles to walk back to the car, an hour to drive, and a pregnant wife who was expecting me in time for breakfast. I fished back to the car.

In Greer Angie and I sat down for an incredible breakfast before heading up the chairlift at the nearby ski resort, where we made sure to get a bump picture.

Afterwards I talked Angie into driving back down to the Black and trying some of it’s more accessible regions. She got out her tenkara rod a fished like a champ.

  Unfortunately it was the middle of the day on an easily accessible reach of the river and the fish just weren’t to be had. After about an hour, with a summer thunderstorm bearing down on us, we decided to call it a day and head back. I didn’t mind too much, I still had some unfinished business in the lodge pond, after all.

By the time we returned, the rain had subsided and the fish in the pond were biting again. Angie and I both set to work, with her hooking up on a nice rainbow that we lost just as it was being netted. One of the kids staying at the lodge was particularly interested in what we were doing, so I invited him over to try fly casting. Because I am an idiot I forgot to ask his mom it it was okay to put his pictures up on the blog, so you’ll just have to trust me that after 10 or 15 minutes we had him getting casts on the water. Eventually he got bored and handed me back the rod. On the very next cast, boom:

No, it wasn’t the monster I’d seen the day before, but white whales aren’t meant to be caught. Still, it was a good fish and I was happy to get him back in the water before it was too late. In the morning it was time to head home and we were sad to go.

I thought a long time about whether to write a post on this trip or not. After all Lesser Places is a blog about lesser places, places that are difficult but ultimately worthwhile. A weekend trip to a beautiful hotel is not that. So, case you’re bored, let me tell you a story about the Grand Canyon. I promise it will all connect in the end:

When I was in fifth(ish?) grade I faced my first real challenge hiking. My family had taken a quick trip to the Grand Canyon, where we decided to hike about half way down to Indian Gardens. As you might expect, going down was easy.

But going up was not. My younger sister and I charged ahead, running along the relatively flat trail. Somewhere far behind us, my parents argued about whether to let us keep running, knowing that we would wear ourselves out for before we hit the switchback’s half a mile ahead. Ultimately, they decided this was a lesson we would have to learn the hard way.

And learn the hard way we, or at least I, did. By the time I hit the three mile rest house I was smoked. As we hiked further and further I started thinking less and less clearly, eventually deciding that the only option was to push straight through to the top without stopping. In retrospect this was stupid, but I was young and exhausted, and for whatever reason it made sense then. At the mile and a half rest house I was at my breaking point. Padre told me to stop and catch my breath, but I tried to push on before he, in no uncertain terms, made it clear that I didn’t have a choice in the matter. I screamed and screamed and screamed at him until finally, completely exhausted, I gave up and sat down. My legs cramped, and my head pounded, but thirty minutes or so later, I’d recovered enough strength to push on towards the top. It hurt, but we made it.

I think a lot about that trip. I learned a bunch of things there, obviously, but the most important lesson is that while you are locked in a struggle you don’t make good choices. In these moments you need an outsider to help you do the thing that is right, but that you can’t see for yourself. I think this is probably where I was before Angie planned this trip too. A summer of 80 hour work weeks and weekend after weekend striving away at my dissertation had left my world very small. Now, home from the break that I hadn’t really wanted to take, I know I have the energy I’ll need to push on.

As I said a few months ago, the small stories of normal people doing normal things outside are missing from outdoors writing. No, this trip didn’t involve anything crazy, but that doesn’t mean it lacked value. Quite the opposite, a quick weekend of being nature-adjacent was restorative, and peaceful, and necessary. With a season of hunting backcountry coues deer quick approaching, a dissertation nearly written, and a new baby close by I know there will be plenty of crazy soon.

But not now. For now, a break.

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Max Wilson is a graduate student studying ecology at Arizona State University. He writes here at Lesser Places, has occasionally written for Backpacker.com, and even more occasionally written for scientific journals. You can follow him on twitter @maxomillions.

G is for Greer Two weeks ago Angie and I did something strange: we took a vacation. To be honest, I hadn't really wanted to go.