#i literally remember saying wait until november and now i’m MISERABLE

[bigger-picture-darwinism]

we are NOT almost halfway through november i REFUSE to believe it

[pollylynn]

Title: To Begin With Rating: T WC: 1500

A/N: A little something hatched from a rejected Dialogic. Happy National Coffee Day.  

There is no husband in her bed. The sun is curling its fingers around the edges of the bedroom curtains. It’s nudging at her in that gentle, sotto voce way that’s so much worse than someone just whisking the covers away and declaring it’s time to get up. And there is no husband in her bed.

Her eyes pop open. Breath rushes into her body and stirs a million, billion butterflies. There should be a husband in her bed. Not a fiancé, boyfriend, partner, plucky sidekick—a husband. She pulls the covers up to her chin. She presses them in fists against her mouth to keep what might well be a girly squeal from making its way out into the quiet of the bedroom, the quiet of the huge house, the quiet of the first day of the rest of their lives. There should be a husband in her bed.

She waits a while. With the covers pulled up to her chin and her toes curled and flexed and curled again, she waits, listening, listening, but the kitchen is far away, and that’s probably where he is. He’s probably assembling something ridiculous on a tray, and she lies there, picturing him in bare feet with his robe flaring out behind him as he turns from the stovetop to the refrigerator to the cabinet up high with the fancy, fancier, fanciest plates.

She drifts, not sleeping exactly, but drifting. Her mind nudges back at the morning sun. It elbows it right out of the way, because there’s room for nothing but fire sinking below the horizon, violet and midnight blue crowding in from above. There’s room for nothing but bold brushstroke clouds and stars winking on at the end of their perfect day.

Her thumb brushes over the new weight encircling her fourth finger. She shivers, remembering the satisfaction of the click of it against the band of her engagement ring, the momentous swell of feeling as her breath caught and she felt the presence of her dad over her shoulder, her mom everywhere. She drifts, but it’s been a long time now. The sun is more insistent, not content with a whisper any longer. His pillow, when she draws it into her body, is long cool and the scent of him is faint.

It’s been a long time, and there is no husband in her bed, no husband backing into the room, barefoot and with infinite care, as he balances a tray with a cluster of perfect winter roses in one corner. It makes her grumpy, but fills her with sly satisfaction, too. If she has to hunt him down—if she catches him in whatever over-the-top act he’s embroiled in—there’ll be the good kind of hell to pay. He’ll be nervous and fast-talking. He’ll backpedal, she’ll advance and there are so many first times ahead of them, because he’s her husband.

She throws back the covers. She scowls at the sun and gasps at the cool bedroom air, because it’s November. It’s November, and though the world wouldn’t have dared to offer up anything but a beautifully mild evening for their perfect day, the huge house takes forever to heat, and how the heck is it fair that the stupid sun barged in to wake her and it’s still cold.

She grumbles and finds a robe. A thick one of his, first, because it’s cold, then a silky one of her own, because there’s a first-time opportunity waiting in the kitchen, on the hillside overlooking the water, by the pool, and she wants to look the part. She scurries on bare feet herself, retracing what must have been his steps. She patters down the stairs and he meets her there, all in a rush.

“No, no, no, no, no.” He grabs her around the waist and swings her in a one-eighty halfway back up the stairs. “You have to go back.”

“Castle, what?” She digs her heels in at last. Not literally. That would take them both back down the stairs, ass over tea kettle, but she grabs hold of the polished wood railing and tugs the other way. “What is wrong with you?”

“Me?” He looks flummoxed. Annoyed. “Not me. Here.” Now he looks guilty. His eyes shift away. “Well. Me. I should have thought.” He rouses himself. He tugs her up another few stairs with renewed determination. “But I did think now. I thought and  I’m fixing it. It’s fixed. It’ll be here soon, but you have to go back to bed.”  

“Castle. Stop. I’m not going back anywhere!” She plumps down on her butt, three stairs from the top. The hard wood is freezing through the thin silk of her robe, and she hisses. “Here? What’ll be here?”

“Machine.” There’s more than that, but he drops two steps below her and mumbles miserably against her knee. It’s the only thing she can make out until he heaves a sigh and tips his head up and back to face her. “I’m sorry. This is the worst.”

“The worst?” She grinds the heel of one hand into the knot of a headache that’s started to move in between her eyebrows and grabs a fistful of his hair with the other. “Machine?”

“Espresso machine.” His eyes squeeze shut. She can see a companion headache settling in between his eyebrows. “Your latte. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it.”


“We’ve got the french press.” She laughs and taps him on the head. Her stomach rumbles in anticipation as she thinks of  to-die-for pastries. “And then we walk down . . .” She trails off in horror. 

“It’s closed.” He buries his face against her knee again. “It November and everything’s closed, and I can’t believe—”  

“Castle!!” She slides her palm over his mouth. She laughs, a little weakly, a little miserably, because those pastries. Her latte. “This is hardly a tragedy.”

There’s muffled outrage from behind her hand. His eyebrows lift to encompass all the indignation under the sun. He twists free of her hold.


“You’re my wife!” His voice bounces off he hardwood stairs, off the bright white walls and the high ceilings. It bounces around the huge house and the wide world. “How is it not a tragedy that you are not in bed and I am not bringing you the first latte of the rest of our lives right now?”

She doesn’t have an answer for him. Not right away. There are a million, billion butterflies beating their wings inside her. She’s his wife. Not his fiancée, his girlfriend, his parter, the girl whose pigtails he’s dead set on pulling. His wife.

“You bought a machine?” she says finally. She gives him a sly look out of the corner of her eye. “A fancy one like the precinct’s?”

“Way fancier,” he scoffs. “They have smart machines now. You can control it right from your—”

“And they’ll set it up?” she cuts in. Her mind is working over time. “You probably paid them, like . . . a bajillion dollars to set it up.”

“Not a bajillion,” he protests, but she’s already up and away. She’s already surveying her options from the landing above him.

“Put a note on the door.” She mentally reviews the layout of the whole damned, sprawling, spectacular place and identifies the point that’s as far from the kitchen as possible. “A very detailed note, and then have it . . . text you or send you a drone or whatever—“

“There’s this open source hack where you can get your roomba to vroooooooom, beep, beep, right into your room!” He makes ridiculous hand motions to go with the ridiculous little boy noises. He is ridiculous and he’s her husband. 



“A note.” She whirls, her silk robe flaring seductively around her. “Leave a damned note and meet me on the balcony.”

“The balcony?” he frowns. “It’s November.”

“It is November. And your fiancée has very fond memories of that balcony.” She catches the corner of the wall and peers back at him. “Now your wife has a list of demands.”

“Demands.” He shoots to his feet. “Yes. Absolutely. A note.” He starts down the stairs then rushes all the way up to her. He hooks her fingers half a second before they’re out of reach. He reels her in and kisses her breathlessly. “Wife. That’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”

“Cool.” She laughs right into the kiss. “Gonna be cooler on that balcony.” She grabs hold of the front of his robe. She pushes him away, then pulls him back. She steals one more kiss, then pushes him away again. “Better have a plan.”

“Oh, I have a plan.” He starts down the stairs. She sees his fingers twitching for a pen. She sees him writing the note in his head already and moving on to the next thing and the next and she can’t wait. She and the million, billion butterflies beating their wings inside her absolutely cannot wait. “Your husband has plans, Beckett.”

image via homeofthenutty

[laceandhockeyskates]

What the hell I’ve been up to?!

I don’t even know how to make an introduction for this hot mess but I guess we’ll go month to month more or less because let me tell you 2018.... really fucked me up. Both in good ways, but also in terrible ways? I don’t know... I feel like it’s all worked out in the end but damn was it a mess to get to this point. 

 January- lovely, lovely January. Aka the last time I’ve posted anything of real value on this blog. I had my first trip out of the country!! Other than that uneventful?! 

 February and March (since nothing happened)- I turned 25. I don’t remember anything besides grabbing lunch with my grandma for it... so clearly it was a huge deal. Besides that though.... nothing. 

 April.... this is when things got.... interesting- we found out in April that the retail company I worked for was going out of business. Which was absolutely terrifying. I had no idea what I was going to do, how long it was going to take to find a new job... I knew nothing. That very day that we were told I put in 25 job applications. Within a week I had 4 job interviews lined up for one day that I had off of work, and at the end of that day I had a new job. 

 May- and it gets worse. May 4th was my last day at the store before I started my new job on May 5th. It was somewhere that I had applied to several times and never got a call back from, and it was only a three minute drive from my house so I thought everything was going to work out. Right? Wrong. I HATED it. With every fiber of my being it was the worst. I sat in my car on my lunch breaks crying more often than I wasn’t. It was honestly awful, and some greater power that be must have recognized how miserable I was because I was only there for less than 2 weeks. I started on the 5th and I worked my last day there on the 17th. I was scheduled to have that Friday, Saturday, and Sunday off already which I was thankful for and had all these plans. So since about November-December I had these back pains that started right between my shoulder blades and wrapped around my stomach every few weeks. At first I thought I had a strange strand of the flu, and then I thought I was just sleeping on my back wrong.... well neither was accurate. That Friday night I was sitting on the couch watching tv when the pain hit me again and at that point it was more of an annoyance thing because like seriously?? So I just did what I always did and took pain meds and prepared myself for a night of no sleep and taking a hot bath every two hours to pour steaming hot water over my back (aka the only thing that really helped), by Saturday I wasn’t any better and my dad offered to take me to the ER. I thought he was just tired of listening to me whine about the pain and not really worried but I did let him drive me to Walmart to get a heating pad and more pain killers. Which again... helped.... but only for so long. I actually got to sleep that night and woke up at 3 am in literally the worst pain of my entire life. I quickly got in the tub hoping that the hot water would work or the heating pad or really anything. By 5 am though I knew that something was terribly, terribly wrong and that’s when I asked my dad to take me to the ER. Which I don’t think he took me seriously until 7 when my mom woke up and I asked her to go. It took less than 5 minutes at the ER to be told I have pancreatitis and gallstones and I’m basically screwed. By the time I came back from chest x rays I was being admitted. And let me tell you... that shit sucked. My Er nurse asked me how I was feeling and I literally laughed and told her I was just happy that it wasn’t all in my head. Which she very much assured me that it wasn’t. And that I actually have a high pain tolerance considering anyone else would be screaming in pain, and that if I had waited another few days I’d be going in with a raptured gallbladder. That first day... sucked to put it kindly. Because I had a gallstone blocking my pancreas I wasn’t allowed food (I ended up going from 5 pm Saturday to 2 pm Monday without food) or water (4 am Sunday to 2 pm Monday). Do you know it’s like to go that long? I was the biggest asshole because all I truly wanted was applesauce and water. To top it off though they couldn’t figure out a pain med that actually worked for me. Morphine lasted about as long as it took to get to my toes (a few seconds at best) so I was miserably in pain the entire time. Monday wasn’t too bad. My mom came and visited me, and for the most part I was left alone with the occasional check in minus my surgery consult. Tuesday.... was a day. I’ve never had surgery before and to say I was anxious would be an understatement. I had been waking up around 5-6 am anyways and was just watching the news when I realized there were two people standing outside my door.... I had originally been told my surgery was the 3rd of the day and I wouldn’t be going until about 11 am which gave my parents enough time to get my brother off to school and to be back in time to see me off... that’s not what happened. They had bumped me up to #1. Which meant my labs hadn’t been put in as needed ASAP and had to be run again but as soon as that was done? I was being wheeled away. What I didn’t know was that my mom had a nightmare that I had been taken to surgery early and that I died on the table... so you can imagine her reaction when I texted them that I was actually going to surgery early... needless to say my dad sped all the way to the hospital. Actual surgery though? I don’t remember a ton. I remember going to the holding room and being introduced to a bunch of people that I knew for all of five seconds before going into the OR. I remember moving from my bed to the table and then being wrapped up in a bunch of warm blankets and given the mask. I wasn’t told to count down or anything but within seconds I was out. I remember vaguely waking up to be moved from the table to my bed and I THOUGHT I had only fallen back asleep for the ride to recovery... apparently it was a lot longer than that. I woke up once in recovery and could have sworn they cut me open side to side but nope. It was a successful surgery with only four tiny incisions that hurt like a goddamn bitch let me tell you and then I passed back out... when I finally woke back up again I was awake long enough I was allowed to go to my room where my parents were relieved to see me. I was up walking within an hour (I was told I wasn’t allowed food unless I moved around and got the gas out of myself and had bowl movements. They recommended walking. I wanted food.) and that day was spent between doing laps and sleeping. The next day? The day I was suppose to go home? My labs came back with a high white blood count... and I lost it. Despite my parents visiting me every day I was tired of feeling alone. Luckily though Thursday I was finally released.... in time for my baby brother to graduate high school. Which was a fun ceremony when you’re hopped up on pain meds. 

 June- was a hot mess of dealing with medical leave at the job I hated, but mostly? It was spent enjoying the summer. Once I was cleared for activity I was swimming nearly every day and soaking in the summer with my two baby cousins who turn 12 soon. Despite the physical pain I had to deal with and the stress of work I wouldn’t have traded that in for anything. It gave me so many fun memories to look back on and enjoy. 

 July- I was suppose to go back about the 8th but medical leave was... a mess. And tbh at that point it wasn’t worth the stress to keep that job when for the time being I was making enough by doing side jobs for my family to pay my bills. I did start applying for new jobs though while I spent more time enjoying my summer with my kiddos. By the 27th though I was starting my new job, which is where I’m currently at while I type this long ass post but we’ll get into that a little farther down. Two days later though as I was about to start my first full day at my new job I got the text message I never wanted to get. I had to call my cousin/best friend. Long story short her mother had passed away meaning that she had lost both of her parents in seven years. Something I can’t even imagine. But not only that but it meant that my grandma had also lost her sister and best friend, and my great grandmother had to do the one thing no parent should ever go through.  

August- was honestly a really intense blur. Between two weeks of dealing with the fall out of losing my aunt and starting my new job I didn’t have a life. In late July/early August though I knew something was up with my car but I honestly thought it was just a tie rod going bad... no. Apparently my entire undercarriage was more or less rusting out and I was screwed. I didn’t have any money saved up for a down payment, I had no idea if I could even afford a car payment yet (despite working a better paying job with more hours but I was use to basically barely making ends meet with maybe $20 left over). Luckily my parents who are the real mvps of my life stepped up and helped me figure everything out and I had a new car within a week of starting to search (she’s my baby girl. I’m obsessed. She’s literally everything I wanted minus the fact that she’s white and my previous car was white and I wanted to avoid that: but besides that... I’m happy with her and she’s worth the pretty penny I pay every month). 

 September- was a goddamn mess work wise. It’s all I did. Work. 

 October- I took my first major road trip on my own (driving 2 and a half hours by myself on the interstate. It was a big deal.) and saw FOB in concert which was... life changing. I completely recommend seeing them if you ever have a chance (also machine gun kelly was there and despite the fact that I don’t care for rap.... he was pretty good.). Other than that though October was more work craziness. 

And now for November, and if you guessed work was insane... you’d be right. When I was hired in July it was all “oh it’ll only be busy until like October” and now my boss is like “maybe by March we can get our sanity back for two months?” Which don’t get me wrong I’m grateful. I’m making a $1 more an hour, actually working full time, and I don’t hate a majority of my coworkers (there’s still a handful though that if I had a shopping cart at work I’d run of their bare toes but that’s more because they make my life unnecessarily stressful) but I’m actually happy???? Like as stressed out as I am basically 24/7 I’m doing alright. I have a majority of my Christmas shopping done and wrapped which like?? And idk... I’m just.... I’m in a good place. And I won’t lie I still check myself once and awhile going “okay something is bound to go wrong.” But also maybe all the good is outweighing all the bad that I had to deal with. Anyways so that’s the life update. If you actually read that... bless your soul. Message me. We’re now best friends. And hopefully in the coming weeks I figure out what the hell im doing with this blog.

December update I wanna die lol! We had two people quit in three weeks leaving us with four people to cover 24 hours 7 days a week....it’s a great time. 

[theshapeshifter100]

Guess What? I’m Not a Robot Ch26

Summary: Capital Park happens and more protests begin.

Chapter Warnings: Loss of temper, implied nightmares. (So pretty tame compared to everything else)

Word Count: 1,610

2.30AM Tuesday 9th November 2038

Paul hadn’t moved from the living area, nor had he turned off the tv all night. He watched it near religiously, waiting for any more signs of this Markus or change in the media. So far, no change either way.

Megan’s door creaked open and she stumbled out in her pyjamas. Her hair was a bed tousled mess and her pyjamas were rumpled, yet it appeared she hadn’t actually slept.

“Are you okay?” Paul asked, and Megan shrugged.

“Can’t sleep,” she said, retrieving her coat. “All I can see is that burning android, or you being taken away by police and...” Megan couldn’t continue, but she didn’t need to.

“There’s been reports of more people burning androids all day,” Paul said miserably. “Protests across Detroit. No idea if for or against androids, but...” Paul shrugged helplessly. “What are you doing?”

“Going to the roof,” Megan responded, putting her coat on.

“It is literally freezing outside,” Paul warned.

“I’ll be fine. I just need to think,” Megan turned to go back to her bedroom, and Paul resisted the urge to make her take the stairs.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright? The metal is slippery in the snow.”

“I won’t go on the railing,” Megan promised. “My balance is good, but you’re right. It’s dangerous this time of year.”

With that she left the room and Paul settled back into the couch. He was watching one of those 24 hour news channels, which didn’t really have anything interesting.

He slipped into a daze, thinking about what that police officer said. That if things escalate CyberLife will have a product recall. He shuddered. He didn’t remember CyberLife, he wasn’t online until he reached the stores. If there was a massive product recall, best case scenario was mass reprogramming, worst case, mass destruction. Neither of these scenarios Paul wanted.

Megan would try and protect him, he didn’t doubt that, but there was only so much she could do. There were other ways to tell if someone was an android.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by the news channel suddenly erupting. Just like before he began to flick through channels to see if he could get a different perspective. This time though he had to stand up and physically change the channel, so stood right in front of the tv.

“We interrupt this broadcast with breaking news.”

“This just in: at exactly 2AM several CyberLife stores in Detroit were raided.”

“Different locations were hit in what seems to be a co-ordinated terrorist attack and we’re getting more information as it comes in.”

“Most shop windows were covered in graffiti demanding rights for androids and other obscure slogans.”

“Police report that pro-android graffiti was found in the neighbourhoods of CyberLife’s stores and they’re still investigating.”

“We’re getting reports that two policemen were found in a state of shock near one of the CyberLife stores,”

“According to our sources, they confirm that the attackers were a group of androids,”

“This is an alarming situation. Could our machines now be turning against us?”

“Have androids become a threat to our security?”

“Is this the beginning of a terrorist campaign, conducted right here in the United States?

Paul turned off the tv in disgust. Terrorist campaign? Seriously? They broke some shop windows and left graffiti and left two police officers alive. That wasn’t a terrorist campaign. People die in terrorist campaigns!

He wanted to share this Megan, but he had noticed that the last few times he’d lost his temper, Megan had appeared afraid. It made something in his chest ache. He didn’t want Megan to be afraid of him, it’s just, this whole thing just made him so angry! More angry than he’d ever been!

He began to pace. This wasn’t fair! There were millions of androids, and when a few stand up for themselves every single android is branded as violent and dangerous. Admittedly, he knew that this had happened before throughout human history, since humans never seem to learn. That didn’t make it any better though.

He paced around the darkened apartment, trying to calm himself down before talking to Megan. Once he felt like he was calm enough, he grabbed a pair of keys and went up the stairs to the roof.

Megan was still up there, sitting on her coat and wrapped in her duvet against the cold. Paul silently went over and sat down next to her.

“Needed to think too?” Megan asked, and Paul shrugged.

“Kind of,” he followed Megan’s gaze to the horizon. “News just in. There were a bunch of break ins at the CyberLife stores in Detroit. A lot of graffiti in Capitol Park and a couple of scared cops. News declaring at as a ‘terrorist attack’,” Paul used inverted commas there and Megan shook her head.

“Fucking idiots. No one’s hurt or dead. Only weapons that sound like they might have been used is whatever they used to break in. That’s not a terrorist attack, that’s civil unrest.”

“Thank you,” Paul breathed, glad that Megan saw that as well.

“Sounds like Capitol Park is a good place to protest tomorrow,” Megan added. “Get there nice and early, establish ourselves.”

Paul nodded. “Agreed,” he remembered the potential recall, but decided not to mention it. Megan clearly had enough problems sleeping. He didn’t need to add to it. “I’ll let the others know.”

He sent a message out, and to his surprise, someone responded quickly.

Rainbow3: Do you sleep?

Beep Boop: Sometimes. What about you?

Rainbow3: I’m catching up on an essay. What’s your excuse?

Beep Boop: @Nervousness Incarnate and I can’t sleep. Not after that android. Did the police come to yours yesterday?

Rainbow3: Yeah, seems like they’re doing the rounds. Might get worse after what you mentioned.

Beep Boop: Yes, it might. Up for it?

Rainbow3: Sure

Poison Oak: Good, now can you two go to sleep!?

Rainbow3: Okay okay

Maggie and Ivy went offline, and Paul closed the app, letting the translucent window disappear.

“Most people should be there tomorrow,” Paul reported back, and Megan nodded.

“Okay, better brace myself then,” she declared.

“And actually sleeping would help,” Paul intoned.

“I’ll try, but no promises,” the smirk was clear in Megan’s voice as she stood up, duvet around her like a cloak.

“Also, we’re taking the stairs,” Paul decided, “that’s one hell of risk if you go down the fire escape like that.”

“Okay dad,” Megan yawned, and Paul stopped and looked at her oddly.

“...dad?”

“I was joking. You’re more like a protective brother to be honest,” Megan yawned again. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Agreed.”

 9AM Tuesday 9th November 2038

Nearly everyone was yawning as they set up in Capitol Park. The news last night and the burning android had unsettled them, but they were still going. Julia and Oscar couldn’t make it that, for work and football practice respectively. However that was mitigated by the number of people that Alex and Allison had recruited.

There was about thirty of them now, all with cardboard and electronic signs. Since the plan was to be there all day, people had brought drinks, food, chairs, blankets, heat packs, batteries and even spare winter clothing.

The mood was muted, but hopeful as they saw the graffiti from last night was still there.

Alex stood at the front, facing the crowd.

“Loving the turnout today! Remember, we’re here all day, and we’re all friends. Don’t be afraid to ask for water if you need it. We’ll take rotated breaks for lunch from midday until two, and we’ll stay until it gets dark. If you need to leave early, that’s fine. Like I said, we’re all friends here!” Alex picked up their banner with Allison, which had been redecorated with triangles in a variety of colours. “Let’s get started!”

The entire crowd began to chant. It got off to a rough start due to embarrassment and not being co-ordinated. Although they quickly got together and were chanting loudly and in time with both Alex and Nathan’s rhythm, since he had brought the keyboard again.

Paul had Megan on his shoulders again, and he couldn’t help but look around. He got the feeling that there was at least one more android in the group. After a scan around he found them. A WR600 he guessed, as they weren’t in uniform and were wearing a hat. However, given how stiffly he was standing and how robotically he was chanting, it was clear he wasn’t deviant.

Paul managed to catch their eye, and smile at them, hoping to make them think. The WR600 didn’t change expression, but did stare at him for a few seconds before facing forward again. It was a start.

More people arrived as the hours wore on, and Megan took breaks from sitting on Paul’s shoulders. It got surprisingly uncomfortable after a while.

Around half one someone offered him a sandwich.

“No thanks, I’m good,” he assured.

“Are you sure? You’ve been doing this all day, don’t you want a break?”

“I’ll have a break,” Paul conceded, even if he didn’t need one. “But Megan’s been giving me snacks all morning. I’m not hungry.”

“Alright,” they shrugged. “I’ll see if anyone else wants it.”

Paul sat down on one of the blankets and folded his legs to people watch. Random people seemed to be joining now, swelling the ranks to at least forty, and so far, no negative push back. Even the press they had attracted seemed more curious than judgemental as they interviewed people. Fate appeared to have smiled upon them. Although there were still several hours to go, anything could happen.

More protesting! Seems to be going a lot better than last time though. Maybe it'll stay that way... People who know the game timeline know how that will go down.

Other Options Flowchart

(Paul) Suggest Megan takes the stairs. Insist.

(Paul) Take the fire escape

(Megan) Sarcastic response.

(Megan) Say nothing (Paul would suggest Capital Park protest)

Tags! @nightmarejim @septicart-appreciation

[thegirlattherockshoow]

The Mormon Church

The church shouldn't make you hate yourself. The church shouldn't make you feel guilty for not feeling guilty. You shouldn't tell little girls they're chewed pieces of gum. You shouldn't take children's money to pay your bills. You shouldn't require to take the poor’s money to build a shopping mall they will never afford to shop at. You shouldn't have to pay 10% to get into the temple. You shouldn't put my caffeine intake over my education. You shouldn't make me feel ashamed and not apart of the group because my mother left my abusive father. I should have been encouraged to focus on my happiness instead of my need to find a husband. I should have been crying from the breakup not because no worthy man would marry someone so tainted. You shouldn't hold teenage hormones to a higher standard than your prophet. A man who married children. Joseph Smith was in his 30s secretly married to teenagers. And their sisters. And even one of their mothers. Joseph Smith was married to a 14 year old less than 200 years ago, in a time where it was illegal and not “of it's time.” Joseph was a pedophile and he founded a church that made me want to kill myself for touching the private parts of my same aged boyfriends. Why was I trusted to be locked in a room with a grown man at the age of 7? I was horrified. I can't remember any other time in my life I was alone with a man besides in this room. I didn't have a father, this wasn't normal for me. I was so intimidated. I was terrified he would say something mean. I was scared I wouldn't know all the answers and would have to tell everyone I wasn't worthy. I was a month shy of my 8th birthday and had to make a life changing decision. One I wouldn't fully understand until I'm 22. If I chose wrong I would not only disappoint everyone around me, but would spend eternity in Hell. I shouldn't have told grown men details of my sex life. Details I wouldn't even tell my closest friends. L stopped me in the hall and said X had just started his mission process so he knew what had happened and because of that I shouldn't be expecting to go on the upcoming temple trip. He said he was free for the next half hour if I wanted to start my repentance. I was 17, caught off guard by the man who determined my worthiness in the eyes of God, and he already knew my secrets. I was mortified. I had already been shamed by my ex and now I was being asked the details by my YW president's husband. I felt like I had a giant A on my chest every time I stepped into that building. He got praised for going on a mission while I tried to hide that I wasn't taking sacrament. Everyone came to hear his farewell while I sat outside holding baby Andrew trying not to fall apart at the all the toxic memories that his voice brought back. I got in the car with him after church because that’s what good Mormon girls do, make men's lives happy. I was depressed, my schedule always busy and they wanted me to start my day at 4:45am. I hated it. I stopped going. I couldn't do it. T shunned me. A 40 year old man stood in front of a class of my peers, in front of my sister, and called me an apostate that would fall away from God in misery. A 40 year old man who was called to show me God's ways, would completely ignored me for 3 years. This man is the current Bishop who had an affair and told the woman she could be one of his wives in heaven. The church told him this is ok. The church shouldn't have a modern day purgatory, but they do. It's called Rexburg Idaho. My mother is a convert. My mother trusted and respected us. I didn't have rules or a keeper until I went to college. I didn't feel embarrassed about my single mother until I went to the Lord's school. My roommate said I was damned to hell because my parents were divorced. She accused me of stealing her prescription because I was from a “broken home.” I was invited on dates with her and her  boyfriend so I could see what a healthy relationship looked like. She reported me because I offended her by kissing a boy on our couch who I wasn't planning on dating. She sat on my bed in tears because I chose not to go to church when I had the stomach flu and she couldn't feel the spirit. Then she called the RS president because she didn't think I was worthy to be there. My last semester ended with me in counseling. The church shouldn't put other students in charge of your education, but they do. The church shouldn't abandon you in your time of need, but they did. They kicked me out of the Lord's school because of a string of lies that started over a boy I had nothing to do with. They told me “the people are not the gospel” but that gospel is the thing that encouraged this. It literally wrote the rule book. I thought I found the man I was going to marry so I made him happy. That's what I was taught. I knew we weren't going to be married in the temple because he wasn't a member and since I would be his wife one day, what's the point of waiting? That's what I told myself after the night we got drunk on his brothers vodka and he ignored the terrified look on my face. Almost every other time he would have to talk me into it because I still wasn't comfortable with what was going on. I'm not mad at him, I could have been more persistent, even though he wasn't a priesthood holder he was still a man. And the church taught me I was here to make him happy. So I did. Until he left me. He left me in a church that now saw me as a chewed up piece of gum. A church that put my eternal worth on my virginity and that was gone. I cried for days. Then I realized I wasn’t crying because he had broken my heart, I was crying because no one would marry me now. I cried because I would have to tell every little embarrassing detail to Bishop F. A man who had been a close family friend since we joined the church when I was 4. A man I trusted and had inside jokes with. A man I was terrified to tell my secrets to because I didn't want to disappoint him. But I did. And our whole relationship changed. He ignored me. Another man called of God, ignored me like a child because I disappointed him. The church told me the people aren't the gospel, but the gospel told him I was a black hole. The church was supposed to make me happy, but it wasn't. The church told me the only way to be happy was to be Mormon. So I moved to Utah. F never met with me after that first meeting so my repentance process tagged along with me. Which meant I had to go through the whole embarrassing process again. This time with a stranger. The church shouldn't force young girls into closed rooms with men they don't know to talk about their sex life. The church shouldn't ask how many times I climaxed with and without birth control. The church shouldn't ask if I enjoyed oral. But they did. They asked an intimidated 20 year old these things behind a closed door with a man she had never met before. The church told me I was finally worthy of the temple again, but then I met my soulmate who reintroduced me to the Devil's Flower and my recommend went up in smoke. Konnor casually started to show me where my tithing money went. I was livid. The church was supposed to help the poor, instead they bought news stations and built multi billion dollar shopping malls. Things started to fall apart and before I knew it, November 12, 2015 shattered my world. Up until this point I had put aside my differences with the church, but this was the last straw. The church said to love one another, until a child with gay parents wants to get baptized. Then he has to wait until legal age and then tell his parents he doesn't support their love. That's not the God I believe in. My shelf was barely holding together and in one announcement crumbled to pieces. The church said I would be miserable after I denounced the church, but I'm not. I finally know what it was like to live my life without guilt. Which gave me the courage to accept the CES Letter. The Church said it was true and couldn't be proven wrong. But it wasn't. And it was.

[aion-rsa]

Exclusive Excerpt: The Infinite Noise by Lauren Shippen

https://ift.tt/2yb7sjp

Check out this exclusive sneak peek from Lauren Shippen's The Infinite Noise, a queer superhero coming-of-age story.

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Mainstream superhero storytelling tends to do better when depicting physical powers than emotional/mental ones, which is one of the many reasons why the premise of Lauren Shippen's upcoming young adult novel, The Infinite Noise, so intrigues me...

Based on Shippen's award-winning podcast, The Bright Sessions, The Infinite Noise follows 16-year-old running back Caleb Michaels who has the supernatural ability to feel other people's emotions. High school is a hard place to have the power of extreme empathy, and classmate Adam is an emotional calm in the storm. Told from both boys points-of-view, The Infinite Noise is a coming-of-age story with a supernatural twist (not to mention a queer love story!), and I can't wait to read it.

Check out this exclusive excerpt from The Infinite Noise...

5

CALEB

“School starts tomorrow, correct?” Dr. Bright asks after a few moments of silence.             “Yep,” I say.             More silence. I’m getting used to these standoffs. I just wish I was better at winning them. But Dr. Bright pins me with a stare and I eventually give in, every time.             “I don’t wanna go back,” I mumble, face heating. “Why not?” she asks, like the answer isn’t obvious.             “Because being in high school when you can feel everyone’s feelings is a complete nightmare?” I answer dryly.             “You’ve made some good strides since November, Caleb,” she soothes. I sense it more in her emotions than her voice, and it grates. I don’t want to be soothed right now.             “Yeah, whatever,” I bite.             “Caleb”—there’s that stare again and the soothing hardens— “what have we talked about?”             “Don’t deflect emotion with being an asshole,” I recite, and there’s a small, quick glow within the perfectly even Therapist Mode that Dr. Bright’s emotions operate in.             “I don’t remember putting it quite that way,” she smirks, “but yes. When you’re overwhelmed or refusing the input from your ability, you respond with anger. And we don’t want a repeat of what happened with Tyler.”             “Yeah, I know,” I sigh. “It’s just easier, you know?” “What’s easier?”             “Feeling annoyed or mad at stuff,” I say.             “It might be an easy way to push away the other feelings,” she tells me, “but it won’t help you process them.”             We sit in silence again but this time Dr. Bright is the one to break it.             “How was it being with your family the past few weeks?” she asks.             “Um, it was good, I guess,” I say. “I mean, I feel like I’ve gotten used to their feelings, you know? So, like, I’m able to balance them a bit. But it’s not like that in school.”             “What helps you balance your family’s emotions?”             “Well, there’s only three of them, so that helps. And even when their feelings are annoying or whatever, I can kinda tell who they belong to. They’re familiar.”             “Has the color system proved useful?” she asks.             “Yeah, I guess so,” I say, thinking about how Dr. Bright feels warm and yellow right now. “Like, it doesn’t always make things easier, but it’s definitely something.”             “Do you think that could help at school?”             “I don’t know,” I admit. “There’s just so much. There’s too much, you know . . .”             “Input?” she suggests.             “Yeah, exactly. And so I can’t process, like, any of it, and that’s when I get overwhelmed.”             She purses her lips and I feel the itchiness that I’ve come to know as Dr. Bright working through stuff in her head. It feels like I’m trying to solve a math problem I don’t understand.             “The familiarity of your family’s emotions makes it easier for you to balance your ability,” she repeats. “Is there anyone at school who could do the same thing?”             “What?”             “Is there someone—a teammate or friend—who you feel comfortable around? Someone whose emotions you could focus on when you get overwhelmed?” The itchiness settles as she says this, like this is really a solution to my Problem.             “Um, no, not really,” I admit. “I have friends and stuff but no one . . .”             I find myself thinking of the last day of school, going into the library and knowing, just knowing, that Adam Hayes was there. And then he was so startled and his feelings were all over the place, but there was something—             “No one . . . ?” Dr. Bright prompts.             “No one whose feelings fit,” I finish. “I don’t know that focusing on anybody at school is actually going to help.”             “Well,” she says, “something to think about?” “Yeah.” I nod. “Something to think about.”

            But I don’t have time to think about it, because the first few days of school are lost in a haze of other people’s bullshit. I got to English early today so that I’d have time to settle in before the onslaught of emotions, and it’s not exactly working. I have to close my eyes as the other students start coming into the room. I try to sift through the feelings; focus on the colors and try to figure out what I’m going to be up against for the next hour.             Red. Anger. That one’s pretty obvious. And it’s an emotion that I’m super familiar with. Black sludge. I think that one is disappointment. But this is worse—this is dripping sludge. Hot and cold all at once. Ugh, I hate this one. I feel it all the time but I can’t figure out what’s different about it. And it makes me want to jump off a bridge.             Soft blue. It settles behind my eyes and makes my head heavy. Exhaustion. Dr. Bright tells me that being tired isn’t a real emo- tion, but I don’t buy it. There’s a certain kind of tired—a bone-deep weariness—that definitely qualifies as an emotion. Off-white. Soft. Suffocating. Sadness.             Red again.             Black sludge.             Black sludge.             Black sludge.             God, it’s literally the first week of the semester, can’t people just chill? Pins and needles under my skin. My breathing picks up. Traffic- cone orange. Stress. Oof, a lot of stress. And then. Quiet. Blue-green. Not sharp like red and orange, but deep. Endless. It fills me up, empties me out. Clears out the sludge, the pins and needles, but makes me tense. Restless.             I open my eyes. Find his.             Adam.

6

ADAM

  Caleb.             

            Why is it that, for the past week, every time I walk into a room, he’s staring at me? It’s like he has some sort of radar—he catches my eye wherever I go. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume that some dark, omniscient power was out to make my life miserable. Not that I am particularly bereft in the misery department. But this just seems especially cruel.             His eyes. His fucking eyes. Sad and curious and beautiful and angry; like he’s angry that I’m there. Like he resents my existence. Part of me wonders if he’s still upset about the stupid library encounter last semester—the staring started just after that—but Caleb doesn’t seem like the type to hold a grudge. And yet here we are, a new semester, and his eyes are always on me.             So who’s going to turn away first? Every time I want it to be him—I want to stare him down until he gets scared and has to look away. There’s something about him that makes me want to fight. But every time his eyes find mine, they look straight into me and make mincemeat of my insides. So I don’t fight; I cave. I’m always the one to look away first.             Even if I wanted to fight, I couldn’t hold my own against Caleb Michaels. Not many people could. Tyler has been significantly subdued since the fight, and that’s Tyler—I thought the guy was fearless. I take one more quick glance at Caleb and try, for the thousandth time, to imagine him breaking a guy’s nose. I know it happened, but there’s something about it that just doesn’t compute. I don’t feel threatened when I catch him looking at me. I feel . . .             Never mind. Not a productive train of thought.             I walk toward the back of the room to my desk—conveniently and purposefully located behind Caleb so I don’t have to look at his face. The back of his neck is still visible and provides its own unique brand of torture, but it’s an easy battle compared to his eyes.             Enough about him. What are we doing today? I squint at the board. We’re still on Macbeth. Good. No romance in that, not really. Just murder and politics, the best distractions.             “I can’t believe he said yes! That’s amazing.”             “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Caitlin.”             Perfect. Jessica and Caitlin have settled into the desks behind me and seem particularly excited about the day’s gossip. Yay, hooray.             “Sorry, you know what I mean,” Caitlin says, trying to soothe her. “It’s just that taking the quarterback to Sadie Hawkins is kind of a big deal.”             “I know!” I can hear the smile on Jessica’s face. I guess she asked Ryan to the dance, then. Even I have to admit that they’ll make a nice-looking couple—with their shiny hair, tan skin, and perfect Colgate smiles. It’s exhausting.             “Now it’s your turn,” Jessica says. “You need to grow a pair and ask him!”             “Ugh, I know,” Caitlin says, “and I will. I promise. Just . . . let me get through this week. I need to nail this Macbeth project and then I’ll ask him. Seriously.”             “Okay, okay,” Jessica concedes, “but you need to stop stressing about this paper. You already have an A.”             “And I’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much.” I can’t see her, but I just know Caitlin is preening while she says this. I find her early-morning chatter irritating beyond belief, but the girl is smart. And she never lets you forget it.             “Fair enough. Just don’t wait too long.” Jessica’s voice drops to a whisper. “Caleb’s one of the cutest guys in our class. Someone is gonna snatch. Him. Up.”             I freeze. Mr. Collins has turned to us and started speaking, but all I hear is blood rushing in my ears. I should have expected this—I know I should have—but it still catches me by surprise.             Caleb is the cutest guy in our class, even if I would be the last person to admit it (though the first one to think it). But he’s never dated anyone. I’ve never seen him so much as check out a cheerleader. For a while, I thought maybe I’d gotten crazy lucky, maybe Caleb didn’t want to chase girls like the rest of the football team, but now I’m not sure. He doesn’t check out anyone. Since the beginning of the school year, he’s gotten quiet and kept to himself and goddammit if that doesn’t make him even more appealing.

Used with Permission from Tor Teen, an imprint of Tom Doherty Associates. Copyright (c) 2019 Lauren Shippen.

The Infinite Noise will hit bookshelves on September 24th. You can read another excerpt from the book on the Tor Teen Blog. The book is available for preorder now.

Read and download the Den of Geek SDCC 2019 Special Edition Magazine right here!

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Feature Kayti Burt

Jul 25, 2019

Tor Teen

from Books https://ift.tt/2MdqXQp

[thrashermaxey]

Ramblings: Vegas Keeps Scoring, As Does Hall; Andersen Stands Tall; Brent Burns Finally Tallies – November 25

The biggest news from Friday was that Carey Price would indeed return to action for the Habs on Saturday for a home game against Buffalo. If there was ever a game that would help ease him back into action, it’s a home game against a bad team playing the second of a back-to-back on the road. Let’s see how it goes.

Charlie Lindgren was sent down which means Antti Niemi is the backup in town. Kudos to Lindgren on a job very well done. He started eight games and managed a .924 save percentage in those games. The team only won three of them but he’s helped keep their meager playoff hopes alive. If he didn’t perform as well as he did, this team could be fighting with the Sabres for the basement of the East.

I’m interested to see how Price performs. He had a miserable start to the year and this injury was apparently not related to his knee injury last year. The thing is, the team needs him to be the goalie he was two years ago, and they need it now. They can’t wait two weeks for his game to come around.

*

The Kings welcomed back Marian Gaborik to the lineup on Friday night. He started the game on the fourth line, but did get an assist on Anze Kopitar’s goal.

There’s no fantasy relevance here yet but I’m keeping an eye on how he looks and how the coach uses him over the next four or five games. Going into Friday’s game against the Coyotes, they had scored 20 goals in their previous 10 games. In the higher-scoring NHL this year, two goals a game is not going to cut it.

At 35 years old, Gaborik is not the player he was even five years ago when he was still with the Rangers. However, over his first three seasons in Los Angeles, he managed 0.73 goals per 60 minutes at five-on-five. For reference, on his own team, Jeff Carter was at 0.75, and league-wide, he was in the same neighbourhood as guys like Wayne Simmonds (0.75), Jakob Silfverberg (0.74), Tomas Hertl (0.73), and Andrew Ladd (0.72). If he can be that player again for the Kings, it’ll be a much-needed shot in the arm offensively. I suspect he’ll join Anze Kopitar’s line at some point, but it’ll probably take him some games to get up to full speed first. Yes, he did assist on Kopitar’s goal, but it was just Kopitar double-shifting. Gaborik stayed on the fourth line the vast majority of the time.  

*

Speaking of increased scoring, this was interesting from Micah Blake McCurdy, the proprietor of HockeyViz.com:

At 5v5 this season, compared to last season, teams are shooting more, and from not-dreadful places. pic.twitter.com/HGim4ZcGC3

— Micah Blake McCurdy (@IneffectiveMath) November 24, 2017

Basically, at five-on-five this year, teams are taking more shots mostly from better spots than last year. The power plays are part of the increase in scoring, but it seems coaches and players both are getting the memo on how to create more chances at even strength.

*

Rasmus Ristolainen played his first game in three weeks in Buffalo's 3-1 win over Edmonton. He had two assists, five shots, six blocks, and played over 27 minutes. It's safe to say they're not easing him into the lineup. Start and play him as you normally would. 

*

We had one early game (depending on where you’re located) with Boston and Pittsburgh facing off in Beantown.

As expected, Evgeni Malkin missed this one, his second game missed this week, but he could be back Saturday. Stay tuned.

Sidney Crosby scored a goal off Anton Khudobin’s stomach, literally, giving him his second goal in his past 17 games. Check it out:

People… Everywhere.

And a game-tying goal for Sidney Crosby too! pic.twitter.com/897d2d9YY0

— Pittsburgh Penguins (@penguins) November 24, 2017

He had six goals on the year heading into Friday, and I’m sure some fantasy owners are panicking. The thing is, it’s not the time to trade Crosby away, it’s the time to acquire him.

From 2014-2017, Crosby averaged 3.19 shots per game, and going into Friday’s matinée he averaged 3.26. His individual high-danger shot attempt per 60 minutes rate this year (4.08) is higher than 2015-16 (3.62) and just below 2014-15 (4.11). At five-on-five, going back to 2007, he hasn’t finished below 10 percent shooting in a year; he’s at 2.27 percent right now.

Of course, it all depends on return. Here are some trades that went down in Yahoo leagues on Friday:

If you need a defenceman and can get Karlsson, then sure, that’s a fine trade. But that may not always be the case. Remember that Crosby had three goals in the first 20 games of the 2015-16 season and then he scored 33 in his next 60 games. I firmly believe Crosby will turn things around, and maybe he can be had for cheaper than he should be in one-year leagues.

In the 4-3 Boston win, Matt Grzelcyk (pronounced ‘grizzlick’ I guess) scored his first NHL goal. You can read his Dobber Prospects profile here.

David Pastrnak had the game-winner in this one, scoring on a breakaway in the third period. I mentioned this the other day, but he’s been unbelievably good so far in his career:

Players since 1995 w/ 0.35 goals/gm, 0.35 assists/gm, 2.7 shots per game through age-21 season (min. 164 gms) https://t.co/nAvYKYYfXf pic.twitter.com/OEFVMxZDUd

— Michael Clifford (@SlimCliffy) November 24, 2017

I should add: Auston Matthews, Jack Eichel, and Patrik Laine could all join this list. That’s pretty elite company for Pastrnak. Keeper/dynasty owners: hang on tight. He should be valued just outside the top-tier of wingers.  

*

I like to harp on the NHL (and they deserve it) but the league also deserves continual praise for instilling three-on-three overtime a couple years ago. We had a pair of them in the late afternoon games (5-4 Islanders win in OT and 3-2 Minnesota win in a shootout) and they were both delightful to watch. It’s not something I would want determining a Game Seven, but this is great regular season entertainment. Especially when you get to watch Nathan MacKinnon do his thing.

*

It was a big game for Winnipeg’s second line in their 4-1 win in Anaheim. Bryan Little had a goal and two assists, Nikolaj Ehlers had two goals and an assist, and Patrik Laine had an assist.

It’s worth noting that in the five games since the return of Mathieu Perreault, Laine has managed just 77:39 in total ice time, or about 15:31 per game. That’s nearly a minute and a half less than he was averaging up until Perreault’s return (November 16). This is a problem.

Let’s keep in mind, before we hit the panic button, that Laine is still on pace for 41 goals and 66 points. Fantasy owners would take that. Food for thought, though: 15:31 per game works out to a little over 1273 minutes in a full season. Only two players (Mogilny in 2001-01 and Vanek on 08-09) have cracked 40 goals with under 1300 total minutes of ice time in the last 20 years. It’s very hard to produce at an elite level with that little ice time. Something to monitor.

*

William Karlsson had two goals in the Golden Knight’s win over San Jose yesterday afternoon/evening. That gives him 12 on the year. Jonathan Marchessault had three points, including the OT winner.

Some (many) people may be wondering whether Vegas is for real or not. One thing I can say: the line of Karlsson-Marchessault-Smith is definitely for real.

Going into Friday’s game, the trio had played nearly 140 minutes together, or about 12 games. Their shot attempts per 60 minutes generated as line was 70.89, fifth in the league, and sandwiched between Connor McDavid’s line and Ryan Johansen’s line. That’s pretty good. Their expected goals per 60 minutes was over four. That was leading the league, a half-goal clear of the third-highest line (Toews line in Chicago), and over a goal ahead of Brayden Schenn’s line in St. Louis.

Some people may think they’re just a product of playing at home in Vegas. Well, they actually had a higher shot rate on the road (71.21 per 60) than at home (70.89). That number is good for fourth in the league, trailing only the top lines in St. Louis, Chicago, and Nashville.

Whether or not people want to argue whether Vegas is “for real” or not is up to them. That scoring line, though, has been great, and it’s not a mirage. Fantasy owners who were early adopters: enjoy the ride. This is a talented, talented line.

By the way, Shea Theodore played 22:50 in this one, had a goal and an assist, three shots and six blocks, and had by far the most power-play time of any Vegas blue liner. He’s the guy to own now among Vegas defencemen.

Malcolm Subban replaced Maxime Lagace for the third period after Lagace gave up four goals. I suspect it's time to cede the net back to Subban. 

David Perron was injured in this game on a dirty hit by Timo Meier:

David Perron isn't on the Vegas bench at the moment. He took this shot from Timo Meier earlier. pic.twitter.com/x8Xqgbhz8n

— Ryan Quigley (@RP_Quigs) November 25, 2017

The official word after the game was day-to-day, but given Perron’s lengthy concussion history, this is very concerning. Hopefully it’s nothing serious.

*

Will Butcher set up Brian Boyle for a power-play goal in New Jersey’s win against Vancouver. That’s Butcher’s ninth PP assist on the year, and 17th point. It was a hell of a play, too:

On the @NJDevils' #HockeyFightsCancer night, @BriBrows22 scores on an amazing feed from @WillButcher4.

These are moments you never forget. #BoyleStrong pic.twitter.com/I3b9mJW5uS

— NHL (@NHL) November 25, 2017

Also, really cool to see Boyle score on Hockey Fights Cancer night. A good guy that deserves this moment.

Another ho-hum three-point night from Taylor Hall, who now has seven goals and 24 points in 22 games this year. If he can keep this up, it’d be the first time since 2013-14 he’s been a point-per-game player.

Hall and Nico Hischier are a ton of fun to watch, and they create a lot of offence together. With those two on the ice, the Devils create 13.24 high-danger shot attempts per 60 minutes. To compare, the Tampa Bay top line is on the ice for 13.67 per 60, and the St. Louis top line creates 11.11. If Hischier and Hall can keep this chemistry going, Eastern Conference goaltenders are going to be in trouble for years to come.

*

Johnny Gaudreau is on some kind of scoring bender. Going into Friday, he had eight goals and 11 assists in 11 games, and then he did this in the second period:

Never leave this child unattended or he'll steal your wallet: pic.twitter.com/jSgxAyxSog

— Mike Pfeil (@mikeFAIL) November 25, 2017

Head on a swivel, kids.

Not to be outdone, Sean Monahan had two goals and an assist in this one, giving him 14 goals and 24 points on the year. This is the dynamic duo fantasy owners were expecting last year. Better late than never, right?

Tyler Seguin stole the show at the end of the game, though. He scored two goals five minute apart late in the third, including the game-winner. He had 10 shots on goal in this one, and is up to 90 shots on goal for the year. He has 12 goals and 22 points this year and really hasn't had a sustained hot streak. He'll be just fine. 

*

The lineup blender was out for Mike Dad Bab Clock in the Leafs game against Carolina outside of their scoring lines; Nazem Kadri and Leo Komarov had multiple five-on-five shifts with each of Nikita Soshnikov, Patrick Marleau, and Josh Leivo.

Frederik Andersen stood on his head in this one. Yeah, he allowed four goals, but he also faced 47 shots, including 20 in the third period (the Leafs had 25 all game). That’s the third time in five starts he’s faced at least 40 shots after not facing more than 38 in a single game through his first 16 starts of the year. He has a .929 save percentage over his last 16 games. For all the daggers that were out for him a month or so ago,

*

After scoring his 15th goal of the year against Tampa Bay, Alex Ovechkin maintains his 50-goal pace. At this point, I’m just excited to see where he ends up on the all-time list by the end of his career.

*

Ryan Johansen had a goal and an assist in Nashville’s shutout of St. Louis (Pekka Rinne had the 34-save shutout). Johansen probably ends up where he finished last year, goals and assist-wise. As you were.

*

Hopefully the flood gates are opening for a couple players.

Brent Burns scored his first goal of the year against Vegas. He now has one goal on 86 shots. At this shot rate, even if he scores on just five percent of his shots, he’ll push for 15 goals. Obviously not what fantasy owners are looking for on the season, but if you can buy low on him now, 14-15 goals over the final 61 games is just fine.

Cam Atkinson had a pair of goals for Columbus in their 5-2 win. It has been a very slow start for him with just four goals and seven points in 18 games heading into Friday. He’s still earning 18-20 minutes of ice time, though, and shooting three times a game. This could be the game where his offence starts picking up steam. Let’s hope. 

from All About Sports http://www.dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-vegas-keeps-scoring-as-does-hall-andersen-stands-tall-brent-burns-finally-tallies-november-25/

[rheasunshine]

Greetings fellow travelers,

I hope that wherever you’re reading this from, you are safe.

I haven’t been safe in awhile.

Yes, I have a roof over my head. (A new, expensive one at that; first year home-ownership can be stressful).

Yes, I have food and water.  (Well, sometimes there’s food – usually the fridge is empty-ish and even when it’s not, I’m not really into eating it.)  This fact alone makes me safer than millions and millions of people.

I am – generally speaking – not in danger.

Except last week.  Last week,  I was in a lot of danger.  And it wasn’t the first time.

It comes as no surprise to anyone following my story that as a “Professional Patient” I spend most of my days balancing doctors appointments and symptom-tracking and medications. To be honest (and you should always be honest, right Justin?), I’ve been doing a truly shitty job managing my illnesses.  It starts simply enough – one bad day.  That bad day leads to two, and by then I’ve decided nothing I could do matters and I let go of the controls.  Sounds healthy, right?

So a couple of weeks ago, as I was juggling my annual OBGYN visit, IUD discussions, a urology referral, a visit to UNC to discuss my constant nausea and further testing, a mammogram, vision testing for new glasses and contacts (and WAY more money than we have), my therapy visits and then 3 or 4 “normal” appointments, I kind of lost my mind.

The thing is, it wasn’t even beyond the scope of normal; that’s a pretty average week in my life.  Where things started to go sideways was in the creeping, slinking, insidious feeling that an MS relapse – or something worse – was coming on.  I’ve described this enough times that I feel we are all comfortable with what this looks like, so I’ll just summarize by saying that at this point in the story I was no longer in control of my motions, thoughts, words or feelings.

When Thommy and I went on our annual wedding anniversary trip in early October, we spent most of our time playing the previously referred to “ER or nah??” game.  I didn’t want to go to an ER out of state (we were in Tennessee) so we just assumed the worst was yet to come and tried to enjoy what we could of the Smokey Mountains.  BUT, because my brain wasn’t working properly, I forgot to pack both my cane AND my handicap placard, so we weren’t able to do much sightseeing or exploring.  In fact, we barely left the condo.  Since we’ve been married for 9 years, and together for 13, we don’t need a lot of special attractions to enjoy a trip; just being in each others’ presence is special enough.

At the Tennessee Welcome Center

So let’s catch up: we got home, the symptoms got way worse, and on Friday, October 27th, I went again to see my primary care doctor.  He took an X-Ray of my neck first to see if that could explain some of the symptoms.  Luckily, it did a little – I now have 3 herniated discs and something wrong with the curvature of my spine – and had we not had more pressing issues he said we would be discussing physical therapy, cortisone shots and possibly surgery – but since I couldn’t feel my leg or finish a complete sentence, we had bigger problems.

  He sent me over to the hospital as a direct admit. He assured me they would give me sedatives before the MRI of my brain, thoracic and cervical spine (a 2 hour procedure), but the hospital was experiencing a severe shortage of IV Valium so they gave me Ativan instead, and it did nothing, except possibly make me MORE agitated.  Over the course of my stay they tried 7 IVs.  2 blew.  One nurse cried and I did everything I could to convince her it was me, not her.

It is now Sunday, November 5th and it hurts just to type this.  But what I want to say is important; I was diagnosed as having another MS flare.

After 3 MS medications THIS YEAR ALONE.

After the hell of Ocrevus JUST TWO MONTHS AGO.

The reason MS patients put up with all the bullshit is to STAY OUT of relapses.  I tortured myself all year just to end up here anyway.  And that’s JUST the MS – never mind everything else in my body hatching plans against me.

So.  They prescribe 3 days of IV steroids (WHY, GOD, WHY?), fluids and pain management. Fine. I’m pissed but I can do this.  What’s 3 more days in the hospital?  I am safe.

Except.

Except…

I can’t do it.  I am not safe.

A psychiatrist comes to talk to me on the day of discharge.  “Are you safe at home?”

(Mental checklist: roof, food, check.)

“Yes.”

“OK,” she says, “do you have thoughts of hurting yourself or others?”

Let’s do the easy one first.  Do I want to hurt others? Like this guy – this guy here who SLEPT IN A CHAIR FOR 3 DAYS AND BARELY LEFT MY SIDE AND DECKED OUT OUR ROOM IN PENN STATE STUFF FOR THE GAME DESPITE THE FACT THAT I KEEP YELLING AT HIM AND CRY INCOHERENTLY??  No.  No, I do not want to hurt him.

(Well, I didn’t.  But now that I’m at home, in pain, miserable and riding steroid rage, ummmm…..)

But do I want to hurt myself?

Yes.  I want to find a way to trump the pain I’m in every day, I want to be the one doing the hurting, actively, so I’m no longer passively being injured, I want it to be quiet, I want it to stop, I want it to end.  Please.  Make it all stop.

“Would you allow yourself to be voluntarily committed to our behavior health unit?”

What’s left to hide from? What’s left to be scared of? I’ve seen the worst, I’ve felt the worst, I’ve been in the dark for a long time.

What it feels like she’s asking is, “Do you want to save what’s left of you?”

“Yes.”

And that’s where another story starts and ends.  The only other time I’ve been hospitalized for mental health issues since Renfrew, and this time it was only 3 days because on the chaotic and teary night of admission I signed my 72 hour release form. (They really should make you wait until morning to do that, but what do I know…)

So basically I asked to leave before I had even fully been processed.

But that’s OK because 3 days in a psych unit is a powerful time.  Every single person you meet changes you forever.  And I want to do justice to that story so we’ll save it for another day.

But what I want you to know now is that on Monday, November 6th, I will start a 6 week intensive partial hospitalization; that means from 9am to 1pm I’ll be in intensive therapy, both group and individual and I’ll meet each week with a psychiatric nurse to continue to adjust my medications and with a psychiatrist to keep this journey moving.  In addition, I can still see my normal therapist once a week, who I’ve been seeing for two years, and who has been remarkable.

There are three other things I want you to know, and they are so important to me, that I’m asking you to really hear the words in your head – and I’m asking you to remember.

1.) I would be dead right now if it wasn’t for Thommy, my mom, a handful of the best friends I actually don’t deserve, and a tribe of “Rhea Team” warriors who pray for me and send me their positive energy and their love and their notes and their gifts and who keep showing up despite the tedious repetition of my illnesses and shortcomings.  I know that I am blessed.  I do not take it for granted.  Please keep reminding me of the good things – please keep your words of love and light coming; it’s my way out of the darkness.

2.) You need to vote better.  Sorry if that’s whiplash but it’s true.  You and me both.  I am getting the most amazing, thorough and continued treatment because of insurance.  There was a time I didn’t have that.  And there were people I met in the hospital who were released before they were stable because of insurance. Cuts to mental health services, Medicare, Medicaid, etc, literally, literally, literally KILL PEOPLE.  I might be one of them. Vote in every election you can for leaders who will protect those services.  I can’t believe this country works that way but here we are.

3.) Mental health stigma needs to end.  And it can start with you.  Stop using the word “crazy” a dozen times a day when it’s not necessary.  That’s the easy one – challenge yourself today and see what happens.  Don’t use diagnoses as adjectives.  OCD, bipolar, schizophrenia, manic/mania, depressed, anorexic/bulimic, PTSD, cutting/cutters/self-harmers … all those things are real life.  They can be nightmares that people may never wake up from.  Some of us will get help and regulate it but we ALL need to stop carrying around the shame of it.  It is not a punchline to your shitty joke.  If someone trusts you enough to share their story with you: listen without judgement.  You don’t have to fix them.  You don’t have to feel their pain to help them through it.  You can hold space with love and respect and allow them to process their emotions freely.  Not everyone is ready to accept help  – it is not your job to lecture them. Memorize the number to the suicide hotline (1-800-273-8255) so that you can provide a resource to someone is crisis. (Obviously, if it’s an emergency, call 911).  But from experience, I can say that I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve had a meltdown on the phone with someone while I told them I couldn’t make it one more day – and the act of simply being heard has kept me here one more day.

One more day.

That’s what’s left.

Or, like we talked about in the hospital, one more minute.  It’s 7:31am right now.  Can I make it until 7:32am? What can bridge those 60 seconds? Breathing? Medication? A phone call?

I know I said I needed you to know 3 things, but I lied, there’s one more:

I am not ashamed.  As someone with complex mental illnesses AND complex physical illnesses, stuffing that all inside and hiding it from the world is what usually gets me into the darkest recesses of my mind and keeps me buried.  As someone with mental illness, I *DO* feel guilty, all the time, for hundreds of things, real and imaginary; but, what I don’t feel guilty about, is sharing this with you.  There is a level of self-loathing I experience that I didn’t even have words for until I was on the psych unit, but my head will not hang one inch lower after posting this and sharing it.  I hope if you read this and you want to talk, you reach out.  I hope if you read this, and you are so inclined, you share it with your circle because there might be someone who needs to read it and know help is out there and they don’t have to feel alone or ashamed.

I’m redefining myself with the pieces of what’s left; and with each new illness and test and hospitalization and med change, etc., I do feel like I lose some of the person I wanted to be.  Or at least the person I thought I was.  But there is so much power in realizing you can create someone new.  And know this: if you’ve had to do this (I mean, REALLY, do this): you are a fucking superhero.  Suit up.  Here’s your cape…

xoxo

Rhea

What’s Left. Greetings fellow travelers, I hope that wherever you're reading this from, you are safe. I haven't been safe in awhile.