#i never made friends with my peers because they would either graduate the programs quickly and/or id only be able to interact w them
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symptoms-syndrome ¡ 1 year ago
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I'm happy with the social life I have now, I think. But god. Perhaps it's selfish of me, because I know the thing getting in my way is my own self, but I want...deep love. Platonic or romantic. I want the feeling of being mutually crazy for each other I feel like I see in other people. Deep bonds, talking to each other all the time, that kind of thing. I have one friend like that and I love him a lot. But we're both really low capacity right now.
I just don't. Really know how to go about that I guess. I also don't really know...where I stand, with friends. I have a hard time telling if someone considers me a friend yet and what that means for them. I consider people friends pretty quickly but actual friendship requires the feeling to be mutual and I never really know if I'm a friend or an acquaintance or someone they know or whatever.
I'm better at stuff in person. I can chat in person for hours and feel close to people. It's just like. IDK I feel like it's really different online.
I just feel like other people make friendships online way faster than I do and I don't really know what I'm doing wrong. Other than having a hard time opening up. But also to open up requires a rapport bc friendships can't survive on just. Deeply personal stuff. But I never know when I've done enough rapport building. I don't want to make people uncomfortable by overestimating our like...Status? With each other.
I just want to love and be loved, I think. I just have such a hard time and it's my own self-sabotage getting in my way I think. But also just. Lack of knowledge. It's like everyone else has a HUD with information that I don't have. Or a menu or something. I just feel like everyone knows things naturally that I don't. And it's not something I think I can be taught.
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hinadoria ¡ 3 years ago
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Title: like nobody’s business
Author: hinadoria / Twitter: @bunniepunk / AO3: bunnypunk
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Mild amounts of swearing
Summary: Shen Yuan had never known what to do about crying people, much less crying men asleep in his bed at ass o’clock in the middle of the night. God, if Jiu-ge knew about this, Shen Yuan would be six feet under. No, he’d be yeeted directly into hell’s abyss. Arguably though, this was all Jiu-ge’s fault.
AO3: Link
It started when his old roommate Shang Qinghua decided to get hitched at Shen Yuan’s 25th birthday party. Disregarding the fact that it was his birthday party in his apartment that he was paying for (Shang Qinghua was only there to keep an eye on him at Jiu-ge’s ever insistent demands), an increasingly hammered Shang Qinghua had decided it was the perfect time to propose to his disappointingly sober boyfriend.
“My LORd, have yOU EvEr ThoughT about Getting HitchED?!” he shouted in Mobei-Jun’s face. Shen Yuan saw the wince on Mobei-Jun’s face before he could smooth it away. Airplane-Bro had that effect on people. Even his boyfriend was no exception.
However, Mobei-Jun had silently pulled the biggest ring Shen Yuan had ever seen out of his pocket like it was a dimension to worlds unknown. Shang Qinghua yanked it out of his grasp, put it on, and immediately started sobbing loudly in his boyfriend's arms, effectively ruining the atmosphere.
If it wasn’t because Shen Yuan was already secretly plotting to escape to his room, he might have been significantly more miffed at this sequence of events.
After all, he had never been one for big, lavish events like a formal birthday party. He’d much rather spend it in the comfort of his room, maybe playing videogames with a few close friends. However, Jiu-ge had insisted, in that stubborn way of his, taking no arguments. As a result, Shen Yuan wasn’t sure he even knew half the people at his own party.
This all didn’t mean he was completely free of indignation, however. Shen Yuan cleared his throat pointedly, but was ignored by both the affectionate couple and the crowd of people politely applauding.
It was a testament to Mobei-Jun’s excitement, if he was a man that felt such emotions, that he leaped up onto the table, which creaked dangerously with his weight.
“I’d like to thank my dear friends and my soon-to-be best man who supported me through this time. Whom I wouldn’t have met without Shen Yuan’s recommendation to work at Cang Qiong’s internship program under Shen Jiu. So a heartfelt thanks to them both,” Mobei-Jun proclaimed.
The attention of the party turned to its host, who began to turn hot under all the attention.
Damn, it wasn’t as if he was Mother Teresa.
He had simply wanted to stop hearing Jiu-ge’s nagging complaints about a lack of competent interns at his company. And he knew that Airplane-bro’s boyfriend was just about to graduate. It was simple math.
Either way, he had to resolve this situation before Mobei-Jun broke the table or worse, made him give a speech. He quickly grabbed an abandoned glass from the table and raised it high. With raucous cheer, the party returned to full swing, and Shen Yuan strategically retreated to his bedroom.
The next day, Shang Qinghua had all but been moved out of his apartment (Mobei-Jun worked fast and efficiently. Shen Yuan had been begrudgingly impressed). In the midst of his soporific haze, a loud banging came from his front door. Reluctant to get up, Shen Yuan nevertheless used every last bit of his willpower to do so. When he opened the door however, he immediately found himself in deep regret.
A pale Jiu-ge, like Bloody Mary summoned from a dirty elementary school bathroom mirror, stood at his door, foot tapping a mile a minute. He stormed past Shen Yuan into his apartment and curled his mouth in distaste at the mess.
“This apartment is no longer acceptable. I’ve put up with it until now, but this is the last straw. It is imperative that you move out immediately to a place not infested by the stench of the poor,” Jiu-ge demanded. Shen Yuan would never tell him it was probably the week-old ramen stewing on his kitchen counter.
“But I don’t want to, Jiu-ge, please!” he whined. Like most things regarding his older brother, would eventually yield, but would put up a valiant effort nonetheless. No one had the right to accuse him of being a pushover, after all.
Jiu-ge sat down at his oily counter with a sigh, hands flying up to bury themselves in his messy hair.
Shen Yuan immediately felt guilty.
His brother looked a lot less put-together than he usually was, now that he was looking more closely. His shirt was unbuttoned and his makeup was smudged, both facets of his appearance he usually controlled with meticulous determination.
“Please don’t fight me on this, A-Yuan.” His brother looked back at him, and Shen Yuan could see the weariness in his eyes.
“Is everything okay?” asked Shen Yuan. He tapped his fingers nervously.
“It will be,” Jiu-ge answered immediately as if he had expected this question. “Once I get a good night’s sleep.” Shen Yuan moved to sit by his brother.
“Mobei-Jun proposed to Shang Qinghua yesterday,” he offered. This made the crease between Jiu-ge’s brows deeper further.
“At your birthday party?”
“I know, I was shocked too!”
“Rude bastard. I knew nothing good could come out of that tight-knit group of rascals the company foisted on me.”
“Don’t be like that. I bet you secretly appreciate their help, big softie.” Shen Yuan poked at his brother’s cheek, and giggled when Jiu-ge pretended to bite at him. A small smile appeared on his brother’s face, and Shen Yuan rejoiced at the sight. He felt like he deserved an award for Best Brother of the Year.
“I suppose they suffice at times.” Jiu-ge wrinkled his nose like he had thought of something particularly disgusting. “Well. Almost all of them,” he huffed. He shook his head when Shen Yuan looked at him in question. But Best Brother of the Year did not do things half-heartedly.
“I know how to cheer you up even more,” Shen Yuan decided then and there.
That was how Shen Yuan found himself moved into the expensive nouveau-riche apartment complex next door to his brother on the third floor. All things considered, it wasn’t too bad. Jiu-ge was too busy to check up on him more than once a week in person, although the daily calls to his office phone were still a requirement.
Shen Yuan had always been a homebody, there was no denying that. As long as he could coop up in his room reading and editing trashy novels, he didn’t care for the particulars of time or place, even if leaving his apartment and chancing upon another human made him feel like Oscar the Grouch having been caught outside of his trash can and committing a crime.
The point was: it had all been going just fine and dandy, until one day a shout disrupted Shen Yuan from his editing of one of Airplane’s terribly written papapa scenes. He roughly yanked open his curtains, hearing a rip in the plush blue velvet. Whatever, what Jiu-ge didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
The scene which greeted him was one of darkness, which okay, he wasn’t quite expecting that but fine, it wasn’t the first time he had lost track of time doing this and that. Shivering, Shen Yuan stepped out onto his balcony and peered over the rails to see a very attractive, very drunk man holding a broken bottle of what looked like Xin Mo liquor.
“Shen Jiu, there you are, you fucking bastard. Fucking coward! What, too afraid to come and see your disgusting student Binghe on this beautiful night? You always thought you were above us mere mortals, didn’t you? I hope both sides of your pillow are always ice!”
Yikes, Shen Yuan thought privately.
This dude was hammered. Despite everything a laugh bubbled its way up his chest. He didn’t know his brother was so unpopular at work but with a sour face like his, he should’ve expected. Briefly, the thought of pretending to be his brother just to hear more of the entertaining insults crossed his mind, but before he could open his mouth the man, probably named Binghe, went on.
“I bet you think you wake up just looking like an angel descended from the heavens! Well let me tell you, scumbag, that I curse you and your descendents to always have shaky eyeliner! Let’s see you keep up that hoity-toity look and scream at me when you come into work looking like a clown!”
Shen Yuan covered his eyes in horror. Not his eyeliner! He had to look sharp for the ladies.
“I fixed that stupid assignment one million times! Your nitpicking doesn’t even make sense anymore, you blind geezer! Come down here, if you’re not a coward and I’ll show you ...” Binghe paused, looking like he was gonna hurl.
“Show me what? You can’t leave me hanging like that, I won’t be able to sleep!” Shen Yuan shouted out, against his better judgement. He had already been collecting Binghe’s flavored insults to use against that traitor Shang Qinghua next time he saw him.
Binghe looked back up, with what seemed like confusion in his eyes, though it could have just been bleary drunkenness. To Shen Yuan’s horror, it looked like Binghe had tears in his eyes.
“All I wanted was for Laoshi to acknowledge me,” Binghe sobbed out. At this point Shen Yuan had missed his chance to tell the poor man that his brother was out of town on a business trip, and that Binghe was shouting at a stranger. He felt something in his chest squeeze at Binghe’s watery puppy dog eyes.
“Why does everyone look down on me?” Binghe cried. “I try so hard, over and over but all you do is scorn me … again and again! What do I have to do, just tell me, and I’ll do it. Anything! Just …” At this point the boy was choking on his sobs. Shen Yuan felt something shattering. He found himself walking down the stairs. He was going to go down and fetch him before the police were called, that was all, he told himself.
By the time he arrived on the cold grass ready to coax the drunkard, he found him passed out, clutching the broken bottle so hard his hand was bleeding. Shen Yuan sucked in a sharp breath.
“Alright buddy, let’s get you warmed up,” Shen Yuan said as he pried the glass from Binghe’s hand and used all his strength to haul him up and to the elevator.
He got several strange looks as he dragged an unconscious man across the fancy lobby, but Shen Yuan just snorted and ignored them. The people here had sticks so far up their ass they were getting free prostate massages. Shen Yuan stifled his laughter at his own wit in Binghe’s dead weighted shoulder and got a few more strange looks by the lady in the elevator. Halfway to Shen Yuan’s room, Binghe woke up and stared at Shen Yuan like he was an alien.
He struggled a bit and whined, “Laoshi, please don’t dropkick me into the Panama Canal, I promise I’ll be a good boy.”
Shen Yuan laughed and patted Binghe’s hair. “Go back to sleep, rowdy boy. We’ll talk in the morning.” It probably wasn’t because of his words, but Binghe managed to walk a few steps on his own before becoming dead weight on Shen Yuan again. He felt the breath knocked out of him.
“For someone who’s such a crybaby, you sure are … heavy!” Shen Yuan panted as he managed to drag Binghe into his apartment and throw him onto his bed. He shoddily wrapped up Binghe’s bleeding hand with several bandages. Novels may have taught him a lot, but he had surprisingly little practical knowledge when faced with a gash like Binghe’s in reality.
The fatigue of the night finally caught up with him as he saw Binghe’s peaceful sleeping face and he barely managed to do his nightly routine before sliding into his bed next to the unconscious person.
Shen Yuan was just about to drift away into sleep until he heard sniffling coming from the other man and turned around to see Binghe crying in his sleep.
And so was his current dilemma. Shen Yuan had no idea how to handle crying people. He stared dumbly for a few moments before kicking himself to do something, anything!
Shen Yuan wouldn’t do this for any random stranger that came knocking to his door, but luckily he had gleaned several useful tidbits of information from Binghe’s drunken speech. For example, he was likely one of Jiu-ge’s new interns at the large Cang Qiong Company he worked at, under the Qing Jing subsidiary. Second, Jiu-ge seemed to be giving the poor boy an extremely hard time, and Shen Yuan knew better than anyone just how sharp his brother’s acerbic tongue could be. Shen Yuan felt mildly responsible for cleaning up his brother’s mess.
Also, Binghe was terribly cute. He reminded Shen Yuan of the little puppy he used to play with in childhood, named Bingbing, after his favorite actress.
It was a combination of these facts, or none of them, that ultimately made Shen Yuan do what he did next; wrap his arms around Binghe and gently stroke his hair, murmuring comforting words to him until he stopped crying.
Somewhere along the way he found himself asleep as well.
Binghe awoke from his drunken stupor sometime between ass and fuck o’clock in the morning. His hand was covered in messily wrapped bandages.
When he saw the face of the person fast asleep next to him, he flinched backwards so hard he almost fell out of the bed.
What did I do last night? He wailed miserably in his head. A worst case scenario flashed through his head, and he made sure that both of them were clothed before exhaling a sigh of relief. That was the last time he let Mobei-Jun get him drunk, bachelor party be damned.
The last thing he remembered was accepting a glass full of alcohol in the bar he’d been dragged to, but everything afterwards was a blur. He didn’t remember how he walked all the way to his boss’s nouveau riche apartment, and he certainly didn’t remember how he ended up in bed with the man he was most fearful of.
There was one thing Binghe knew with full certainty, however; he had to escape this apartment immediately before he lost his job or worse: his life.
He had barely turned around and registered vaguely that the apartment was a lot sloppier than he’d expected of his avaricious boss before a sleepy hum made him freeze in his tracks.
“Mmm… Binghe?”
Binghe froze. Shen Jiu had never called him by name, it was always something along the lines of “scum” or “lad”.
Filled with trepidation, he turned to face his boss against his better judgement.
A sleepy smile stretched its way across the face of the person in front of him just as the morning’s rays peeked through the rip in the curtains and fell across his face.
Angelic, Binghe’s mind vaguely registered. Maybe he hadn’t come to his boss’s apartment after all. Maybe he had died and entered a realm different than the one he’d been in. Maybe he was already in heaven.
The angel’s face scrunched up cutely at the offending rays across his face. He glanced at the curtains before letting out a forlorn sigh.
“Jiu-ge’s gonna kill me for that …” sighed the angel across from Binghe.
Jiu-ge? Who’s that, I’ll fight him so you never have a frown on your pretty face ever again, Binghe thought blearily.
Mr. Angel noticed he was awake and smiled a crooked smile.
“Good morning. You were drunk and screaming outside my window last night, so I thought I’d do a public service and take you in before you hurt yourself, “ the angel laughed nervously. “Binghe is your name, right?”
Binghe nodded, feeling like his body was not his own. Then he had a thought.
“Wait … how do you know?”
The angel’s lips thinned, looking like he was trying really hard not to laugh. Oh, that was not a good sign.
“Well … You dropped your name in the middle of shouting about how you wished your boss’s food was too salty, among other things …”
The wave of relief that was about to pass through Binghe at realizing this person was likely not his boss aborted itself as it was overtaken by sheer waves of mortification.
Binghe covered his face with his hands, letting out an ungodly groan of embarrassment.
“Binghe… I’m saying this for your own good.” Mr. Angel looked into Binghe’s eyes seriously. “Do you know how to use swear words?”
Binghe immediately pouted, feeling like he was being made fun of. He couldn’t find it in himself to be truly annoyed, however, at the angel’s bell-like peals of laughter smothered by his hand. It was such a stark contrast to his boss’s restrained expressions.
“Ah! I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Shen Yuan, Shen Jiu’s younger twin brother.”
And there was the horror again.
Just as Binghe was about to bid farewell to his short, inconsequential life, Shen Yuan continued chattering. “You’re lucky Jiu-ge’s out of town on a business trip, and that you weren’t actually serenading his window but mine. If he was here, I don’t know if I could have even stopped him from personally throwing you into a jail cell.”
Binghe felt like he had gotten off of a life-threatening roller coaster ride. Stiffly, he rose from the bed and bent ninety degrees into a bow.
“Thanking Shen Yuan for his kindness in rescuing this lowly one from his predicament!” Binghe grew so nervous he immediately started speaking as if he were in a period drama. “In order to repay my honorable benefactor, this one will prepare breakfast!” He rushed away before Shen Yuan could speak a single word.
Once Binghe found the kitchen, he allowed himself a mini-freakout session. He! Was in! His boss’s younger brother’s bed! And the younger brother was an angel! Even though Binghe was fairly certain nothing untoward had occurred between the two of them the night prior, he felt every inch of his nerves tingling. He was also fairly certain that any other person that lacked Shen Yuan’s generosity would have immediately called the police on him at the least.
This was the first time anyone had done something so selfless for his sake.
Unbidden, a flush streaked across his cheeks, and Binghe slapped at himself to get out of it. Shen Yuan was his benefactor, and it would be wrong to have indecent thoughts about someone so innocent. There may not be much Binghe was good at, as he had learned from his internship under Shen Jiu, but the least he could do was cook him a decent breakfast.
Shen Yuan was roused from his half-wakeful state by the smell of something good coming from the kitchen. Which was weird because last he checked, there was nothing in there but dust and half-eaten ramen. (Yes, he had a problem.)
Wait … Binghe!
It was a little belated, but the nagging voice in Shen Yuan’s head that sounded suspiciously like Jiu-ge berated himself for falling asleep again while a stranger was in his apartment. A cute stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.
Shen Yuan, the voice nagged. One of these days you’re going to get yourself murdered in cold blood …
Alright, shut up, you. No one wants to hear this in the early morning, Shen Yuan bickered back.
“Sir?” Binghe’s voice nervously called from the kitchen entrance.
Shen Yuan immediately relaxed back into what he thought was a cool pose.
“There’s no need for formalities, Binghe. After all, you’ve already slept in my bed.”
Binghe’s ears flushed red at his words, and he swayed back and forth like a maiden on the morning after her wedding night. Shen Yuan stopped this strange line of thinking once he realized how weird it was.
“I made you breakfast as a thank you for er… handling me last night,” Binghe said softly.
Well, that didn’t help his strange thoughts. The last conscious thought Shen Yuan had was that he’d better go and eat the poor shy guy’s food since he had made it already.
He didn’t recall getting up or sitting down at the kitchen table, but the next thing he knew he was staring down at an empty plate, stomach full of delicious food.
“I don’t know what to think. This is the first time this has happened to me.” It wasn’t, but Shen Yuan had always had a flair for the dramatic. “If you can cook so well, why are you wasting your time under my brother’s wing? You should go be a professional chef, and share this magic with the rest of the world.”
It wasn’t empty praise. Shen Yuan genuinely believed he’d be blessed if he could eat like this every day for the rest of his life. His terrible habit of crappy eating would be forever changed.
Binghe was so red he looked like a tomato.
Abruptly, the sounds of a phone ringing disrupted the nice atmosphere. Binghe’s face paled.
“Oh no, I left Mobei-Jun at the club last night. He must be wondering where I am. The bachelor party got kind of crazy.”
Hm? Mobei-Jun? Shen Yuan slapped his forehead in realization. Of course! Binghe was a part of Jiu-ge’s interns, of course he knew Mobei-Jun. Shen Yuan had no idea how he had failed to make that connection. He might even be the best man Mobei-Jun had mentioned, since he was pretty sure the third intern was a woman. Sha Hualing, he believed her name was?
Either way, Shen Yuan hadn’t realized he and Binghe were so closely connected. Besides, he hadn’t felt comfortable calling Binghe a stranger, now that they no longer were.
Maybe he’d get a chance to see Binghe in a tux at the wedding? That would be so cute! Of course, he’d have to help keep him away from the champagne, especially since Jiu-ge would also be there. That was a nightmare waiting to happen.
While Shen Yuan was off fantasizing, Binghe had gathered all his stuff and prepared to leave. He hovered nervously around the door.
Shen Yuan snapped out of it to bid him goodbye. Binghe smiled shyly.
“Maybe I’ll see you around again sometime?” he asked.
Shen Yuan hid a smile behind his hand, and adopted a lofty expression.
“This immortal does not often descend from his honorable peak. However, if fate wills it to be so, then so shall it be,” he said, imitating Binghe’s earlier style of speech.
Binghe laughed, but kept hovering near the door as if he was waiting for something.
“Alright, your friend must be wondering where you are. Go on, now.” A flash of disappointment crossed Binghe’s face, but he obediently left, looking back like a puppy several times as he did so.
It wasn’t until much later that Shen Yuan would realize he had forgotten to explain that he was friends with Shang Qinghua, and that they would likely see each other again at the wedding. By the time the wedding itself rolled around, it would prove to be an ordeal of its own.
But that would remain a story for another time.
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academiaipromise ¡ 4 years ago
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Hello!
This is a series that was inspired by some stressed-filled Zoom calls that I’ve been having with some underclassmen for both my extracurricular organizations and peer mentoring programs. If you’re still reading this, chances are, you’re either going back to college soon or starting college for the first time in the year that is 2020. While we all are probably focusing on the safety of ourselves and our loved ones (as we arguably should), many incoming freshmen I’ve been talking to are also stressed about college things: emailing professors, study tips, how to balance virtual classes. So, in case you feel like reading a series of tips written by a 4th year undergrad who at least pretends to know what she’s doing, click below to read the second entry. Click here for the first. 
Tip #2: Zoomin’, or Keeping a Life/Work Balance During Online or Hybrid Courses
When trying to figure out the order in which to post these tips, I was struck with the realization that I start school in a little over a week. So, if anyone is in this same boat, I figured it would be important to talk about class registration tips when there’s still time for you do something about it. This post is a long one, but here’s hoping you can find some advice in it. 
So something to clarify right off the bat: when everything started moving to a virtual format, everybody and their mother on the Internet starting coming forward with tips on how to work from home. And while that’s kind of what’s happening here, I take issue with two things: working from home is not the same as working from home during a global crisis, and working from home is not the same as virtual college. So I’ll try to get as specific as I can, but also try to throw in some tips that might work better for you than they do for me.  
Part One: Registering for Classes
Okay so this part you might have already done, but it’s good to keep in mind. While the recommended hours at every university is different, in my experience the average recommendation is 15 credits hours per semester. It’s important to note though that this is only an average: if you plan on taking courses in the summer, graduating early/later than 4 years, or taking on multiple majors, all of these things affect the credit hours you should be taking.
The unpleasant reality of registering for courses is there’s really no way to know how a specific class will be. There’s always RateMyProfessor.com or other tools, but who’s to say that professors will be like they normally are if they’re trying to figure out how to teach online/hybrid classes? Also, it’s a good thought to keep in mind that typically only two kinds of people leave public reviews of a professor/course: those who really loved the class, and those who really hated the class. So read and figure out what exactly they’re saying, not just how they feel about the course. And just know yourself - if someone from a humanities background says a statistics class is too hard, but you're great with numbers, that’s not always the best advice to heed. Listen to your gut instinct, both when registering and during drop/add week. 
My advice for registering for classes right now? Whatever your instinct is, go a little less if you’re able. The reason I say this is because studying in 2020 can be...a lot, in the same way doing anything in 2020 is. I was only registered for 12 credit hours last semester, and even that became difficult to manage toward the end (moving back home suddenly, people you know getting sick, trying to protect high risk loved ones/yourself, all of which can and probably will happen again this semester). I would just say to go in overestimating how much time you need for yourself vs classes - there will be other semesters, and it’s better to take less classes now and not burn out or struggle mentally (or even just academically) in your first semester of college. Please just be kind to yourself. 
Part Two: Zoom, or the True Necessary Evil 
Maybe you used Zoom all throughout your last months of high school; maybe your university is using Microsoft Teams or something to that effect. Either way, here is what I’ve found to be helpful during my unforeseen five month foray into Zoom, seemingly with no end in sight.
1. Zoom is a tool. Yes, I kind of hate Zoom, and you may also come to hate Zoom if you don’t already, but there are benefits. You can send in written questions or raise your hand through Zoom if your professor allows that feature, both of which are very helpful in trying to show engagement while also trying to respect any kind of Zoom decorum. This post is going to be long enough, and my next post will have more to do with extracurriculars and virtual opportunities, but if you ever need to host a Zoom and want to just use all of its features, I’m more than happy to answer DMs. I’ve had to sit through so many Zoom tutorials for Student Involvement, and if I can spare anyone from that, I would love to. 
2. Balance what you keep digitally versus what’s on paper. Okay, so this is definitely, definitely up to personal preference, but speaking from experience, I just don’t view online or hybrid classes as the opportunity to go fully digital if you’ve never been fully digital before. For me, I always take handwritten notes, mainly because when it comes to remembering things, I either have more of an auditory memory, or I can remember the way that I wrote something when I was taking notes. Considering online classes usually decrease the auditory memory aspect a lot, when things moved virtual I made a point to keep taking handwritten notes. However, something that I’ve found particularly appealing is using Google Calendar (or iCal, Outlook, whatever it is you prefer) to an excess. When scheduling Zoom calls, I always save the Zoom link in the description of the event on my Google Calendar. Trust me, this is a lot better than trying to go through your email to find the link that professor sent. So I would advice to think about your learning preferences and figure out a way to still play to your strengths, even if it might technically be a little less convenient. 
3. Schedule screen breaks. This is so important for so many reasons. While I’ve invested in some blue light glasses because I am slowly losing my vision after years of reading books by flashlight or AO3 fics on my phone until late at night, I still get fatigued being on a screen for so long. Because it’s not just school that’s on the screen; it’s your clubs, your social interactions, maybe your job. I would recommend scheduling screen breaks that coincide with some sort of physical activity (I don’t necessarily mean an intensive physical activity, although if you want to feel free; I more am referring to getting up out of your chair and walking around your room or apartment. Or going outside. Ride your bike. Do some yoga. Eat some food. Etc.), but if you’re feeling particularly busy or overwhelmed, taking notes from a physical book works just as well. Even if you feel okay at the moment, scheduling breaks and following that schedule can save you from screen fatigue hitting all at once - it will take a lot longer to get over a headache between your eyes/your eye twitching or your neck and/or shoulder locking up than just allowing simple short breaks throughout your day. 
4. Schedule time between Zooms. This may sound like the same thing as taking screen breaks, but what I’ve found is that Zoom is a lot more draining that in person classes. I used to schedule Zoom calls back to back like I would classes (again, personal preference, but I was always the person who would take all of their classes from 9:30-3:30 on Tuesday/Thursday, and no classes on Monday/Wednesday/Friday), but found out pretty quickly that I was wrecked after two or more Zoom calls in a row. Honestly, now I won’t schedule any two Zoom calls within a half an hour of each other - between calls, I like to walk around, grab a snack, stretch, close my eyes and try and suppress the social anxiety that seems to accompany every Zoom class or meeting I’ve ever had. (Tangent: I’m thoroughly convinced southerners were not meant to operate Zoom calls. No one knows how to hang up the dang call without being rude because we were taught to have 30 minute conversations in a doorway on our way out.) Maybe there are people who can go on Zoom calls for three hours or so (and I’ve done that with friends, whether just working on group projects or hanging out), but my personal recommendation would be just to space it out more than normal if you’re able. 
5. Create an ideal weekly schedule. This is not “your most productive week ever,” or “this is the rigid schedule you will follow for eternity with no deviations.” One of my most difficult adjustments in college was the changing schedules; maybe you were planning on finishing an important paper on Thursday night, only for your group project to decide to meet that night instead. And that will happen, even with virtual meetings (maybe especially with virtual meetings, as people definitely tend to overestimate your availability when it’s digital). What I’ve found that helps is to create an ideal weekly schedule, both in general and a more specific one at the start of the week, because that means that when things get shuffled around, you actually reschedule that thing that you wanted to do, whether it’s homework, yoga, or just...being alone for a bit. It allows you to still feel like you’re prioritizing your time and activities, even when your schedule changes with little to no warning. 
Part Three: Some Final Thoughts
If you can invest in a second monitor, now might really be the time to do it. If you’d prefer, I used a laptop riser for most of college before this all happened (yay nerve damage in my neck!) and an external keyboard and mouse. I would just compare models and figure out what works best financially if that’s something you want to do. 
Ultimately, if this doesn’t come across in every tip I post, please just be patient with yourself this semester. This is a weird time, and I know that starting your first semester you might be 100% committed to starting off strong or making a great first impression. And that’s awesome, but sometimes that just might not be realistic. Look at last week’s post on contacting your professor, and reach out early just to introduce yourself. Establishing a relationship early on is always good, but especially considering that this semester really might have moments where you need some extra time or grace from them. Can’t focus? Can’t find motivation? That’s understandable; we’re in a global crisis right now. Just listen to yourself and always put your health and the health of your loved ones before school. I hope that these tips can at least help you navigate your first year with a little less trepidation. 
------------------------------------
So that’s it for this entry! As always, if you have specific questions, please don’t  hesitate to ask. Again, I am a student at an SEC university in the United States, so I’m not claiming to be an expert in all things, but I have TA'ed multiple freshman seminars, and will be making this series for the freshmen that I know starting at my school this year anyways, so putting them on this blog is no big deal. Next post (which will hopefully be up sooner than this one was) will specifically be on extracurriculars and virtual opportunities, so if you have specific questions on that as well, I’m all ears. 
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knit-wear-it ¡ 5 years ago
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Abnormal Psychology II
Joan Leland’s Two Greatest Disappointments
PhD student!Crane, Undergrad!Harley, Narrator!Joan Leland / Writing exercise to help me work through backstories. Which includes rewriting the first part of this. Because it was terrible.
Read Abnormal Psychology I Here
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**Reminder: Harley killed her college boyfriend.
Abnormal Psychology II
2. Joan Leland's Two Greatest Failures
Eight years before Harley meets the Joker.
Joan Leland had been teaching Psychology at Gotham University for over twenty-five years, the tenured head of the department for nearly ten. During those years, she’d seen many precocious PhD candidates, but few of them stood out like Jonathan Crane.
She first met Jonathan when he was twenty-two years old, freshly graduated from a southern university known for its football team rather than its academics. With a bachelor’s in clinical psychology, and a minor in chemistry, his grades had been excellent, and his tutors called him ‘brilliant’ in their referrals. He was an obvious choice for an interview. 
The young man Joan met had been caustic, bordering on rude, and she immediately suspected he was either on the spectrum or suffering some other mental health ailment. That wasn’t a mark against him - so many students of psychology were drawn to the field because of their own struggles. But Crane had a unique interest - obsession if the intensity in his pale eyes was any indication - in fear that hinted at PTSD more than intellectual curiosity. Still, despite Joan’s reservations, Crane was invited to join that year’s group of post-graduate students.
He hadn’t fit in, making numerous enemies amongst his cohort, fellow twenty-somethings who submitted complaints about his rudeness and inflexibility. Then there were Crane’s complaints - of which there had been many - accusing his peers of being lazy and holding him back. In the end, Crane spent the collaborative early years of his PhD working alone. 
It was in Crane’s third year that Joan became well acquainted with him. As head of the department, she had the final say in allocating budgets to research projects. Predictably, Jonathan believed his doctorate thesis to be of paramount importance above his fellow graduate students, and he spent an increasing amount of time lobbying Joan for more money, and issuing empty threats about going to the dean if she didn’t agree. 
“Twenty-thousand dollars?” Joan asked warily, raising her eyebrows at Crane over the top of the proposal he’d just handed her. He was a skinny, pale young man at twenty-five, with an untidy flop of black hair and striking pale blue eyes. His clothes were always neat and tidy, his preference for gray slacks, black oxfords, and ties beneath wool vests separating him from his peers, who tended towards more childish versions of professional dressing. He might have been handsome if it weren’t for the way he carried himself - arrogant, impatient, full of disdain.  
Joan felt sorry for him. 
“I require a larger pool of test subjects,” Crane explained stiffly, his top lip curling. “The volunteers aren’t good enough.”
“Why aren’t they enough?” Joan frowned as she removed her spectacles. “Your peers have no problem with the volunteers.”
Crane closed his eyes and inhaled sharply like he was rallying his patience, or maybe he found being asked to explain himself deeply offensive. 
“I require a certain kind of subject,” he forced a bitter smile that made Joan’s eyes widen. “I need to vet them myself. It’s essential to my research.”
“I understand, Jonathan,” Joan offered him a sympathetic smile and set his proposal aside. “I’m afraid twenty-thousand is out of the question. I may be able to free up five for you.”
“Ten,” Crane insisted sourly. “Dr Leland, I’m sure you’re aware that it would be generous to call the department’s psychopharmacology resources lacking.”
“I’m sorry, Jonathan, this isn’t a negotiation,” Joan sighed as she got to her feet, adjusting her pastel suit jacket. “You’ll have to make do with five-thousand. Now, please excuse me, I have a meeting.” 
She gestured to the door when an idea occurred to her - perhaps a creative solution. Crane isolated himself from his peers, and he never spoke about friends or family. He was missing empathy in his life, with no one to care for, and no one to show him compassion in return.
“Actually,” Joan’s smile brightened. “Have you thought about signing up for the free therapy program the student union set up?”
Crane’s pale eyes widened incredulously. 
“Dr Leland… are you suggesting I need therapy?” he demanded indignantly.
“Well, no,” Joan admitted, though it was abundantly clear Crane needed to talk to someone about his past. “You are a licensed therapist, Jonathan. I’m suggesting you volunteer your time to help these students. It would be good for you to practice outside of your research.”
Crane squinted at her owlishly for a moment, then quite abruptly, he snorted out a laugh.
“I don’t think so,” he said smugly. “Children with eating disorders don’t interest me.”
“Most of them are there for depression or anxiety, or trauma they need to work through,” Joan pointed out, feeling a swell of pity for him. “Psychology isn’t just research and test subjects. We’re here to help people too.”
“Mm,” he sneered, disagreeing but apparently not feeling the need to make his case. He wasn’t holding himself back because he held an unpopular opinion - Joan had heard plenty of complaints about his outright disdain for patient welfare. But this time it seemed he didn’t feel it was an argument worth having. An argument that was beneath him as he found so many things to be. 
“How are you finding the lectures?” Joan asked hesitantly, shouldering her bag as she followed him out of her office. 
“Most of them are morons,” he shot her a withering look that could have stripped paint off the wall. “I’ll also be lobbying the dean to remove the teaching requirement for students in their fourth year,” he informed Joan crisply. “Some of us have more important work to be doing.”
Then he turned on his heel and stomped down the hallway without a word of farewell. 
Joan sighed, feeling another surge of pity for Jonathan Crane as she locked her office door and headed in the opposite direction. 
Gotham University’s campus was covered in snow, a treat for students returning from their Christmas breaks. Joan smiled at colleagues and a few students she knew or recognized as she walked toward the student union building, struggling with the question of how she might help Jonathan Crane.
The student union was a modern building painted yellow and red, and it hadn’t aged well since it was constructed in the late seventies. Joan took the lift to the third floor, where she’d been given a small office to assess the students assigned to her. Four or five other members of staff from the psychology department volunteered their free time there too, with patients dolled out to them in a kind of raffle. Students wanting therapy would be added to a waitlist and scheduled with whoever was available whenever they were available. It wasn’t ideal but it was better than nothing. 
“Hi, Dr Leland,” the volunteer behind a receptionist’s desk greeted Joan brightly, handing her a file. 
“Hi Sarah,” Joan smiled back at her. “How is everything?”
“It’s pretty dead,” Sarah observed affably. “I guess the kids are feeling pretty good after the break. No finals to stress them out.”
“Sure,” Joan agreed politely, inwardly thinking that many of these young people would likely be in need of more therapy after the holidays, not less. “Who am I seeing today?” she opened the file, her eyes widening when she found a police report inside. 
“Ah, she’s kind of a special case,” Sarah sighed. “Her boyfriend was Guy Kopski, you know, the boy who committed suicide before the holidays?” She cringed, which made Joan frown, deeming a cringe to be a particularly inappropriate response from someone working closely with students requiring support and compassion. “Anyway, the financial aid office insisted she either take time off from school or get some form of therapy. She’s waiting in your office.”
“The FA office is involved? That seems heavy-handed,” Joan mused, scanning the police report before she turned the page. “Oh,” she nodded, understanding. 
Harleen Quinzel was on a full-ride scholarship, and she was an orphan. The financial aid office wanted to make sure their investment paid off. 
Sad stories were something you got used to working in psychology. It was important to empathize with your patients, and that never got easier or less painful, but the longer you did the job, the more you accepted those stories as part of life. Joan would never feel numb toward the people she helped, but their stories did become less shocking to her. Including Guy Kopski’s violent suicide.
To jump off a building, one truly had to want to die.  
Joan knocked on her office door before pushing it open, her lips curving into a patient smile, which came naturally to her after years and years of listening to sad stories. 
“Harleen?” she asked the girl waiting for her, keeping her voice soft. 
Harleen Quinzel sat at one end of a pale green corduroy couch, looking out the window. She had long, honey blonde hair that fell in soft, messy waves around her shoulders, and she wore the typical GU-girl winter uniform of leggings, a collegiate sweatshirt, and snow boots. She turned her head when Joan said her name, her sober expression inspiring an almost painful pang of sympathy in Joan. Harleen looked strained and pale, her blue eyes overly-large like she’d lost a lot of weight quickly, with bruise-like smudges beneath. It had been about three weeks since Guy Kopski’s suicide, and Joan realized that Harleen probably hadn’t had anyone to talk to about how she was feeling in that span of time. 
In fact, if she had no family to speak of, she would have spent most of that time alone in Gotham while her friends went back to their family’s homes.
“Dr Leland,” Harleen greeted Joan warily. 
Joan lowered herself onto the other end of the couch; she should have taken the chair, but Harleen was so… alone, it seemed more natural to sit beside her. To be closer to her.
“I’ve been filled in about Guy and the financial aid office,” Joan explained kindly while Harleen nodded. “This may be a very general way to open, but would you like to tell me how you’re feeling today?”
Harleen took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, her eyes on one of the many ferns populating the room. 
“Numb,” she said eventually, not looking away from the fern. “Like it didn’t happen.”
 “Acceptance is the final stage of grief,” Joan replied kindly. “It’s only been three weeks. It makes sense that you haven’t fully processed Guy's death.”
“No,” Harleen caught Joan’s eye. Her eyes were glacial, like an icy arctic sea. “I’ve accepted that he’s gone,” she said softly. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about it.”
“There isn’t one way you should feel about it,” Joan said patiently. “It’s not about what you decide you should feel - you’ll feel whatever you feel. That’s one of the things we’re here to talk about so you can understand and cope with those feelings.”
“I know that. I meant I don’t know what I’m feeling, or if I’m even feeling anything at all,” Harleen explained, her gaze shifting back to the fern. She blinked at it a few times, her face placid as she searched her feelings, trying to understand them. “It’s like it didn’t happen to me, but someone else…” she murmured to herself.
Joan was about to jump in, not wanting to push her too hard in the first five minutes when Harleen spoke up again. 
“Everyone knows green is a soothing color,” she observed, running her hand over the corduroy couch cushion. “Doesn’t it seem a little patronizing to use it so liberally?”
“I’m not sure everyone knows that,” Joan offered her a wry smile. “You’re a psych major, aren’t you?”
“You’re the head of the psychology department, aren’t you?” Harleen countered tartly, imitating Joan’s tone perfectly. Then she shifted back into moroseness, almost more intensely than she had been before, and she took a deep breath like she was bracing herself. 
Joan felt a startling thread of dread roll through her gut - some sixth sense waving a flag that there was something wrong with this young woman. The way she flipped on a dime, from depressed to… whatever that was, and back again. It made Joan wonder if there wasn’t something ingenuine about her grief.
But, Joan reminded herself, there was nothing wrong with anyone. No matter what their pathology, no matter what their circumstances. There was a diagnosis to contend with, but no human being could be wrong. 
Aside from, perhaps, some of the most vicious psychopaths.
What made a person human if not empathy? 
“I’m hoping to get into the PhD program after I graduate,” Harleen said, giving Joan a hopeful smile that looked forced. 
“That’s wonderful,” Joan beamed at her, shrugging off her unease. “There’s pretty stiff competition, but you’ve certainly got the grades for it. What are you interested in?”
Harleen licked her lips, eyeing the fern thoughtfully as she considered Joan’s question. Or, perhaps she was considering how to answer Joan’s question. The longer the silence stretched on, the more Joan came to feel she was trying to craft an answer for Joan’s sake, rather than telling the truth. But that was ludicrous, there was nothing she could say that Joan would judge her for. 
Then Harleen looked at Joan, and there was a faint gleam in her eyes, something dark that sent an uneasy shiver rolling over Joan’s shoulders. 
“Psychopaths,” Harleen announced grimly, the word seeming to hang in the air between them. “I want to understand the way they feel,” she added, sounding more subdued.  
Joan raised her eyebrows. Psychopaths were frequent favorites for the younger students, no doubt because they were one of the more exciting pathologies. Not to mention the many movies featuring glamorized versions of them - Hannibal Lector, Patrick Batement, Frank Booth, and nearly every other villain created by Hollywood. 
But there was something… certain about Harleen's words. 
Something personal. 
“Psychopaths don’t feel very much,” Joan pointed out cautiously, watching Harleen turn her attention to the corduroy couch, stroking the ribbed fabric slowly. “They have almost zero emotional intelligence. Everything they do is driven by impulse, trying to feed the pleasure center of their brain for immediate gratification.”
“Really?” Harleen frowned as she looked up at Joan. “All of them?”
“Generally speaking,” Joan said hesitantly, holding Harleen’s gaze, which was intense and made her feel somehow… exposed. 
Harleen sighed and looked down at the pale green couch cushion.
“I wonder if psychopaths find green soothing,” she mused, sounding genuinely curious.
That brought a smile to Joan’s lips. Curiosity was one of her most prized qualities in a student.
After that first meeting, Joan met Harleen every other week for the rest of the semester, getting to know her sad story and her curious mind. There was something about her that made Joan feel protective of her, almost like she owed it to Harleen to give her what she needed to succeed. 
There was also something about Harleen that reminded Joan of Jonathan Crane. Something a shade too ambitious, something a fraction too disinterested in the people around her. They both had sad stories, but while Jonathan’s seemed to drag him down, Harleen seemed to exist separately from hers, as if none of it had really happened to her.
Joan was dismayed but not surprised when the world found out what Jonathan Crane turned Arkham Asylum into. His fear toxin, torturing his patients, working with the mob, the Scarecrow moniker, all of it seemed like an inevitable conclusion.  
But she could have never predicted how Harleen’s story panned out. 
Joan had always worried about the way Harleen monitored herself in front of other people. Over the years that followed their first meeting, she could never understand why her most talented student felt the need to hide her thoughts and feelings, and there was always something decidedly… clenched about how she carried herself. As if there was a weight on her shoulders she couldn’t shake off, something constantly holding her back from being herself, something she was constantly fighting against. 
It wasn’t until the world was introduced to Harley Quinn that Joan understood what that something was.
And all it had taken was the Joker to unlock it.
A/N: Again, just a little writing exercise with some throwbacks to the Harlequin, but nothing revolutionary or spoilery.
Now time to write what I’m supposed to be writing...
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ahsana ¡ 4 years ago
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Rehab ~ Dean Winchester
Chapter 1 - The Party
Summary: Gwendolyn Anderson is in her early twenties. For most people that age, they're in college or just starting to find their way. For her, she lost the person closest to her in the universe and she has to find a way to pick up the pieces because everything as she knows it as about to change. After a few events that are less than coincidental, the only thing that seems to make sense anymore is a man with green eyes and a twelve step program.
Pairing: AU!Gabriel Novak x OC!Gwen, AU!Dean Winchester x OC!Gwen & possible other variations. Stay tuned to find out ;)
Word Count: 2038
Chapter Warning: Just like every other chapter in this book so far, there will be detailed drug use, mentions of drugs, paraphernalia, mentions of death and other very sensitive topics. If this could trigger you or set you off in any way possible, I urge you not to read it. If you or someone you know is struggling with addiction, please reach out and get help. You are not alone. Always keep fighting.
Even when things were okay, I still never feared death. I've been on the edge many times; never quite falling off, but never quite holding on either.
A lot of people say overdosing was their rock bottom. It wasn't for me. Heroin is a strong word, and sometimes it even shocks me when I say it. Weird, right?
In health class as a teenager, I saw the pictures of drug addicted people and made a pact with myself in my head that I'd never become one of those people and here I am. I guess I should explain how I got here, though.
ÂŤ FLASHBACK Âť
Why did I snort that line? My nose burns, my brain hurts, and my whole body feels like it's buzzing. I'm not exactly sure where the cocaine came from or why exactly I did it but I know that I have to get out of here and fast.
Parties aren't usually my scene, but I figured since it was my last day as a teenager I might as well indulge. My surroundings aren't familiar, just some college frat party that I knew of because I attend school here, but other than that I really have no idea where I am or how I got here.
I'm searching for the exit, pushing past sweaty bodies and other young adults who reek of alcohol and marijuana. I gave up hope halfway through the search because it feels almost as if though it's impossible, so when my eyes land on the staircase in front of me I sigh gratefully.
The door at the end of the hallway is propped open slightly; a large rock wedged between so it couldn't close. The loud music was causing my ears to ring so I walked as quickly as I could and became elated when I realized the door at the end of the hallway leading to outside, giving me a chance to get some fresh air.
I push the door open and realize it's heavier than I first assumed, so I try and let it close behind me gently so it doesn't knock rock out of place. I inhale deeply and look around, only to be met with the fact that I'm on the roof somehow.
"Wow," I mutter, and make my way towards the edge of the building; my shoes making the gravel of the rooftop crunch along the way. I peered over the ledge, and for a second considered flying.
Worse case scenario, I land flat on the pavement, ultimately dying in the process or I make it to the rooftop across the way. I step onto the ledge, squat and then sit; dangling my legs over the side of the building.
My heart is pounding a hundred miles a minute, and all of a sudden tears start streaming down my face.
"I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend," I gasp out of shock because I didn't realize that I wasn't alone up here—and also because a random man is singing to me. I turn my head to face the mystery man and am pleasantly surprised. "You could cut ties with all the lies, that you've been living in," He continues, and I recognize the song and join in with him.
“And if you do not want to see me again, I would understaaaand. I would understaaand," We both sing in unison, and the stranger lets out a fit of giggles which makes me laugh in return.
"So Miss, how are you on this lovely night?" He questions.
"You aren't even going to ask me my name?" I inquire with a grin.
"Nope, don't need to." I nod in response, pretending to understand why.
“I'm doing well, by the way." I add.
"That's amazing.. or.. would be, if you were telling the truth." I cock my brow up, and he quickly adds, "I mean you wouldn't be sitting on the ledge for nothing, right?"
I shake my head in disagreement. "That's where you've got it wrong, sir."
"Sir? Do I really look that old?" He jokes.
"No, but I'm not sure what to call you since we don't need to know each other's names." The stranger sits beside me and lets his legs dangle over the building as well. I take a closer look at his features that are illuminated by the street lights below and I am captivated.
The ridge of his nose, the length of his lashes and his eyes—Wow, his eyes. It's dark, but I can tell that they're brown with a swirl of honey and it reminds me of a Hershey's bar.
"So, did you find what you were looking for?" He asks, and I shake my head no for the second time. "Well then what are you doing?" I shrug. "You're not very talkative, are you?" He asks, seeming genuinely curious.
"I am, but I'm not sure what to say. I'm at a party, drunk and high off coke, sitting with a stranger on the edge of the roof; trying to come up with something I could tell you but I'm at a loss for words here." The man gives me a goofy grin in return.
"Well. We'll probably never see each other again, so why don't you tell me your biggest secret?" I laugh out loud.
"Sir, I've known you for mere minutes and you want me to do something like that? Strange." I mumble in awe.
"I'm not from around here, so I couldn't possibly hold it against you in any way."
"Why did you come here then?" I ask.
"Free booze."
"Interesting. Here—I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." I whisper cheekily to him and he nods his head, agreeing.
"Sure. Okay. Let's start," he thinks for a moment, "My guilty pleasure is Lazy Town, the kids show."
"Ha! That's an awful secret, shame on you!" I reply but laughing while doing so.
"Fine, fine. Um, when I was seventeen I slept with my best mate's girlfriend. He still doesn't know." He whispers guiltily.
"Wow, that's pretty deep. Are they still together?" He nods.
"Been together for eight years, married for three—with two kids."
I chuckle, "How do you know you aren't the baby daddy?"
"Timeline doesn't add up—trust me, I did the calculations as soon as she told everyone she was pregnant the summer after we graduated high school," He trailed off but then turned his head towards me, "Your turn."
I gulp, and try and think of something.
"Um... Well, I might as well go all out then. My parents are both government officials. Amelia and Doug Anderson?" I throw the names out to see if he recognizes them.
"Holy shit," He marvels. "You're Gwendolyn Anderson. I should have recognized you as soon as I seen you! You and your parents are all over TV." I sigh.
"Yeah. But call me Gwen, I hate it when people call me Gwendolyn. Anyways—That's not exactly my secret." I look towards him and he motions for me to continue.
"I don't know why I'm telling you this but.. here we go. My entire life, I've felt like the weight of the world has been on my shoulders. Ever since I was a kid my parents have been pushing me to be the best in every category there has been or ever will be. My senior year of high school was the worst, obviously because of the impending doom of getting into the best college and working on getting scholarship offers; meanwhile keeping all A's, playing volleyball and volunteering."
I continued, glancing back now and then to see if he was still paying attention and he was alert the entire time. "It got to the point where.. I needed some extra help. Adderall was basically my scapegoat and how I functioned for the entire year. My parents were so busy being wrapped up in their own lives and pushing me to my limit that they never discovered I lost myself along the way. Now I'm in college, and I'm still trying to find my way back to a happy medium. But when I looked down at the ground, I realized that for some reason it doesn't even matter anymore."
"And what do you mean by that?"
"Have you ever gotten to the point where you feel like you're just numb? Everything is grey scale and there's no color at all? I'm just going through the motions. There's no highs or lows; only this weird middle ground. I thought coming to this party tonight and getting trashed would make me feel better but it didn't change anything." He nods, knowingly. I can tell he understands. He rests his left hand on top of my right one and somehow it felt like my body couldn't get any hotter.
I should be scared, uncomfortable even. I just met this guy and don't even know his name but I'm letting him touch me like we've been friends all our lives. A sudden thought makes me speak up.
"You know, it's not really fair that you get to know my name and I don't know yours." He chuckles.
“It's Gabriel." I smile because it's very fitting. He looks like a Gabriel.
"That's a beautiful name."
He laughs, "Beautiful? More like average. Your name is beautiful."
"I wholeheartedly disagree. I have a grandma name, at least yours fits your age no matter how old you are." He smiles. We sit in silence, his hand still resting on top of mine and I take another look down at the ground.
"How long do you think it would take to reach the ground?" I ask as if he'd actually know the answer.
"For a suicidal person? Too long. For a person just looking for some answers, too fast."
“How do you know which is which?" Gabriel lets out a grunt and laughs.
"Well, do you want to die?" He asks, raising his voice but continues smiling; which is oddly contagious.
"I don't think I'd ever do anything to speed up the process, so ultimately no. Probably not."
"I guess there's an answer then." Gabriel replies.
"An answer?"
"Yeah, the one of many you're looking for. I won't have them all, though."
"B-But I thought you were an all-knowing wizard!" I gasp out sarcastically.
"No, no. But... I maybe might have one.. just for now,"
I raise my eyebrow again and ask, "What might that be?" Gabriel reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny baggie with pills inside of it.
"You might like these," he whispers gently.
"Ah, man. I don't know--"
“I'm sure drugs weren't the first thing you thought of, but maybe they'll help you forget until tomorrow." I sigh and stick my hand out apprehensively.
"What are they?" I question.
"Percocet. Strongest prescription." I nod, remember hearing some of my peers talking about it previously this week. I swallow two of them without a second thought.
ÂŤ FLASHBACK OVER Âť
I look down at the person who brought me into this mess, and his face is quickly turning a light shade of blue.
"Gabe, God, You fucking idiot! I told you not to do that much!" I shout and dial 911 as quickly as possible.
The next thing I know, I'm sitting on the front porch steps of his apartment as they're carrying him away on a stretcher. My best friend is dead, and I can officially say I'm terrified.
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cutie1365 ¡ 6 years ago
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A Kid From Queens Part 4
Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader
Info: CA: Civil War Era. Tony Stark enlists his daughter to find the web slinging spider in Queens.
Word count: 1781
Warnings: I don’t think there are any. Let me know if I need to add something.
A/N: Oof it’s been a while I know... but here we are! Hope you liked it! Comments mean so much to me so please let me know what you think! I’ve got another part coming soon also! This chapter is kinda filler I know but I promise some angst coming soon!
Part 3 | Series Masterlist | Masterlist 
“Come on Pete, hop in,” You said, exiting your garage and sliding into an Audi convertible. He cautiously opened the door and sat beside you as you revved it up.  
“Do you want AUX?” You asked, slipping on some expensive sunglasses and setting up the navigation on the touch screen in front of you.
“W-what?” Peter asked, he either misheard you or was so nervous he didn’t realize you had started talking, much less that you were addressing him.
“Do you want to play music?” You asked again with a laugh.
“Oh, yeah sure, uh. What do you like?” He asked, pulling out his phone. When the bluetooth signal came up on your display you tapped the icon that said ‘Peter Parker’s iPhone’ and waited for the device to pair.
“I’m not picky.” You informed him.
“Ok, I kinda have an obscure music taste.” He said nervously, clearly wanting to please you and not embarrass himself in the process.
“I kinda get an 80s indie vibe from you.” You teased with a smile.
“Ha I don’t- I don’t know about that.” He let out a nervous laugh.
“Hm, well I’m sure you don’t want to listen to dad’s AC DC he’s got programed in every car so go for it.” You reassured him as you backed out of the car and onto the road.
“Wait... I love this song!” You smiled to him as soon as you recognized it.
“Really?” Peter asked surprised but excited, he clearly was a fan of this song too, he chose it after all.
“Yeah! I remember the first time I heard it. It was summer so I was in the city and not off at school, and I was in one of those rowboats in Central Park with my friend Tom. God that seemed so long ago.” You smiled at the memory. Peter stared at you as you spoke, half in aw, half curious as to who this ‘Tom’ fellow was.
“I’ve never been there.” He admitted.
“To Central Park or the boathouse?” You asked.
“The boathouse, but I’ve never really spent that much time in the park either.” He spoke casually. You noticed he didn’t stutter or waver his voice nervously as he normally did. He must have been getting more and more comfortable around you, at least enough to be himself.
“What? How?” You teased.
“I don’t know. I guess I always kinda just stayed in Queens. I haven’t really explored Manhattan.” He said.
“Oh my god! Peter Parker I’m taking you, that’s decided. I’ll give you a grand upper east side tour, Central Park and all. I need to scout the area for an apartment anyway.” You spoke freely, too freely it seemed.
“What why?” He asked immediately as the words left your mouth.
“Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. I know you won’t tell anyone, but we’re selling the tower in a few months and moving full time upstate. So I’ll get an apartment near 5th.” You began to explain as the last song ended. “Ok ok, I see your Wham! and I raise you: Toto. F.R.I.D.A.Y? You know what to do.”
“Playing Africa by Toto, Ms. Stark.” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s robotic accent spoke from the speakers of the car. Peter laughed as the iconic song began to blare, fully aware of it’s meme-like status.
“I swear I was going to play that next.” He laughed before returning to your prior subject, “Wait why aren’t you moving upstate?”
“Well I’m not an avenger am I?” You teased.
“I’ll be back and forth though. I’ll run our philanthropy from here and meet with investors and shareholders, then I’ll work in the lab when I’m up there. I just can’t let go of the city that easily.” You answered truthfully.
“Yeah, I get that. I can’t picture being anywhere else.” He agreed.
“Well what about college?” You asked.
“What about it?” He returned.
“Peter, you’re brilliant. Don’t you want to go to Harvard or MIT or something?” You offered, shifting the car into autopilot and turning to face him.
“I don’t know, I mean, I don’t know if I could get in.” He answered truthfully.
“We’ve got pull at MIT. Dad and I both graduated from there, if you don’t get in, which you would, one phone call from me and you’d be set.” You attempted to calm his fears.
“Wait... you’re like 19 how have you already graduated?” He asked, taken aback.
“Oh, uh, well I take after dad I guess. I graduated with my PhD from MIT, then got another from Columbia last year. And I’m 18 by the way. But that’s boring, you could read about it in any magazine, tell me about you.” You asked, attempting to be humble.
“Um well, I don’t know, no ones ever really asked me that before.” He said, looking down to his hands.
“Really? Ok well friends?” You asked him, steering him along.
“Ned. He’s my best friend, and kinda my only friend. That sounds lame hearing it out loud.” He said, getting nervous again, you would have to reassure him.
“Not really considering my best friend growing up was J.A.R.V.I.S., so you’re in good company.” You laughed.
“Jarvis?” Peter asked confused.
“He was my dad’s AI, now he’s part of Vision’s interface. F.R.I.D.A.Y.s kinda taken over his mantle. Ok so Ned, tell me about him.” You smiled, wanting to know more about Peter’s life.
“Uh he really likes Star Wars, like really likes Star Wars.” He laughed.
“I’ve never seen it.” You said.
“What? How?” He asked, taken aback.
“Wait, well, I guess technically I’ve seen The Last Jedi because I went to the premiere with John Boyega. But I haven’t seen any of the other stuff so it didn’t make much sense to me. So what does Spidey do when he’s not being Spidey?” You asked, changing the subject.
“John Boyega? That’s so cool. He’s so cool!” Peter said, excitedly.
“Yeah he is, he’s a friend. Next time he’s in town I’ll let you know.” You laughed, “But you’re avoiding my question Spidey.”
“I don’t know. I like taking things apart I guess, putting them back together. Old DVD players, TVs, computers, whatever I can find out on the streets.” He answered, ignoring the way his stomach did flips every time you called him Spidey.
“So what I’m hearing is that I’ll have to give you a tour of the lab some time. I have free reign when dad’s out working.” You offered.
“That would be amazing. Wow so you’re like just like Mr. Stark then, building things and stuff.” Peter said.
“I’m just a girl with a couple of tools, sometimes I make something that works.” You smiled, once again being humble. You turned to your right peering out as you crossed over the Queensboro bridge onto Queens Boulevard, “Ah the place where it all began.”
“I still can’t believe you jumped off a bridge just to put a tracker on me.” Peter shook his head.
“Hey a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do. Let me have my avengers moment, it’s the closest I’ll ever get.” You sighed, placing your hands back on the wheel, turning off autopilot as you got into more and more traffic.
“You don’t have your own Iron Man suit? An Iron Woman suit?” He asked, half teasing, half serious.
“Ha! You think my father would ever let that happen? He barely lets me date, I don’t think I could convince him to let me fight crime or aliens or whatever. I’m more of a behind the scenes gal anyway, I’m more useful behind a computer than in the field. I don’t know if New York needs anymore heros.” You spoke.
“What do you mean?” He asked you.
“Well you know, Queens has you, Hells Kitchen has the Daredevil, Harlem has Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, there’s enough enhanced beings out there, I don’t think a rich unenhanced kid with a few college degrees would be much help.” You said.
“I think you don’t give yourself enough credit.” Peter said.
“I think I give myself just the right amount of credit. I know my limits. Well it looks like we’ve made it to your place Spidey.” You spoke, pulling up in front of his apartment building.
“May would kill me if I didn’t invite you up for dinner.” Peter said confidently, looking at his watch.
“That sounds really great Pete but is there any way I could get a raincheck? It’s just that I’ve slept about 2 hours in the last few days and I just want to get back to the compound take a shower, take a nap, and be there for Rhodey when he wakes up.” You smiled, even though dinner with the Parkers sounded quaint and somehow homey.
“Yeah, yeah of course, I didn’t even think about that, sorry.” He said, running his fingers through his loose curls.
“No it’s ok, its ok. But thanks for the offer, and thanks for being a great road trip buddie. These last few weeks have been kinda rough for me, so it was really nice to just let loose and have some fun.” You smiled, even though you were exhausted.
“Yeah it was actually really fun.” Peter laughed, thinking back on the last two hours.
“Have a nice night Pete, good luck explaining that shiner to your Aunt May.” You smiled and unlocked the car door.
“Well that part I’m used to.” He laughed, now standing in the doorway, about to close the door.
“Uh Pete? Forgetting something?” You spoke before he closed the door completely.
“Uh,” He looks around nervously, were you expecting a hug goodbye or something? He didn’t know so he began to move towards you and you laughed.
“The case silly, but I’ll take a hug if you’re offering.” You spoke, Peter laughed and quickly hugged you before realizing what you said.
“Wait? I get to keep the suit?” He asked slowly, in disbelief.
“Yeah it’s a little big on me. I made this for you Pete, it’s designed especially for you and your powers of course you get to keep it. Friends don’t let friends swing around Queens in sweats. Now get out of here before May gets even more worried.” You smiled.
“Oh my god, thank you, thank you!” He quickly hugs you again without even thinking about it, “Oh sorry I’ll just, yeah, bye Y/N.”
He jumped out of the car holding the silver case, a goofy grin on his face as you waved and pulled away.
Part 5
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pikarino-blog1 ¡ 6 years ago
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Of Cynicism and Soulmates
In this AU when you touch your soulmate skin to skin for the first time sparks fly literally. Depending on the strength of the bond though the reaction is stronger/weaker. For example minimal sparks for weak bonds and for extremely strong bonds shit literally explodes.
This is set right after Jim takes the Kobayashi Maru test for the third time. Warning minor violence(pushing, punching, choking etc) and swearing.
Kirk
They say that when you meet your soulmate sparks fly, quite literally in fact. People went crazy over the idea of meeting their soulmate but James Tiberius Kirk never found much solace in the idea of someone made for him, neither did his best and only friend Bones. Both were quite cynical people when it came to love or happiness in general. Bones had fallen in love before and even though they were soulmates she quickly became dissatisfied with him and took everything they ever had including his young daughter, Joanna. Leaving him only his bones as he had once so eloquently said.
Jim however had never wanted a soulmate. He’d heard countless stories of how the great George Kirk saved 800 lives in under 20 minutes but it paled in comparison to what he saw. He saw a woman wracked by grief. A woman who cried herself to sleep. A woman who couldn’t bare to look at him or even love him because to her he was a ghost, a ghost of her dead soulmate. So no Jim Kirk didn’t want a soulmate. He didn’t want any single person to hold that much power over him.
So our desolate hero stood finishing his last beer, blood dripping down his face and left. He wobbled his way to his dorm very obviously drunk off his ass. When he collapsed on the couch Bones quickly turned him on his side. “You’ll choke on your own vomit laying like that kid, not that that wouldn’t be a good thing.” He said in a gruff voice. Jim let out a little giggle, Bones have a little smirk at the sound. “Yeah yeah kid get some rest or I’ll hypo you.” Jim only groaned before falling into darkness.
———————————————
When Jim woke the next morning he was groggy and there was drool coming out of his mouth. However most noticeably his mouth tasted disgusting, god how many time had he puked, he wondered to himself. He groaned and stretchers out his sore back. Just then an announcement rang out “Would all students report to the main hall.” Jim got up quickly almost falling over and rushed to get dressed, no way was he going out looking like a mess and smelling like a bar.
Bones was waiting for him at the door and they headed out together. “What did you do this time you idiot?” Bones questioned only half joking. Kirk just shrugged and shoved his hands in his pocket. Upon arrival in the main hall Jim and bones sat next to each other and waited until everyone settled down.
When everyone had been seated Admiral Barnett called from the podium. “This session has been called to resolve a troubling matter. James T. Kirk, step forward. Cadet Kirk, evidence has been submitted to this council, suggesting that you violated the ethical code of conduct pursuant to Regulation One-Seven point three of the Starfleet Code. Is there anything you care to say before we begin, sir?” Jim joined him up front and immediately went into genius mode.
“Yes, I believe I have the right to face my accuser directly.” Jim said slightly annoyed. A man rose from the audience. A Vulcan man by the looks of his ears and the oh so signature bowl cut. “Step forward, please. This is Commander Spock. He's one of our most distinguished graduates. He's programmed the Kobayashi Maru exam for the last four years. Commander?” The man- Commander Spock joined them at the front.
Spock looked at him blankly which should have made him mad but strangely left him with tingles running up his spine. Confusion flickered through his eyes and he spoke. “Cadet Kirk, you somehow managed to install and activate a subroutine to the programming code, thereby changing the conditions of the test.” Jim felt slightly miffed were these men accusing him of cheating? “Your point being?” Jim replied. “In academic vernacular, you cheated.”
Barnett spoke again after a long while and yup he was definitely being accused of cheating. “Let me ask you something, I think we all know the answer to. The test itself is a cheat, isn't it? You programmed it to be unwinnable.” Jim felt slightly victorious when it took the Commander a second to reply Jim felt slightly victorious. “Your argument precludes the possibility of a no-win scenario.” Jim replied quickly and simply with “I don’t believe in no-win scenarios.”
“Then, not only did you violate the rules, you also failed to understand the principle lesson.” Spock said brusquely you could tell he was becoming a little frustrated or maybe only Jim could either way that's besides the point. “Enlighten me.” Jim stated quirking his eyebrow. Spock obliged “You of all people should know, Cadet Kirk. A Captain cannot cheat death.”
It was then that Kirk started to get a little upset as even Vulcans must know that bringing up someone’s dead parent to use against hem in an argument was a big no-no. “I of all people.” Jim relied tersely gritting his teeth. “Your father, Lieutenant George Kirk, assumed command of his vessel before being killed in action, did he not?” Spock seemed satisfied with himself Jim really wanted to punch that look in his eyes off his face.
“I don't think you like the fact that I beat your test?” Jim tried to deflect although he could already tell that it wouldn’t work. Spock gave him a once over and then continued on with his line of conversation. “Furthermore you ah e failed to divine the purpose of this test.” “Enlighten me again.” Jim snarked back.
“The purpose is to experience fear. Fear in the face of certain death. To accept that fear, and maintain control of oneself and one's crew. This is a quality expected in every Starfleet captain.” Spock said matter-of-factly. Just then a man ran to the front of the room and handed Admiral Barnett a folder. “We've received a distress call from Vulcan. With our primary fleet engaged in the Laurentian system, I hereby order all cadets to report to Hangar One immediately. Dismissed.”
Spock looked a little shocked and concerned at the Admiral’s words and quickly left. Bones walked into him and stood by his side. “Who was that pointy-eared bastard.” Jim said annoyed. Bowen just smirked at him and offered an “I don’t know, but I like him.”
———————————————
Bones had snuck him on the USS Enterprise as a patient. Which had then been followed by him warning Captain spoke of an upcoming Romulan attack. The destruction of Vulcan and his marooning on the Class M planet Delta Vega. Which to say the least had not been pleasant. Currently though he was on the bridge of the Enterprise trying emotionally compromise a Vulcan.
After a couple of minutes of taunting Spock he finally hit a nerve in saying, “You feel nothing! It must not even compute for you! You never loved her!” Spock lunged at him all semblance of control gone. Jim found it hot in an extremely scary way. Spock pushed him back by his shoulders. Kirk tried to block his punches but Spock only pressed on undeterred. In a flash Spock’s hand was around his neck choking his as he was pressed against the captain’s console.
Suddenly an explosion erupted from between them. Sulu and Chekov had to duck as other crew members dived away from the explosion. When it finally died down and most of the fires had been put out it seemed no one had been hurt, just severely amazed. Bones looked like he was gonna piss himself he was so surprised meanwhile Chekov and Sulu were peering their heads over their chairs and Spock, oh Spock, looked to be in complete disbelief.
“Well fuck.”
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rin-recovery ¡ 3 years ago
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1 year clean and sober Chair (7/7/21)
I’m Katherine A grateful dual diagnosed Alcoholic. (Pause)
What it was like: I was born into a quiet dysfunctional family. I was placed in foster care when I was 2ish because of this. When we (my older sister and I) were placed back with our mom we moved across the U.S. from Massachusetts to Vancouver Washington because we had family here and I had what I thought was a normal up bringing, on the outside it looked like a normal low-income family, but my mom was very much present and involved in my education unlike most of the other kid’s parents who I hung out with. However, behind closed doors my family was falling apart. My grandpa who I looked at like a father was an alcoholic, would always have a beer in hand while driving to pick us up from school, my dad did not enter my life until after I was 6 or 7 years old and what I thought was normal discipline was not, long story short my childhood left my brain literally broken. As young as 5th grade I wanted to die and could not explain why that was always a thought. The school and one of my friends thought it was because my great grandpa who I was very close with had died that year, but I knew it was not the only reason. Starting at a young age my parents attempted to try and help us make good choices around alcohol. My parents train of thought was if they allowed drinking in the house, we would not go behind their backs and party, and for the most part it worked. So, I started drinking small amounts of alcohol around the age of 8. In middle school I started hanging around the wrong crowd and by high school I was a mess. My drinking progressed from small amounts to large very quickly during that time. My mental health was so bad that I missed a month of school in 10thgrade due to a suicide attempt. I was self-harming, drinking, running away and overdosing on Benadryl and over the counter sleep aid regularly that my mom finally told one of my teachers after he called about me crying and walking out of my 11th grade English class that if I was going to kill myself nothing anyone did for me was going to stop me. 12th grade I barely was able to graduate due to the amount of school I was skipping and if it were not for my English teacher staying after school to help me with my math, I would not have graduated at all. When my best friend died in an ATV accident the summer after we graduated, I lost the will to live and again ended up in the hospital for a week over a suicide attempt and had to drop out of college because I could not get the work done, I lost 2 scholarship because of it and would eventually lose financial aid due to 2 more dropouts due to my mental health. At the age of 20 I got married to someone I thought loved me for me, but I found out in a short period of time how wrong I was about him; however, it was too late to walk away, and no one intervened due to him looking and acting mentally sound and me being bat shit crazy on the outside but behind closed doors it was a different story. My drinking and wanting to die only grew worse because I was hating my life and could never do anything right by my then husband. The only time I was mostly sober was when I was pregnant, but I was still regularly self-harming during that time. I was a closet alcoholic and tried to control it around my 2 boys who I try to keep living for as well. 7 years of marriage full of domestic violence and a lot of other not so great things ended with him walking out the door 3 days after Christmas of 2017 with the threat that if I tried to get a divorce, he would make my life a living hell by taking the boys away and never letting me see them again. My drinking, self-harming and overdosing went off the chart because of the fear of my ex and I was going to the hospital or my current boyfriend was having to come out and find me at bus stops or walking around trying to either get picked up by random people or get to the I5 bridge to jump off of (this all happened after my kids were in bed and asleep and my mom was home) all while trying to get and hold down a job while also trying to take care of my 2 special needs boys during the day time. About 2
years ago I was diagnosed with D.I.D. (Dissociative identity disorder) so literally my brain is broken into about 46 known pieces as of right now. Life started making more sense however it fixed nothing. It only explained why I have little to no memory of growing up or anything that was or is overly stressful. My boyfriend was having his own problems with bad med management, so I helped him while pretending/not caring about my own drinking and using. He got better as I kept getting worse. I finally got a job doing peer support which I had been wanting to do for 4 years and was certified to do and started working in a treatment center. Long story short I started to feel like a fraud at work every day. I was telling the ladies how to better their lives and I was losing it every time I was not at work. So, after talking with my counselor, he referred me to a SUD program, and I went. I told my SUD counselor flat out that I would not go to any groups because of the work that I did, I just wanted vivitrol to control the urges that at this point were out of control. No A.A. for me because I did not want to run into people who might know me from work. Well, that did not work out so well. I relapsed July 5th. My SUD counselor told me to go to A.A. so I did. I found the only in person meeting at the time, which was here, and I made an effort to get to as many meetings as time would allow. I let fear stop me from asking anyone to be my sponsor (1 because there were not many women at the meetings I was going to because RBR had just reopened their noon meetings due to the shutdown and 2 I feared that my mental health was too bad for anyone to handle) I was sober because I held onto the message NO MATTER FUCKING WHAT WE DON’T DRINK or USE! My job changed from the treatment center to the crisis center and just being sober was taking a toll. The fighting between my boyfriend and I was at an all-time high and I was slowly getting to the point that either I needed to be dead or I would drink again so on Aug. 17th after a week filled with 2 suicide attempts and my first week working graveyard at the crisis center I went to the 7pm meeting, filled my heart with all the hope it could hold, went home and told my kids that I loved them, tucked them into bed, packed a bag and had my boyfriend take me to the psych hospital. On the drive I text a few women in this room to say where I was going and that when I got out, I would get a sponsor because every message I heard said get a sponsor and work the steps to get better and I really wanted to get better. A week later I got out of the hospital no longer wanting to die or drink. I prayed really hard to a Man that I struggled to talk to or believe in to point out a woman who could handle ALL of me, already kind of knowing the woman He had picked out because she had taken me to her church once and had called me out at a meeting for not having a sponsor yet. So, on Sep. 9th after 62 days clean and sober and 39 meetings I asked Danira to be our sponsor and she said yes. Well first I texted her on the 8th and asked because I had no idea how it worked and Danira also intimidated us, we talked on the 9th and then she said yes. I would love to tell you all that my life got better however that would be a lie. With 46 known alter/personalities and a large majority not wanting recovery this process has been really difficult but also very rewarding. From September to the end of October I was making progress in leaps and bounds but then we got covid and everything stopped in November. I could not get my vivitrol shot and I could not go to an in-person meeting. My brain stopped working, it reverted to survival. I held onto NO MATTER WHAT to try to make day to day work for us to not relapse. We stopped picking up the phone and started staying up late hours not moving so we did not do something stupid. We still were able to do our gratitude daily and were grateful for waking up without a relapse each and every day. I do not remember much from November to January besides, we kept saying WE DON’T DRINK OR USE NO
MATTER WHAT. We finally were able to get back to the meetings regularly and while no we do not talk a lot due to our brain not being able to hold coherent thoughts most of the time, we are still in the meeting. Standing to get our 6th and 9th month coins was one of the happiest moments in our life. Working the steps have been hard but we keep pushing through. Danira has not given up on us yet and we try to push ourselves to make her, my kids and boyfriend proud.
NO MATTER WHAT looks like when my youngest is losing it by screaming in our face or hurting me physically we do not get the damn bottle because it will not fix anything (despite what some think in our head). My kids have already been through so much of me being selfish with my drinking and rampage problems. They need their mom to get out of self and learn to be a better parent for them. NO MATTER WHAT looks like when I cannot sleep, or I am suffering from high physical pain I don’t get weed or pills to numb it all because it is a short fix that will make all the hard work, we put in all for nothing. We do not have another relapse or recovery in us, if we went out, we would never come back and that is not an option just ask Danira, I tried once it ended with her at my front door with backup. NO MATTER WHAT looks like when two of my sponsee sisters and sponsor shows up at my house after a night of crisis that I follow my sponsor’s directions to go back to the hospital to stay safe and come back to my baseline even when I do not want to because she will not gamble with our lives or my boys’ lives. Side note: because of God leading me to Danira and Danira never giving up on us and because I was able to mostly follow her direction to go back into the psych hospital again, not that I was given much of a choice in the matter, we now have a counselor that knows what they are talking about and is able to help us move forward in our recovery in both the mental and addiction aspects. NO MATTER WHAT is a statement I only knew in a bad way. I would say NO MATTER WHAT I was going to be dead by the time I was 16, 18, 20, 25,30 years old now I say NO MATTER WHAT we are going to keep going and keep fighting this fight because I have 2 little boys that need me. NO MATTER WHAT my ex does to me NO MATTER WHAT anyone does to me we do not need to drink or use to fix it despite what the others might think in the head.
So, to the newcomer I want to leave you with this message NO MATTER WHAT it takes it is a one day, one moment at a time program and it is spiritual progress not perfection, it is a “we” program not an “I” program and these men and women will stand with you to fight this disease as long as you let them in.
WE DON’T DRINK OR USE NO MATTER FUCKING WHAT!!
Thank you.
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simplifinances ¡ 5 years ago
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MY STRUGGLES GETTING INTO THE FINANCIAL SERVICES INDUSTRY
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From a young age, I knew I would work in the financial services industry. I wanted to become a writer, a coach, a speaker, or a financial planner. I had a BIG desire to help people, most likely because of the pain I experienced in my childhood.
In high school, my brother and I were into making videos. I decided to venture out on my own and create a video for a contest on a topic that interested me. Financial literacy.
Here it is:
https://youtu.be/eQL2tXw3D7w
I wanted to know why schools weren’t teaching financial literacy early on. Rich Dad Poor Dad convinced me I was better off acquiring assets than sitting in class. Financial literacy was something I knew was practical and important to learn from a young age. However, it certainly didn’t keep me from making financial mistakes.
This video I created was entered into the Utah State High School Film Festival in my senior year. It ended up taking second place. And I received a scholarship of $2,750 to attend any college.
I was stoked! After I graduated, I went to Utah Valley University just down the road from where I lived. I had no idea what to study.
As I completed general college courses, I was working two jobs — car detailing and installing fireplaces. This covered my living expenses and I was able to save some money.
As an elective, I decided to take “intro to personal finance.” UVU was one of the few colleges in the country that offered a degree in personal financial planning which made me think every university must offer a similar degree. I was wrong.
MY FIRST 4 ATTEMPTS TO START WORKING IN THE FINANCIAL SERVICES INDUSTRY
I wanted to find a job in the financial services industry. I first met with an independent financial planner (I didn’t even know what that meant). He said to pass the health and life insurance exam and then I could start selling life insurance. It seemed like a good idea. I studied for the test and failed it. I studied some more and failed again. Health insurance wasn’t interesting and I didn’t care to learn all the rules. So I gave up.
The second time I tried, I was living at my mom’s. A few guys knocked on our door calling themselves “financial planners.” I asked them if I could learn more about what they do. So they brought me into their office and introduced me to their team. The only thing everyone talked about was how many variable life insurance policies they had sold that included investments in gold. I had a bad feeling so I got out of there.
Let me note, I have no problem with sales if it’s something I believe in. I love sales and marketing.
On the third try, I had a good friend who knew I was interested in becoming a financial planner. He took me under his wing and said come to one of our events and I will show you how to become a “financial planner.” He worked for a company called Primerica. I got close to joining their team but decided I didn’t have a good feeling about that either.
Lastly, I met with someone from Transamerica. He said, “the first thing we’ll do is create a list of friends and family and we’ll just start calling them.” I walked out the door.
I NEVER GOT STARTED
It felt like everyone was more concerned about selling products than impacting lives. Too much time was spent figuring out how to start working in the financial services industry but none of these felt right.
So I gave up.
And went back to cleaning cars.
I PURSUED MORE EDUCATION
My dream was to one day be able to graduate from the University of Utah. I finished my associate’s degree at UVU and headed up to Salt Lake City. They had a degree in financial planning but it was suffering from low enrollment. This is when I found out UVU had one of the best programs in the country.
I was kicking myself but decided to pursue a finance degree through the business school. That way if I decided to go into investment banking or private equity I could. I found out quickly I didn’t like corporate finance. My grades suffered and I didn’t get into the finance program. So I gave up and graduated with a degree in Business Administration.
I TRIED TWO MORE TIMES
This drove me, even more, to help people with their finances. Sitting in some fancy office on Wall Street is never what I envisioned. I thought it would be time to finally start working as a financial planner. My buddy worked for North Western Mutual and he set up an interview. I came close to joining them but again, it didn’t feel right to me.
So I thought, “why not work for a company like Fidelity?” No products to push and I can help people. I applied for their Financial Representative position and went through two grueling interviews. I wanted this job. They wanted me to work graveyard shifts and Sundays and I was willing to do it.
A few weeks went by and they told me I didn’t get the job.
I was devastated.
Then I went back to cleaning cars.
I began to think I would never work in the financial services industry.
I BECAME A PEER MENTOR IN COLLEGE
On-campus one day, I came across a program called the Personal Money Management Center. That sparked my curiosity. I could help younger people with basic personal finance and I didn’t have to sell products. The pay was fairly low but I started working there six hours a week and supplemented my income detailing cars to support me and my wife.
I stuck around and became an Accredited Financial Counselor. I helped so many people and was there for almost three years.
Even though so many great opportunities came from being there, my plan was never to stay their long term. It was a great job to have during college but I wanted to become a financial planner. Because I didn’t want to be a financial salesman like all of the others I had met with, I decided to further my education and pursue a master’s degree. I learned that Texas Tech had one of the best programs in the country for financial planning and so I applied.
I PURSUED EVEN MORE EDUCATION
About the same time I decided to pursue my master’s degree, I decided to start a financial coaching business which also turned into this blog. I wanted to reach more people and help them reach financial independence by simplifying their finances. It’s been an incredible journey and I’ve been able to build so many solid relationships with my coaching clients. But I’m not going to lie, it’s been hard at times.
I honestly didn’t know what I was trying to do when I started this but I knew I didn’t want another year or two go by without getting out of my comfort zone and trying something new. I’ve been amazed at how many opportunities have come because of it, even though none of them have allowed me to quit my job.
My purpose in going to Texas was to get my master’s degree. Before packing up the moving truck, I came across a company that was recommended by a faculty member of the program. One of the financial planners was in my home town of Lehi, Utah who completed the same program I was enrolled in. He gave me the chance to work under him and learn from him for a few months before heading to Texas.
I didn’t need a master’s degree to be a financial planner and some questioned my decision. But I didn’t care because I had a strong feeling that this is what I was supposed to do.
I STARTED WORKING FOR A FEE-BASED FINANCIAL PLANNING FIRM
While pursuing my master’s, I worked part-time for this RIA. This was the first time in my life that I felt like I was working in the financial services industry. Something that had taken me years to do. This was a fee-based financial planning firm and I got to experience working with clients, managing money and helping people with their investments.
This was it and I felt like I was going to be there for a long time. But something didn’t feel right. I started to question if being a financial planner was the type of work I wanted to do. I thought, “no Scott, you’ve invested too much time and energy to give up on this.”
Later, I started working full-time but the problem was I didn’t feel like I was helping anyone the way they needed help. I wasn’t having an impact on people’s lives that I thought I would back when I was younger. There’s certainly a need for financial planning and it’s nothing against the firm that I worked with I just felt a disconnect with what I was doing and what I felt my purpose was.
CONCLUSION
So like I mentioned last week, I quit my job as a financial planner and I’m excited to share with you the next chapter of my life. This aligns with my purpose and it’s something I know will have a positive impact on individuals and families all across the country.
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in your eyes (i find my salvation), chapter four
Find it on Ao3 here:
http://archiveofourown.org/works/11225808/chapters/25083762
iv. we’ll drown together in this sea of sorrows (no one ever taught us how to swim)
Lucy Lane does what she does to protect people.
It’s what she has always done, what she has been raised to do, the one thing she learns from her father that she doesn’t wish she could scrub from her brain.
This We’ll Defend.
It’s the army motto, and by the time she’s old enough to talk, she’s heard it enough to have committed it to memory.
(So what if no one defends her from the toe of her father’s boot or the back of his hand? She’ll learn to defend herself- and everyone else- when she’s older.)
She grows up in the shadow of her sister- pretty, perfect Lois.
(Lois will never know the way it feels to be hit by a parent, to pick herself off of the ground tasting blood in her mouth from the weight of their father’s fist.)
Model student, model daughter, model everything.
Lois’ mother, their father’s first wife, died in childbirth.
Lucy’s mother took off before she was even a month old, dropping her daughter off on the doorstep of the man she’d spent a single night with nine months ago and fleeing back to her native Dominican Republic.
It was hard enough taking second place to her older sister in their father’s heart, but harder still to grow up as the sole mixed-race child in a white neighborhood.
She doesn’t know much about her mother, aside from the fact that she was of Lebanese-Dominican descent and the source of most of Lucy’s looks.
Oh, sure, Lois had gotten her fair share of teasing for having a half-sister who looked nothing like her, but Lucy was the one who actually had to face the reality that most of her peers thought her less simply by virtue of her heritage.
She fights tooth and nail to make a name for herself that isn’t Lane.
Lucy skips a grade, joins activities like debate club and Model U.N., signs up for track & field in the winter and lacrosse in the spring, and fills the rest of her time volunteering around the community.
People begin to call her an overachiever.
(So what if the real reason she has so many extracurriculars is so that she can avoid going home? What happens behind closed doors is nothing they’ll ever know.)
She snaps at anyone who dares to call her ‘little Lane’ and hones her claws until people get the message that she isn’t someone to be trifled with.
By the time Lucy enters high school, she’s already a prime candidate for the National Honors Society.
Four years later, she graduates valedictorian, breezing through her AP classes and ending her senior year with a 4.8 GPA.
When they call her to the stage, it’s no longer under the shadow of her older sister’s accomplishments.
(So what if she has to spend three hours covering up the bruises that her father’s latest drunken rampage has left her with? Lucy’s always had a knack for makeup anyway.)
She ends up graduating from West Point with a Bachelor’s Degree in Science in a single year as opposed to four, thanks to those A.P. courses and summer programs she took. At nineteen years of age, she just might be the youngest person to leave West Point for reasons other than expulsion.
From there, she’s commissioned as a second lieutenant in the Army with five years of service ahead of her. She works hard, gets her J.D and LL.M degrees through accelerated online courses as she rises through the ranks, because even if she doesn’t believe in her father, she believes in the one good thing he managed to teach her.
This We’ll Defend.
Lucy passes the bar exam with flying colors and becomes one of the youngest JAG Officers the Army’s ever seen at the age of twenty-two, three years into her five-year contract with the military.
She’s stationed stateside at this point, the legal attaché of her father’s staff, living on the army base just outside Metropolis.
This is no coincidence- Sam Lane’s personal vendetta against a certain Kryptonian means that as long as she’s part of her father’s team, she’ll likely spend all of her active duty waiting for Superman to step out of line.
This is how she meets James Olsen.
(She’s twenty-four and full of fire and he’s the first person who doesn’t mind the fact that she’s made of steel and flames.)
Like every other good thing in her life, it ends with the aid of her always well-meaning sister, and she requests a transfer out of her father’s unit so she can spend the next four years buried in the depths of the military, hoping that James everyone will stop looking and finally write her off as lost.
She’d only signed a five-year contract for active duty, but military service means a minimum of eight years, and gladly agrees to spend the three years she could be in the inactive reserves (I.R.R.) in the field where she belongs. The Army lets her, partly because she’s Sam Lane’s daughter, but mostly because she’s one of the best damn officers they’ve ever seen.
Lucy spends those years in places that are hot and dusty and full of I.E.D.s and by the time she returns to the states and moves to National City, she’s earned the rank of ‘major’ and enough scars to last her a lifetime.
Now she’s twenty-eight, one year out of service and a member of the group they’ve affectionately nicknamed the ‘SuperSquad’, utilizing her law degrees as the head of Legal Affairs at CatCo, and there’s nowhere else she thinks she’ll ever want to be.
She’s still as fucked up and broken as ever, but she has found herself a home in this city, in these people, and she’ll be damned if she ever gives it up.
There are times when she looks in the mirror and can barely stand the fact that she’s missing so many pieces of herself, but she’d lost most of those pieces long ago, before James and before the Army, so it’s a burden whose weight she’s used to carrying.
No one else in her newfound family is exactly whole either, so she knows they’ll never mind.
Lucy Lane does what she does to protect people.
Especially the people she loves.
So when she goes to Lena Luthor’s office and tells her to keep her distance, she reminds herself that it’s all to keep Kara safe as she tries not to cry at the sight of the other woman’s face when it crumples at her words.
(She’s sure that her own face might have once mirrored Lena’s, during the early days of her youth, when the concept of abuse was still new to her and she hadn’t yet learned how to hide her emotions away.
It proves to be an exercise in futility, in the end.
No matter how deep she managed to bury her emotions from the world, she never could quite manage to do it well enough so that she would be as unfeeling as she made herself seem.)
Afterwards, she does her best to drink herself into oblivion because she still hurt someone, and even if it was to protect another person, the pain she’s caused is still another tally mark in her ledger.
It’s for this very same reason that on military holidays, or whenever she gets congratulated for her time in the Army, she goes out and downs a shot for every life she ever took overseas.
May will always be a very rough month for her.
Surprisingly, she’s only ever gotten blackout drunk on one spectacular occasion- her first Memorial Day in National City.
To this day, Lucy doesn’t think she’s ever seen James as angry as he had been, then.
She’d managed to keep a lid on her drinking for the first few months after her discharge, or, at the very least, make sure James wasn’t aware of the full extent of her nighttime habits, but Memorial Day had fucked that up on an epic scale.
Now, she finds him waiting up for her more often that she doesn’t.
Which is why he’s currently having a one-sided staring contest with her as she guzzles down a glass of water for the headache she knows she’ll have tomorrow if she doesn’t hydrate.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she says, but they both know it’s a lie and the words leave a bitter taste in her mouth that all the water in her glass can’t wash away.
Just like blood, she thinks, and something beneath her ribs gives a painful little twinge at the thought.
“Lucy, please.” He’s pleading now, and she’s just so, so tired-
“I feel like my father,” she confesses lowly, lets the words slide out in a whisper nearly as broken as she is, leaning heavily on the edge of the marble countertop that stands between them. “I don’t want to be like my father-”
Her throat closes up around the words she longs to say and she shatters right then and there, ten at night and in the kitchen of apartment they share, the home they’ve tried to build for themselves.
She shatters-
Please don’t let me be him.
-but, as always-
Never, Lucy, never. You are nothing like him.
-he’s there to put her back together again.
(And that, that is why Lucy Lane will never stop loving James Olsen.
He is the first person to see her for what is, not who she pretends to be, the first to not shy away from the fact that she’s far from perfect, and that ‘normal’ is something she’ll never be.)
For the first decade of his life, Winslow Schott Jr. is proud to bear his father’s name.
Until his father kills six people with a bomb disguised as a teddy bear, and he finds himself being sent to live with his distant relatives just after Christmas, the holiday he will quickly grow to hate because of the massacre he will never be allowed to forget.
He drops the ‘Jr.’ then, shortens ‘Winslow’ to ‘Winn’ and tries to pretend like he’s never been called anything else.
His eleventh birthday passes, and he lets the date slide by without reminding anyone because he has court to attend next week and he doesn’t have the stomach to celebrate anything, let alone the day he was born to a man who would become a killer.
He discovers the wonders of alcohol in high school, when one of his friends throws him an unwanted party for turning sixteen. He spends every birthday after that somewhere dimly lit and vaguely warm, where he tries his best to replace all the blood in his veins with alcohol so that he wouldn’t have to be related to the man who murdered with such terrible, terrible ease.
The years pass, and Winn is careful to keep himself in check- he’s never been quick to anger, but then again, neither had his father, and the man had gone on to massacre six people with a bomb hidden inside a teddy bear, of all things.
Even feeling the vaguest hint of irritation is enough to fill his veins with a paralyzing fear that this is it, that he is going to snap and go down the same dark path as his father.
So he does his best to stay calm, stay sane, no matter what.
Bullies tear his homework out of his hands, and he doesn’t allow himself to do anything but walk away.
A teacher accuses him of cheating when his test scores for the district’s latest computerized assessment outstrip every other student in the state, and he denies these claims in front of the principal with nothing but neutrality in his veins.
A decade slips by, and he graduates from M.I.T. at the top of his class, gets a job at CatCo Worldwide Media, and the world seems like it has decided to let Winn out from under the shadow of his namesake’s crimes. For the first time since he woke up to the sound of sirens outside of his house, Winn finds himself hopeful that he’ll be able to live a life untainted by the gruesome memory of the deaths of half a dozen people.
Then he wakes up one morning and turns on the news just in time to learn that his father has broken out of prison and gone on another killing spree.
He just barely manages to get to work on time after nearly having to fight his way through the dozens of reporters waiting outside his apartment building.
Cat summons him into her office, takes one long look at him, and slides a crystal bowl of candy across her desk. He sits down, coming close enough to see that the bowl is filled with Skittles, not M&Ms- his favorite, not hers- and that’s all it takes for him to finally let go of the tears he’s been holding back since he switched on the television.
CatCo covers the story without a single mention of the Toyman’s son.
She calls him into her office again, just before he heads home, and tells him that he doesn’t have to worry about anyone bothering him from then on.
Rumors spread like wildfire among the employees of the media circuit that confirm his suspicions about the fate of the reporters she’d curtly informed him wouldn’t be seen again.
He doesn’t know how she does it- and he knows well enough not to ask- but every single reporter who had stood out on the steps of his building and harassed him to near tears is jobless and black-listed by every serious media outlet by the end of that week.
It doesn’t stop him from scrubbing his skin raw in the shower for a week afterwards at the memory of their probing questions and taunts, the worst of which being an offhanded comment about the ‘family resemblance’, but it helps.
Winn confesses all of this- every single repressed emotion, unspoken thought, everything- to the one person who understands exactly what it feels like to lose someone so close to their hearts.
It’s not James- everyone he’d ever loved is still living.
Nor is it Maggie- her parents had kicked her out simply for being gay, there was no love lost between them.
It’s not Kara and Lucy either.
Kara and Lucy have both lost parents, just not the way that he had. Lucy had never known her mother, and she’d never loved her father. Kara hadn’t had the chance to know her parents at all, let alone love them. She loved what they could have been, what they could have had, but she was robbed of the opportunity to love them for who they were.
But Alex- Alex had loved her father, just like Winn once loved his.
She knows how it feels to have that love torn away.
So Winn confesses everything to Alex, who holds other people’s secrets just as well as her own.
Later that year, and every year after that, Father’s Day will roll around and Alex Danvers will show up on his doorstep with a bottle of butter liquor in hand and a sardonic smile plastered across her features.
They cry and they rage and so what if Alex nearly puts her fist through his living room wall one year; they are coping and this is how.
Sometime after the booze has run out and they’ve run out of tears to shed, they’ll curl up together in Winn’s bed, an embrace fostered out of their shared agony and a desire for the simple comfort of human contact. He’ll have his head tucked under her chin, face pressed against her neck as he struggles to control his hitched breathing. Alex will wrap an arm around his shoulders and allow him to curl his arms around her waist and squeeze as hard as he can until he falls asleep.
The first time they do this, the first time they gather to wallow in this misery they have in common, it takes Alex the better part of an hour and nearly half a bottle of tequila before she can choke out a tearful confession of her own about just how alone her father’s death had made her feel, still makes her feel.
Winn’s father isn’t dead but he might as well be, so he reaches out with a boldness he’d almost forgotten having and pulls her across the couch to let her stifle her sobs in the cotton of his favorite Firefly shirt.
He meets Kara first, falls head-over-heels for the beautiful girl with the beautiful soul. It never goes anywhere, though, and his infatuation fades with time as their friendship solidifies into something bright and strong.
But he grows to love Alex just as deeply, if not more so.
Kara is a light, a shining beacon of strength and hope and heart, but Alex is safe port in a dark sea, and sometimes what he needs is a harbor in the darkness, a chance to greet the shadows he’s spent most of his life in and Alex understands this in ways that no one else can.
Kara has fallen into the shadows, but it has never stained her soul the way it taints theirs, and for that, Winn and Alex are glad. Kara’s light is the very definition of strength, and it’s something they all pray she’ll never lose.
She is the sun, and they, the night that makes the fills the spaces in between. This is the balance that pulls them all together and keeps them from falling apart.
He would do anything for them, and they for him, so when Alex calls him in the morning and tells him he has Cat Grant’s blessing to work from Kara’s apartment, he goes.
A/N:
Most of this chapter was erased before I could post it, and the rest is still being salvaged from the remains of my notes.
I’m really sorry. :(
But I didn’t want to make you guys wait until I had everything back, so I decided to split the chapter in half (it was a loooong chapter anyways) and this is it.
I hope you enjoyed, regardless.
Please feel free to let me know what you think of this fic- like it? Love it? Hate it? Drop me a comment down below.
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ohsochill ¡ 7 years ago
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Conversations about the future still make me uncomfortable.
Five years ago, when I first graduated from college, I truly believed that I was going to hit the ground running with my degree and quickly find a great job, since computer science is such a lucrative field (they said).
I would hate going to events for ‘young professionals’ or having small talk with people my age, who posed the question “So what do you do?” Internally I would roll my eyes, then grit my teeth before dressing up my response the best way I could. For about a year, I could only find work that wasn’t related to my degree - warehouse jobs. And after I got my first job as a (contractor) data analyst, I still hated telling people. I didn’t have a fancy job description, or a long detailed list of what I did at work. Data analyst may sound important, but all I really did was busy work, in the name of ‘data’. 
Fast forward to the present. Although the work I do now is somewhat more relevant to the job I thought I wanted to eventually have, I still haven’t used any of the skills I learned in college. And I’m at the point where I can confidently say what I do for a living, but now, I’ll be leaving my job to go after my dreams and attend theatre school - something I was so sure I wanted to step out on faith and go through with. Now it poses the newer question:
“What do you plan to do after school?” -Go to California? -Go to New York? -Go to Hollywood and do movies?
I feel crippled with each question.
Why?
Because the answer to all of them is:
I don’t know.
The more people ask me, the more I feel pressured to figure it out. And I just haven’t yet. 
Even though years have passed since I finished college, I’m not sure If I’ve figured out too much of anything since then. The only thing I am sure of is that I feel as if I’ve played it safe with a lot of things in my life, and I just realized that... hell... maybe 2 years ago. So I’m constantly telling myself I need to catch up on all the things I ‘missed out on’, all the while, somehow simultaneously realizing that most of the shit people hyped up about experiencing in your youth, was either:
-not as hype as they made it out to be -actually, fun as hell -something they ended up regretting later -something that I otherwise wouldn’t have been interested in, had it not been for peer pressure. or, some weird combination of these.
I’m older now. It may or may not be too late to go back and experience these things that the rest of my friends raved about. Like, I might have missed my window for slut years, or mastering the art of smoking weed, attending the Greek parties that my peers always talked about in college, or simply being outgoing enough to make more friends in undergrad. But at the very least, I find it worth to risk to go after the only thing I consistently enjoy doing and want to get better at. It doesn’t seem too late for that. Not for me anyway. But let everyone else tell it, my time is somehow running out.
I see how quarter life crises come about. We’re literally programmed to think we have to have our shit together by 30, and seeing that many of us don’t know what the hell we’re doing, or what we MIGHT want until we’re about 25 or later, it leaves only a few years to make a bunch of sudden changes that will make us feel like adequate adults. I get it. And I know you’re not supposed to compare yourself to others, but 90s babies are smack dab in the middle of the rising impact of social media. If all I see on fb is people getting married, having kids, settling in careers, traveling, etc.... And all I’m doing is questioning my existence daily, how else would I feel? 
But I’m slowly getting over that.
I’ve probably been in my quarter life crisis for about 5 years because I’m in a constant state of not knowing and not being sure. Of anything. Except maybe what I want to wear or eat for the day. But shit, given the circumstances, its got to be normal. Because I’m not crazy. I’m smart. I’m creative. I have goals. I do right by other people. And I try, mane. It’s not much but I know I have to get some credit for that.
I chose to try my hand at auditioning for theatre schools because I felt like going out on a limb and trying to maneuver a life in NY would literally send me into a mental frenzy from not knowing anything, anyone, or what to do. I have no sturdy sense of the business, and I personally don’t feel like I’m mentally strong enough to learn the grind, because I’ve had support from other people all my life. I sincerely want to know true independence, but I have to take baby steps or else the constant anxiety attacks will ruin me. 
So, although moving to a far away place where I know NO ONE and finding out how to make a way on my own while attending school will still be a huge challenge and a hectic change, there will be some structure, which is good for me. And shit, that’s about all I know right now. Because I’m still trying to figure this out.
2 years ago, I wouldn’t have ever envisioned myself doing something like this. I’m leaving a $__K salary (mind ya biz) that I could have lived very comfortably on in Memphis, to go to a nonexistent or minimum wage salary in Oregon, leaving everything I know miles away, on behalf of a dream that I was never brave enough to truly start chasing until now. I still don’t know where I’m going to live when I get there. [Although I am currently looking].
Like, do you think I’m NOT terrified about this transition? 
I want to have a great future just like everyone else. Truly. But in a time where mass information, ridiculous expectations, and violent images in the media of my people are being forced down my throat 24/7, I’m trying to make sure I’m okay today. If that means moving a little slower than most, so be it. I’m in a weird place spiritually and I do have the sense to know that my mind, body, and soul need to be protected before prancing out into a world full of chaos. Lauryn said it right, and yes it does apply here. ‘How you gon win when you ain’t right within?’
I don’t want to live check to check. I do want to retire and live freely. I do want things to leave to my children. And yeah, with me barely knowing how mortgages work, I can stand to learn pretty much everything about finance. But mapping out a future precisely the way you want it takes years. I don’t want to get it all figured out, only to look back and notice that I wasted so much time planning, I never got to live.
So excuse the long sigh when you inquire about when I’m getting married, what I’m doing after school, or what my long term career goals are. Most likely you won’t be satisfied with my response. And I’m not sorry for that.
I’m not too geared up about future plans right now, I’m just trying to experience the gift of the present.
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welove-nms ¡ 7 years ago
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“Hajime, here’s your coffee.” You set the large mug in front of your boyfriend and sat across from him, leaning your elbow on the table and setting your chin in your hand.
“Thanks, babe.” He said with a grin before taking a big gulp from the mug, closing his eyes as the steam floated up in his face.
You admired the different look he was wearing today. He wore a white headband to pull his hair back from his face. The short sleeves of his school uniform did little to hide the muscles of his biceps, which strained against the fabric withholding them as he wrote calculations on the notebook in front of him. His brown vest stretched across his broad shoulders and you couldn’t help but imagine him in his revealing festival outfit, when you could see his bare chest flex as he beat on his taiko drums.
“…don’t you think, babe?”
“Hmm?” You flicked your eyes to meet his, just realizing that he had been saying something to you. The grin on his face turned to a smirk and you felt your cheeks flush slightly. “Sorry, what was that?”
“I was saying that it’s been pretty slow in the cafe lately.”
You looked around as he downed more coffee and agreed with him with a few absentminded nods. There were a few other boys who were studying while having a snack and their preferred form of caffeine. “I guess the last of the exams are tomorrow. Everyone’s been studying hard, including you.” You turned back to him and sat up, gesturing toward his study books. “You’re doing math and English tomorrow, right?”
“Sure am! I’m surprised you remembered, what with your own schedule being as busy as it is!”
You smiled and averted your eyes, looking down at your hands on the table. “You’re my boyfriend, of course I remembered.��
Hajime moved his free hand to place it on yours, enveloping your hands with his, the warmth seeping through your skin and up your arms. “You’re the best girlfriend in the whole world! Do you have any other exams left?”
“Mmm, I finished my last one today. We won’t be getting our final results until the end of tomorrow, though. I think I did well.”
“I’m sure you did great! Ikeman didn’t bring you on just because of your grandma! Heaven knows how much you’ve helped me with my own studies this year.”
As he complimented you, you felt the initial blush you wore spread across your cheeks up to the tips of your ears. “You give me too much credit. You’ve helped me plenty this year, too!”
He chuckled and reached up to tuck a loose lock of hair back into his headband. “I never claimed to be the smartest guy in the world, but thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The two of you fell into a comfortable silence as he eventually turned his gaze from your face to the workbook in front of him, writing out formulas and solving problems that Soujiro had prepped for him. His other hand still rested on yours, stroking his thumb over your knuckles. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, enjoying the peaceful air that surrounded you both.
The sound of his pencil scratching the paper and the occasional thunk of the mug being set back down on the table was eventually interrupted when the bell over the door jingled, breaking you out of your reverie. You opened your eyes to see that a few of the students had left the cafe, either going on to their next test or back to the library for another study book. You sighed and squeezed Hajime’s hand before slipping away, standing up and shaking out your apron.
“I need to go clean up a bit, do you want me to get you a refill?”
He peered up at you with a grin. “That sounds awesome! Thanks, babe.”
“Of course!”
As you were about to pass him on the way to one of the dirtied tables, you paused. Hajime had gone back to examining his work. A second’s hesitation and you took a sidestep closer to brush a kiss on his cheek, scampering off before he could see your glowing face. He didn’t say anything, but his hum of approval was enough to send you nearly giggling, your heart thumping in your ears and your feet walking on air as you began to pick up dishes. You knew the silly smile on your face wouldn’t go away anytime soon.
—-
You sat as close to the front of the auditorium as you could, your leg bouncing uncontrollably as you anxiously waited for the program to start. You hadn’t seen Hajime all day and you couldn’t wait to see him in his special graduation outfit. You knew he had been nervous about wearing it. It was a long-sleeved jacket with a series of buttons along the front. Everything about it screamed fragile, maybe not to most boys, but definitely for your boyfriend who had a knack to bust buttons and rip sleeves with nothing more than a sharp turn.
Finally, the lights dimmed and the principal stepped up to the mic stand, saying a few words before turning the time to the student body president, Touru. Time dragged on as his speech to the upcoming graduates went on and on. You resisted picking at your fingernails as the words blended together into mush in your brain, wanting to pay attention but wanting it to be over with already.
As soon as Touru was finished, a couple other students gave much shorter speeches and the principal came back to the mic and announced that they would be presenting the students their diplomas in alphabetical order by family name. You gave a relieved sigh. Hajime would be one of the first to walk.
The first few boys crossed the stage and you felt your uneasiness heighten to a climax when you saw Hajime step out, taking careful steps and looking more handsome than ever with his hair slicked back out of his face. You clapped wildly when he was handed his diploma and gave him an ear-splitting smile when he peered out at the audience and met your gaze. He grinned widely in return and held up an arm with his diploma. His face and arm suddenly dropped and you weren’t sure what had happened to cause the change in his demeanour as he quickly made his way to the other side of the stage. A different kind of worry started to trickle through your veins. You wanted the ceremony to finish quickly so you could talk with Hajime and find out what was wrong.
You clapped politely for the rest of the third years and as soon as the principal finished his last statements you were out of your seat and wandering the center field, looking everywhere you could for your boyfriend.
Finally you saw him standing under some trees with his friends, who were laughing loudly and smacking each other with the tubes containing their diplomas. When you got closer, you called out for Hajime and he turned around at the sound of your voice, a hesitant smile spreading across his lips. He held up a hand to say goodbye to his buddies as he met you halfway.
“Hajime, are you okay? What happened onstage?”
He gave a nervous chuckle. “I may have bust a button off of my jacket when I lifted my arm.”
You looked him up and down and finally realized what he was referring to. It wasn’t noticeable until you took a closer look, but there was a button missing from his uniform jacket. “Oh no, I’m sorry about that! If you want, I can find one similar and sew it on for you.”
He shook his head. “That’s okay, babe. I was planning on taking that one off anyway.”
Your eyebrows bunched together in confusion. “What do you mean? Are you sure you don’t want me to fix it?”
A twitch of a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “It’s my second button that’s missing, babe.”
You tried to figure out what he was saying. Second button? After a minute, you finally realized what he meant, a hot blush rising up your neck and tipping your ears. Hajime let out a genuine laugh at your reaction.
“You…you were going to give me? You mean you wanted me to have? Hajime, you are ridiculous.” You lifted your hands to cover your cheeks but he stopped you with his own, holding your hands in his.
“This may be an all-boys school, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give you my button. It’s a token of how you are always present in my heart!”
“I don’t need a button to know that, you already tell me that every single day!”
His teeth flashed in the sunlight as he grinned brightly at you. He leaned over to press his forehead to yours. “Speaking of, I don’t think I’ve told you today! I love you so much, babe.”
You found yourself caught in his gaze, swimming in his glowing, sea blue eyes. You wouldn’t give this up for the world.
“I love you, too.”
—–
~ChiefofPigs
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csprousedaily ¡ 8 years ago
Text
COLE SPROUSE | THE LAST MAGAZINE (30/1/2017).
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 When Riverdale, Greg Berlanti’s dark, contemporary take on the Archie comics, premiered on the CW last week, it marked the return of the actor Cole Sprouse to television in a project worlds away from the one that first brought him to prominence as a teenager. Sprouse and his twin brother Dylan are still best known for playing the titular brothers on Disney Channel’s The Suite Life of Zack and Cody and its follow-up The Suite Life on Deck, which took place, respectively, in a hotel and on a cruise ship and made the Sprouses the most famous television twins since Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen. Broadly humorous, loudly acted, and, as Sprouse politely puts it, “boisterous,” the shows fit neatly in the Disney stable alongside Hannah Montana, which starred a young Miley Cyrus, and Wizards of Waverly Place, which introduced Selena Gomez to the world. And just as Cyrus and Gomez have successfully managed to move beyond their child-actor days and reinvent themselves in recent years as international pop stars, Sprouse sees Riverdale as a chance to prove that his Disney phase is behind him. “I think while it’s easy to group us all into a similar category, all of our paths have remained unique,” he explains. “We end up having to show the same maturation, just in different ways. We’re consistently trying to prove our humanity to a group of people that has a really hard time believing it.”
Born in Italy, the Sprouse twins began acting as babies to help their mother pay the bills. They appeared in films like Big Daddy with Adam Sandler and as Ross’s son on Friends, and were tapped by Disney in 2005 to headline The Suite Life, which would go on to run for four years before spinning off as The Suite Life on Deck. “The show gave me a profound work ethic,” Sprouse says. “I never missed a day of work in the eight years I was there, and it really taught me to push myself and drive myself. But the danger of being on a show like that for eight years is that you lose purpose. Continuing the show is oftentimes the most dangerous thing to do as an actor because purpose is the currency for quality work as an actor.”
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Besides the increasing monotony of playing Cody, Sprouse now says that he is still trying to sort out what being so closely linked to a fictional persona throughout his teenage years has meant for his personal development. “When you’re a child and you’re growing up and you’re mimicking a certain character or you’re trying to live and breathe a certain character on set for eight years that are also your formative years, you oftentimes take a lot of who you’re playing into your real life and kind of become that thing,” he explains. “You end up having to figure out where you separate from the thing you’ve played for eight years when you leave it.”
Sprouse, now twenty-four, says that the unique strictures and tone of the Disney studio also may have served to sharpen some of the developmental struggles its actors had to endure, due to the contrast between the roles they were playing onscreen and the people they were still in the process of become themselves. “Disney acting as a style is very large. It’s designed to capture the attention of children, so it often comes off as immature and youthful,” he says. “That gets complicated when you’re starting to develop personally and sexually through puberty and you’re starting to have these opposing ideas of yourself as a young person. Oftentimes that leads to some form of cognitive dissonance where you are being sold as something you truly don’t identify with and you have this rebellion that takes place.”
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Having successfully made the transition from child star to grown-up actor without scandal, Sprouse is nonetheless quick to come to the defense of his peers who have had rockier paths, heightened by the intense scrutiny of the public eye. “It’s one of those things that gets written off as humorous when you watch a child entertainer try to redefine themselves, but it can be an intense identity crisis,” he says. “I think in our modern society we have a much greater understanding of the importance of personal identity and how we see ourselves and I’m hoping that over time people latch onto the fact that this hurts people and they have a little more respect for something like that.”
In lieu of “We Can’t Stop” or Spring Breakers, Sprouse turned to school. After taking a year off after The Suite Life, he enrolled at NYU at nineteen and eventually decided to major in archeology. Fascinated by the earth sciences since childhood thanks to a geologist grandfather, Sprouse jokes that he wanted to live out “tales of adventure,” which he was able to do after he was accepted into an exclusive program to work on an excavation site in France. He moved decisively away from acting during his four years as an undergraduate, and admits that he very seriously considered the possibility of never coming back. “When we were younger, it was a business choice for us and I realized that I couldn’t live like that anymore and there was no fulfillment in that sort of acting,” he explains. “I needed to take a break and reassess, and I did. My brother and I had sort of reached a plateau and there was nothing we could really do there so we chose to go into education and embrace an interdisciplinary world of knowledge.”
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Faced with the choice between (expensive) graduate school and (relatively lucrative) television work, Sprouse says he decided last year to take a shot at pilot week, the annual busy period when studios and networks cast many of the new television shows they want to try out. “I was planning on continuing with archaeology, but when I auditioned and I got the part and we did that pilot, I had a lot of fun,” he recalls. “I didn’t really think of it, but it felt fulfilling again, which is really the only thing you should honestly pursue in art. And as long as it feels fulfilling, I’ll continue.”
Having just come off a Twilight Zone binge, Sprouse says he was immediately attracted to the role of Jughead, Archie’s best friend who also takes on a voiceover role in Riverdale that is reminiscent of Rod Serling’s narration for his influential television series. Full of sex, scandal, and the sort of heightened drama common to most shows about teenagers, Riverdale will come as a surprise to most people who know Archie only as a cheerful, lighthearted slice of midcentury small-town American life. The series opens with a death, Archie sleeps with his music teacher, and Veronica comes to town disgraced after her family loses all its wealth when her father is jailed for financial misdeeds. There are notes of Twin Peaks—although Sprouse is loathe to compare anything to David Lynch—and Brick, the 2006 Joseph Gordon-Levitt movie which took a film noir sensibility to high school life.
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 Sprouse himself admits to having been put off by the initial descriptions of the show, but says that further reading helped him understand that Riverdale fits easily into the world of Archie, as the new leadership at Archie Comics has pushed in new and surprising directions to make the brand relevant again today. “When I first heard the abstract, it kind of put a sour taste in my mouth,” he says. “I come from a comic background—I worked at a comic shop—and when you hear about a dark and gritty take on an otherwise beloved franchise, that’s all the wrong buzzwords for the right project. Nothing really dubious happens in the original Archie Digests, but as I started to do more research, I realized the universe of Archie is really wide open. The Punisher comes to Archie, Archie dies when he gets shot trying to protect his friend, and in the new comics, zombies come to Archie. So it seemed like the road had been paved for a while for something like this. My knowledge now is that the Archie universe is wide enough for something like this to take place.”
In refashioning an idyllic American icon for a confusing and complicated new world, Riverdale is also, Sprouse contends, a tacit reflection of today’s political climate. “We live in a society right now that’s obsessed with this golden-age America mentality,” he explains. “Trump’s whole campaign was built around ‘Make America Great Again,’ which essentially is a play towards the same era that Archie arose out of that is this golden, perfect world. I don’t mind how we may be tampering with this idea of a golden age because of my personal political stance. I don’t think that ‘everything is perfect and jolly’ is a perspective that makes any sense. Our society is either primed perfectly for a more contemporary view of this classic American property or they’re going to rebel against it. It’s the same political division within our society right now.”
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Currently based in Vancouver shooting Riverdale, Sprouse is also continuing to pursue a photography career on the side. He’s been commissioned by Condé Nast Traveler and shot a story for Teen Vogue earlier this month, and says that what began as a hobby has quickly turned into a passionate vocation. He finds that the travel photography, especially, has been helpful in shaping his perspective. “Travel photography is difficult in that you’re very reliant upon the place you’re going to be a sort of beautiful that can sell,” he explains. “You end up having to be really critical and quite aware at all points of your environment. It’s a very different way of looking at the world, but you end up internalizing a lot of that way of seeing. Most of us were quite nomadic through human history, and I think that part of us still very much exists in a yearning for adventure and worldliness. What travel photography is aiming to do is to inspire a love of something different than yourself.”
And though they require work on different sides of the camera, what connects Sprouse’s acting and his photography is that he plans to continue both as long as they remain “fulfilling.” With over two decades of experience under his belt, he knows what he wants and he knows when it’s time to move on. “Riverdale is a much more human project than the last one and I realize now that though I’ve had enough time to step away and to take a breather, my main challenge if I’m going to continue acting is to discern the things that were valuable about my childhood and the skills I acquired as a child and the things to keep and the things to let go,” he says. “It’s more real, and I don’t think just because it’s on the forefront of pop culture that it should be treated any less than something very ‘noble.’ I’m going to try and do that and see how it ends up.”
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silver-and-ivory ¡ 8 years ago
Note
You suggested Yudkowsky in a previous ask. How do you respond to the accusations that he is a crank? People make these accusations for a variety of reasons. For reference, consider rationalwiki's less than flattering article on him and his work. I am asking this question from a sincerely unbiased and simply curious standpoint. Thank you for receiving it, and, if you choose to respond, thank you for responding.
Hmm.
First of all, thanks a lot for how polite this was! Thank you for asking, and I am happy to respond for you. :)
I have in fact heard of these accusations.
To be perfectly honest, I don’t think these allegations are at all relevant to the validity of his philosophy in the Sequences. Ideas should be judged on their own merit; of course, we don’t have infinite time, so we have to use heuristics to figure out who to listen to, such as general correctness of beliefs; but I have already read Yudkowsky’s ideas and find him compelling. Since you (probably?) think I have relevant and non-terrible opinions, the heuristic “follow recommendations from your favored authors” (or whatever) should override the weaker heuristic about what to draw to your attention.
But I want to address the accusations in more detail, since they seemed interesting and I don’t think it would be satisfying to you if I didn’t. Keep in mind that I’m not qualified to evaluate many of the technical claims (like around physics or AI) in terms of knowledge or expertise. I’ll mostly be defending the idea that Yudkowsky’s ideas in the Sequences have merit independent of whatever weird shit he got into otherwise, but I also will make an effort to refute exaggerated or inaccurate claims.
So let’s get into discussing the accusations in question (long ass post below):
From what I’ve heard, they’re mostly as follows:
Roko’s Basilisk Debacle. I have no idea what happened here. Yudkowsky may have made a mistake in his comportment or in his logic, but it seems to be a sincere attempt to make the world better.
MIRI Work Inconsequential, Sub-par: Again, I don’t know anything about AI. I’ve never met Yudkowsky or MIRI at work, so I can’t really evaluate how hard they’re working or whatever.
AI Apocalypse is a Bit of a Sketchy Theory: I don’t know anything about AI, but the arguments I’ve seen are very unconvincing. After all, making the leap from “machine that does preprogrammed stuff really (really (really) (etc.))) quickly” to “thing with ability to manipulate, self-modify, and seep into the darkness of the internet to achieve its goals” doesn’t seem to be as easy as the arguments assume.
On the other hand, Yudkowsky might well be 1) operating off information I don’t know 2) concluded different, but equally reasonable (at this point in time) things from the information we share such that AI stuff is a major risk 3) giving into the bias that the things he’s interested in are Really Important or 4) something I didn’t think of that nevertheless doesn’t make him unreliable.
He might be wrong, but that doesn’t necessarily say anything about the other aspects of his ideology/philosophy. People make mistakes, they follow their biases too far, they get obsessed with strange things, they get stuck in bubbles. It’s erroneous to conclude that all of his ideas must be wrong just because he failed to live up to it.
Alternatively,, he could be doing it for personal gain - such as for fame - and therefore lying, which would bring his entire ideology into doubt as one could not know where he fabricated ideas versus where he was sincere.
Argument With Hanson: I honestly don’t care if he disagreed with Hanson over who the rightful caliph was AI foom. Ratwiki says:
It was immediately after this debate that Yudkowsky left Overcoming Bias (now Hanson’s personal blog) and moved the Sequences to LessWrong.
This insinuates a kind of foul play or bad faith on Yudkowsky’s side. I notice that it is unsourced, and secondly that Hanson and Yudkowsky both seem on still be on reasonable terms (as far as I know). Perhaps the split was already in the works, and Hanson and Yudkowsky regularly had similarly intense debate which was only “remarkable” because of the leave. Perhaps they believed it was confusing for readers to see a blog arguing with itself.
And besides, Yudkowsky couldn’t have decided based on this incident to create LessWrong in that short a time-span, which makes it highly unlikely that it was a petty reaction or whatever.
Yudkowsky Has Not Achieved Much:
Quoting from ratwiki here:
Yudkowsky is almost entirely unpublished outside of his own foundation and blogs[12] and never finished high school, much less did any actual AI research. No samples of his AI coding have been made public.
It is important to note that, as well as no training in his claimed field, Yudkowsky has pretty much no accomplishments of any sort to his credit beyond getting Peter Thiel to give him money. Even his fans admit “A recurring theme here seems to be ‘grandiose plans, left unfinished’.”[13] He claims to be a skilled computer programmer, but has no code available other than Flare, an unfinished computer language for AI programming with XML-based syntax.[14] His papers are generally self-published and have a total of two cites on JSTOR-archived journals (neither to do with AI) as of 2015, one of which is from his friend Nick Bostrom at the closely-associated Future of Humanity Institute.[15]
His actual, observable results in the real world are a popular fan fiction (which to his credit he did in fact finish, unusually for the genre), a pastiche erotic light novel,[16] a large pile of blog posts and a surprisingly well-funded research organisation — that has produced fewer papers in a decade and a half than a single graduate student produces in the course of a physics Ph.D, and the latter’s would be peer reviewed. Although Yudkowsky is working on a replacement for peer review.[17]
I really do not care how many successes Yudkowsky has had. His ideas are the issue here, not his actual abilities. Some of the more grandiose claims (”optimize the universe!”) are perhaps, well, grandiose; but that doesn’t undermine the other aspects of them.
(And in fact Yudkowsky has been able to create an entire movement of people, with highly influential members such as Scott Alexander and the Unit of Caring, which I notice is far more than is typical.
As for the allegations about MIRI, see above.)
Whether Yudkowsky considers himself a genius is unclear totally clear; he refers to himself as a genius six times in his “autobiography.” However he admits to possibly being less smart than John Conway.[18] As a homeschooled individual with no college degree, Yudkowsky may not be in an ideal position to estimate his own smartness. That many of his followers think he is a genius is an understatement.[19][20] Similarly, some of his followers are derisive of mainstream scientists, just look for comments about “not smart outside the lab” and “for a celebrity scientist.”[21] Yudkowsky believes that a doctorate in AI is a net negative when it comes to Seed AI.[22] While Yudkowsky doesn’t attack Einstein, he does indeed think the scientific method cannot handle things like the Many worlds Interpretation as well as his view on Bayes’ theorem.[23] LessWrong does indeed have its unique jargon.[24]
Yudkowsky may or may not have an overly large ego. I don’t think this is relevant to his philosophy.
Disagreement with Yudkowsky’s ideas is often attributed to “undiscriminating skepticism.” If you don’t believe cryonics works, it’s because you have watched Penn & Teller: Bullshit!.[25] It’s just not a possibility that you don’t believe it works because it has failed tests and is made improbable by the facts.[26]
I notice that “often” is doing a lot of work here. The citation links to Yudkowsky’s article on Undiscriminating Skepticism, in which he does not make the claim that “if you don’t believe cryonics works, it must be because you believed in Penn & Teller: Bullshit!”. Instead, he makes this (verbose and difficult to parse) claim (emphasis mine):
To put it more formally, before I believe that someone is performing useful cognitive work, I want to know that their skepticism discriminates truth from falsehood, making a contribution over and above the contribution of this-sounds-weird-and-is-not-a-tribal-belief.  In Bayesian terms, I want to know that p(mockery|belief false & not a tribal belief) > p(mockery|belief true & not a tribal belief).
If I recall correctly, the US Air Force’s Project Blue Book, on UFOs, explained away as a sighting of the planet Venus what turned out to actually be an experimental aircraft.  No, I don’t believe in UFOs either; but if you’re going to explain away experimental aircraft as Venus, then nothing else you say provides further Bayesian evidence against UFOs either.  You are merely an undiscriminating skeptic.  I don’t believe in UFOs, but in order to credit Project Blue Book with additional help in establishing this, I would have to believe that if there were UFOs then Project Blue Book would have turned in a different report.
And so if you’re just as skeptical of a weird, non-tribal belief that turns out to have pretty good support, you just blew the whole deal - that is, if I pay any extra attention to your skepticism, it ought to be because I believe you wouldn’t mock a weird non-tribal belief that was worthy of debate.
Personally, I think that Michael Shermer blew it by mocking molecular nanotechnology, and Penn and Teller blew it by mocking cryonics (justification: more or less exactly the same reasons I gave for Artificial Intelligence).  Conversely, Richard Dawkins scooped up a huge truckload of actual-discriminating-skeptic points, at least in my book, for not making fun of the many-worlds interpretation when he was asked about in an interview; indeed, Dawkins noted (correctly) that the traditional collapse postulate pretty much has to be incorrect.  The many-worlds interpretation isn’t just the formally simplest explanation that fits the facts, it also sounds weird and is not yet a tribal belief of the educated crowd; so whether someone makes fun of MWI is indeed a good test of whether they understand Occam’s Razor or are just mocking everything that’s not a tribal belief.
But I do propose that before you give anyone credit for being a smart, rational skeptic, that you ask them to defend some non-mainstream belief.  And no, atheism doesn’t count as non-mainstream anymore, no matter what the polls show.  It has to be something that most of their social circle doesn’t believe, or something that most of their social circle does believe which they think is wrong.  Dawkins endorsing many-worlds still counts for now, although its usefulness as an indicator is fading fast… but the point is not to endorse many-worlds, but to see them take some sort of positive stance on where the frontiers of knowledge should change.
But it’s dangerous to let people pick up too much credit just for slamming astrology and homeopathy and UFOs and God.  What if they become famous skeptics by picking off the cheap targets, and then use that prestige and credibility to go after nanotechnology?  Who will dare to consider cryonics now that it’s been featured on an episode of Penn and Teller’s “Bullshit”? 
So Yudkowsky isn’t saying that everyone who disagrees with him on e.g. many-worlds or cryonics is a P&T-thumper. Instead, here’s my interpretation of what he’s saying:
1. You can easily accumulate Skeptic Points by having certain views that don’t actually require that much mental effort to come up with, such as “homeopathy is dumb”.
2. These are not really relevant to your actual level of credibility.
3. Certain organizations, like Penn and Teller, have accumulated a lot of Skeptic Points by mocking things like homeopathy.
4. Mockery is not an argument. Organizations like Penn and Teller often mock things based on them being weird, which means that their mockery should mean absolutely nothing.
5.Unfortunately, due to the Skeptic Points that Penn and Teller has, their mockery has an outsize influence, which is bad.
6. If you want to assign Skeptic Points to actual credible people, you should test to make sure they’re not just parroting back their ingroup’s talking points.
The ratwiki interpretation is astonishingly uncharitable, and it also lacks substantiation for the claim it makes.
Note that I don’t know how accurate EY’s interpretation of the facts about cryonics and Penn and Teller is. It’s just that he didn’t say anything like what ratwiki characterizes him (an internet dweller? a random asshole on the bus?) as saying in the link, and that’s not how the principle was intended.
Yudkowsky Has Weird Viewpoints That Are Controversial:
Quoting again from ratwiki since I am very irritated at this point with them:
Despite being viewed as the smartest two-legged being to ever walk this planet on LessWrong, Yudkowsky (and by consequence much of the LessWrong community) endorses positions as TruthTMthat are actually controversial in their respective fields. Below is a partial list:
Transhumanism is correct. Cryonics might someday work. The Singularity is near![citation NOT needed]
Bayes’ theorem and the scientific method don’t always lead to the same conclusions (and therefore Bayes is better than science).[27]
Bayesian probability can be applied indiscriminately.[28]
Non-computable results, such as Kolmogorov complexity, are totally a reasonable basis for the entire epistemology. Solomonoff, baby!
Many Worlds Interpretation (MWI) of quantum physics is correct (a “slam dunk”), despite the lack of consensus among quantum physicists.[29]
Evolutionary psychology is well-established science.
Utilitarianism is a correct theory of morality. In particular, he proposes a framework by which an extremely, extremely huge number of people experiencing a speck of dust in their eyes for a moment could be worse than a man being tortured for 50 years.[30]
Yudkowsky believes some strange controversial things! Also, some people on the internet have presented evidence that doesn’t agree with Yudkowsky’s conclusions! Shock! He must be a total crock of shit!
Ironically, this falls into appeal to mockery, the same issue EY addresses in the essay linked above.
Again, I don’t agree with everything EY says, but it’s incredibly uncharitable to characterize his beliefs this way. For example, the dust-speck problem isn’t meant to be Obvious Truth- there was a massive debate around it on LW, in fact, and it appears to be construed specifically to be difficult to answer.
A wrong belief on something doesn’t make you discredited. It just makes you wrong on that thing.
Of course, you’d expect someone as smart as Yudkowsky to have a lot of correct opinions. But I don’t know whether his opinions are correct or not since I’m not an expert in his field. I recommend him based on my personal experience applying and thinking about his philosophy, not based on any particular object-level accuracy of his.
Yudkowsky Once Wrote a Story Where Rape Is Legal and It Wasn’t a Dystopia (rape cw):
Also, while it is not very clear what his actual position is on this, he wrote a short sci-fi story where rape was briefly mentioned as legal.[31] That the character remarking on it didn’t seem to be referring to consensual sex in the same way we do today didn’t prevent a massive reaction in the comments section. He responded “The fact that it’s taken over the comments is not as good as I hoped, but neither was the reaction as bad as I feared.” He described the science fiction world he had in mind as a “Weirdtopia” rather than a dystopia.[32]
Yes, and the point is?
Yudkowsky doesn’t go around raping people - though his non-rape-related philosophy wouldn’t necessarily be wrong even if he did - and he doesn’t go around advocating for a society like this.
It may or may not be morally wrong that he does not address it seriously. This wiki article doesn’t make any argument about that, though.
This is also irrelevant to his meta-philosophy.
In Conclusion
The ratwiki article on Yudkowsky managed to insinuate various terrible things about him which are often implausible, inaccurate, or technically-true but with false implications. It is nothing other than a mockingly snide attempt at character assassination.
It has little or nothing to do with Yudkowsky’s actual philosophy, and manages to strawman him badly.
I continue to recommend Yudkowsky for (critical, skeptical) reading. Thank you again for asking.
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transcending-chaos ¡ 8 years ago
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And he’s done! Biographical information under the cut due to length.
Name: Blayne Collins 
-His un-Americanized name is actually Blaine O'Cuilleains, but as a majority of people cannot read and pronounce it correctly in Gaelic, he uses the Anglican form
-His username is TwinRavens, and his usual Tribe of choice is OverWorld as those were the cards given to him by his friends since they used a mix of the other three Tribes
Age: 16-19 
-In keeping with the show’s style, he is ambiguously a teenager. His birthday is July 28, and he is a Leo.
Sex, Gender, Orientation: Male, male, asexual-panoromantic 
-Blayne is fickle when it comes to romance: while he is easy-going and has no problem in revealing his own interest in someone else, he is quick to pick up on any advances made on him and immediately raises his guard. People have tried to take advantage of him before, so he is skeptical and often mistrusting of individuals trying to seduce, flirt, or be coy with him. He is not prone to feeling any real attraction to people at all, often just slowly falling in love with someone’s personality over a long span of time regardless of their gender or sex; he has no visual bias, so he is an even judge of character in this aspect, though voice will influence his opinion somewhat. Blayne does not lower his walls easily in this aspect, if one wishes to woo him, they must actually care about his personhood as he will sniff out any false pretense rather quickly. He’s blind, not stupid.
Biography (abbreviated version)
-Blayne is rather sanguine and friendly, an ENFJ personality type, and someone who loves to reach out and connect with other people. This forwardness often breaks the ice for him, as many people assume him to be quiet and passive due to his disability. It’s also led to one of his favorite greetings and gimmicks:
”Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were blind!”
”Actually, my name is Blayne, but yeah, I’m also blind.”
His friendly nature had been a bit of a saving grace outwardly; he can laugh things off easily, he especially loves shitty puns, he’ll poke fun at his problems, and he tends to let things slide off of his shoulders well -at least that’s his norm. Blayne can only let things go on for so long, and while he is often proactive and civil in dealing with his problems, any provoked conflict will be dealt with severely. He does not like being angry as he’s been made aware that he can be terrifying, but so help him if it doesn’t put issues to rest when it needs to. 
Another thing that is not readily recognizable is his patience when dealing with other’s repeated problems. Blayne understands hardships, he’s aware that everyone’s issues and struggles are relative yet relevant-
 ”It’s cancer and kidney stones; both are real, both are painful but both are really different in terms of what’s at stake and who could potentially suffer more. Even so, someone’s cancer doesn’t override the fact that you might have kidney stones -your pain is still real. And that said, your kidney stones aren’t going to be the same as their cancer. Everything is relative, everyone has shit to deal with, and everyone just needs to have someone listen every once in a while.” 
-but he can only take so much of other people’s issues before he starts getting annoyed. This is a hard position for him to be in, as he naturally attracts people and has a calming, authoritative presence, so many trust and open up to him. It’s difficult for him to carry their emotional weight along with all of his own, as well as still functioning at the normative level of ability that society demands. Basically, he needs to set the rules and affirm that he is not Atlas, but this is complicated by the fact that many do not know that they are even being a problem in the first place. He can be easily overwhelmed by their problems and ignore his own, which can lead to a destructive spiral.
The final key piece of his personality is his stubborn attitude when people repeatedly point something out to him, specifically his weight or appearance. Blayne is underweight, and is actually recovering from an eating disorder spawned from his desire to not feel like a burden. He hates how people will take care of simple things for him, or take away his autonomy without realizing it. This in turn has created a deep sense of guilt and fear regarding asking for help or aid, and this will manifest in things like him not asking for food even when hungry. He will pursue food on his own, but as soon as someone mentions this, points out his appearance, or makes a comment, he looses all appetite and just tolerates hunger instead. It’s taken him a while to try and move past this, and although he’s gotten a little bit better, he still has a long way to go.
-Blayne is the single child born to his mother and father, who promptly split up when he was about three years old. He has always lived with his mom and predominantly knows her side of the family, which is across the Atlantic Ocean in Kilkenny, Ireland, where they raise sheep. His mother is a nurse in a nearby hospital and is usually busy, however, Blayne has strong familial ties and a loving home. Any antagonism comes from his father’s side of the family, who dislikes that his mother got sole custody, and disagrees with many of his mother’s family’s values in general. They’re not too friendly due to past circumstances concerning his parent’s divorce, but that hasn’t stopped some of that side of his family from reaching out in a friendly way; his cousin Connor moved in when Blayne was about 12, and the two were like brother before he graduated from his university and moved out on his own. 
He follows a mix of Wiccan and Neo-Druidic beliefs, and loves folklore and fantasy; he often listens to audiobooks to pass the time when bored, connecting with the characters based on their empathetic qualities and mindset rather than a majority of description.
Schooling has never been too much of a challenge for Blayne, and while he was a little lonely throughout his elementary and middle school years, his high school experience has been quite pleasant. He attends an arts school where he is active in the music program. He can play the piano, the harp (a family tradition), and can sing very well (click here for voice claim). He has a tight group of friends (Macy, Ash, Ethen, and Sam) who all specialize in different studies of art as well. He often collaborates or aids in their pursuits, which has led to him being the guinea pig for many of Macy’s makeup exploits- he really doesn’t mind though. 
His friends Ash and Ethan are the ones who got him interested in Chaotic, as they’d often just play the cards casually when the three boys would just hang out and Blayne would bullshit a commentary on their matches. Eventually they were determined teach him how to play and make the game accessible to him; this was ultimately reached by using small, different nail art stickers and tiny gems on the backs of his card protector sleeves. By making and memorizing a system, and also spelling out names in Braille, he can tell what card is in his hand. It took him a while, but Blayne eventually mastered it. His friends never expected him to play competitively, only giving him the ‘scraps’ of their card hauls, but Blayne is mostly a tactician and once familiar with the abilities and powers at his disposal, he can create a plethora of plans.
He is not well-versed in the physical Chaotic.
Blayne lost his first match, and many wondered if he’d just stop coming, yet his stubborn side kicked in and he stuck around. He does not take the typical kind of Scan Quests, instead, he often goes to villages and just sits down to take it all in. He is not hostile to any natives, and because he does not make problems, they are friendly in turn. Instead of Scanning Creatures with better stats, Blayne chooses to Scan those with a strong familiarity with their environments. As he cannot see even in Chaotic (if the offer was given to him, he’d still reject it as he would have to re-learn how to function, and it wouldn’t be fair to his other self that’d permanently be blind) neither do the Creatures he turns into during a match. He relies heavily on their senses of direction and elemental connection to the Locations, and as such, he is not a brawler or usual kind of fighter.
He loves traps. He likes using the playing field to his advantage, catching his opponents off guard, and ending the battle as quickly as possible. Usually the longer a match goes on, the less the chance of him winning. If his traps don’t immediately take someone out, his second favorite method is Coding by hanging, in which he manages to get them tangled and hung by either vines or other means. 
This has earned him the unofficial nickname of “Blind Gallows”.
Trivia
-Blayne was originally made as a pun on the fact that Tom’s name means twin. I wanted to make a joke character that’d occasionally get mixed up with him, but this lil’ guy took on a life of his own and is now a fully fledged OC instead
-He has a swear jar at home, but manages his tongue better around peers. When angered, his slight brogue becomes more pronounced
-Blayne refuses to use Tribal leaders in his decks as he thinks their stats are ‘bat-shit broken’ 
-As he was born blind, he doesn’t understand color at all, so when people ask ‘do you see all light, or is everything dark’ he doesn’t understand what they’re getting at completely
-His go to Creature is Owis, and the two have met in person and became fast friends
-Some Creatures think he’s a witch, something he occasionally exploits for comedic effect
-He is a good story teller
-He has many sheepskin blankets at home as he has a tendency to get cold easily
-He loves soft fabrics and texture in general. He can sometimes be a little hands-y with close friends because he likes to try and figure out what they’re wearing. If you wear things like cable sweaters regularly, he will try and trace he cable patterns
-He is strangely adept at braiding hair except for his own
And that’s all I’ve got off the top of my head. If you have any questions, feel free to share because I will happily answer them. I will add more to this as needed, but I hope this give you an idea of who he is. 
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douchebagbrainwaves ¡ 5 years ago
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A COROLLARY IS THAT YOU SHOULDN'T RELAX JUST BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO IDEA IF THESE GUYS ARE GREAT HACKERS
So it may be worth standing back and understanding what's going on, and that's the hard part. Normally if you complain about something being hard, the mechanics of venture funding but knows what a successful startup founder looks like is actually far ahead of someone who knows termsheets inside out, but thinks hacker means someone who breaks into computers.1 In the mid twentieth century servants practically disappeared in rich countries, and the resulting hybrid worked well. The Valley basically runs on referrals.2 It's like calling a car a horseless carriage. Some of the founders mentioned a rule actors use: if you feel you're speaking too slowly, you're speaking at about the right speed. Why? The examples he gives are convincing: an ordinary worker builds things a certain way out of habit; a master craftsman can do more because he grasps the underlying principles. Things. Google, Amazon, Cisco and Microsoft how they'd feel about two candidates, both 24, with equal ability, one who'd tried to start his own company. It's amazing how easily you can reach out to people and get immediate feedback. So what you should invest in depends on how soon you need the money.
Organic ideas are generally preferable to the made up kind, but particularly so when the founders are the whole company. You may need to refer to it at some point to investors who didn't get it and turned them down. There is a danger in designing a language based on one's own experience of programming. I remember once complaining to a friend who teaches at MIT. That is kind of mind-blowing.3 There do not seem to be disappointments early on, when they're trying to find their niche. Everyone is focused on this type of software. It seems unlikely that will work if they're just streaming the same files you can get is to show that all the founders shared this summer was a spirit of independence.4 And could I have honestly claimed that he was harming his future—that is, in some ways.5 I've done a lot of ambivalence about them, because the less smart people writing the actual applications wouldn't be doing low-level stuff like allocating memory. What have other people learned about design? If you learn how to program has at least considered the idea of the extent to which the startups they like are the ones likely to succeed in a startup, things seem great one moment and hopeless the next.
It's not cheating to copy. One of the defining qualities of organizations since there have been such a thing as good and bad investors, one of the eight groups had a prototype ready by that time. Some Leonardo heads are just a few lines. All someone has to do it is to load and keep in your head: don't get your hopes up.6 Aristotle were encouraged in this by progress in math.7 So I'm going to number these points, and maybe with future startups I'll be able to draw like Leonardo, you'd find most would say something like Oh, I can't imagine telling Bill Gates at 19 that he should wait till he graduated to start a startup.8 There have always been occasional cases, particularly in the US right now as lived in Florence during the fifteenth century. Well, if you're prepared to live on ramen. Smack! Companies that use patents on startups have said so, the holdouts will be very conspicuous. But which would have then?9
They notice that people who are just trying to paint well; he couldn't help painting like Michelangelo. It's not as simple as picking startups that are already making something wildly popular. You can't just start a business and check out once things are going. He has noticed that theoretical knowledge is often acquired for its own sake, it must be, if so few do. It explains why the good times are surprisingly good: most people can't imagine such freedom. What students lack in experience they more than make up in dedication.10 It may just be my own stupidity. But she never does.
And as anyone who runs their own business can tell you what they're after, they will often reveal amazing details about what they have in common. One, the CTO couldn't be a first rate hacker, because to become an eminent NT developer he would have had to use NT voluntarily, multiple times, and I haven't seen much since to contradict it.11 At our startup we had Robert Morris working as a developer at a big cell phone carrier was getting a rental company to rent him a car, because he was a complete idiot. Which means anyone who wants to get things done. This way you might be able to decrease without having to go through good and come out the other.12 For example, if you look at the ones that are best at selling themselves to VCs. And so, as at Xerox Parc. Where axioms are concerned, especially, less is more. Either your site is about.13 Software and content blur together in some of the smartest programmers I know are some of the technical feats he'd pulled off in the last couple years. If you want to notice quickly when something already is winning.
For example, it would still be important to release quickly, because for most of them were of competitors. We sleep more.14 Google, Amazon, Cisco and Microsoft how they'd feel about two candidates, both 24, with equal ability, one who'd tried to start a company.15 But what if the problem isn't given?16 Competitors riding on lots of good blogger perception aren't really the winners and can disappear from the map quickly.17 If you want to avoid being surprised, the next thought after that should be: and the reason is that it's tested more severely than in most other situations.18 In the earliest stage, startups not only do something very specific, but solve a problem people already know they have.19
Notes
If he's bad at it, Reddit has had a demonstration of the people who might be interested to hear about the other seed firms. A P supermarket chain because it aggregates data from so many of which he can be times when what you're doing. In judging both intelligence and wisdom the judgement to know how many computers the worm might have.
In a typical fund, half the companies fail, no one can ever say it again. You'll be lucky if fundraising feels pleasant enough to defend their interests in political and legal disputes. As always, tax loopholes defended by two of the rest of the clumps of smart people are these days.
05 15, the partners discriminate against deals that come to you as employees by buying politicians. Some of Aristotle's immediate successors may have to sweat whether startups have some revenues before 18 months are out.
Not all unpromising-seeming startups that seem promising can usually get enough money from existing customers.
CEOs in 2002 was 3. I recommend you solve this problem, but countless other startups must have seemed to Aristotle the core: the resources they expend on the grounds that a startup than it was spontaneous. Especially if they could then tell themselves that they think are bad: Webpig, Webdog, Webfat, Webzit, Webfug.
This would add a further level of incivility, the bad VCs fail to mention a few years. With the good ones.
On the other becomes visible. But when you had in school, and a little more fat, and that you should be especially skeptical about things you've written or talked about before, and degenerate from Subject foo not to do that much better than his peers, couldn't afford a monitor. His critical invention was a kid and as a symptom, there are only slightly richer for having these things.
Some blue counties are false positives caused by blacklists, for example, because the kind of intensity and dedication from programmers that they use the phrase the city, they were still so small that no one else involved knows French.
It derives from efforts by businesses to use to connect through any ISP, every technophobe in the succession of spectacular treason trials that punctuated Henry's erratic matrimonial progress made him an obvious candidate for grants of monastic property. 5 seconds per day. Top VC firms. I suspect it's one of them is that some of the market.
When I catch egregiously linkjacked posts I replace the url with that additional constraint, you can tell that everything you say something to bad groups is that so few founders do it right. No doubt there are no longer written in Lisp, they only even consider great people.
This is not Apple's products but their policies. Digg is Slashdot with voting instead of reacting. I mean forum in the postwar period also helped preserve the wartime compression of wages—specifically increased demand for them. Why Startups Condense in America.
The second alone yields someone flighty. There's a variant of compound bug where one bug, the only alternative would be easier to take care of one's markets is ultimately just another way to tell them about.
This gets harder as you get to profitability, you have the concept of the things I write out loud can expose awkward parts.
Now many tech companies don't want to stay in a large company? Ten years later Jim Ryun ran a 3 year old to get endless grief for classifying religion as well as good as Apple's just by hiring sufficiently qualified designers. Probabilities in this department.
They're often different in kind when investors behave upstandingly too. When investors can't make up the same, but bickering at several hundred dollars an hour most people don't dislike him for the reader: rephrase that thought to please the same work faster. Businesses have to go out running or sit home and watch TV, just harder.
Applying for a 24 year old to get going, e. For most of them.
If you don't get any money till all the poorer countries. To be safe either a don't use Oracle. If you want to take over the details. Some are merely ugly ducklings in the standard series AA paperwork aims at a Demo Day.
I think that's because delicious/popular with voting instead of being back in July 1997 was 1. Japanese car companies, but they get a false positive if the founders. This is the accumulator generator benchmark are collected together on their ability but women based on respect for their judgement. Spices are also the fashion leaders.
The most important subject. It's when they're on boards of directors they're probably a real idea that could evolve into a decent college. Throw in the 1980s was enabled by a factor of 20.
Thanks to Jessica Livingston, and Robert Morris for their feedback on these thoughts.
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