#i’m still recovering from my traumatic thursday last week so i’m just not in a place where i can be alone

[yellowsubiesdance]

i’m feeling really lonely right now, and it’s bumming me out

[rainbowchibbit]

BlAaaaahhhhhhhgh

Hello. It has been. An incredibly rough and traumatic and stressful week for me and I wasn’t even gonna make a post about it but it’ll probably delay some page(s) unless I sit down and focus (which I might!! Who knows)

And I know y’all are so sweet and wouldn’t have even worried about it or said anything but I think I mostly just needed a reason to talk about it? Because how do you just bring up the mess that the last week (actually last two weeks I guess) has been just “oh by the way!” But I guess that is kind of what I’m doing

So oh by the way, if I’m not altogether here brain-wise it’s because of details under the cut also tw: animal death

Monday the 14th: our dog suddenly started acting strange, and then suddenly couldn’t walk, declined rapidly, a trip to the regular vet and then the emergency vet and many tests and $2k later find out he’s got internal bleeding in a place they weren’t even sure they could operate on.

The rest of that week was taking care of this hobbly old man dog who had decided he was fine

Friday the 18th: our dog died.

Saturday the 19th: ??????????? I don’t remember

Sunday the 20th: my dad left on like a week long trip to pick up and drive home an RV (he asked if he should cancel his trip I told him no) so we were staying at my dad’s house because I needed to take my brother to school, etc

Monday the 21st: take my brother to school, come home and try and take care of HIS dog who has had neurological problems for over a year and now can’t even stand up straight, he declined rapidly too

Tuesday the 22nd: had to put down my brother’s dog which was probably even more traumatic than our dog dying at home

Wednesday the 23rd: kept my brother home from school and let him play video games at our place while my roomie and I took turns sleeping for 12 hours to try and recover

Thursday the 24th: took my brother to school, went back to my dad’s house and basically slept until I had to go pick him up from school, then had to drive and take roomie to an appointment because her car is at the shop, didn’t get back to dad’s house until late

Friday the 25th: took my brother to school, finally had a vague amount of energy to accomplish things then my dad came home yaaaay!! It’s so nice to have the adultier adult home anyway I finally got to go home and I slept for like another 12 hours.

Today is Saturday the 26th and I want to draw but I am still rather out of it because I’ve been in crisis/mom friend mode for the last two weeks and I’m exhausted physically mentally and emotionally but doing a lot better? Just. So tired and coming out of crisis mode.

I just thought. You guys should know?? What’s been going on???? Anyway you all are the best ilu

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 10: One With Everything

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Thursday, April 30.

Mulder and Scully don’t often get to spend a day in court; it almost feels like a treat. An exhausting, headache-inducing, occasionally disheartening treat.

The only real upside is that they usually drive together.

They’re in Baltimore, and even though the drive back to the office is less than an hour, Mulder can feel his energy flagging.

“You hungry?” Mulder asks, sliding into the driver’s seat. “We can grab dinner before we head back.”

“Mulder, I’m wiped out,” Scully sighs.

“Alright,” he replies, subdued. He puts the keys in the ignition and starts the car.

They’ve gone two blocks when Scully speaks again. “I could go for pizza,” she says softly.

Mulder takes a steadying breath. This is progress.

It’s only been a week since the Great Mark Implosion, and things between Mulder and Scully have been thawing slowly. There’s residual awkwardness around them, like the last compacted piles of old snow in the shady places on the sides of the road. Slow to melt, but not a real impediment.

They find a little brick hole-in-the-wall pizza shop not far from the district courthouse. Scully took an appraising sniff when they walked in, declared the scent inside “pizza enough”, and they proceeded to make their order.

“So, how’ve you been?” Mulder asks. It’s a stupid question, but he’s hungry and tired and a little nervous, picking the mushrooms off of his slice of pizza before taking a bite. Scully always insists on ordering one with everything. Thank god she hates anchovies.

“You tell me,” she replies. “You’ve seen me practically every day for the past week.” She takes a first bite of pizza and moans softly. Mulder’s cheeks warm at the sound.

“I mean… in regards to what happened last Wednesday,” he clarifies. Broaching this subject feels suddenly dangerous, and he wants to take his words back.

“You can say break-up, Mulder,” she says gently. “It’s not a secret. And I’m fine,” she says, chewing, then raises a finger. “I know historically I say that when I’m not fine, but I mean it this time,” she explains. “I’m not hurt, just… disappointed. Tired. A little annoyed.”

“With him, or me, or both?” Mulder asks.

She shrugs. “Both,” she says candidly. “But you provided me with sustenance, so my annoyance with you is diminishing.” She takes a sip of diet Coke before she continues. “I’ve been thinking, and I’ve determined that the part of this that bothers me the most is the fact that Mark, or anyone, would base their summation of my character off my sexual history. I’m thirty-four years old, a fully-matured and capable human being, and yet I felt like I was stuck in a web of high school gossip. It’s insulting, being subjected to outdated moral codes by men who have no business passing judgement.”

“I have an impertinent question,” Mulder says. “You don’t have to answer.”

“I’m bracing myself,” she replies, taking another bite of pizza.

“From an outsider’s perspective, these outdated moral codes and judgment seem like a fundamental part of Catholicism. So I guess I’m wondering… why are you still Catholic?”

Her answering sigh is deep and slow. “That’s a big question, Mulder; one I ask myself all the time. I think it boils down to faith. I believe in God; everything else is just window dressing. My relationship with my faith, with religion, is complicated. But ultimately, that’s between me and God. Everyone else, namely Mark, can fuck off.”

He loves her so much in this moment, this tiny self-possessed scientist voraciously eating pizza. “Fair enough,” he says, removing another mushroom from his slice of pizza and putting on the edge of her plate. “So faith in God is intact; faith in men, however…”

Scully chuckles. “It’s at a low plateau,” she jokes, “and yet this may actually be the best break-up I’ve ever had.”

“Ouch,” Mulder says with a wince. “I’d hate to imagine the worst.”

“I egged a guy’s car once,” she says around a bite of pizza.

“No, really?” Mulder asks in surprise. “What’d he do?”

She swallows, wipes her fingers on a crumpled napkin. “Let me be clear, this was when I was in high school,” she says, “So all the emotions were heightened. My boyfriend cheated on me,” she explains. “I was seventeen and wanted to wait to have sex, and he didn’t. It was pretty traumatic for teenage Dana, so I reacted with criminal mischief.”

“Did you get caught?”

Scully shakes her head, picking up one of the stray mushrooms on her plate and popping it in her mouth. “No. I was stealthy,” she says. “And a good church girl. I think most people assumed it was a dumb teenage prank by some local boys.” She pauses. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone this,” she says in realization.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Mulder vows, passing her another mushroom.

“So what about you?” she asks, serving herself another slice of pizza. “What sort of romantic entanglements did you get into in high school? Any horror stories?”

“Not much,” Mulder says with a shrug. “Though I was pretty in love with a girl when I was sixteen or so. Her name was Laura and she was the older sister of one of my friends; I think she was probably 18? I was at their house all the time but I hardly ever talked to her.”

“Why not?”

“I was, uh, actually pretty shy back then,” he admits. “Especially with girls. She was really pretty and kind, but every time I opened my mouth to speak I’d get nervous and end up just saying nothing. Once I almost threw up.”

“That’s actually very sweet,” Scully assures him. “Trust me, she probably thought you were adorable.” She chews thoughtfully. “Did you ever tell her how you felt?”

Mulder shakes his head. “Not really. I wrote her a letter confessing my feelings and was halfway to their house to leave it in the mailbox when I chickened out. I took it home and burned it in the kitchen sink. Then she left for college.”

Scully hums in understanding. “A tale as old as time.”

“I looked her up once, after I finished at Oxford. She was married with a baby,” Mulder says, chewing a piece of crust. “Nothing would have happened if she weren’t, but part of me kind of wondered.”

Scully is silent, and when he looks up at her she’s got her cheek cradled in her hand, a soft smile on her lips, watching him.

“What?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious.

Her eyes are gleaming. “I don’t know why it never occurred to me before, but… you’re a romantic, Mulder.”

He swallows. “Is that... is that a bad thing?”

She drops her hand, shakes her head. “No, it’s not a bad thing at all,” she says softly.

Scully’s face is awash with blue and red from the neon sign in the window, and her eyes are deep and glimmering. He has to look away to steady himself before he says something he’s not ready for her to hear.

“I think I assumed you dislike romance,” he says, dipping a toe into shallower, yet unexplored waters. “It seems to me that science is somewhat at odds with the concept, when you can explain away all these feelings as chemical reactions with evolutionary precedent.”

“These feelings?” she asks, and he freezes.

“Romantic feelings in general,” he clarifies, recovering quickly. “The heart palpitations, fluttering stomach, desire for physical contact, all those things we felt as teenagers.” All those things I’m feeling right now.

“Some things aren’t meant to be examined through a purely scientific lens,” she counters. “I also firmly believe in instinct and trusting your gut in certain cases. Hell, that’s why I broke things off with Mark. No matter what he said, I knew things didn’t feel right.”

Mulder’s puzzled. “What he said?” he asks.

Scully licks her lip. “When I called him after work,” she explains. “I told him what you told me, and he claimed you twisted his words. A misunderstanding, coupled with manipulation born of jealousy,” Scully sighs.

Mulder’s heart stutters. “And you didn’t believe him?”

“No, I didn’t. It was his word against yours,” she says, voice gentle and firm. “There was no question.”

Mulder feels the weight of her words drape over his shoulders like a warm blanket. She trusts him, believes in him, chooses him.

He’s floored.

“Scully, that offer to elope still stands,” he says with a grin, and she smiles back.

Scully predictably falls asleep on the drive back to DC. Mulder glances over at her periodically, drinking in the sight of his partner curled up in the passenger seat. Her head is resting against the window, rosy cheek pillowed on a small hand.

Scully trusts him, rests in his presence, weighs his words. He doesn’t deserve what she gives him, but he realizes then what he needs to do anyway; fear and uncertainty be damned.

She deserves the truth; she is the truth.

[bltngames]

About SAGE 2021 Coverage

Hey! SAGE starts in about a week, and I generally do my best to write something up about the event. In recent years, it’s become difficult to cover everything, and that’s fine, because SAGE has grown to become this massive thing, bigger than I ever could have dreamed when I originally started it back ~20 years ago.

But 2021 has been especially rough for me. We were temporarily displaced from our apartment in February 2021 because the complex forced renovations on us. Around that time I was meant to go in for dental surgery, which had to be postponed. The whole thing turned out to be a gigantic nightmare. Technically they still owe us compensation for food, even though they say we no longer qualify for that.

After how we were treated, it was a struggle to unpack, because we really needed to find some place better. On top of that, both my Mom and I were scheduled for covid vaccinations, so we were trying to take it easy while we recovered from those.

Then, my desktop broke. I think it’s just a bogus HDD that might’ve been damaged in all the moving, but there’s no way of telling. I have a replacement HDD right here ready to put in so I can install Windows, but I needed a little time to recover from how genuinely traumatic the renovation was for us. Around this time, I also spent nearly three weeks pet sitting for a cousin (across two sessions), as well.

Before that could happen, my mom was injured in May. It started out with shoulder pain, but that graduated to back and hip pain that got so bad she couldn’t even lay down in bed anymore. After a week and a half of not sleeping, she got confused one day and became worried she’d had a stroke. Checking in to the ER, they confirmed she was just tired, but that she had sciatica problems.

As the sciatica passed, she developed a rash that turned out to be cellulitis. Though the back problems eventually faded, the leg pain never really went away, and if anything, it was getting worse. She had four more trips to the ER with them being increasingly rude and unhelpful as her rash continued to grow and the leg pain never subsided. She eventually got in to see a different doctor, who demanded she get checked in to the ER for her rash, which started as a little spot on her ankle and was now spreading up over her knees, swelling and oozing. She was given specific instructions to make sure they took her seriously.

The ER finally admitted her to the hospital properly and put her on antibiotics. Unfortunately, as the rash was healing, while they were moving her for x-rays, they broke one of her legs. When I saw her Thursday, she was in the worst pain I’ve ever seen anyone in. The doc came in and confirmed they had broken her femur, and suggested it could be either cancer or osteoporosis, since the femur is typically the longest, strongest bone in the body.

Osteoporosis effects more than half of all women over the age of 50, so it’s believable that could be what was happening to her. A common symptom is that the loss of bone density makes you get shorter, and we’ve joked for a while that either I’m getting taller or she’s getting smaller, because she’s been going down in height. (Despite this, all her trips to the ER insisted she had very minimal compression of the spine, another typical osteoporosis symptom).

She had surgery Friday morning, and they put a metal rod in her leg, claiming the bone was so thin that the two pieces weren’t even connected anymore. Despite this, they maintain she does not have cancer or apparently even osteoporosis. The hospital is actually being weirdly quiet about what happened to her, even going so far as to make it harder to talk to her. We used to be able to just call her room phone directly, but now we have to go through a phone tree and know her special PIN. She says her leg broke because the nurses were way too rough with her when they moved her. My brother is looking in to things.

The point in all of this is that I’m currently typing this from an 11 year old business laptop that can’t run most games made after 2005. Most SAGE games are out of the question, and while I could try installing Windows 10 on the new drive I have literally sitting next to me, I just don’t have the energy for a lot these days. It has been a hard six months, with the last two months being particularly difficult. I never even had my dental surgery.

Pretty much the only thing I’ve had energy for is streaming Fortnite, because I can do that straight from the PS4 with the push of a button. But I am not equipped to handle SAGE, emotionally or technologically. Depending on how things shake out, this could be the end of a lot of things in my life for the foreseeable future.

We’ll see what happens, but for the time being, consider me having sat things out this year.

[kagemane]

Both my parents passed away this week. I can’t remember if I stated my mom fell ill to some really rare condition or not, but she ended up with viral encephalitis which caused her brain to swell and for her to fall into a coma. That happened on June 23rd.

While the prognosis on that condition is not good at all, we all still had hope that she would regain consciousness. The doctors and nurses seemed to think so as well for some time. However, last Tuesday, my dad was told she was not going to recover and that it was time to place her into hospice care.

The next day, my dad suffered from a massive heart attack and passed away on Thursday. My sister, aunt, and I all flew in Wednesday night and were able to be there when he passed. We really believe the stress and despair of my mom’s situation was too much and he died from a broken heart.

We moved my mom into the hospice facility on Friday. She passed away late Sunday night. We were able to go in after she passed and say our goodbyes.

My heart is completely broken and I’m doing my best to keep it together, but this is so hard. The last two days I’ve felt so numb with some times of extreme pain and sorrow. I feel like I’m pushing it down because the entire situation is extremely traumatic and it’s so hard to process.

I’m not looking for pity, I’m just sharing my thoughts to help process that this is reality and they are gone. I miss them so much and cannot believe that this has happened. Both were so out of the blue and make no sense. It’s so hard to accept what has happened. My mom was making such great progress in life and it’s so unfair that it was taken from her. And it’s so unfair that my dad was in this much pain.

I wish there was some kind of rhyme or reason to this. It’s so fucking hard. I just want them back. I want their hugs, I want to hear their voices, I want more time with them. We were supposed to be doing a family vacation this month to a remote place in South Dakota and I was so excited for it. Instead, it’s tragedy. I just want to know why this happened. I miss them.

[cordonian-literature]

The Aftermath - Ch. 5

Test Day

Summary: Bastien tells Liam about Gabriel

A/N: did my best to do as much research as possible. also im not sure if the tags are working or not? 

Word Count: ~3.0k

Warning: Mention of character death

*All characters belong to Pixelberry, except those that are unique to my story (I’ve also used some characters and fictional instances from Donna Tartt’s “The Goldfinch”)*

Catch up here!

Tags: @captain-kingliamsqueen @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @gkittylove99 @lovablegranny @loudbluebirdlover @mom2000aggie @kingliam2019 @queenrileyrose @shanzay44 @cordonianroyalty @hopefulmoonobject @hopelessromanticmonie @cinnamonspongecake @queenjilian @kuladekiwi @twinkle-320 @iaminlovewithtrr @charlotteg234

I hope I got everyone tagged! If I missed someone, or if anyone wants to be added/removed, let me know! 

- Liam -

On Friday evening, no one was given a chance to see Riley. Different specialists checked her routinely, discussing their findings with one another. Liam asked politely at different times in the day if he would be allowed to speak to her for a few moments. They didn’t let him go in, claiming that the doctors needed their time to properly assess Riley’s condition.

A little before sunset, a sleep deprived, starving, agitated Liam marched up to Riley’s doctor and demanded they be given information about her health. 

The doctor leads him away from Riley’s door. Drake, Maxwell, and Bertrand follow. 

“I don’t know how much Riley Brooks’ mother has told you about her daughter’s condition,” the doctor states. “But rest assured that we are doing everything we can to help her recover.” 

“Really?” Drake spit. “All you’ve done is push different doctors into her room all day. From where we’re standing, none of them did anything—.”

“Please,” the doctor interrupts, holding up a hand. “Riley’s condition is very serious. She’s suffered a head injury. The procedure on Sunday morning was to repair a part of her skull and to stop internal bleeding. Since she’s woken up on Wednesday, we believe that she has something called post-traumatic amnesia.” 

“Which is?” Bertrand pesters.

“Short-term memory loss from the moment of her injury and for sometime afterwards. It can last from hours, to days, to weeks,” the doctor explains. 

“Short-term?” Liam forces out the words. “I’ve known that woman for the past eleven years. When I walked in she didn’t recognize me. I don’t believe that is what you call short-term.”

“Well... because you all came in and asked questions, whose answers you say that she should know, we believe that she may also be suffering from retrograde amnesia. She won’t be able to recall a significant number of events and persons from her past, even though all such events occurred before the incident and the development of the amnesia.”

“How long will that last?” Maxwell asks. 

“That part, we are unsure about,” the doctor states. “But, we’ve done some assessments and the post-traumatic amnesia seems to be wearing off. We think that the worst of it ended yesterday.” She pauses and looks at the men around her, analyzing their expressions. “We asked her about you folks—,” she gestures at the four men around her, “—her kids, her mother, and the detectives who came in to ask her questions yesterday, she said she didn’t remember a thing. We believe that’s the end to the PTA,  but we’re going to run a couple more tests to make sure.” 

Liam’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach. When he moves back towards the chairs in front of Riley’s hospital room, he goes involuntarily: his shoulders slump and his head hangs low as he throws himself onto a seat. He buries his face in his hands, desperate for this feeling — this keen, despicable sense of despair, one he thought he had forgotten long ago — to end, once and for all.

“So we are nothing to her once more?” Bertrand breathes, the corners of his mouth pulled downwards.

The doctor sighs. “Unfortunately, yes, but again, we believe that’s the last of her short-term memory issues. On the case of retrograde amnesia, patients who have suffered a Traumatic Brain Injury don’t suffer from long-term memory loss for a great amount of time. If I were you, I would still have hope.” She pats Bertrand’s arm. 

A nurse sitting at the reception desk calls to the doctor: “Doc? You’re needed in the ICU.”

“I’ll be back,” she says, and then turns to leave.

Drake, Maxwell, and Bertrand join Liam and take a seat. Each of them has to force themselves to not look through Riley’s room window. If they looked, the pain would multiply. The bandages on her head and the empty, lost look on her face reminded them how she had slipped from their grasp again, even though she was right in front of them. 

After a few moments of watching doctors and nurses walking in and out of Riley’s room, Drake suggests to Liam, “Why don’t we go to the hotel tonight? Get some food in you. Rest for a bit. We’ll be back in the morning, soon as visiting hours start up again.”

“Your Majesty, I think that would be for the best,” Bertrand adds. “It isn’t healthy for you to be going on without sleep and food for so long.” 

“C’mon, Liam,” Maxwell joins in. “Bertrand and I will go with you guys.”

Liam rubs his hand over his face. The rest of them notice his red eyes, unshaven face, and how pink the edges of his mouth are. Silently nodding, he stands, and his friends follow him out of the hospital.

...

As soon as he got inside his hotel room, Liam collapsed on the bed, physically and emotionally exhausted. He didn’t dream; instead he dove into a blank abyss from which he returned from in what felt like no more than eight minutes.

When he woke up, it was already nine thirty. His mind urged him to get up and go back to Riley’s hospital bed, but his feet felt sore and his eyes burned when he opened them. He managed to kick off his shoes and shrug off his clothes on his way to the bathroom. He almost fell asleep in the shower, but the warm beating of water on his face gave him the energy he needed to get back to Riley. 

While he puts on some new clothes, there’s a heavy knock on the door. When he goes to open it, Drake holds up two large paper bags and two cups of coffee in a drink carrier. “New York bagels,” he says, handing Liam a bag. 

“Thank you, Drake.” Liam sits on the edge of his bed and dives into the large bagel, his stomach desperate for some food after having starved himself the past three days. Drake puts his friend’s coffee on the bedside table and opens up his own bag.

“I’d say I didn’t know you were that hungry,” Drake chuckles, shaking his head, “but looking at you now, I can tell you haven’t eaten in days.”

Liam’s already done with more than half his bagel. “Truly, I didn’t realize, either.” He takes a long sip of his coffee. “I’ve been so focused on Riley, making sure she’s been getting proper attention... and what I would say to her, given the chance.” Liam stares down at the floor with his meal in his hands while Drake continues eating.

Noticing Liam from the corner of his eye, Drake tells Liam, “Riley wouldn’t want you doing this to yourself.” 

Liam scoffs. 

“I’m serious. Just because something happened to her doesn’t mean she’d want you to hurt yourself, too.” 

They sit in quiet for a few more moments while they finish their meal.

Drake sends a text over to Maxwell, letting the Beaumonts know that him and Liam were on their way back to the hospital, when someone else knocks on the door. “Your Majesty?”

“Come in, Bastien,” Liam allows while he puts his shoes back on. 

Bastien walks in and regards Drake and Liam for a moment. “Your Majesty.” Bastien clears his throat. “Riley’s mother, Charlotte, will be at the hospital today with her grandchildren.” 

Liam stiffens for a moment. Her grandchildren. Riley’s children with Theodore Blaise. He must have been a worthy man to have deserved her.

“Great.” Drake sighs. “I don’t know if anyone else has noticed, but she doesn’t seem to be a big fan of our’s.”

“Will she be visiting Riley?” Liam questions. 

“That is... part of the reason they are going,” Bastien continues.

“Ah, she also works there, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, but she doesn’t work today.”

“Then... what is she going for?” Liam notices the look of reserve on Bastien’s face. “Is everything alright? Did something happen to the children?”

“Not exactly,” Bastien begins. “To be frank, the boy, Gabriel, will be of our concern today.”

“What does that mean?” Drake walks closer to Bastien.

Bastien sighs. “On Thursday evening, the Duke of Ramsford alerted me that he believes Gabriel Blaise is actually your son.”

Liam stands. “What?” he spits. 

“He is ten years of age and his birthday was recently. It aligns with the time that you and Lady Riley were having an... intimate relationship.”

Liam blinks. “She... she....” He looks around the room in a daze, his mind blurred with memories of Riley during the Engagement Tour. Could she really have been pregnant? How did I not notice? Why didn’t she tell me? 

She wouldn’t have done that. She knows how much I’ve wanted a family. He breathes in heavy air, his eyes burning. She wouldn’t have done that to me, she wouldn’t have taken that from me.

Did I break her so badly that she wanted to keep my own son away from me?

“Your Majesty?”

Taking a moment to calm himself, Liam states, “Bastien, that is absurd.”

But is it? If she got pregnant around the end of the social season, or even some time during the Engagement Tour, she would have had the child around this time of year.... 

“Your Majesty, the only way to be certain is to take a paternity test. Charlotte Brooks agreed to bring the child to have it done today.”

“The hospital does paternity tests?” Drake asks. 

“I contacted them, and they said they only did genetic testing, but they recommended me to a lab center in Brooklyn.” Bastien holds out a piece of paper with the lab’s name on it. “I’ve alerted Mrs. Brooks, and have sent a car for her and the children so they would arrive safely.”

Brooklyn. Where we saw Riley for the first time all those years ago.

Liam nods, his head and heart still shaking with the thought that him and Riley had a son. Cordonia had an heir. For the past eleven years he believed that he would never become a father, but all this time, he already was one....

While they walk downstairs, Bastien explains that Charlotte Brooks gave permission on Riley’s behalf to have the paternity test done due to her condition, and went to get a DNA sample of her daughter this morning to increases the validity of the test and to make sure Gabriel will be tested accurately. 

Liam sits quietly, simply nodding at everything Bastien said. No matter how much he wanted to believe that there was a chance Riley’s son was his, he didn’t want to think about all the complications that would come about from the test being positive.

And how she never told him. He believed he deserved a life without Riley after all he had done to her, but had the bombing never happened, had Riley never gotten hurt — had her damned husband never died — would she have ever come back to tell him that he was a father? Would she have let him continue to live a life in ignorance?

The boy is ten years old. He experienced ten years of life without me. I experienced ten years of life without him. Did she think I couldn’t handle fatherhood? Did she think I wouldn’t take on the responsibility? What did I do so wrong? Why did she marry Theodore? I ended my engagement because of her, and she married another man to act as the father of my child?

Liam’s frustration and despair were increasing exponentially, and they were nearing the lab. he decided that whether the test came out positive or negative, he wouldn’t allow Gabriel to see his frustration. There must have been a reason Riley did such a thing. He would continue to hope that she would get a chance to explain. In the meantime, that child was was still Riley’s; the mere fact that there was another being on this planet who held even the slightest amount of Riley’s personality or looks made Liam’s heart swell. His son or not, he would protect both of Riley’s children in every way he didn’t protect Riley.

- Gabriel -

Grandma scheduled Ella to have a private ballet lesson on Saturday morning. I thought she was gonna let me take a private soccer lesson, but instead she brings me to Brooklyn in a car that wasn’t her’s or Dad’s. When we get to a small building, Liam and Drake were inside waiting with another man I didn’t recognize. I wondered why they were here, since Mom was back in the hospital. Liam smiled at me and I smiled back, deciding that I would just ask Grandma about it later. 

Drake stayed behind while the rest of us were led into a room that looked like the inside of a doctor’s office: there was an examination table that Grandma told me to sit on, and another longer table were there was a jar of pens.

Two men came in: one wore a professional suit with a bunch of papers that Grandma and Liam started signing on the flat table, while the second one had a lab coat on who took out a very long Q-Tip and walked towards me. I give Grandma a questioning look, but she pats my arm and tells the man, “Go ahead.” 

He dragged the stick against the inside of my cheek. Then he put the Q-Tip in a little tube and then takes out another Q-Tip and repeats the whole process with Liam. I wonder if he’s about to do the same thing with Grandma, but instead she pulls out a tube from her purse and the man takes his three tubes and leaves.

The second man with all the papers is still here, looking over his bushy eyebrows at everything Liam and Grandma just signed. Liam and his friend look over expectantly at Grandma, who pulls out a piece of paper. 

“The birth certificate?” says Liam’s friend. 

Wait, is that mine? Or his? Or Grandma’s?

“Yes.” She hands him the paper and he begins to look over it. 

Both men furrow their brows. Liam’s head jumps back in confusion. 

"Full name,” begins Liam’s friend. “Gabriel Liam Blaise. Mother, Riley Brooks Blaise.... Why is the spot of father empty?”

“It’s allowed in the U.S.,” says Bushy Eyebrows. “If the mother is married to someone who is not the father, or if the father was not at the birth and did not sign and send in an Acknowledgement of Paternity form, then the name of the father is left blank on the certificate.” 

“Riley was already married to Theodore by the time Gabriel was born,” Grandma explains, “which is why the last name is Blaise. She thought that it wouldn’t be appropriate to have his last name be Rys since she planned to pass Gabe off to the public as Theodore’s. But she still put your first name as his middle name. It was her way of connecting you both, since neither of you knew of the other’s existence.”

Grandma takes a moment and scans the men’s shaken faces — even Bushy Eyebrows glances between everyone with wide eyes. Liam looks like he’s mixed between anger and sadness. His friend continues to examine the paper.

“As far as I know,” Grandma states, “Gabriel is your son.”

At this point, I have absolutely no idea what was going on. Grandma never explained anything to me before we got here, and now I was too scared to speak up and ask questions. 

A part of me thought that she was giving me away since Dad had died. But she had told Liam that I was her son? Did that mean he was my father? But I didn’t even know who he was? And what about Ella? Was Grandma going to give me away and then keep my sister? Would I never see her again? Could Grandma not take care of us by herself since Mom was in the hospital? 

“Do you know why Riley never told me?” Liam asks Grandma, his voice breaking.

“Oh, she tried to,” Grandma reveals. “But only once, I believe. Riley didn’t tell me anything about it, but as far as I know, it didn’t go down well.”

Liam looks down at the floor, then pushes his shoulders back and looks at Grandma. “If the test comes back positive, then I will have to present him as my heir to the people of Cordonia.”

Grandma frowns, and she looks offended. I half expect her and Liam to start arguing, but Liam’s friend says, “Perhaps it will be best to discuss the specifics when the results come back. They told me it usually takes three to five business days, but I have made sure that this will be their top priority, and we could possibly get the results back before Monday or Tuesday.” 

Bushy Eyebrows stands, shaking everyone’s hands but mine, and then leaves. We all walk out of the building together. Liam and Grandma nod at one another, and Liam gives me a pat on the back before getting in the car with Drake and his other friend.

Grandma and I get into our car and drive away, on our way to pick up Ella from her class. 

“Grandma?” I begin. I wanted to know what happened in there. I wanted to know if my family was really getting rid of me. “What was all that for?” 

She sighs. “Nothing for you to worry about right now, baby. I promise in a couple of days I’ll explain everything to you and Ella, but right now there’s nothing to worry about.”

“But Grandma, I... I... why did you tell the man that I was his son? Did you say that because Dad died? I thought I was Dad’s son. Grandma please, I’m so confused.” A couple tears fall from my eyes as my chest tightens. If those guys take me away while Mom is in the hospital, will I ever see her again? Will I ever see Ella or Grandma again? I didn’t want to go anywhere with those men. I didn’t even know them until Wednesday, and I still don’t technically know them.

“Gabriel—!” The sting of her tone shuts me up, and I lean back into my seat, doing my best not to cry. 

When Ella gets in the car, she asks me what’s wrong. I shake my head and continue silently crying to myself the rest of the ride home, wishing that Mom and Dad were with us again. 

[paulisweeabootrash]

First Impression: Neon Genesis Evangelion

Get in your robots, audience, it's time for Paul is Weeaboo Trash!  And today, I'm finally watching a show it seems like everyone just... assumes I must've seen:

Neon Genesis Evangelion (1995)

Episodes watched: 8

Platform: Netflix

The idea of something being a "classic" may be in decline in the anime fandom, or at least be getting very specialized, since "anime" no longer implies a narrow interest in specific sci-fi and fantasy subgenres like it used to, but certain shows still manage to pervade the pop culture indirectly.  Neon Genesis Evangelion is one such show, enduring in the modern fandom and general internet culture because of its status as one of those old sci-fi anime classics.  It has contributed memes — not just as in image macros or running jokes, but as in units of culture in the form of iconic quotes or character designs or elements of the plot — to the point that you have certainly been in some way exposed to them without any knowledge of the source material.  But despite its reputation as a must-see cultural touchstone, it has been out of print in America for years.  Used copies of the DVDs sell for absurd prices, and I don't think I knew anyone who owned it when I was a young weeb in the mid-2000s.  I'm fairly sure my family did not have cable during the one specific season it was on Adult Swim, and there's no chance I would have been up at 12:30AM on Thursdays to watch it anyway.  I am not much of a fan of media piracy and wasn't even aware of that option when it was apparently everyone else's favorite pastime to ruin their computers with sketchy torrents.  So there was never a reasonable way for me to watch it, only for me to be dimly aware that this was An Important Show I Need To See.  Until now.  Because it's on Netflix.  As if I hadn't already been awaiting it, I was aggressively reminded of it, because social media and geeky news outlets were soon blowing up with retrospectives and Very Serious Analyses — and fans of the old ADV translation were offering hot takes on how Netflix's release compares.  So let me finally check this out for myself.

We start out in the distant future of... 2015, where UN forces are defending Tokyo-3 ("Old Tokyo" is mentioned and depicted later; no mention yet of Tokyo-2 unless I somehow already forgot it) against an attacking "angel", an immensely powerful alien with barely-comprehensible powers.  Meanwhile, an officer of a UN agency called NERV, Misato Katsuragi, brings our main character, 14-year-old Shinji Ikari, to an underground NERV base under Tokyo-3 on the instructions of Shinji's father Gendo, who runs a secret research project.  Shinji has been brought there to pilot an Evangelion, or Eva for short, a giant robot operated by some sort of neural interface.  In combat.  With no training.  He is, understandably, not happy about this.  After seeing how badly injured the other available pilot, Rei Ayanami, is, however, he agrees to do it — and it works far better than he or anyone else expected.  He apparently has an innately great ability to "sync" with however exactly the Eva's interface works.  But this only gets him as far as starting the thing up.  When he actually engages the angel, he has trouble just getting the Eva to walk, and he feels the pain of the Eva taking damage once attacked, a frankly horrifying feature of the interface.  We cut to him waking up in a hospital, but having surprisingly won because his Eva "went berserk", operating on its own.  A flashback later shows what happened when he lost control of the Eva: it fought the angel by itself, but also took heavy damage, and we see its visor? faceplate? sōmen? of the Eva's armor come off to reveal a fleshy-looking face and a very biological-looking eye.  At this point Shinji blacked out, which is really the only reasonable response to this situation.

Over the next several weeks (the time scale is vague, but since Rei apparently fully recovers from the injuries she had when we first saw her before the time she and Shinji are both deployed, it must be at least 3 weeks between eps. 1 and 5), more angels appear, to the surprise of civilians and UN forces alike.  The Evas continue to be excellent weapons against them (though Shinji himself is still, uh, not great at using them), but despite having now killed several angels, the Evas are considered a ridiculous boondoggle by personnel of other UN branches, and Gendo's sinister superiors seem to be losing patience with his project.  In the words of... uh... that UN navy guy in ep. 8, "Shit!  A bunch of kids are supposed to save the world?"  The alternatives are wildly ineffective conventional weapons and a remote-controlled nuclear-powered giant robot that almost had a literal Chernobyl-style meltdown, which was averted by Misato and Shinji.  Although repairs are expensive, injuries common, and pilots in short supply, Evas indeed seem to be the only effective weapon against the invading cosmic horror, the barely-comprehensible aliens that are impervious to ordinary human technology and also don't fit our concepts of life or... uh... possibly physics.  So, instead, in the words of Misato later in the same episode, "This plan may be insane, but I don't think it's impossible."

While this is going on, Shinji has been adjusting to this new life poorly and slowly.  Despite being a pilot, he is still after all a 14-year-old, so he is enrolled into the same class as Rei at a local school whose student body has dwindled as more people evacuate over the initial angel attack.  He also needs somewhere to live, so Misato arranges for him to move into her apartment.  Some of Shinji's classmates think he's incredibly lucky to live with her, and spend a good deal of their screen time drooling over her, but Shinji is highly uncomfortable around her not just because Captain Katsuragi is his commanding officer, but also because she has a tendency to not wear much clothing around the house and is, er, a bit of a drunk and a slob.  Oh, and she has an inexplicable, clawed, beer-drinking penguin.  You know, all stuff that would make a nervous, lonely, scared 14-year-old completely at home.

Neither NERV training nor school guarantee a community, though, and Shinji, isolated and confused, could sure use one right about now.  He seems quite likely traumatized from the first battle.  He keeps ending up in situations that make him wildly uncomfortable while other characters take them in stride.  He repeatedly attempts to quit NERV or at least defy orders before backing out (or... backing back in?) at the last moment.  It would frankly be bizarre that they accept him doing this, except that (1) nobody really seems to take Shinji that seriously anyway, (2) he's the boss's kid, and (3) most importantly, it seems that only a small number of pilots, all the same age as Shinji and Rei, are even capable of using Evas.  (Wife and I are starting to suspect reasons why this might be, especially given the whole cyborgs with neural interfaces thing, but... uh... let's not embarrass ourselves with public speculations about the plot of a ridiculously famous show almost as old as we are.)  He only slowly gains any support or comfort from his new classmates and colleagues.  They don't reach out to him, and he certainly doesn't reach out to them, because who is he supposed to talk to?  His roommate/commanding officer who is twice his age?  His classmates who treat him as a celebrity, not a person, once they find out he's an Eva pilot?  Even if his default state since the very first episode hadn't been basically imploding into despair with no idea how to communicate that anything's wrong, there's nobody that really makes sense for him to try to communicate it to.  Except one person: Rei.  He notices that she's also isolated at school, and especially after seeing her dark, miserable, unmaintained apartment, he attempts to be friendly towards her.  I thought this might be a hint of growth indicating that he understands she is possibly the only person more isolated than him and the only one who might be able to relate to him, but then the next time he threatens to quit NERV after that conversation, he explicitly claims she doesn't know what he's going though, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ maybe he just has bad social skills.

Sigh.

Shinji does start to make friends with Aida and Suzuhara, two of his classmates, though.  And it's interesting because they contrast against him in their reactions to the conflict outside.  Aida roleplays being in the military and finds Shinji's role as an Eva pilot glorious and enviable.  Suzuhara is initially furious at Shinji because his sister was collateral damage — she was injured when Shinji fought the angel — and his mind is changed only after Shinji rescues him (and Aida) from an angel.  Shinji, though, having been thrust into a role he doesn't even understand and about which he is ambivalent and unstable, lacks Aida's optimistic admiration of his role and a full appreciation of either Suzuhara's resentment or gratitude.  He not only rejects their praise, he calls himself a coward during (sigh) one of his attempts to quit NERV.  It occurs to me that this could be seen as indicating different perspectives about the military (ask any American vet who's sick of being "thanked for their service"), or even different perspectives about adulthood itself — I'll bet any millennial who did not achieve their dreams can recognize Aida's "wow this is amazing I can't wait to be a grownup too" roleplaying vs. Shinji's "I am doomed and isolated by the responsibility that has been thrown at me" actual experience in NERV.

Also thanks to the school scenes, we start to learn some backstory, including the famous "Second Impact".  A catastrophic asteroid impact in 2000 melted Antarctica's glaciers, which led to unprecedentedly rapid sea level rise, leading to mass extinction, including that of half of humanity through not only direct climate change impacts like displaced populations and crop failures but also conflict stemming from it.  Or so the official story goes.  It is later revealed that the Second Impact actually involved somehow the previous arrival of angels on Earth, although this has yet to be explained in detail.  (Actually, I accidentally saw spoilers about more detail about this while revising this review, because I went to sanity-check myself about some other detail on one of the fan wikis, so I know part of where this is going, but only part.)

Over the first eight episodes, which must be several weeks at least after the start of the show given that Rei has recovered from her initial injuries (although the time scale is very vague), Shinji fights four angels total and gradually improves, but the biggest improvement comes not from him being an individual hero but from finally working well with others.  For example, the octahedral angel that drills into NERV's base has incredible abilities to detect and counter incoming attacks.  It kicks Shinji's ass on the first attempt, because duh.  But Misato devises a plan to test its abilities and concentrate the power of... uh... Japan's entire electrical grid(?!) at it from a safe distance, and the plan succeeds only because of Rei giving Shinji cover.  An angel attacks a UN ship convoy transporting the third pilot, Asuka Langley Soryu, and her Eva, and she and Shinji fight the angel together in a ludicrous fight that involves both cramming in to pilot the same Eva together (which, interestingly, requires them to give it the same, or maybe just compatible, instructions together in the same language for it to work... yay neural interfaces).  So maybe/hopefully the direction this is going is "the chosen one is a stupid idea and even talented people need both training and cooperation to not suck at things"?

Episode 8 leaves off with Asuka joining Shinji and Rei's school class, and with the dramatic and creepy reveal of an embryo encased in bakelite which is described by Gendo as "Adam, the first human"...  Well.  That comes off as the kind of thing that would drive the future plot, and hopefully all the Biblical imagery will finally start to converge into something coherent instead of just sort of serving to draw extra attention to the fact that the humans refer to the aliens as "angels".  I've been wondering about that since the beginning.  There's the title, of course, but also the sefirot in the opening and on Gendo's office ceiling, the first angel's attacks using what appears to be a directed energy weapon which invariably forms glowing crosses, and the fact that most of the angels themselves are wildly non-humanoid (a choice which echoes the rather... eldritch... classical depictions of angels — see also the seraph in the opening).  NERV's motto is even explicitly, well, monotheistic at least, if not sectarian: "God's in his heaven.  All's right with the world!", which is counterintuitive at best with the idea of calling the alien invaders "angels".

Well.  I'll find out, and I plan to write a followup like I did with Re:ZERO, going into the broad swaths of the rest of the plot and my overall impressions of how they handled things.  Especially given that this show has a famously-controversial ending.  I jumped into this determined to watch the whole series, so I'm not backing out.

I'll just threaten to quit repeatedly then almost immediately come back.

-----

W/A/S: 4 / 3 / I feel kinda bad about this but 4?

Weeb: I mean, anything with giant robots fighting giant monsters deserves a few points just for that, right?  I don't think this requires much by way of Japanese cultural references or assumptions to watch, though.

Ass: Nudity so far has been brief, partial, censored by convenient angles and object placement, and not remotely sexy.  Thanks to another contextless spoiler I happen to have picked up, I expect an infamous later scene that is clearly supposed to be sad and disturbing in context, which is, again, not the kind of thing this scale was originally designed to describe.

Shit (writing): Even though I tend to overall like their plots, I always sort of sigh and eyeroll at the "let's put children/teens in combat and/or experiment on and/or just plain torture them to force them to become powerful" storyline formula that’s been semi-popular for the last few decades, and Evangelion is definitely in that category.  Friends have said the story is confusing or poorly-paced, and I kind of agree but also think some of the confusion is warranted by the choice to enter the story in media res in order to reveal what's going on to the audience at about the same time it's revealed to Shinji.  As for the tendency to have some long shots where literally nothing happens, that does get annoying, and I suspect its primary motivation was to save money, but I think it also usually emphasizes how lonely the whole situation is, at least before Shinji starts to warm up to Misato and Rei to Shinji in the last couple of episodes I've watched so far (which have, appropriately, had much more action and interaction).  Mainly, my writing complaints are actually about translation, because there are some noticeable and consequential differences between translations for the sub and dub.  Yeah, yeah, I've heard of the love vs. like thing everyone on the internet is already upset about, but I haven't gotten to that episode yet.  I'm talking about things like Misato saying "it will work!" in the sub vs. just "okay!" in the dub when Shinji is first able to control his Eva, a choice which suggests very different things about both her level of knowledge of the project and why Shinji has been called on for it at all.  The new dub also feels... uh... too at home as a dub of a '90s anime, as it prioritizes matching lip flaps over flowing like believable speech.  Having not seen the old dub, of course, I can't make any kind of judgement about whether this is a step up, down, or sideways from how ADV did it.  And the sub has many on-screen captions in Japanese are left untranslated — not things like signs in the background, but actual captions the audience is meant to get information from.

Shit (other): Maybe we're spoiled in this age of computer-aided art, but i's surprising to see a show with such limited animation — speech conveyed only with lip flaps, obviously reused shots within the same episode, foreground objects gracelessly sliding against a background to indicate movement — and so I'm willing to give the show a pass on most of that, especially since the characters are distinctive and the setting and aliens and robots so interesting.  Much of the limited animation actually serves to show the vast scale of NERV's facilities and the Evas vs. the humans and/or to emphasize loneliness like the pacing.  But there really are some painful mistakes from time to time in the art: objects and faces that look utterly wrong, like the artists just did not successfully figure out how to draw that particular character or vehicle from that particular angle.  The legendary opening theme is certainly catchy — it’s been stuck in my head almost continuously for the past week — but I just don’t think I enjoy it as much as other people do.  Some of the immediate complaints that were apparently worthy of news media attention were about the replacement of Fly Me to the Moon with a piece from the show's soundtrack as the ending theme.  I understand why people would be upset by that kind of change, but I am willing to take the controversial stand that it's not a bad change.  The piece they chose as a replacement is haunting and tense, which fits in with the mood of most of the episodes so far, while Fly Me to the Moon feels to me like an inappropriate mood change from that.

Content: Actually among the least graphic of the various shows I've covered involving violent or horrifying elements.

-----

Stray observations:

- God it was weird to write this by constantly abbreviating “Evangelion” as “Eva”, considering that Wife's name is Eva.

- A lot of people seem to hate Shinji as a character, but I find him understandable in a way that probably implies uncomfortable things about my own sanity.  I just... I understand that sheer degree of doom and misery and indecision and inability to articulate any of those.  Man.  Ugh.

- I don't know if you've ever seen an undisguised angel, but trust me: they're horrifying.  (link NSFW)

[compo67]

coldest of ice packs

i’ve been alternating ice packs on either my face, my shoulders, or my ribs. i don’t think i could handle the cryotherapy j2 did in denver, but i’ve certainly felt like a giant ice cube all day.

it’s been a tough day round these parts.

well, more like a tough week. 

my friend KP found out her father has stage 4 lung cancer. he’s 71.

my friend A’s 2 week old niece has been in the NICU since Thursday with high fever, seizures, and strokes that have lead to extensive brain damage. doctors still aren’t sure why this is happening. 

so much going on all at once and i feel super helpless in all of it

i keep trying to reach out and let them both know i’m here to listen at the very least, since i can’t drive yet

and my friends themselves feel helpless because there is only so much they can do as well

my therapist keeps encouraging me to sit with emotions instead of pushing them down

but i’m just... there are too many emotions??? so i’d rather not feel anything??? does that make sense?

as for myself, i’m recovering from surgery yesterday

it was fucking painful, but short, thank god

the valium took forever to kick in, but once it did, even if something hurt, i didn’t really care about it

but of course i remember everything, especially the most painful and therefore most traumatic parts

they removed one large cyst, polyps, and a bunch of junk from the right side alone. the docs and nurse were all amazed

i was late to the appointment, so i was having a panic attack because they weren’t sure if they could still do the surgery, so my heart rate wouldn’t go down, which made me think of the time my heart rate got up to 180 when i was i sitting in a wheelchair, bleeding out

eventually, my heart rate got a little better

i listened to music from The Prince of Egypt while they operated

i got home and crawled into bed with an ice pack on my face

i didn’t sleep well last night because my nose kept bleeding

today there’s less bleeding, so hopefully tonight i can actually sleep

medical trauma is real

my liver feels like it’s on fire and i have a rash on my face from the steroids they prescribed after surgery

i watched Steel Magnolias tonight even though i knew i shouldn’t because there’s a real chance i might need a transplant 

but there i was, bawling, sobbing, crying

and i can’t blow my nose 

every time my mom tells me to take it easy and let my body rest, i think of that movie and i worry that i’m julia roberts and my mom is sally fields

and i don’t always listen to my mom when she tells me to slow down

i’m super anxious about october

but then like, omg, stop worrying, other people close to you have real problems. but then friends remind me that this isn’t a competition, that i am not less than, etc.

it just hasn’t sunk in yet so i keep berating myself

i’m still not over my grad school decision

i put on some docuseries on Netflix called Roman Empire to have in the background

i wish there were things like this about ancient greece on netflix bc then i could soak up research for my fic

i wish i had written today

i did brainstorm so there’s that

good things: my dad fixed scooter so it works again, i wanna go to a museum or some place big and test it out, i figured out how to watch deadpool 2 on my tv through Vudu, these cranberry scones i got from this one bakery are delicious

tomorrow is another day

maybe i’ll take an ativan before bed and listen to this m/m pirate audiobook to wind down

thank you for being here, y’all

like, seriously, i mean it 

<3

[petersvibes]

never can say goodbye pt. 2 - peter parker

anonymous asked:

Hey! Can I request a Peter P. Imagine where he and y/n where bff and one day they got into a huge fight because he was always late and she didn’t knew why (because of his spidey duty) and Peter said smth in the fight that made y/n cry and run away and then she didn’t talked to him for 3 weeks and you can make a fluffy end? Thank u❤❤❤❤❤❤

description: the aftermath of y/n’s fight with peter. (platonic relationship through and through) (see pt. 1)

song: never can say goodbye - the jackson 5

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: language

author’s note: i wasn’t gonna write a part two to this but whatever, might as well. i made this much more intense than i think the anon requested but like... that’s how i live my life! if i forgot to tag you i’m sorry and i hate myself 

It takes one look from your mother the following morning to know her child is heartbroken. 

For you, however, it feels less like your heart is shattered, and more like it has been cut out of your chest with a dull knife. You wake up with a throbbing head and aching all over your body, Peter’s words looping over and over; you don’t mean anything to me anymore. You don’t mean anything to me anymore. You don’t mean anything to me anymore. 

Even though you don’t speak about what happened, you’re allowed to stay home on Monday in an effort to emotionally recover. In that time, your blankets encompass you, but you’re feel cold and unfeeling, unable to even produce tears from the shock alone. It’s probably unhealthy for you sit in silence, alone with your own self deprecating thoughts, but to lose the one person you care about the most in such an emotionally assaulting way is completely traumatic. 

You become slightly alarmed on Monday night, when your physical health deteriorates quicker than your psyche Unprovoked, your mother finds that you’ve developed a 101 fever, cold sweats and a migraine. She gives you a look of sympathy that you don’t return with any form of reassurance of your wellbeing and you stay home the next day. 

You’re not at school Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and by Thursday, Peter’s out of his mind. The first few days, he had to physically restrain himself from busting in through your window to make sure you’re alive. Much to Ned’s distain, (they had an environmental science project due that Friday) Peter’s absentminded, uncontrollably anxious. He begs both Ned and Michelle to call you, as juvenile as it is, but you don't answer. It’s after 40 missed calls that he fully grasps how painfully final his last words to you were, and on Thursday night, he breaks. 

Peter lands on your fire escape, dressed in his normal clothes, (right now, his Spider-Man outfit didn’t seem right to wear) but to his dismay, your window is locked for the first time in the history of your friendship. Your curtains are drawn shut and from what he can tell, the only thing illuminating your room is probably your coconut breeze candle. He groans, leaning his head on the coolness of your window and gently placing his palm on the condensation. He’s gone almost an entire week trying to convince himself it was for your own good, that now you wouldn’t get hurt because of him. He rather himself be the villain of your story than for you to even get a glimpse of the ones that haunt his nightmares. 

He slides down your window, landing in a heap on the grates of the fire escape, tears flowing freely down his ice cold cheeks. If he weren’t so damn cold he would sob right here, right where you can hear and see if you poke your head out the window, but he’s silent. He wishes you would just pop your head out, forgive him for what he’s done, but he knows you won’t. Inside, you’re sitting right below the sill of your window, praying he won’t come in. 

Friday morning, your fever has long since broken and your headache has alleviated, and at your mother’s command you’re walking into your calculus class. You receive confused looks and giggling whispers from kids in your class, but you pay them no mind, immediately making eye contact with Michelle and Peter, your empty seat between them taunting you. His expression is hard enough that you wince and shuffle across the room, sitting in the back corner with one of the girls in your art class. For the entirety of class, your teacher’s words fade into mere ambiance and you’re thinking about Peter, again. 

But this time, it’s different. You no longer feel on the verge of tears, but you start to fill with an unprecedented rage. He didn’t know up. He lied, over and over. Your best friend treated you like a you were an idiotic stranger, and when you gave him the opportunity to come clean, he spat in your face. You were willing to do anything for him and he abandoned you. 

You hold that anger for three hours, through two math classes and with not even one bit of acknowledgement from him. At lunch, you sit at the far end of the same lunch table you did only a week ago, your eyes transfixed on Peter’s seemingly satisfied demeanor. Michelle sits across from you, and after two illustrations of works she titles, “(Y/N) in Crisis”, she puts her pen down and folds her hands, leaning across the table. 

“If looks could kill, he’d be dead a million times over.” She remarks, obnoxiously biting into one of your chips. “If you kill him I won’t help you dump the body. I have to get into college.” 

You finally break your glare and look at her, with softer eyes that still hold some ice in them. “He’s a dick.” You say, folding your arms over your chest. “A spineless, selfish, unpalatable bast-”

“Okay,” Michelle says, jokingly grabbing your tense shoulders. “You are an angry, angry gal.” She nods, surveying you pensively. “I like it, I do. But you haven’t exactly told me why you want to bury Parker’s body in an undisclosed location?” 

“He would have rather died than be honest with me,” You say, shaking your head at the thought of it. “And when he was, he said that I meant nothing to him anymore. So yeah, I’m a tad steamed.”

Michelle nods, chewing on her bottom lip. “And you believed him?” 

Your eyes narrow, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

She leans in, folding her hands together and tilting her head, her sarcasm blending seamlessly with her sympathy. “It means,” She starts, quirking her brow, “Peter Parker is the kid who waited on you hand and foot when you were in the hospital for appendicitis last year. He stuffs your locker with your favorite candy on your birthday. You finish each other’s sentences, (Y/N). If you weren’t so joined at the hip I would assume you’re in love with each other.” 

“What are you saying then?” You ask, unintentionally harsh. 

Michelle rolls her eyes, wondering how you couldn’t see it already. “You love Peter, (Y/N). And he loves you. You’re astrally connected. So just because he couldn’t be honest with you doesn’t mean he loves you any less. So stop thinking about what you want to say to him and say it.” She says, patting your shoulder as the bell rings, signaling that lunch is over. 

Her advice rolls around in your head for the rest of your day, through your two remaining classes and on lonely walk home. As your music plays in your ears, you look around your neighborhood and try to imagine what your life would’ve been like without Peter in it, but all you see are memories. The park across the street from the bakery, isn’t just a park across the street from a bakery. It’s where May and Ben would take you on Friday afternoons just like this one, when the breeze was just right and the smell of baked goods from a few feet away was just too enticing. Patrick’s Skate Shop: it’s where you two rented skateboards that one time, and although you came home with a shared total of 23 scrapes and bruises, it’s where you joke about it when you pass it by. The streets are lined with laughs, with the affects of a lifelong friendship. What he said struck you in a previously untouched place, but as much as it pains you to think about, being without him hurts more. 

You’re so tied up in your own thoughts when you hear it, that you almost think your mind is playing tricks on you. You don’t see the man snatch the old woman’s purse; that happen’s too far ahead of you. What you do see, however, is the flash of red and blue start to run in your direction, chasing the rushing man. You stand frozen in your spot, mouth slightly parted as you watch the scene unfold. It’s Spider-Man, it’s the guy you’ve frequently discussed with Peter and who you’ve had yet to see despite him operating in your neighborhood. But just being able to recognize the masked man isn’t what makes your blood run cold. 

It’s the slight shove the red blur makes against your shoulder, followed by the quick ‘sorry’ that unmasks the superhero and reduces him down to your idiot best friend. Because you’ve heard that voice before. You’ve heard that little apology countless times, when he accidentally jabs you in the side or when he hugs you a bit too tight, and it’s no different in tone, or in voice, than just now, when it filled your ears after Spider-Man shoved your shoulder. 

And without a doubt in your dumbfounded mind, you know. Peter Parker  is Spider-Man. Spider-Man is Peter Parker.

tags: @anali-022506 @nicunt @fairydustparker @hista-girl @hollandroos @iminlovewithafictionalguy

[techcrunchappcom]

New Post has been published on https://techcrunchapp.com/covid-19-news-live-updates-the-new-york-times-20/

Covid-19 News: Live Updates - The New York Times

Here’s what you need to know:

Most public health officials now believe it is important to keep schools operating, particularly for young students.Credit…Sarah Blesener for The New York Times

New York City is reopening some of its public schools Monday in the teeth of a worsening coronavirus outbreak.

The decision to do so reflects changing public health thinking around the importance of keeping schools operating, particularly for young students, and the real-world experience of over two months of in-person classes in the city’s school system, the nation’s largest.

Schools around the country have had to make the difficult decision of when to close and what metrics to follow, with some staying open amid local positivity rates in the teens and others using low single-digit thresholds.

Of the nation’s 75 largest public school districts, 18 have gone back to remote learning in the past month, according to data compiled by the Council of the Great City Schools and reported in The Wall Street Journal.

In California, many of the biggest school districts were already closed before new restrictions took effect on Sunday in three regions of the state. The new restrictions include stay-at-home orders, but do not require schools that had reopened to close again (an earlier version of this item incorrectly said they do). In the last week, California has reported more than 150,000 new cases, a record for all states.

Decisions to shutter schools have often been made on the local level and in inconsistent ways. Some schools have “paused” for short periods of time — as was the case in dozens of Central Texas districts or recently in Delaware, at the governor’s suggestion. Others have opted for blended learning with some days in school and some days remote.

Many have endured jarring periods of closing, opening and closing again. All of the solutions seem to be leading to burnout, instability and turmoil. New York City students, parents and teachers have felt their own whiplash, from a full shutdown before Thanksgiving to a partial reopening less than three weeks later.

Mayor Bill de Blasio has committed himself to keeping schools open, his aides say, and has started with elementary schools and those for students with severe disabilities. (About 190,000 children in the grades and schools the city is reopening this week would be eligible.)

Three of the country’s largest districts — in Birmingham, Ala., Tulsa, Okla., and Wichita, Kan. — made the opposite decision and closed over the past week. In Birmingham, the superintendent said the pandemic was “drastically impacting our community and our schools.” In Tulsa, two public school employees died recently after testing positive for the virus. And several of Wichita’s public schools had so many staff members quarantined that they could hardly cover vacancies by the time the district decided to close, the superintendent said.

The United States has diverged from other countries around the world in closing schools but leaving indoor dining and bars open. Many parents have criticized that situation, saying that risks of infection are higher in restaurants and bars and that it prioritizes the economy over education. Across Europe and Asia, students, especially very young ones, have largely continued going to school while other parts of daily life have shut down.

While Mr. de Blasio’s decision was applauded by many parents, there is no guarantee that the pattern of chaos that they have faced will abate as the fall turns to winter. New York City’s rules for handling positive cases all but guarantee frequent and sudden closures of individual classrooms and school buildings.

And it remains unclear whether the city will be able to reopen its middle and high schools to in-person learning any time soon.

One thing that could hamper the city’s efforts, officials cautioned, is a truly rampant second wave in New York.

The test positivity rate has only increased since the city closed schools and the seven-day rolling average rate exceeded 5 percent last week. Hospitalizations have quickly mounted.

Rudolph W. Giuliani, at age 76, is in the high-risk category for the virus.Credit…Erin Schaff/The New York Times

Rudolph W. Giuliani, the former New York City mayor and President Trump’s personal and campaign lawyer, has tested positive for the coronavirus, Mr. Trump announced on Twitter on Sunday.

Mr. Giuliani has been admitted to Georgetown University Medical Center, according to a person who was aware of his condition but not authorized to speak publicly. Mr. Giuliani, at age 76, is in the high-risk category for the virus. Later Sunday, he wrote on Twitter: “Thank you to all my friends and followers for all the prayers and kind wishes. I’m getting great care and feeling good. Recovering quickly and keeping up with everything.”

His son, Andrew H. Giuliani, a White House adviser, said on Nov. 20 he had tested positive for the virus. He had appeared at a news conference with his father the day before.

Mr. Giuliani has been acting as the lead lawyer for Mr. Trump’s efforts to overthrow the results of the election. He has repeatedly claimed he has evidence of widespread fraud, but he has declined to submit that evidence in legal cases he has filed.

“@RudyGiuliani, by far the greatest mayor in the history of NYC, and who has been working tirelessly exposing the most corrupt election (by far!) in the history of the USA, has tested positive for the China Virus. Get better soon Rudy, we will carry on!!!” Mr. Trump wrote on Twitter. It was unclear why Mr. Trump was the one announcing it.

Mr. Giuliani recently traveled to three battleground states that Mr. Biden won to make his case. On Thursday he attended a hearing at the Georgia Capitol, where he didn’t wear a mask. He also went maskless on Wednesday at a legislative session in Michigan, where he lobbied Republicans to overturn the results of the election there and appoint a slate of electors for Trump.

“Mayor Giuliani tested negative twice immediately preceding his trip to Arizona, Michigan, and Georgia,” the Trump campaign said. “The Mayor did not experience any symptoms or test positive for COVID-19 until more than 48 hours after his return.”

However, a person in contact with the former mayor said he began feeling ill late this past week.

Mr. Giuliani has repeatedly been exposed to the virus through contact with infected people, including during Mr. Trump’s preparation for his first debate against President-elect Joseph R. Biden Jr. in September, just before the president tested positive.

His infection is the latest in a string of outbreaks among those in the president’s orbit. Boris Epshteyn, a member of the Trump campaign legal team, tested positive late last month. The same day, Mr. Giuliani attended a meeting of Republican state lawmakers in Pennsylvania about allegations of voting irregularities. One of the lawmakers at that meeting was notified shortly after, while at the White House, that he had tested positive.

Mark Meadows, the president’s chief of staff, and at least eight others in the White House and Mr. Trump’s circle, tested positive in the days before and after Election Day.

Mr. Trump was hospitalized on Oct. 2 after contracting the coronavirus. Kayleigh McEnany, the president’s press secretary, Corey Lewandowski, a campaign adviser, and Ben Carson, the housing secretary, are among those in the president’s circle who have tested positive this fall.

Mr. Giuliani appeared on Fox News earlier on Sunday. Speaking with the host Maria Bartiromo via satellite, Mr. Giuliani repeated baseless claims about fraud in Georgia and Wisconsin on “Sunday Morning Futures.” When asked if he believed Mr. Trump still had a path to victory, he said, “We do.”

Melina Delkic and Bryan Pietsch contributed reporting.

The victims of coronavirus were remembered during a Mass at at Nembro’s cemetery in November.Credit…Fabio Bucciarelli for The New York Times

Every Monday night in the northern Italian town that had perhaps the highest coronavirus death rate in all of Europe, a psychologist specializing in post-traumatic stress leads group therapy sessions in the local church.

“She has treated survivors of war,” the Rev. Matteo Cella, the parish priest of the town, Nembro, in Bergamo province, said of the psychologist. “She says the dynamic is the same.”

First the virus exploded in Bergamo. Then came the shell shock. The province that first gave the West a preview of the horrors to come now serves as a disturbing postcard from the post-traumatic aftermath.

In small towns where many know one another, there is apprehension about other people, but also survivor’s guilt, anger, second thoughts about fateful decisions and nightmares about dying wishes unfulfilled. There is a pervasive anxiety that, with the virus surging anew, Bergamo’s enormous sacrifice will soon recede into history, that its towns will be forgotten battlefields from the great first wave.

And most of all there is a collective grappling to understand how the virus has changed people. Not just their antibodies, but their selves.

Bergamo, like everywhere, now confronts a second wave of the virus. But its sacrifice has left it better prepared than most places, as the widespread infection rate of the first wave has conferred a measure of immunity for many, doctors say. And its medical staff, by now drilled in the virus’s awful protocols, are taking in patients from outside the province to alleviate the burdens on overwhelmed hospitals nearby.

But the wounds of the first wave gnaw at them from within.

Talking about these things does not come easily to people in Italy’s industrial heartland, jammed with metal-mechanic and textile factories, paper mills, billowing smokestacks and gaping warehouses. They prefer to talk about how much they work. Almost apologetically they reveal that they are hurting.

Though no corner of the city has escaped the fallout, job losses have been concentrated in mostly Black and Latino areas like West Farms in the Bronx.Credit…Amr Alfiky/The New York Times

More than one in four workers in the West Farms neighborhood of the Bronx are out of work.

They were store clerks, hotel housekeepers, waitresses, cooks, for-hire drivers, security officers and maintenance workers before the coronavirus snatched away their livelihoods. Even before the outbreak, most were barely getting by on meager paychecks and scant savings.

Now their hopes for better lives are slipping away as they fall behind on rent, ration food and rack up credit card debt. Unemployment in this poor and largely Latino enclave of 19,000 was in double digits before the outbreak.

It has gotten far worse.

With an unemployment rate of 26 percent in September, West Farms has become a center of New York’s economic crisis, one of the hardest-hit urban communities in the country and emblematic of the pandemic’s uneven toll.

Though no corner of the city has escaped the fallout, the mass job losses have been concentrated in mostly Black and Latino pockets outside Manhattan that have long lagged economically behind the rest of the city. Communities like West Farms have also suffered disproportionately from the coronavirus itself, with higher rates of people becoming ill.

New York City’s economic crisis is among the worst in the nation, with unemployment at 13.2 percent in October, nearly double the national rate. But within the city, the pain varies vastly. Manhattan’s unemployment rate is 10.3 percent, but in the Bronx, the city’s poorest borough, it is 17.5 percent — the highest in the state.

In contrast, some of the city’s most affluent and largely white neighborhoods in Manhattan have fared far better. The unemployment rate on the Upper East Side was 5 percent in September, up from 1 percent in February. On the Upper West Side, it was 6 percent, up from 2 percent.

Poor workers, including many Black and Latino people, have been hurt much worse during the pandemic than by past recessions, including the 2008 financial crisis, said James Parrott, an economist with the Center for New York City Affairs at The New School.

He said the pandemic had triggered many more layoffs among lower-paid workers, while far fewer higher-paid workers — including those in finance, technology and professional services, who tend to be mostly white — have lost jobs or benefits.

Du Weimin, chairman of Shenzhen Kangtai Biological Products, is one of the richest men in China.Credit…Yu Ga/Visual China

As a government regulator sidled into a car, the Chinese pharmaceutical executive handed over a paper bag stuffed with cash.

The executive, Du Weimin, was eager to get his company’s vaccines approved, and he needed help. The official took the money and vowed to try his best.

Several months later, Mr. Du got the greenlight to begin clinical trials for two vaccines. They were ultimately approved, generating tens of millions of dollars in revenue.

The government official was jailed in 2016 for taking bribes from Mr. Du and several other vaccine makers. Mr. Du was never charged.

His company, Shenzhen Kangtai Biological Products, produces about one-quarter of the world’s supply of vaccines. And Mr. Du, who has been called the “king of vaccines,” is one of the richest men in China.

Capitalizing on that success, Mr. Du and his company are at the forefront of the race to produce a coronavirus vaccine, a national priority for China’s ruling Communist Party. Kangtai will be the exclusive manufacturer in mainland China for the vaccine made by AstraZeneca, and the companies could work together on deals for other countries. Kangtai is also in early trials for its own candidate.

As the Chinese government has pushed to develop vaccine companies of global renown, the state has fostered and protected an industry plagued by corruption and controversy.

Drug companies, eager to get their products into the hands of consumers, have used financial incentives to sway poorly compensated government workers for regulatory approvals. Hundreds of Chinese officials have been accused of taking bribes in cases involving vaccine companies.

Oversight has been weak, contributing to scandals over substandard vaccines. While the government after each incident has vowed to do more to clean up the industry, regulators have rarely provided much information about what went wrong. Companies have been allowed to continue operating.

Dr. Ray Yip, a former head of the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation in China, said he considers Kangtai to be among the top tiers of the country’s vaccine companies, adding that he “has no problem” with the manufacturing and technology standards of most players.

“The problem for many of them is their business practice,” Dr. Yip said. “They all want to sell to the local governments, so they have to do kickbacks, they have to bribe.”

Kangtai did not respond to multiple requests for comment.

In a statement, AstraZeneca said it “conducts appropriate and thorough due diligence prior to entering an agreement with any entity.”

The lack of transparency, compounded by dubious business practices, has rattled public confidence in Chinese-made vaccines, even though they have been proved safe. Many well-off parents shun them, preferring their Western counterparts.

Christmas decorations in London last week.Credit…Andrew Testa for The New York Times

As a deadly wave of coronavirus cases extends across Europe, several countries are planning to loosen restrictions over the holidays to allow families and friends to gather.

In a four-day period beginning Dec. 23, people across Britain can form a Christmas bubble, which will allow members of up to three households to spend time together in private homes or to attend places of worship.

In Germany, officials have agreed to extend a partial lockdown to Jan. 10, but loosen restrictions from Dec. 23 to Jan. 1, allowing private gatherings of as many as 10 people from any number of households. Spanish officials have decided to allow travel between regions to see relatives and close friends, but said that social gatherings around Christmas and New Year’s Day must be limited to 10 people if not from the same household.

In France, residents will be under a nationwide curfew from 9 p.m. to 7 a.m. beginning Dec. 15, when a national lockdown ends. However, the curfew will not apply from Christmas Eve to New Year’s Eve, officials said.

“We will be able to travel without authorization, including between regions, and spend Christmas with our families,” President Emmanuel Macron of France said.

Norway, one of the few European countries to keep a second wave at bay, currently limits private gatherings to five guests. But around the Christmas period, the country will allow residents to double their guests over any two days. However, people must continue to socially distance.

While some countries are becoming more permissive, Italy will tighten its restrictions on Christmas Day, Dec. 26 and New Year’s Day, when residents will be prohibited from leaving their hometowns. Travel will be banned between regions in Italy from Dec. 21 through Jan. 6, and an 11 p.m. to 5 a.m. curfew will be implemented.

Delicate attempts at balancing a typically social time of year and easing the burden on hospitals arrived after nearly 105,000 people died of Covid-19 in November in 31 countries monitored closely by the European Center for Disease Prevention and Control.

Health experts have cautioned that holiday travel could drive new spikes in cases.

Workers from the Bearded Fishermen charity patrolling an area known as a suicide hot spot near Gainsborough, England, last month.Credit…Andrew Testa for The New York Times

The past few weeks have been busy for the Bearded Fishermen, a mental health charity in England. With the country just emerging from a second lockdown, the group has seen a measurable uptick in calls for support and an increasing need for its crisis services as the community grapples with the fallout of the coronavirus pandemic.

“The cold and wet weather, long nights, it does affect a lot of people,” said Mick Leyland, a founder. “And being on lockdown as well, it’s even worse.” In one recent week alone, they had responded to a number of crisis calls, including some from people threatening to take their own lives.

With the pandemic devastating Britain and two national lockdowns leaving many feeling isolated, experts say there are rising concerns about the mental health and well-being of people across the country. Research has shown a rise in reports of loneliness, a particular concern for young people, difficulties for those with pre-existing mental health issues and an increase in reports of suicidal ideation.

Though there is no recorded uptick in the national suicide rate yet, the risk of suicide among middle-age men remains concerning in Britain, where for decades the group has made up the highest number of suicide deaths.

The impact of the pandemic and its knock-on effects — lockdowns, an economic downturn and social isolation — on mental health have been well documented around the world. And in Britain, which is simultaneously grappling with the highest number of Covid-19 deaths in Europe and a deep recession, health experts worry that the impact could be felt for years to come.

People in Carlton Gardens in Melbourne, Australia, on November 15.Credit…Erik Anderson/EPA, via Shutterstock

Australian states on Monday celebrated “Freedom Day,” as coronavirus restrictions eased in the lead up to Christmas and summer in the Southern Hemisphere.

In New South Wales and Victoria, more people will be allowed in bars, restaurants, shops and places of worship, and dance halls will be reopened in a limited capacity.

“From Monday, life will be very different,” said Gladys Berejiklian, the premier of New South Wales.

In Sydney, Australia’s most populous city, up to 50 people will be allowed on dance floors at weddings, and attendance at funerals will be unlimited. Up to 5,000 people will be permitted at seated outdoor events, and from next week, workers are being encouraged to return to the office.

In Victoria, where an outbreak in July sent the city of Melbourne into one of the world’s longest and strictest lockdowns, people can now have 30 people over at their homes and gather in groups of 100 outside. Masks, previously mandated, have to be worn only on public transport, in indoor shopping centers and crowded places.

Melbourne welcomed its first international visitors since June on Monday, when a jet carrying 253 passengers arrived from Sri Lanka. The travelers will quarantine for 14 days in hotels under strict conditions.

Last month, Victoria achieved effective elimination of the virus, and has now gone 38 days without a new case. But as people celebrated across the country, Daniel Andrews, the premier of Victoria, warned that even with the eased restrictions, there was a need to remain vigilant.

“This thing is not done,” Mr. Andrews told reporters on Sunday. “It is not over, it can come back.”

A Michigan pastor is under fire for telling his congregation to catch the coronavirus and “get it over with.”

He made the remarks during a sermon on Nov. 15, as a sort of aside while he preached about other issues. “Several people have had Covid — none have died yet. It’s OK,” said Bart Spencer, a pastor at Lighthouse Baptist Church in Holland, Mich., referring to some in his congregation. “Get it, get it over with, press on,” he advised.

Bart Spencer, senior pastor of Lighthouse Baptist Church in Holland, Mich.Credit…via The Holland Sentinel

The video was shared on Facebook about two weeks later and made waves across the country as another symbol of the divide between those who want pandemic restrictions scrapped now, regardless of rising infections, and those who urge continued caution.

In comments posted underneath the video, some voiced support of the pastor and others called his sermon reckless.

Mr. Spencer’s remarks echoed a push among some conservatives for a herd immunity approach — allowing the virus to rage unchecked until so many people have antibodies to the virus that it can no longer spread readily. Some, like Senator Rand Paul of Kentucky, have claimed that surviving an infection confers superior protection compared with a vaccine.

But the course of any one patient’s infection is nearly impossible to predict, and the immunity it eventually confers is believed to vary greatly.

The Lighthouse Baptist Church did not immediately respond to requests for comment on Sunday, but Mr. Spencer told a TV station in Grand Rapids, WXMI, that he stood by his statements. “I would never tell them to go get sick, but you don’t know how you’re going to get it,” he said.

Mr. Spencer said in an interview with The Holland Sentinel that he and members of his family had contracted the virus and had recovered.

Holland, in Ottawa County, has been hit hard lately. Over the last week, the county has averaged about 86 new cases a day for every 100,000 people, well above Michigan’s average of 69, according to a New York Times database.

In all, the county has reported 15,326 coronavirus cases through Saturday, about 5.3 percent of the population. Most experts estimate that achieving herd immunity would require at least 10 times that number.

[punkbuttt]

I’ve been going back and forth in my mind about whether or not to make a post about the days leading up to my grandfather’s death, mostly because a.) I don’t want to relive it, and b.) who else will even care, but I think it’s important so I’ll put it under a read more thing

We called my grandpa Popou; it’s greek for grandfather. He was one of eight children born to greek immgrants from Icaria. Anyways, he was scheduled to have open heart surgery on March 1st, and even though he was 89, and his health wasn’t great, no one seemed too concerned, at least that I saw. I was visiting my parents and brother president’s day weekend so my dad, Popou’s youngest son, suggested we go see Popou at the senior home where he was living since it would be my last chance before the surgery. His room had so many pictures, plaques, awards, etc. hanging up. He told me “All I have now are memories. Almost all these people are dead.” He told me about his favorite award, a certificate from his first wrestling tournament, which he won. (He was kind of a big deal in the wrestling world. Not WWE wrestling, but traditional wrestling) No one knew he went, not even his parents. He had to ask the officials of the tournament for the certificate to prove he had actually competed and won. He also told me about this flag he had. It was red and white, with 5 blue stars on it. He said each of the stars represented his brothers who had all returned alive from WWII. It was a miracle that his five brothers all came back. He didn’t know anyone else’s family who were that lucky. Popou kept asking my dad about the sugery; what day it was, what time, how long would the recovery be. I told him when he was recovered my dad would take him to Philly to come visit me. He’s from Pittsburgh so he always liked to tease me about living here. “You still like that city? You still living there? This is a Pittsburgh family!” I just wanted to give him something to look forward afterwards. He said he would. We said goodbye and he told me he was so happy he got to see me and that he loved me. I realized that he was scared of the surgery. But it still never crossed my mind that he would never wake up.

I feel so guilty because in the days leading up to his surgery, I didn’t really think about it at all. I didn’t even really have anything going on that week. I just... didn’t pay attention. Popou went into surgery on Thursday, March 1st. I don’t know what time exactly, but it was late morning I think. Around 4:30, I got a text from my dad saying that the surgery was taking longer than planned, and the doctors were keeping him on the heart and lung machines longer. He called like 10 minutes later and told me that the surgery itself went well, but for whatever reason, his heart was just not strong enough to beat on it’s own and the doctor’s were worried. The next day my mom told me I needed to get to the hospital, which is in Lancaster. I was supposed to go to a work event that night but obviously that wasn’t going to happen. The earliest train that wasn’t sold out was one at 8:15 pm, so I got a ticket and spent the rest of the workday internally freaking out. I had to walk back to my apartment in high winds and sleet. (I tried to call an uber or lyft but they were both around $30 for what normally would have been a $5 ride, and they also would’ve taken about 25 minutes to pick me up and it takes about that much time for me to walk anyways) I packed up some stuff for the weekend, and luckily I checked the status of the train I was supposed to take myself instead of relying on Amtrak’s delay alerts. All trains were canceled because of the weather. My brother volunteered to drive out to Philly to come get me, which freaked my mom out, but he did it anyway and got here without too much trouble. When my brother got here, he asked me if I was going to our neighbor’s funeral. I had no idea what he was talking about. Apparently my neighbor (I don’t want to use his name) had died in his home of a massive heart attack the previous Sunday. My mom, who tells me everything, didn’t tell me about this. I babysat this guy’s kids, watched all of his family’s animals when they went on vacation, and I had just seen him that last time I was in Lancaster.  That really caught me off guard.

So we got home without incident, and my dad was already asleep. That is unlike him. He usually stays up late, especially now that he’s retired, and normally would have waited up for us to get home. That alone told me something was not right. I just went to bed too. We all got up early the next morning and immediately went to the hospital. we had to be at my neighbor’s funeral that afternoon so we wanted to get to the hospital ASAP. On the way up to his room, we ran into my aunt and uncle, my dad’s sister and brother. The doctor had told them Popou was showing small signs of improvement, and they were going to clean out his incision the next day to give him more time to rest. My dad told me that Popou had all sorts tubes and machines attached to his body, so it would be overwhelming to see him like that. It was. I don’t like hospitals to begin with, so seeing someone I love and care about in that state was really hard. The last time I saw him he was telling me stories and cracking jokes. It was really, really hard. We hung out in the waiting room for a few hours with some relatives, occasionally going to his room to let him know we were there and he wasn’t alone. Eventually we had to leave to go to my neighbor’s funeral. That made everything worse. My neighbor was around the same age as my parents, and with everything going on with Popou, I started to become worried that this could happen to my parents. It still really scares me. I know it could happen to anyone and there’s nothing I can do about it but I’m really scared that will happen to my parents and I won’t even get to say goodbye.

Anyways, we went back to the hospital and more of my relatives were there. We all talked and reminisced and tried to keep our minds off of what was happening. One of my aunts pointed out that this was the first time all of Popou’s children had been together in years, so they took a picture together. Then my cousin came with all five of her kids. The ICU has a rule that kids under 12 are not allowed in the room, but she didn’t care. She started going off on the nurses about how important it was that her kids see him and they had no right to deny them from seeing their great grandfather. This was not long after one of the nurses told us that if any of those tubes became dislodged, Popou could bleed out in under a minute. And she thought it would be fine to bring young children who want to touch everything into his room. She got her way in the end, and when they came back to the waiting room, it was clear her kids were pretty traumatized. 

The rest of the night went by uneventfully, so we went home around 10pm. The next day we got to the hospital early again, but we didn’t get to see him before they took him to the OR to clean out his incision. So we waited again. My one aunt said that Popou would be so mad at them when he woke up, because they promised him he would be up by that Friday. Around one the doctor finally came out to talk to us and I think he was overwhelmed by how many of us were there. All six of Popou’s kids, two of their spouses, seven grandkids and three of their spouses and my brother’s girlfriend. The doctor said that they were cautiously optimistic about his improvement, but it would still be a while before they felt confident enough to take him off the machines for good. He also said that they didn’t want to keep him on the machines for too long, because neurological function would start to get worse the longer he was on the machines. The planned to try to take him off the machines that Tuesday, and hopefully he would improve. When he was ready, we visited him again. I noticed his arm swollen but otherwise he looked fine. We told him we would be back the next day, and left. 

The next day was Monday, and I had to get back to work. My dad and I went to the hospital to see him, and the doctors were still pretty happy with his improvements, even though they were small. Popou still looked a bit swollen, but the nurses said that was normal. After about an hour of visiting him and talking with one of my aunts, my dad took me to the train station. Normally he would just drive me back to Philly himself, but he obviously didn’t want to go too far from the hospital. Getting on the train was hard. When I sat down, my dad was looking through the windows for me and when he saw where I was sitting, he drew a smiley face on the window. I think that was his way of staying with me on the trip back. It made me feel better. 

I didn’t go to work that day. I was emotionally and physically tired. My sleep schedule was (and still kinda is) thrown off from not being able to sleep and having to get up early to get to the hospital. I basically just slept the rest of that Monday. I woke up Tuesday unusually early and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I just started getting ready for work. Around 9:30 that morning, I got a text from my dad that said “Popou is taking a turn for the worse. The nurse says it looks like his body is shutting down.” I called out of work (I was crying on the phone and it freaked out my co worker) and got a ticket for the next train to Lancaster. I called a lyft to take me to the train station, and on the way there, the driver hit a curb. Everything was fine but he was freaked out and said when we got to the train station he would have to check it out. I had my phone in my hand the whole time over just in case my parents tried to call me, and when I was getting out of the car, I thought I put it in my pocket. I didn’t. I took five steps into the train station and realized I didn’t have it. I ran outside because I thought the driver would still be there, making sure his car was ok, but he was long gone. So I went to customer service and explained (through sobs) that I left my phone in a lyft and I needed to use their phone to try to get in touch with someone to get my phone back. The women at Amtrak’s customer service were so incredibly kind and understanding and helped out so much. It turns out Lyft doesn’t really have a call center though, so the only way I could get a hold of them was through email. Luckily I had my laptop, and they actually responded pretty quickly. Also, on the receipt that is emailed to you, you can get in touch directly with the driver. It just took like a half hour for them to actually email that receipt to me. The customer service woman gave me the direct phone number of the customer service desk so the driver could get a hold of me directly, and luckily he did call and came back with my phone. There were no calls or messages so I took that as a good sign.

I had to get a later train because of the whole phone debacle, so I got back to Lancaster much later than I intended. My brother picked me up from the train station and we went straight to the hospital. My dad was in a meeting with his siblings and the doctor, deciding what exactly to do next. I think my mom and sister had gone fore a walk or something. When we got to his room, the first thing I noticed was how grey he looked. He looked so much worse. Part of me really wishes I hadn’t seen him that way. It’s going to be with me forever. His breathing was so... mechanical. I know he was on machines but it was like animatronics at Disney or something. It was too much. I finally found my mom and asked her what they were going to do next and she just shook her head. The doctor said they did everything they could and despite the surgery going well and the improvement he had made over the past few days, Popou wasn’t going to recover. It was just a matter of time now. 

I know he wasn’t young by any means, and his health prior to the surgery wasn’t great, but like I said, the thought that he wouldn’t make it through the surgery had never crossed my mind. I was shocked. I shouldn’t have been, but I was. It was and still is so hard to accept. He’d been around my whole life, and now he was about to be gone forever. 

My dad told us we didn’t have to be in the room when he passed, but I didn’t want to leave him alone and I don’t think my brother and sister did either, so we stayed with him. We waited. My one Aunt, who had power of attorney, didn’t want to wait too long, but my one uncle really wanted him to pass on his own, rather than turning off the machines. So we waited. At one point, my aunt played Happy Trails by Roy Rogers, which was Popou’s favorite song. He grew up in a greek orthodox church, and when he married his first wife, started going to a catholic church. When he moved out to Lancaster, my uncle and his wife started taking him to their evangelical church. When my one aunt and my dad asked for a priest to come give him last rites, my evangelical aunt and uncle were not happy about it. I don’t understand why. He was catholic for the majority of his life and went to their church because it was convenient. Anyways, the priest came, gave him last rites, and very, very soon after, Popou’s heart rate began to decline. It went from like 75 to 45 in a minute. I think maybe he was waiting for last rites to be performed. 

We told Popou it was time for him to go. He had to see his parents, his brothers and sister, his two wives, and his granddaughter, my cousin, Carmen. We sang to him and prayed for him and for us. His heart rate continued to go down, but not as fast. My one Aunt was getting impatient. She told my uncle he was being selfish she was giving him 10 more minutes and then she was telling the doctors to turn the machines off. My uncle said she needed to stop beating a dead horse and that he just didn’t want her to make that decision, he wanted Popou to choose to go by himself so she wouldn’t have to live with that. They fought for a couple minutes and my dad and other aunt had talk them down. It was already tense in there and while I understand both sides, I don’t think they needed to get nasty with each other right by their father’s death bed.

After another ten minutes, his heart rate was so low that the doctors knew the only thing keeping him ‘alive’ was the machines, so it was agreed they would be turned off. We said our final goodbyes, and it was so fucking surreal. Everyone was crying, obviously. he stayed with us for another few minutes. At one point, his eyes actually opened. I thought my dad was going to pass out. My aunt almost screamed. My uncle was calling out “Dad, come back”. It was such an indescribable moment. 

He passed away at 5:18 pm, March 6th, 2018.

Leaving the hospital after he passed was hard. I kept going back into the room, just to see him one last time. I accidentally went in when they were taking all the tubes out. I wish I hadn’t seen or heard that. I didn’t want to leave him there alone. I didn’t and still don’t like the thought of him going to the morgue. But I can’t stop thinking about it. My dad told us not to remember him like that, but to remember the good times. While there are so many good times to remember, I’ll never be able to get that out of my head. Still, I’m really glad I was there; I would have definitely regretted it if I hadn’t been. 

My mom suggested I make memory boards for Popou’s funeral, like I did when her mom passed in 2014. I didn’t want to at first because I knew my cousins had probably had some similar plan already. But my mom convinced me to do it anyways. I’m glad I did because it helped lessen those images of him in the hospital bed. But I also realized that I didn’t really have many pictures of myself and him. That’s really upsetting to me. I think it’s because of my extremely poor self image, which makes it worse. I always wish I hadn’t let that hold me back from taking pictures of myself on vacations or out with friends, and now it’s kept me from having pictures with my Popou. Everyone of my cousins posted all these pictures of them with Popou and I have none, except a few from when I was a kid. I don’t think I’ll ever get over that.

Popou’s funeral was in Washington, PA, or as he called it, Worshington. He grew up there, and he loved it. My dad showed us where his childhood home was (it was torn down to make room for a grocery store), his high school where Popou worked as a teacher and a wrestling and cross country coach, and the store/house where Popou grew up. He had to have a closed casket. He looked so bad in the hospital, and according to the funeral director, he looked even worse since then. That makes me so sad. We couldn’t even see him one last time, without all the tubes and everything.

At the wake, so many people told us how much he inspired, influenced, and supported them. I wasn’t really ever aware of how many people’s lives he was a part of, whether it was through teaching or wrestling. I heard so many stories about him. Whole wrestling teams of young kids who didn’t even know him showed up. It was remarkable. He was always just Popou to me. 

My dad spoke at his funeral service. He could barely keep it together. He said that the first year would be the hardest because we’d have to get through the first round of holidays and birthdays without our Popou. I’m worried about my dad. Since he was essentially forced into retirement by the school he taught for, taking care and visiting his dad kept him busy. Part of me wants to move back home just to cheer him up. His mental health has not been great since he’s retired and he’s not the type to go seek out help. He loved his dad so much. I love my dad so much. Going through this, seeing my dad go through this, was so hard. I’m so scared of the day I’ll have to be in my dad’s shoes.

Anyways, here, here, here, and here are some obituaries for Popou.

μπορεί η μνήμη του να είναι αιώνια, και τη ζωή σε σας

[thelastyearinmyforties]

T-Minus 2 Weeks: January

Two weeks from today is the day. The move from the 40s to the 50s. It’s starting to seem a little surreal. I don’t feel like I’m about to be 50. What would that feel like anyway? I’m pretty certain I don’t look 50...maybe I do. Maybe this is what someone who’s almost 50 years old looks like. Who’s to say? I’m positive I don’t act 50. I mean the very real fact is, I may have already lived more than half of my life. That’s weird. All I know is, it’s coming and I can’t do anything to stop it. Now, let’s talk about January...

Where do I even begin? January has never been a favorite, but for most of my life I tolerated it. But something happened in 2011 and January and I have been in a fight ever since. But this year...this year January is playing dirty and I am so ready to be done with it that I will sprint into February just to get out of it.

January 2011

First day of work after the holiday: Employee resigns, totally unexpectedly.

Second day back: Left my purse at home - mind you at that time I was commuting 32 miles to work.

Third day: Fell down the stairs at my house.

Last day of that first week back: Employee who resigned in December worked her last day.

I honestly had to take a couple of days off work and fly out of town for the weekend in an attempt to regroup. It mostly worked. But then the next January rolled around...

January 2012

During the first week of the month I had to have surgery to fix some girl problems that had been plaguing me for more than two months. I’ll spare you the details but suffice it to say, it wasn’t the most delightful way to start the year. A little over two weeks later I was diagnosed with pneumonia and had to cancel a trip to New York City and miss two weeks of work. In addition, in the middle of that, an employee resigned amidst some legal allegations.

Yeah. All of that sucked.

January 2013

Things at work went haywire and someone I trusted and respected threw me under the bus and then just stopped interacting with me completely. I honestly wasn’t sure I was going to have a job when things were over. In addition, a previous employee filed a lawsuit in which I was named. It was truly one of the most stressful times I’ve ever had at work and in my personal life.

So yeah. That January sucked even more than the one with pneumonia. 

January 2014

I decided to fight the next January by not being here for part of it so I planned a short trip to Denver to see my mom. That was all well and good until the weather delayed my flight back and I spent hours upon hours in the Denver airport. By the time I got back I was so sick that I thought I might die. But I had training the next day at work - a 4-day training to get certified in something - so in I went. It was a horrible day, one where another employee and I had a bad interaction, partially due to me not being 100% myself and partially due to me not understanding how to work with her. I went to the doctor the next day and was diagnosed with two separate infections, loaded up with drugs, and told to stay home the rest of the week. So yeah, I missed the training, felt terrible about how things ended with my coworkers, and could hardly function enough to even turn on the TV. 

January 2015

This was probably the least traumatic of the Januarys since 2011, likely because The Mother took things into control and came here. Still, work was unbearably stressful and I kept looking around the corner to see when the shoe was going to drop.

January 2016

The month started once again with an employee leaving, which is frankly just the worst way to start a year. But I took things down a different path that year, deciding to host an early birthday celebration for myself by flying in one of my favorite musicians to play a house show. My mom and Frank came out and frankly, now that I’m reading this, it seems clear I need The Mother to be here in order for January to be okay. If only I’d come to that revelation sooner...

January 2017

Once again I took some time at the beginning of the year to visit Colorado and spend time with The Mother. That was all good, and actually, things were going well until I went to the doctor when I got home. This was a new doctor since I’d just switched to Kaiser and seeing someone new is always a little stressful, but it had to be done. During the course of that meeting I was told how overweight and unhealthy I was so yay! Happy New Year to me! I was put on new medication, told to eat better and to lose some weight. Meanwhile, when all my test results came back a few days later I was as healthy as I knew I was. But whatever. 

Later that same day I had to deal with the DMV, but I had an appointment so it wasn’t actually terrible. After that I had some lunch, did some shopping then came home. Sometime in the middle of the night is when the food poisoning hit, and quite honestly, it was the third time I’d had food poisoning in a year so I was wholly unamused. I was supposed to go back to work the next day but that didn’t happen and I ended up home the rest of the week. I mean really...

Oh, and did I mention? Two employees resigned before I even went to Colorado...because of course they did...

And now here we are in January of 2018...

I was really trying to have a better attitude about it, thinking maybe last year was the worst...that food poisoning was the real low point...oh how wrong I was.

I took the whole first week off this year thinking that if I didn’t even step foot into work until the second week it would be better. But to be fair, it was already stressful because my boss retired in December and I didn’t have a new one - still don’t. So the higher level boss (VP) is managing us on an interim basis and the unknown factor of that was already adding a level of stress I wasn’t excited about. But honestly, it was pretty okay when I went back to work. We had a great first meeting and I was feeling pretty good. Silly me.

One of the worst weeks of life began Thursday, January 11. I left work early to head to a concert in San Francisco, a concert that had been rescheduled from December. I was barely on the freeway when my Check Air Pressure light came on, and moments later I felt the tire going flat. When all was said and done I had a new tire and didn’t make it to the concert. Not fun. But I was mostly okay. I was able to get a refund on the concert and I didn’t get hurt, nor did anyone else. 

But the night wasn’t over. It became a joke, to be honest. I decided to get a good dinner, sit and relax, and move on from the tire drama, but that was just ridiculous thinking on my part. I couldn’t find a place to park between two parking lots for the first place I wanted to go so I changed my path. I parked at the next place only to get to the door to find it closed due to a plumbing problem. Because of course. I decided at that point to just get Chipotle and bring it home. As i was standing in line one of the workers announced that they were out of chips. Seriously?! I mean, that’s the primary reason I go there! I got right out of line and sat in my car for several minutes before deciding to go where I should have gone in the first place, my favorite local Mexican spot. Thankfully the food was good but even it wasn’t normal. They never brought me chips and salsa until I was already eating. I didn’t even want it at that point. It was just ridiculous.

Two days later, when the Sharks won the game in overtime, the guy sitting next to me somehow elbowed me in the head so hard that I got a concussion. Having had one before, I knew it instantly. It was certainly not intentional but man, did it hurt. I’m still not 100% recovered from that. If you’ve ever had a concussion then you know how it feels. If you haven’t, be thankful. It’s not fun. I’ve had a headache since then - yes, still even this morning - and my eye is still not back to normal. I had to cancel plans with two different friends a couple of days later, and also had to cancel going to another event later in the week. 

And then came Wednesday, the night of the event I decided not to go to because of the concussion. I felt crummy, the weather was gross, and I should have just taken myself home and gone to bed. But no. That would have been too simple. I went to one place for dinner and decided to sit in the bar because there wasn’t a wait. Except there was because I waited almost ten minutes and no one even said boo to me. One server walked by my table five or six times and never even looked at me. I left. Irritated. And hungry. I decided to avoid any other restaurants and decided to just go to the grocery store, a place I don’t enjoy. 

The store was pretty busy but I did self check-out and headed home. Part way home I realized I didn’t have my ring, the ring that was my aunt’s wedding ring, given to me by my grandparents about ten years ago, the ring worth more than all my other jewelry combined. I told myself not to panic, that it had probably fallen in the trunk, or one of my bags, so I carefully got out of the car, checked all around, emptied the bags, and looked around the trunk as much as I could in the dark. There was no ring. 

So I drove back to the store, parked in almost the same place and walked back in, looking as I did. At this point I was panicked. I talked to an employee to ask if anyone had turned in a ring and she directed me to another employee, a store manager. When I told her I’d lost a ring she asked what it looked like. I told her it was gold with diamonds, and she said she’d seen a gold ring on the ground and another woman picked it up as if it were hers. It was at this point my heart sank. I remembered the woman. She’d been at the self check-out in front of me, and she had a stroller filled with all kinds of things. She was kind of all over the place and I’m not sure she was all there. 

The manager went and looked at the security footage but couldn’t see enough to confirm it was my ring, but the timing was too coincidental for me. I gave her my contact information and told her I’d send her a photo of the ring when I got home. I walked all around the store, checking in all the sections I’d been to earlier, then walked to the car and made the hard call to my mom. 

As she can attest, that’s when I completely lost it. My aunt was her sister, her only sister, my only aunt. She died more than 20 years ago, far too young, and the ring held great sentimental value. My mom, of course, told me it was an accident but I was spiraling and could hardly breathe. January had played the worst hand of all this time and I wasn’t even sure I could drive home. I decided to call the police and report the ring as lost/stolen then waited for them to arrive so I could relive the whole thing again. 

Almost an hour and a half later, after there was no conclusive evidence that the ring had fallen off there or that the woman had stolen it, I was left with nothing but emptiness. I realize that sounds dramatic but that’s how I felt. I came home and found the photo, sent it to the woman at the store then posted it all over social media in the hopes that somewhere, somehow, it showed up, knowing deep in my soul that it was gone forever. Here’s the photo one more time...just in case...

I was calmer the next day but still felt empty. I couldn’t believe I’d been so careless. I blamed the concussion. I blamed January. But really, it was my fault. And even if the woman took it knowing it wasn’t hers, it was my fault for losing it in the first place. It’s been a few days now and I know it’s gone. I know it’s just a thing, and that no one blames me. I know people lose things all the time, many more valuable than this. I know I can’t replace it and I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that maybe that woman needed it more than I did. But it’s not easy and that’s why it’s taken me so many days to write about it. January has nearly destroyed me and there are still 10 days left. Honestly, it would just be cruel if anything else happened.

So there you have it. January is the actual worst and next year I literally may have to take the entire month off and hide away in a cabin in the mountains. We’ll see...

[jimothysomebody]

Flashbacks and Fastforwards

As is often common the night before something that causes me a certain degree of anxiety, I find myself awake this evening... which, I suppose is now morning, 3:44am on Saturday, December 21. I have a long day ahead of me. A long day, a long drive, and a few days in New York. Thursday evening I began to have quite the bit of difficulty managing flashbacks, which just seemed all encompassing and insurmountable... though some sleep helped. Though, truth be told, the emotional exhaustion they cause is often accompanied with fatigue, anyway. It's most always the same. Of all the traumatic events in my life, it is perhaps one of the most haunting.

It was December of 2016, nearly 3yrs ago to the date, and with that event were chain linked many memories, some painful, others just painful reminders. It was far from an ideal relationship, and while I'm sure to some degree I myself was a source of pain and toxicity, those own wrongs do little to negate my own pain... often times, or rather during those rare flashbacks and the spare moments of recollection outside of them, it only adds to it.

It's like I am seized by memory... the official breakup, the events leading up to it, the disconnect and isolation from friends, that moment when I felt like everything that was ours was again just his. The weeks unable to leave my bed I was so severely depressed... and the episode of such severe suicidal ideation that I deemed my life so insignificant that the mere act of swallowing bottle after bottle after bottle of pills to destroy my life just wouldn't be worth it, the thought that I wasn't worth destroying myself I was so meaningless... that night, especially, haunts me to this day when I allow myself to think about it... but with trauma, but with flashbacks... sometimes there's just no helping it. You are seized and at the mercy of your own trauma, your own baggage and damage. It is a sort of inescapable, psychological rape by memory... and no amount of repetition of “Get out of my head” “This isn't real” “This isn't happening anymore, this isn't happening now.” will not stop your captor. I sometimes think just writing about the process, like an exposure/ab-reaction therapy will be useful against preventing or lessening the severity of future episodes... but so far all attempts seem futile, but I write all the same. But that night in February... I'd never been closer to suicide, and I hope that's as close I ever get.

How does one recover from being made to feel so wonderful, and the illusion is just shattered, over and over. When one is made to feel loved, just when was the last sincere I love you, before it just became a courtesy, automated response? When did the lie begin? Does any of it even matter, all these years later? I remember the poverty, the stupid, frivolous decisions, the yelling, which in and of itself resurrected echoes of even older traumas, now chainlinked again into an infinite spiral of trauma and painful memories. When it's all happening, it's like a lens of memory is set over my current perception it's so powerful, like I'm desperately in a white knuckle death grip trying to cling and hold myself into the present while being overlapped into my past... I remember the old townhouse, the old bedrooms, the old places and old familiar people. Certain events just... etched so perfectly into my memory it's almost like a picture perfect recreation... the sounds ring just as loudly, just as clearly... not so much an echo, it just feels real, it feels now. Remembering old seething outbursts of anger, pounding things, throwing things, breaking things, yelling, remembering feeling fear for my safety and it almost feels like that danger is still present, almost. So much of what happened just felt like my fault. Perhaps it was. Perhaps it wasn't... but 3 years later, what matters? Nothing that I cannot learn from matters, I suppose.

But that last Thursday night... it felt like it was happening again... all of it... that Christmas Eve with family... which is becoming this upcoming Christmas Eve with the new family... the same old strains, the same old worries, fear... true, scary, panic inducing fears surrounding so much... fear of change... and the fear of fearlessness in the face of so much, if that makes any sort of sense... December seems almost permanently changed for me... but what now? What's happening now? Where are things going now? What's in store for me now? Is it just another loop of the same familiar, unrelenting pains and traumas with different masks? Is it all just in my head, and how to purge that from myself? How to learn from it, adapt and overcome it all when already my mind is not as it ought to be, or rather as I might prefer it to be... and how could I possibly adapt and overcome the worst case scenarios? To give a vague, grim answer... unwillingly... because I wouldn't have a choice...I guess.

I think, this is enough, for now, vague as it is. It's a miracle I haven't resurrected  and revitalized everything, that I risked and haven't plunged myself into another sequence of flashbacks.

To end on a more positive note... This 2019, actually... it hasn't been unkind to me, not terribly. There have been losses, there has been grief, moments of despair and uncertainty... but overall, I am hopeful... optimistic, genuinely... there are moments of fear, to be certain but... there has been an unusual upward trend since 2017. I hope it continues... I can imagine it so clearly that... it does, it really feels attainable... if there's a rug to be yanked out from under me, it's corners are in my own hand... but for now... they aren't... they are firm on the ground. I think I'm gonna be okay. I don't know just to what extent but... I think I'm gonna be okay.

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: As Long As You Love Me -- So What’s Your Deal?

So last week we had the first meeting of Victor and Alice in the As Long As You Love Me AU. Today, you get the other snippet I’ve written -- well, I say snippet, this thing is practically a rogue fic chapter. The main thrust is Alice giving Victor her backstory, with a Bart Curlish-type twist. We start out with the pair still on the road, Victor wondering how the hell his life has led him to being kidnapped by a murder lady, when Alice notes something. . .

"You're awfully quiet."

Victor jerked upright, blinking. "Oh. Ah – I'm sorry," he said on automatic. "I just – d-don't really know what to say."

"It was an observation, not a complaint," Alice replied. "I'm not much good at conversation myself." She nodded at the radio. "You could put that on if you like."

Well, if she was offering. . .Victor hit the button, and the dying notes of some pop hit filled the car. "That was our girl Taylor Swift with 'Out Of The Woods!'" a perky female voice chirped. "Now, a quick news bulletin – police are still searching for the missing son of cannery magnate William Van Dort. The victim, twenty-year-old Victor Van Dort, was apparently kidnapped on his way home from Spring Park two weeks ago. After an initial ransom demand, there has been no further contact with Victor or his kidnappers. Police are welcoming any tips, and Mr. and Mrs. Van Dort have put up a $5,000 reward for any information leading to his safe return. Now, let's pick things back up with NSync's 'Bye Bye Bye!'"

Victor did not think NSync capable of 'picking him up' and turned the radio back off. Alice gave him an amused look as he did. "So that's who you are. I was wondering why you brought up canned fish."

"Yes, well – most everybody knows Van Dort Fish," Victor said, feeling a touch awkward. "I think we're sold in every supermarket in the States now, and every one back in England too."

"That would explain why I don't know – I can't remember the last time I was in a real grocery store," Alice told him. "It's almost always those convenience marts you see at gas stations. Which honestly hold so much food they might as well be groceries. I've seen some selling fruit before."

"I don't know if I'd like fruit from a place that always smelled of gas," Victor admitted.

GURGLGUGHGUGHGURGGLE

Alice slowly turned her head and arched an eyebrow at his middle. "I think your stomach disagrees," she said. "That is a very loud sound to come from someone so thin."

Victor blushed. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I – I h-haven't eaten in two days."

"Two days? And you didn't think it worthy of mention?" Alice shook her head as she looked down the road. "Well, we've got to run into a rest stop soon. I'm a bit peckish myself if I'm honest."

Victor stared at her. "I don't get you," he blurted, unable to stop himself in time.

"We've only been acquainted for a little over an hour. That's not much time to 'get' anyone."

"Y-yes, but – you're being so nice."

Alice glanced over at him. "Would you prefer it if I wasn't?"

"No! No!" Victor said hastily, holding up his hands. "But – it's just – y-you've still got their b-blood all over you."

Alice looked at her arm. "Right. . .I've got wet wipes, I'll use those before we go in."

How could she be so nonchalant about running around covered in blood?! How could she be the type of woman to stab a man to death without a single thought and yet offer to let him listen to the radio? "I – I need to know – why did you go after them? Hugo and the others?"

"Because they were vile, wicked people who made their living off the pain of others."

"Most people would have reported them to the police after finding out they did snuff films," Victor had to point out.

"Perhaps," Alice allowed. "But I'm not most people. Besides, people like Hugo almost always have an 'in' with the police. Better to make sure he gets what's coming to him, rather than just hope."

"So – so you've done this before?" Victor said, aware it was probably the dumbest question he could have asked.

"Yes – I know it's not really obvious, but I'm quite skilled at ending lives now," she said with a smirk, adjusting her grip on the wheel. "I'm – well, I suppose the flowery way of putting it would be 'holistic assassin.'"

Victor blinked. "A – what?"

Alice gave him a truly vicious grin. "I kill whoever Wonderland tells me needs killing, and inevitably they are people who would make the world a better place by their absence."

And now she was being completely confusing again. "W-Wonderland?"

Alice glanced at his baffled face. "I'm explaining this poorly, aren't I?" She drummed her fingers on the wheel, then tilted her head, listening to some invisible companion. "Good point – I should start at the beginning and stop when I come to the end, shouldn't I? All right, Victor, let me give you a bit of backstory – perhaps then you'll 'get' me. Sit up straight and pay attention."

Victor shifted in his seat. "I'm listening."

"Thank you." Alice brushed a bit of hair out of her eyes. "Up until the age of eight and a half years old, I was a perfectly ordinary, if very imaginative, little girl. My father, Arthur Liddell, was Dean of Christ Church college in Oxford university; my mother, Lorina, was a homemaker – well, I say that; we were rich enough to afford a maid, cook, and nanny – involved in various charitable causes; and my sister, Lizzie, was a free spirit who loved to read and planned to travel the world one day. We were all very happy together – it was the best life a young girl could hope for." Alice let out a nostalgic sigh, before her expression warped into one of utter hatred. "And then, like a boil, Angus Bumby erupted into our sphere."

Victor frowned. That name was familiar. . .where had he. . .the news! Yes, there had been something he'd seen in passing while browsing the web. . . "The psychiatrist?" he asked, tracking down the scrap of memory. "D-died after falling in front of a train?"

"Ah-ah – that's closer to the middle," Alice gently chastised. "We'll get to that. When I first knew him, he was an undergraduate of my father's – studying psychology, yes. He came to tea one day and, after one look at Lizzie, became totally obsessed with her. He stalked her incessantly, attempting to convince her that they were meant to be. Nothing would deter him from her – not her own loathing of him, not my father's repeated threats of police action, not even a restraining order. And then, when it finally got through his thick head that she would never willingly return his affections, he broke into our house one cold November night, raped and killed her, and used my nightlight – an antique Victorian lamp – to set the library ablaze." Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Our entire house went up in flames that night. I was the only one to escape."

Victor's jaw dropped. Terrifying as she was, to know she had experienced such tragedy. . .and so young. . . "Oh," he whispered. "I – I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault – and brace yourself, it only gets worse," Alice replied. "I was so traumatized by the loss of everyone and everything close to me, save my favorite toy rabbit, that I just – shut down. Retreated to the depths of my mind, unable to face the real world. After a year in hospital to treat my burns, it was decided I would be removed to Rutledge Asylum to recover."

"Rutledge–" Wait a minute, she'd said that everything was fine up until she was eight and a half – which meant – "At nine years old?!" Victor demanded, stunned. "That's – that's absurd! Who commits a child?"

Alice went very quiet, then turned to face him. For the first time since he'd met her, she looked genuinely surprised. "You're the only person I've ever talked to about this who thought there was something wrong with my incarceration there," she said softly. "Everyone involved saw it as a necessary evil."

"Bullshit," Victor replied. He wasn't the type to swear much, but this felt like the right sort of situation. "Why didn't they ask one of your relatives to help?"

"Ah – I didn't have any," Alice explained, eyes back on the road. "Mama and Papa were both only children, and I was a surprise child born ten years after my sister. Mama's parents had been killed in a car accident before I was even conceived, and Papa's mother died when I was still a baby. The only one I ever knew was Grandpa Liddell, and he passed about two years before the fire."

Some of the fire went out of him. "W-what about family friends?"

"Well, my father was well-liked around Christ Church, but as you might expect, most of his work colleagues balked at taking in a catatonic nine-year-old," Alice said sardonically. "Mama's friends were much the same – willing to coo over what a tragedy it was, but not willing to do much about it. The maid and cook had already left for greener pastures, and our family lawyer was only interested in how much of my inheritance he could sneak away in a cloud of legalese. The only one who wanted me was Nanny, but she'd been left rather financially strapped by the loss of her job. She visited me now and then, but she simply couldn't afford to take me in. And when she did finally find another career. . ." Alice chuckled. "Well. It wasn't exactly child-friendly, let's put it that way. And no orphanage wanted a child who simply sat around staring at the wall – except for Houndsditch, but that's again getting ahead of myself." She sighed. "Simply put, Victor – I had no one. The only thing Littlemore Hospital could do with me was foist me on Rutledge so I wasn't taking up one of their beds."

Victor dropped his head. "I see. . .it's still terrible."

"It's the way of the world," Alice said philosophically. "I wasn't the only child in there. It isn't only adults who lose their grip on reality." She rolled her eyes. "Not that I would recommend a stay in Rutledge to anyone. I wouldn't say it was as bad as good old Bedlam in the bad old days, but – the doctors found me an interesting curiosity, the nurses considered me a nuisance, and the orderlies thought of me as an easy source of rough fun."

Victor blanched. "They didn't–"

"Not that kind of fun," Alice quickly corrected him. "Though there was a pair of twins who liked to push as far as they could in that direction. I think only the fact the whole place had cameras stopped them." She smirked. "They won't be tormenting any more young girls in their care, I can tell you that much."

". . .So they were the first?" Victor asked in a small voice.

"No – I sliced one of them with a spoon after they attempted to ruin my rabbit with porridge, but actual killing came later." She hit the turn signal and moved smoothly into the right-hand lane. "We've lost the track of our story – back to business. So I was committed to Rutledge, and proceeded to spend the next ten or so years insensible to the world. Eventually, Wonderland finally got sick of me hiding out within myself, kicked me in the arse, and dragged me forcibly back to heal my broken mind."

Wonderland again. "What is Wonderland?" Victor asked, absently twisting his hands together.

"An imaginary land I came up with on my seventh birthday," Alice explained, glancing at a passing sign. "Full of nonsensical creatures and people. I visited often in the year and a half before the fire, making up new areas and new residents – I lacked for playmates when I was small, so imaginary friends were often all I had. After the loss of my family, however, the place became corrupted by my growing madness. I didn't realize what had happened until the White Rabbit came to fetch me one stormy night. I soon discovered the Queen of Hearts – one of the realm's many monarchs – had turned into a worse tyrant than normal, morphing into a terrible tentacle monster and subjugating everyone across the various sub-domains. The only way to restore Wonderland to anything resembling 'normal' was to slaughter my way across it, killing her monsters and corrupted allies before taking on the Queen herself."

Victor bit his lip. "I see. . ."

"Trying not to ask if it gave me a taste for murder?" Alice teased, giving him one of those dangerous grins. Victor shrank back in his seat. "I wouldn't say that was the catalyst. Perhaps I became rather inured to the sight of violence, but I didn't intend to turn my Vorpal Blade on anyone from the real world. Even in Wonderland, I killed only because I had to – because the alternative was staying a comatose blob in Rutledge. The Queen was simply my own darkness and madness – slaughtering her made me better. Or, at least, sane enough to be discharged. Everyone else along the way – well, I could bring them back with just a thought. Doesn't really count as murder then, does it?"

Victor knotted up his fingers. "No. . .it's just – surprising your mind would jump to killing things as a way to save yourself."

"A bit dark, perhaps," Alice allowed. "But answer me this – did your childhood dreams ever include slaying monsters or battling in war?" She glanced at him. "Or seeing the end of some hated bully?"

The image of Gordon Tannen disappearing with a scream down the throat of Blue Ben swam before his eyes. He swallowed and pulled at his shirt collar. "Point taken."

"We're never as innocent as we like to pretend," Alice said with a triumphant smirk. The turn signal clicked on again, and she proceeded down an exit. "I've just gone ahead and stopped pretending. But when I was first released from Rutledge, I was still trying my best. My great hope was that, after killing the Queen and restoring my mind – mostly – I could put all the battling behind me and start a new life. So I was discharged to the Houndsditch Home For Wayward Youth, an orphanage for troubled and destitute children. It was a work/study sort of situation – I earned my keep doing chores and helping with the children, and I also received outpatient therapy from the proprietor." Her fingers tightened again on the wheel. "One Dr. Angus Bumby."

Victor blinked rapidly. "Wait – what? You – they never caught him?!"

"Obviously not, considering you knew him as a psychiatrist from wherever you heard about his death," Alice pointed out, making him feel rather an idiot. "I don't think they let convicted felons – let alone sex offenders – work with children. How he slipped through the police's fingers, I don't know. My only guess is that he had a friend somewhere on the force who could destroy any evidence of his involvement in the fire. Which would also help explain how he got away with his other activities for so long." She gave Victor a piercing look, filled with old but still-smoldering fury and disgust. "Houndsditch, as I later found out, wasn't really an orphanage. It was a training ground for child prostitutes. The supposed savior of the poor and lost hypnotized his charges into forgetting their past, then sold them on the black market to the vilest of the vile."

Victor's stomach lurched, sending a gush of bile up his throat. He swallowed it back with an effort. He desperately wanted to accuse of her lying, of making things up to justify her hatred – but the look in her eyes. . .the truth of her words was undeniable under the force of her glare. "Oh my God. . ."

"Yes, not exactly the philanthropist he always took pains to paint himself as," Alice said, as they came up to a light. She checked for green, then went left. "He had similar plans for me – he lured me in with the promise I could forget the fire and move on with my life, when his actual goal was to make sure I could never finger him for the crime by turning me into one of his empty-minded little puppets. He claimed there were men lined up and waiting for a 'raving delusional beauty,' but I have trouble believing I wouldn't have ended up as his personal sex slave." Her jaw clenched. "Lizzie and I look rather alike, you see."

It all abruptly clicked together in Victor's mind. "He was the first. You pushed him into that train, didn't you?"

"Eventually," Alice confirmed. "I didn't realize who he was when I first arrived. Even without his help, I'd repressed a lot about the fire and what had happened immediately before. It took about a year's stay in Houndsditch and another trip through a rotting Wonderland – this time corrupted by Bumby's avatar, the Dollmaker, and the Infernal Train of forgetting he had me build – before I understood the truth. And then, when I did. . .I confronted him in Moorgate Station. I told him I would see him charged. And he laughed in my face. Said it was highly unlikely anyone would ever believe the words of a former lunatic. Especially mine against his. So when it looked like he would escape justice–" One hand came up and mimed a shove. "I decided to bring justice to him."

A lifetime of societal rules and regulations demanded that Victor be horrified – that he call the woman driving a monster, condemn her for declaring herself judge, jury, and executioner. But the only horror he felt was at the cruel twists of fate that had led her to do the deed in the first place. Damn it all, how could anyone blame her for wanting revenge? Tell her that someone like that – a rapist, a murderer, a – a child pimp – deserved to live? If he'd been in her place, Victor was almost certain he would have done the exact same thing, and damn the consequences. "Good," he said softly. "If anyone needed to die, it was him." He hesitated, then added, "But – why keep on killing, if you'd avenged your family and saved the orphans?"

"Because. . ." Alice pursed her lips and drummed her fingers on the wheel, contemplating. "Because when I pushed him onto those tracks, saw the train whisk away his body. . .it felt – right. Like my will and the universe were finally in line. And when I exited the station, I entered a world where Wonderland – the nicer version – and London had merged together. A world where I didn't have to go catatonic or wander about ranting and raving to see my friends, nor endure the East End's ugly scenery to go shopping or say hello to passing people on the street. A world that I could navigate on my own terms. I couldn't help thinking of it as a reward. Proof that the universe approved of my actions."

"I'm sure the police didn't," Victor couldn't help saying.

Alice grinned as they approached another light. "They didn't think anything at all of them. I was never caught. I fled, of course – I fully expected a manhunt for me to start before the day was out. But then every paper started reporting Bumby's death as a tragic accident. And when I did a little investigating. . .well. I'd already known there were no human eyewitnesses to my crime – the station had been strangely empty that afternoon. But I thought for sure the security cameras would have fingered me." Up went the point-making finger as they turned into a parking lot. "Except – right as we confronted each other – every camera at Moorgate mysteriously failed. A station-wide glitch. They were restored an hour later, but by then it was too late to see me. And none of the other evidence they could dig up could conclusively prove I was there."

Victor stared as they parked. "But – that's just a coincidence," he insisted, as much to himself as her. "You can't – you can't seriously believe that the universe covered your tracks for you."

"'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, is the truth,'" Alice replied. "Sherlock Holmes. I would have passed it off as a mere lucky fluke myself if, when I was trying to figure out whether I not I should return to Houndsditch, Caterpillar flew by and insisted I needed to take a different path. I followed him, and ended up at the lair of a few of Bumby's compatriots." She turned off the car. "I knew what Bumby did, but not where he did it or who with. How could I have found that place if I hadn't been guided there? But the clincher was these three men, all built like brick privies, promptly descended on me – whether out of anger, greed, or sheer lust – and I got a knife away from one of them and slaughtered the lot. Without even a bruise for my trouble." She pulled out her keys and spun them around her finger. "I'll give Bumby this – he was right that we all have a purpose. And mine is to destroy those who would otherwise get away with their crimes. To stop the other Bumbys of the world, in all their guises. Child slavers. Pimps. Rapists." She glanced at him. "Snuff film directors."

For a moment, Victor was back in that dark closet, listening to the meaty thwuks and thunks outside. "So you've just – wandered around, finding people to kill?"

"Not quite 'wandered' – as I told you, Wonderland tells me where I need to go, and who my targets are," Alice corrected. "My friends can be a bit cryptic at times, but they have yet to steer me wrong. Open the glove box and get me the wet wipes, will you?"

"What? Oh," Victor said, looking around and realizing they were parked in front of a diner. He fiddled with the glove compartment and got it open, handing over the package. He watched for a second as she pulled one out and ran it over her arms. "You – you don't kill everyone you meet, do you?" he asked hesitantly.

Alice smiled. It was – a surprisingly nice smile. "You're still here."

"But why?"

Victor regretted the words the moment they left his lips. Did he really want her to think about why he was with her in the car alive? His survival was dependent on the goodwill of a set of very vivid hallucinations, and if this provoked them. . .

"Because Cheshire says you're important," Alice replied, doing her face. "He wouldn't say why, but it appears your purpose and mine intersect for a while. And goodness knows I could use some company that doesn't originate from inside my own skull." She balled up the now-pink wipe and stuck it in her pocket. "Let's get some food in you. And then. . .where's your hometown? Or closest equivalent to, as you sound an expat like myself."

Victor surprised himself by laughing at that. "Yes, well. . .currently it's a little town called Hill Valley," he said. "Er – do you have any idea where we are now?"

"I wasn't paying that much attention to the names, but I know we're in the southern part of California. Where's Hill Valley?"

"Up north – if I remember correctly, Route 395 goes right through it," Victor told her.

"Excellent. Then we'll head north." She grinned at him, friendly with just a hint of danger. "And we'll see what happens along the way."

[calzona-ga]

When Grey’s Anatomy boss Shonda Rhimes told EW that the finale would be “on fire,” she was being quite literal.

After Stephanie set fire to the escaping rapist in the penultimate hour, she accidentally caused a giant explosion in the hospital. Against all odds, Stephanie survived the fire, and even saved the little girl, but the event made her realize that she’s spent most of her life in a hospital and doesn’t want to anymore. Yes, Stephanie survived, but she subsequently quits — and her portrayer Jerrika Hinton is officially leaving the ABC medical drama.

“Actors evolve differently and when an actor like Jerrika comes to me and says she wants to try something new creatively, I like to honor that,” executive producer Shonda Rhimes says of the exit. “Jerrika has shared so much of herself with Stephanie and I am incredibly proud of the journey we’ve taken together. While I’m sad to see Stephanie leave Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital, I am excited to see what’s next for Jerrika.”

EW turned to Hinton to get the scoop on why she decided to leave:

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: What came with the decision to leave Grey’s Anatomy, and what was that conversation with Shonda like? JERRIKA HINTON: That was a conversation that happened almost a year ago. It was very, very open and straightforward. You ever have one of those conversations — with a superior in particular, not just a peer — that feels like a natural, genuine meeting of the minds? That’s what that conversation was like. It was extremely and deeply gratifying.

How do you feel about how Stephanie’s story came to an end, that she went off to live her own life and not die, which is what everyone expected after that penultimate episode? I’m a fan. I deeply appreciate that she gets to leave a lasting mark, not just in that place, but also from what the fans on social media are saying and within the audiences’ minds as well. I feel like this is the natural conclusion of what her journey has been over this season. Her journey has been about self-actualization and repression. Being in the line of work that is about literal life and death and yet no one processing it, and no one encouraging that you process it; Minnick was possibly the only one, in episode 22 or 23, when she sent Steph to therapy. For as upset as people may be with Minnick, that was the right thing. That is the thing that not only Stephanie needs, but everybody in that line of work — everybody in that hospital definitely — needs. You’ve got her sacrificing herself for a place that isn’t doing the same thing for her. We saw it when they lost the little boy, and Robbins ran after Minnick rather than tending to the distraught resident. You’ve got her in the midst of conditions that are figuratively and literally burning her out. It’s meaningful that she not only sees the world for what it is, but that she also makes a healthy decision about how to move forward. Whenever we see people on television making those kinds of hard decisions, it makes it easier for us to do that in our own lives — or at least makes us soften to the possibility of doing that in our own lives.

Was there ever a possibility that they were going to kill off Stephanie? I mean, I’ve pitched a lot of things over the years, and I’m sure the writers in the bungalow have pitched a lot of things this season. So, I can’t necessarily speak to how many versions of Stephanie’s exit there were, but I know there were multiple versions.

Would you have wanted her to die? Only if it had been in a very specific way. There are a very narrow set of circumstances that I felt would be appropriate for her to exit the show with death. It can’t just be death for melodrama’s sake.

Stephanie basically got Minnick fired. How do you think she feels about that? I think in that final interaction that Stephanie has with Minnick, Stephanie would feel a-okay. She would not lose any sleep at night. This is what I will say: Everybody should just go off and live their best life.

Looking back at your time on the show, is there any particular moment that sticks out to you? Honestly, it’s going to be that scene with Jim [Pickens Jr.] in the finale. Everything about shooting the last two episodes was so strenuous and exhausting and, in ways, traumatizing. That one scene, which came very early in the schedule of the finale, was a moment where everything became easy, and everything had such flow. In the midst of such chaos and spectacle, to have something like that, I think the dichotomy alone makes it something that just stands out for me.

What was it like filming this episode? It was a beast, to be quite honest with you. I’m still recovering, physically and emotionally, from it. I’m going to get emotional. When my parents get in town [Thursday] and we go over to my girlfriend’s house and we all sit down together and have a big viewing party, there’s going to be a couple things that I know I can’t watch, just because it’s going to feel like I am going through it again; I can’t watch it as a viewer. So I’m prepared for that. But to speak about production, I had to do an hour of prosthetics every morning, you had pyrotechnics going off all around you, you were breathing propane fumes all day, all week, running up and down stairs, carrying a kid, screaming my heart out on a rooftop in the middle of the night. It was a lot. It was more than I have ever had to endure with an episode or a role. I hope it was all worth it, I hope it all shows on the screen.

Is there anything you would change or anything you regret from your time on Grey’s? No. I’ve been there for five years, and the decision to leave was my own that was supported in a very deep way that I could never communicate, by my boss, and a host of other things that I could mention that have happened in those five years that are just significant memories. So when I look back on my time, I genuinely can’t. Not only do I not have regrets, I don’t have any what ifs, I don’t have any if onlys; everything that has happened has happened in exactly the way that it should for myself. I look forward to the next chapter, because I know I can close this and let go of this one so cleanly.

There’s really nothing you wish you had gotten to do with Stephanie? No romance you wish you could’ve explored? No, because for me to answer that question, I’d have to create a whole new world of circumstances. Within the circumstances of what the show is and all the characters that we have had and all the pairings that we have had over the years, there’s nothing else I would’ve done differently. There are no new romances that I think they should’ve thought out with cast members. It’s not like I think Stephanie should’ve taken over the hospital, none of that. Everything has been what it is.

Are you open to returning to Grey’s Anatomy in the future? Yes, that place has a really wonderful soft spot in my heart. I think that because of the nature of Stephanie’s injuries and the way that she has decided to leave, what she has decided to prioritize, for it to make sense, it would have to be a long time before Stephanie graces those halls again for it to make sense. She can’t have gone through all of this and then six months later says, “Hey guys, just kidding, I’m back. I went and I took two hikes and I was like, ‘I’m good!‘”

You’ve already signed onto something new, this Alan Ball project for HBO. Is there anything you can say? To be honest with you, even though I’m a month outside of being in Shondaland, my reflexes are still Shondaland reflexes, which means I get very nervous about sharing information. Even though I’m certain I can, I’m still working to recalibrate those reflexes. The new show is really wonderful. I’m very, very excited about my character. I’m still scared, because I don’t know what I can or can’t say. Shonda has trained me well. [Laughs] Words can’t explain [how much fun I’m having]. My new family and I, we have this group text. We sit and text all day. If you would’ve told me a few months ago that I would sit on my phone texting all day with a bunch of people, I would’ve said, “That sounds like pure hell, please let me just turn off my phone and not be connected,” but I pick up my phone and go, “What is the group talking about today?” It’s just so exciting. There’s such love and generosity. It’s very collaborative. I feel very fortunate.

[mtasubwaywhisperer-blog]

Escaping Dachau

It was a pleasant day today compared to the ruthless nature of East Coast winter. I have discovered that a muffler is underrated as a winter accessory and wearing one in almost subzero temperatures enhances the comfort level by a considerable amount. Thursdays are usually long and as per routine I took the Q train to Brooklyn in the evening. Subway commute can get pretty boring, especially if it is a long one and almost 70% of the journey is through long and dark underground tunnels. Although, the Q line provides some respite from this drudgery by running the train through the Manhattan bridge over the East River. 

As always, I was reading a book and didn’t quite realize when the train crossed the bridge and was already entering Dekalb Avenue station. During the evening trains going towards Brooklyn are crowded and it is difficult to find a seat to rest one’s ass. At the Dekalb Avenue station I saw an elderly gentleman been helped to the senior citizens seat by a young guy. Judging from my observation, the elderly gentleman was about 80 years old and half of the weight of this 80 years of experience was on a wooden stick and the other half was in the hands of a 20 year old, kippah wearing bright young boy. The old gentleman was wearing a black suit with a long black coat. Actually, I didn’t notice the kippah on the  boy at first and so, it is not the thing that gave away the fact they were Jewish. My mind, due to its devilish need to establish a relationship between the two generations, came to the conclusion that they are grandfather and grandson. Although all the evidence is circumstantial, later I did realize some sort of facial similarities between these two people. As, I was saying, it was not the Kippah that gave away the Jewish identity of these two. Rather, it was the name tag the boy had on his jacket. The last name read “Lewinski”. For those who are unaware, often it is not difficult to identify a Jewish surname. As, soon as they sat down, I knew there might be a good chance of getting the observations required for my blogpost for today. 

It is easier said than done. From the few glances I took at them, nothing seemed interesting enough to act as fuel for this blogpost. Then arrived my window of useless opportunity. I saw the elderly gentleman slide the handcuffs of his shirt down to look at the watch and I saw, a thick scar on the side of his left wrist. Once I saw that scar, I knew I had my material ready and my usually idle brain started to race backwards looking for a plot which would justify that scar. Actually, I should be a little honest. It was more because of the book I was reading than my imagination which influenced the plot. I’m reading a book on the Second World War and so, it wouldn’t require a lot of imagination to connect a scar on the hand of an elderly Jewish person to the Second World War. So, here goes my story today.

Fall season was on the horizon and so was the German Army. The darkest days were set to befall on the mundane city of Weilun. Weilun had a considerable number  of Jewish people residing  at that time. One such Jewish family, who shared the surname Lewinski was enjoying last of their sound sleep. The otherwise peaceful dawn was bludgeoned to death by the sound of the Luftwaffe engines roaring over the skies. The ride of the Valkyries had begun. Insistent bombing of the city continued as screams and cries mixed with the dark smoke welcomed the red sun on that godforsaken day. By the evening, the terrorizing sound of German boots were shaking up the already crumbling walls of the city. With half of the brick walls of the Lewinski house in ruins, the Horowitz family managed to fit themselves in the tiny basement. But when death has its eyes set on you, there is very little one can do about it. German soldiers ransacked the whole house and flushed out all the members of the family with the threat of burning the whole building down. Issac Lewinski, the youngest member of the family was only 8 years old at that time. Mr. Lewinski worked at the bank and had enough wealth to persuade any ordinary criminal to let them go in exchange for money. However, these were the Nazis. They were a special kind of criminal, whose determination to do evil cannot be bought with wealth. Mr. Lewinski’s pleas for mercy in exchange for wealth was met with a bullet to the head in front of lanky little Issac and his mother. With his father’s blood splashed over his face, began the story of Issac Lewinski.

Two days after witnessing his father’s  splattered head all over the floor, little Issac and his mother were boarded onto a crowded truck, full  of children and women who had the same dreaded faces as one would have after staring into the eyes of certain death. After a whole days journey, the truck stopped outside the gates of Isengard or in other words the Dachau concentration camp. As per the rules of the concentration camp, Issac was separated from his mother and was forced along with other boys and men. Then and there ended the childhood of the lanky Jewish boy.   There are enough historical as well as fictional accounts about the daily life in concentration camps and so, as a complete outsider, I can add very little

During the first few days at the camp, Issac used to cry often and would beg the Nazi officers to let him see his mother and every time he would be met with a sadistic laugh from the officers. Soon enough his tear glands dried up and he thought that maybe, this is what adulthood is like. This is what children are supposed to do when they grow up. When people start to accept their reality, no matter how treacherous it might be, the very basic human instinct is to find a silver lining. Issac’s silver lining was his friend Robert. Robert was a little older than Issac and due to his advantage in age, soon became a role model for Issac. He used to follow the ways of Robert in every aspect of life. The void left in Issac’s life due to the absence of his parents was soon filled by Robert. However, as everything good in life has to come to an end, the silver lining in Issac’s life was soon to become a trauma which would haunt him all his life. 

As can be imagined. food in the concentration camp was at the level of being considered inhumane and a loaf of bread still having some soft parts was a rarity. Even in the most dreadful of conditions, vices of men find a way to come to the fore, perhaps with even more wickedness. There were some prisoners who found evil ways to satisfy their carnal instincts. Such a group had promised Robert a  bowl full of hot soup with distinctive amount of peas and in exchange they wanted Robert to lure Issac into the kitchen at night. Under the circumstances, it would be too much to expect that anyone could deny the promise of hot soup and so Robert did what was asked. As soon as Issac got into the kitchen, a group of men pounced on him like hungry hyenas. One of them had a piece of broken glass and stabbed Issac right on his left wrist. It would be an act of vulgarity on my part to describe what followed. Later that night, Issac was discovered by some prisoners, lying naked in a pool of blood, unconscious. The benevolent prisoners took Issac to the camp doctor, who later sent him to the local hospital out of some new found sympathy towards the kid. 

It took Issac a whole week to gain consciousness and that too would have been impossible without the constant care of Dr. Fritz. Dr.Fritz was a German doctor of high repute. His reputation had gained him connections directly with the top brass of the Third Reich. Dr. Fritz used his connections to take Issac home till he recovered from his injuries. Using his connections in the Government, Dr. Fritz had managed to convince the authorities to put Issac on a boat to Ireland. On a rainy evening, Issac got off at the Dublin port. He did recover from the physical injury, but the trauma had messed up with his mental state forever. Tired, traumatized, he thought he saw someone who looked alike one of the Nazi officers in the camp. Out of fear, he ran across the port to another ship and hid behind the cargo and after a while, fell unconscious. When he did manage to wake up, he saw the blue waters of the Atlantic and he was surrounded by people in tattered clothes, speaking a weird language. Some women were sympathetic enough to give him some food, just enough to make him survive the long journey over the ocean. 

One day on the ship, Issac woke up at dawn and in the horizon, he could see a shadow of a gigantic person holding some kind of a torch. It was the statue of the Roman Goddess of Liberty, Libertas. The whole ship began to cheer as the Manhattan skyline became slowly visible as the ship drew near the Hudson Bay port. The lanky Polish Jew, Issac due to a traumatic event of his life had managed to land up in the bustling and ever busy, New York City. 

On the ship, Issac had befriended an elderly women by the name of Ailis. She had relatives in Poland and so could speak a little bit of Polish. She was perhaps the only person on the ship to whom Issac could express himself. Issac tagged along with Ailis and landed up working in a small Italian bakery in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Later on...oops, the train has stopped at Avenue H, I have to get off. That’s all I could imagine about the lanky Jewish boy’s escape from Dachau.