#ill be here after my dr apt!

[nitebit]

give this a like to plot connections / add you to my google doc 🔪🖤

[cavalierious-whim]

Of Handjobs and Geniuses (ScrewTio)

Dr. Ratio finds himself bored at an event and drags Mr. Screwllum to a dark and quiet corner.

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--

“So tell me—just how functional is fully functional?”

 A fool’s question for most but Veritas isn’t a fool, he’s a genius, so he’s allowed this one consideration. 

“Question—”

Insufferable, Veritas thinks, the way this man talks, both in that dull, dry tone and the way he thinks about it long after Screwllum takes his leave. Too polite, too proper, too—

“—is the level of functionality concerning my genitalia important for this specific moment?”

No. Yes. No. It isn’t Veritas who drags his hand down a chest, tracing the hemmed edge of a flimsy tunic. He may have pulled him into a dark corner but it is Screwllum who has the wandering touches, who is far more interested in the lithe shape of his form. 

“I do think that the question is apt when considering any future plans.”

“Future plans? We have barely executed this one, as poorly formed as it is.”

Poorly formed is a kind descriptor—but Screwllum is like that, isn’t he? Too kind when it comes to humanity, endlessly curious about what it is that makes humans tick. There is no plan, only action and reaction. Veritas found this particular space station event rather boring so the natural order of operations was to find a new puzzle to solve.

“Are you complaining?”

“I can only point out the rather ill-timing of your arousal.”

Veritas feels the smirk melt right off of his face. “I would have expected a man as learned as you to be better at dirty talk, but, then again, perhaps I should remind myself that a computer is only that—a computer. Absolute boner killer.” It nearly pains him to say boner, but there are times when a more crass wording is warranted. 

Screwllum’s expression cannot physically change but somehow, ever-so-slightly, Veritas picks up on the change in his demeanor. “Question: If your arousal is… killed—” Veritas snorts at that. “—then I ask for you to explain this.”

Veritas stops laughing when Screwllum’s hand drops to the front of his trousers. His gloved hand sweeps across the tented front, just the barest tease of a touch. This, Screwllum is better at, this soft-handed touch that makes his cock twitch in his clothing. All those thoughts of terrible dirty talk and ill attempts at flirting melt into the shadows that cloak them, and Veritas finds himself bracing against an old cargo container to keep himself upright.

“You aren’t unhandsome, despite being a mechanical windbag.”

“I would question your taste in potential partners—”

“You wouldn’t if you knew me better. Truly, Mr. Screwllum, you’re the most normal of the lot.”

There is a pause. The soft whirring of Screwllum’s inner workings is easily heard when pressed so close together. “And yet you insult—”

“Your dirty talk, yes. Abysmal. Tell me, Mr. Screwllum, have you ever fucked a man?”

Screwllum tilts his head, the tassel of his monocle swinging gently. “Answer: I am, in fact, fully functional in any capacity you so wish, and it may interest you to know that I am not entirely unpracticed.”

There is something funny about the thought of Screwllum sleeping with other people. Not strange—no, Veritas expects it, almost. One cannot observe humanity without considering every inch and corner of humankind. Figuratively and literally. Still. 

“I feel that I should inform you that it is in ill taste to inflate your—”

“You will find that I haven’t inflated anything yet.”

A joke. Veritas finds his mouth curling, annoyingly endeared—but it lasts only a moment before the annoyance settles in. “Your hand,” Veritas murmurs.

“I shall remove it—”

“I didn’t say that.” Were Screwllum a man he’d have a half-lidded gaze—Veritas knows that. However, there is a question that is needling his scholarly brain. “What do you get out of this?”

Another pause. That soft, whirring sound that Veritas finds strangely soothing. “Question—”

“Must you frame every sentence in such a way?” Veritas has no idea if that is a quirk of Screwllum’s programming or merely a preference. 

Screwllum huffs, a soft hiss of laughter that sounds almost foreign. “Dr. Ratio—” Really, he should call him by his name considering the hand that brushes against his cock, but Veritas doesn’t correct him. “—do you think that I am incapable of experiencing pleasure?”

What a curious thought. “Can you?”

“Rebuttal: What is it that you constitute as pleasure?” Screwllum’s knuckles press harder against Veritas’s clothed erection. “Many would assume that a being such as myself would be unable to experience arousal—as you clearly did. But then I must ask: What is pleasure? Is it not merely the act of feeling enjoyment? Satisfaction? These are things that I am well acquainted with, being a genius of many achievements.”

What a dick, thinks Veritas. But, takes one to know one he supposed, and he’s more than willing to admit that he isn’t the kindest man in this galaxy. 

“And does this bring you pleasure? Touching me?” 

“I always enjoy watching my partners come undone. There is… pleasure in that, and it has fueled my indulgences through the years.”

Veritas gives him a too-sweet grin that is mostly sarcastic. “And is this an indulgence?”

“Yes—and do not give me that look. I am incapable of lying.”

That sounds like a lie but it’s a concern for another time. Veritas finds it difficult to think with Screwllum stroking his cock through the thick fabric of his trousers, that gentle brush of his knuckles having turned into a proper squeeze. 

Veritas leans against the cargo container, legs parting as Screwllum bends closer. It’s weird to have a partner who cannot kiss you, who has no mouth, lips, or eyes to betray emotion, but Screwllum’s hands work perfectly fine, deft as they are when pulling at the opening of Veritas’s trousers. 

“Here?” 

“Are you not the one who pulled me into this corner?” Screwllum seems genuinely unconcerned, and Veritas still does nothing to stop his hand from dipping between fabric and his heated skin. 

Veritas hisses as Screwllum’s wrist brushes the spot just below his navel. “Cold,” he blurts, that metal hand a sudden reminder that Screwllum is not a man—at least not in the traditional sense. 

Thoughts are lost. He’d teased Screwllum about potentially inexperience but Veritas finds himself woefully wrong. Not quite practiced—no; Screwllum’s movements are jerky and odd, but he watches Veritas closely and is a very, very quick learner. The movements of his hand smooth out and he gives Veritas’s cock a stroke from base to tip that leaves him breathless. 

Screwllum’s hand is still cold, even through his glove, but the heat of Veritas’s skin clings to that fine, smooth leather, and the more that Screwllum jerks his cock, the hotter the space in his trousers burns. 

“Question,” says Screwllum then, with the absolute worst timing. “Is this adequate?”

Adequate, he asks. Veritas could punch him but he isn’t in the mood to break his hand, and something tells him that it would only amuse Screwllum further because the question is a damned tease. 

There are two options: he doesn’t answer, proving Screwllum right or he does answer, also proving Screwllum correct. A no-win situation. Screwllum has backed Veritas into a corner with the sort of ease that he hates being impressed by, and normally he’d blame the computer bits and programming, but Screwllum proves himself time and time again that he’s clearly more than a machine. 

Screwllum thumbs over the tip of his cock. “Observation: You’re wet.”

“You’re a fool—”

“And hard,” continues Screwllum, pulling his cock from his trousers properly. It’s dark enough. He’s covered by Screwllum’s form so that those passing by aren’t likely to see. “Good heft. You fit in my palm well enough—”

“Must you narrate?”

“No,” admits Screwllum. Veritas has the distinct thought that he would be smiling had he lips or smirking. “But it annoys you, so I am far more inclined to do so as a result.” He punctuates the thought with another twist of his hand, and Veritas finds himself biting back a moan. 

Ridiculous. Ridiculous. Screwllum leans in too close for something that’s more akin to rivals-with-apparent-benefits. Smells like metal and machine oil, and Veritas finds that he can’t get enough. Another stroke of his cock, this one slow and languid as Screwllum watches the way Veritas reacts as if he’s researching for a paper. Another sweep of his thumb across the tip of Veritas’s cock—and then Veritas is coming, spilling against that damnable leather glove, stunned stupid by his quick and sudden orgasm. 

Screwllum has the decorum to clean him up, politely yanking a handkerchief from his breast pocket to drag it across Veritas’s softening cock. And then he looks, studying his come that rests in his palm. “Observation—”

“I swear to the Aeons, if you comment on my semen—”

Screwllum does not. He offers him a boon by way of laughter instead, a deep sound that sounds far less tinny than the rest of his words. Then he tucks away that handkerchief, and then Veritas’s cock. “This was fun,” he says then, quietly, as he fastens Veritas’s trousers. “About what you said earlier—future plans. I am amenable to another tryst if you so wish, though I would kindly ask that it doesn’t take place in… a corridor. I enjoy sharing dinner first, at least.”

Veritas blinks. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Screwllum steps back and readjusts his glove. “I think not,” he says dryly. “Merely a meal between colleagues, followed by a potential nightcap.” 

“For research purposes, I assume,” finished Veritas, pulling himself upright on wobbling legs. 

“If that is your preferred dynamic.”

Veritas rubs his forehead, too rung out to think about quipping back with a double entendre. Another time. Another—well, that’s the question at hand, isn’t it? “You’re annoying, aren’t you?”

Screwllum tugs his lapels straight and even. “I’ve been called worse, I assure you. Besides, you’ll find that petty insults of such a nature do little to harm me.”

Of course.

“That being said…” Screwllum trails off and clears his throat. “Dinner would be nice. I am surrounded by geniuses, yes, but I rarely share the company of someone so… effortlessly himself.”

Veritas grunts and drags a hand through his hair. “Consider me intrigued enough to oblige. Your phone, please.”

Screwllum seems surprised by how easily he gave in. Veritas ignores it, adding his contact and handing the phone back. “Don’t call. Only text if it’s to set a date. Otherwise, you’ll be left on read, or worse—blocked. My patience is thin and you’re lucky that you’ve held my attention longer than most.”

Screwllum hums and pockets his phone. “Noted.” 

Veritas is about to brush by him when Screwllum reaches out. Metal knuckles brush across his cheekbone, still warmed by the heat of his own skin. 

“Grease,” says Screwllum, dragging his thumb over the spot. “Likely my fault. I apologize.”

Veritas’s heart skips a beat. Oh, no, no, no, this is a mistake—but his bed has been made and it’s time to lie in the sheets. He knocks Screwllum’s hand away and leaves, barely offering him a wave of his hand.

Later, Screwllum sends him a text message thanking him for the company because he is, at his core, an absurd gentleman.

And, against all reason, Veritas chooses to answer.

[martin-jordan]

End of year review 2024

It’s the first day of 2025. I am continuing last year’s practice of answering the 39 questions Prof. Dr. Molly Steenson proposed.

Here we go: 1. What did you do in 2024 that you’d never done before? I went on a proper 3-day hike to the Triglav Mountains – 14 hours being our longest hiking day. I was much more exhausted than after a half marathon. I could not move for over half an hour after finally arriving at the hut.

2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I kept a few, but not all. I spent almost all of my vacation days. I did more public speaking than I aimed for: 14 of 7 talks. I wrote 48 of 52 weeknotes I wanted to write. I published 6 of the 7 texts I wanted to get out. I did far less exercise than I wanted to. I achieved all the financial goals I set. I will continue writing resolutions, but not meet them.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth? My friends Birga and Mauro became parents again. I’ve met the little fellow now twice. Members of my design team, other colleagues at Digital Service and former GDS colleagues became parents.

4. Did anyone close to you die? A close friend’s father died after a prolonged illness. But really close to me, no.

5. What countries did you visit? As mentioned, I hiked in Slovenia. For the Lunar New Year, I travelled to Hong Kong 🇭🇰, where we spent time with Roxy’s family. We then went to Macao 🇲🇴, North Vietnam 🇻🇳, and Taiwan 🇹🇼, using Hong Kong as our travel hub for 3 weeks. I travelled to the UK 2 or 3 times. From London, I went up to Edinburgh to attend a government design conference. In early October, I went to Helsinki, Finland, to attend two service and system design conferences. We then travelled back by ferry and train from Helsinki 🇫🇮 to Stockholm 🇸🇪 to Malmö to Copenhagen 🇩🇰. This is the most I have travelled since the beginning of the pandemic. We had some beautiful moments abroad.

6. What would you like to have in 2025 that you lacked in 2024? More time to do some crucial things that are not urgent yet. I also want to make more small contributions towards bigger goals in a 10-to-15-year timeframe. Most of my activities don’t go beyond a 2- to 3-year horizon.

7. What date from 2024 will remain etched upon your memory? I remember what I did on my partner’s birthday. I had to think longer what I did on my birthday.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? Helping reviving the Service Standard for German government. We managed to get so much further than I could have imagined. The second biggest achievement is building the team to over 35 people, solidifying the user-centred design discipline with 2 sub-disciplines: content design and user research. And: losing no one from the team while other disciplines had some churn to report.

9. What was your biggest failure? Investing far too little in physical and mental exercise.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? After the 14-hour hike and a painful last hour towards the final hut, my left toe was numb for over 5 months. Only recently, the nerves started responding again.

11. What was the best thing you bought? Maybe it was Roxy’s birthday cake. It was impressive, she loved it, and it absolutely delicious, too.

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration? In closer proximity: Our organisation’s executive team has been doing an awe-inspiring job throughout the year. Christina’s communication is worth highlighting especially.

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed? Politicians in so many countries and entitled billionaire.

14. Where did most of your money go? I spent a lot of money on travel. We went beyond the average 6–8% of income range.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? [To be completed later}

16. What song/album will always remind you of 2024? As odd as I might find the song, ‘Apt.’ by Rosé and Bruno Mars is a song I will link to 2024.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you: I am grateful and impressed of what we did

18. What do you wish you’d done more of? I wanted to write more. I wrote a lot – more than in the last 5 years. But some vital texts have been sitting untouched.

Also, I wanted to do more exercise. I did poorly in this category.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of? I guess that’s sweets and carbs in general. I gained some unhealthy belly fat.

20. How will you be spending Christmas? As Christmas already happened: I spent it with my family at my sister’s place.

21. Who did you spend the most time on the phone with? Like last year, that was my mother. I don’t speak to many other people on the phone these days. Not outside of work.

22. Did you fall in love in 2024? It’s well ongoing, I would say. Rising would describe it better than falling, I think.

23. What was your favourite TV programme? 2024 was less remarkable—or I missed things. ‘Severance’ was good, and so was ‘Silo’ on Apple TV+. The latter I did not finish yet. The first half of ‘Sunny’ was good. The second half less so.

24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year? I don’t use the word, but I have no respect for some ‘liberal’ politicians who continue to lie openly and deceive everyone around them.

25. What was the best book(s) you read? The most revealing book was ‘How to ADHD’ by Jessica McCabe. I wish I had read it earlier.

26. What was your greatest musical discovery? I keep listening to the same music. Spotify can confirm that. I am in the top 0.01% of Philip Glass listeners globally. But I continue to explore new music from him.

27. What did you want and get? That seems like a very consumption-oriented question. I got Roxy her Rollei 35 SE camera. She grew fond of it, which is great.

28. What did you want and not get? I wanted to get a camera for myself, but I still don’t prioritise it. I looked at models at least. As a birthday present to myself, I bought a small Vitsœ 606 shelf for above my working desk at home. It’s lovely.

29. What were your favourite films of this year? ‘Civil War’ was impressive. ‘Lee’ had a strong story, too. ‘Society of the Snow’ had dark and intense moments, but reading the full story on Wikipedia afterwards gave me more hope for humanity again. ‘Poor Things’ was wild—just too much male gaze that made parts uncomfortable!

30. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? I turned 42. On my ‘birthday table’ I found a homemade matcha tiramisu cake. As a surprise trip, Roxy brought me to Beelitz-Heilstätten by train. We had vegan Japanese fine dining at ‘Oukan’ afterwards. 31. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? I feel pretty satisfied, personally. More successful future-proofing policies getting through parliament would have been great. And a few more things about our work getting even more attention would have been incredible.

32. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2024? Buy very, very few things. Try to repair things that are broken. Sneakers were possible, and nicer smart shoes when necessary. Shirts always. Layers for all environments.

33. What kept you sane? Self-efficacy in the work context, the communities I nurture and cooking and baking too late at night. 34. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? This question still doesn’t resonate. I find German vice-chancellor Robert Habeck impressively articulate.

35. What political issue stirred you the most? I don’t know where to start. The decline of democracy and rise of far-right parties in Germany and elsewhere, the cultural war and hate conservatives and far-right politicians

36. Who did you miss? There were fewer moments than last year, but I continue to miss my grandmother—especially when the family gathers. 37. Who was the best new person you met? My new colleagues in the Service Standard team are ace! I had some doubts in the summer about whether new folks could pull this work off. They exceeded all expectations I had.

38. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2024. Give things time. Don’t give up. Make continuous small contributions, and things can suddenly gain an unexpected momentum.

39. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year? I need to pass on this one again. Maybe next year.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Pining John Pt. 2

Please if you have any pining!John fics (like Sherlock accidentally hurts him like he did molly with the Christmas gift) I would absolutely love that!! Thank you so much😊(submitted by @thediamondwoman)

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: hi! New Johnlocker here, this is a fic rec ask, but do you have any fics where John is pining/suppressing/ignoring his feelings for Sherlock? Preferably after TRF, and without Mary in the way, and a slow burn one (sorry for all the preferences just one with pining John would be fine) and thank you for being a blog currently reading all your metas and they are amazing <3333

@i-love-books-and-so-do-you asked: hullo!! *waves* i’m in the mood for some pining john, so i was wondering if you have any good ones? preferably with a happy ending

and may i just say your blog is GORGEOUS like all your fic recs *chef’s kiss* thank you for the literal best johnlock content <33

——-

Hi Lovelies!!!

First of all, thank you for your love for my lists! LOL! These asks just keep coming in, so it looks like I’m overdue for another pining John list!!

That said I do actually have pining John fics, and enough to start a second list! As I re-read fics, I’m able to keep adding all the old ones I didn’t tag ages ago to lists, so that’s fun, hahah. Hope you guys don’t mind me just combining all the pining into one list, hahaah. I get more fics that way LOL!

Enjoy, and feel free to add your own, friends!

See also:

Pining John

Pining Sherlock || [MOBILE FRIENDLY VERSION]

Mutual Pining

Mutual Pining Pt 2

John’s Away (and Sherlock’s Not Okay)

Caffeine and Adaptive Programming by DemonicSymphony (E, 5,540 w., 1 Ch. || Androids AU / Bond Fusion || Android Sherlock, Coffee Shop AU, Pining John Hinted Bond / Q, Toplock) – Sherlock is a coffee shop android slowly falling for a regular customer. But he's not supposed to be able to feel emotions.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John,  Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Insanity in the Middle by DotyTakeThisDown (E, 28,010 w., 8 Ch. || Equestrian Sports AU || Alternate First Meeting, POV John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Clueless Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Passionate Kisses, Hand Holding, Caught Making Out, Bed Sharing, Spooning, Blow Job) – John is a world-class eventing rider with a gold medal and several four-star wins to his credit, but he's never won at Rolex. Sherlock is an up-and-coming rider taking the sport by storm.

Deck the Halls by itsalwaysyou_jw (T, 31,018 w., 24 Ch. || Advent Fic / Multiple One-Shots, Assorted Tags) – One Johnlock ficlet for every day leading up to Christmas. Who is ready for pining, first kisses, established Johnlock, and everything in between? This collection of stand-alone ficlets will have it all.

The Case of the Vanishing Pants by SwissMiss (E, 44,025 w., 6 Ch. || Five and Ones, Post-TRF, Case Fic, UST, Homophobia, Friends to Lovers, Pining John, Showering Together, Couple for a Case, Sherlock’s Bum, Fantasies, Jealous Sherlock) – Five times John and Sherlock lost their pants in the course of a case.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords (M, 48,842 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Alternate S3, John’s Blog/S3 is a Story By John, Divorce, Marital Difficulties, John is a Mess, Emotional Reunion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grief / Mourning, Pining John, First Kiss, Adorably Clueless Sherlock, Nostalgia, Love Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending) – He wasn't Sherlock, he couldn't work miracles. All he'd ever been able to do was write about them.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater /  Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

[psychedelictrashpanda]

It’s been awhile, weird old blog with unspecified direction. How about more of me me me?

I finally did DMT again, and WOW. It’s been at least a full decade since the last time. I still didn’t quite “break through” enough to “meet the entities” again but mein GOTT was it healing. Speaking of God, we’ll get to that soon... But before smoking the dimitri, I was beginning to sustain a mania in slow motion with dissociatives again. Not to any extreme like I did with PCP long ago (btw, glancing at my Eyehategod poster, I realize that horror/metal fest when I was blasted on PCP the entire time was all the way back in 2013! It seems to much more recent, but the way these drugs interact with memory is very peculiar. or maybe it was the traumatizing effect of it and other things at the time that makes me block out and thus distort the time signature of the memory... I digress). And I don’t have the destructive tendencies I did in the past anyway, so I’ve never been apt to push it as far as I was when I was shooting up 3-meo-pcp and blacking out for days at a time. I mean, I did push it I suppose. For the main George Floyd protests I was loading up on a combination of things. Can’t even remember if that was my sober window between methadone detox and the suboxone I’m on now. But, I was combining bits of weird PCP offshoots with opiate offshoots (4-map iirc) and/or kratom with maybe a drop of benzo... straddling the line between going overboard and a “party dose” for lack of a better descriptor; between recreation and desperation. In retrospect, I was summoning the courage to act like my old self used to in these sorts of situations. That is, giving it my all, being novel about it, idk, summoning the spirit of Dr Gonzo I suppose (who, after reading his two books, was more slimey of a jerk than he’s presented in Hunter’s stories. well, I need to finish the Cockroach People book, he started getting into his attraction to underage girls as a young 20-something man himself and ugh, gross). My true wild & adventurous spirit has been hampered, weighed down with anxiety and depression and all manner of undiagnosed mental illness. Who knows if it’s more the drugs or the environmental factors that trigger drug use, but the spirit is tortured like Griffith in the torture dungeon, the heart is wrapped in a black grime guarded by the Beast of Darkness, the will is subordinated to authoritarian capitalist hegemony...

Where was I? Oh so I started suboxone for the second time in my life innnn... February I want to say. Last time I did it I was able to detox myself simply buying subs off the street, but I did it too quick. That’s been one problem, every time I detox rapidly it’s too harsh a push back into reality and I succumb to relapse less then a year into sobriety. The reason reality is harsh is the same reason my stance on anti depressants has been further cemented. I’ve articulated it better lately... Basically I believe it’s a weird solution to depression to force your chemical makeup into the right position to function properly in the same environment that caused it in the first place. “It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.” One of my conversations with a young college friend really illuminated why many don’t even consider this position. She was insistent there’s no cause of depression, you’re just born with a fucked up mind. Now sure, hereditary disposition is a thing, as a drug addicted child of an addict I should know. But for example she pointed to another friend with hard depression and was like “his life seems fine what explanation could there be?” But I put forth maybe his childhood of having to closet his homosexuality in a hard conservative family that had the possibility of disowning him if they knew about it contributed to that “natural chemical imbalance,” as it’s implied. YES, some people NEED it. But for the most part, it really seems to me to be what I’m gonna call the thyroid phenomenon. That is to say, a medical explanation for a small fraction of severely affected patients is used as a broad brush by the public to diagnose themselves. Forewarning: I am not fat shaming here, forgive the example. Dietary practices are a personal thing so my feelings are stronger as well. Anyway, it seems to me as soon as this thyroid malfunction became a hard biological explanation for obesity beyond the psychological, suddenly everyone was a candidate. It’s fine to think “maybe I have it” but when a growing and significant portion of the obese crowd started screaming they all had thyroid problems and can’t help themselves, when a teensy percentage actually do... well it sort of touches on the “addiction as a disease” narrative that’s never sat well with me. Addicts use the disease reasoning to skirt personal responsibility. I'm not denying it is a disease, but I believe calling it as such in the public discourse isn’t terribly constructive. (Okay, you’re seeing an opinion change in real time here... I changed my mind.) I was vehemently against the narrative, but I need to readjust to simply make people WARY of the narrative. As an addict, I could easily see myself using the excuse of it being a disease as a fatalist function; that is to say giving in, relinquishing personal control over my fate. Hereditary disposition, Rat Park, addiction as a disease... there’s also a severe lack of control it all conjures. Paradoxically, drugs can used to meticulously control your state of mind. I can’t control my desire to control myself?

God where was I going with this... Oh! God! May as well mention I’ve been warming up more and more to the spirit of monotheism beyond it’s structural and institutional dimensions. I could get deep into my recent past of not believing in the idea of a spirit, soul, etc. How the pendulum of my ideology swings between cold rationalism and loose spirituality, especially as I go through phases of rebellion against perceived oppressors. Growing up in a red state with a lot of Christian ideals, society around me was always telling me everything I seemed to like was the work of Satan. Naturally, I started reading into Satanism. I never self identified with occult-esque belief structures, except maybe chaos magick because it’s whole idea is to merge whatever practices work into something of your own, but I did staunchly identify as anti christian. Not a hard thing to do when you’re already a metal head, which definitely fueled the trajectory. Not to mention metal helped goad me into DXM use (thanks Velvet Cacoon ya bunch of goons), the first real psychedelic journeys I had. Because I never gave real consideration to myself having depression, I moulded my personal ideology around the symptoms it causes. Which is why for awhile after coming to terms with depression as a problem I probably have, I was only able to identify it in retrospect. I never felt it in real time because it was so old-coat to me, I adapted to it like an addict adapts to their drug of choice and ti becomes their world. So I would decide to skip social events, let my room get messy, watch only old comfort shows, etc... but only AFTER emerging from that state was I able to immediately look back and think “wait... I was doing all those things because I was depressed.” In the moment, it’s rationalized as “I don’t want to see these people for these reasons” or “I want to watch spongebob because it’s fun and an old favorite.” Rationalization, the concept of the west, serves as a detriment to the individual in a number of manners. This is one. I was a MASTER at rationalizing away my drug use. Statistically, more people die from this this and that, why be worried that I’m on this drug instead? Statistics quelled the perceived danger. It was also a formative tool in my skills of justification. I always felt I had to justify every action I took, but that’s getting back into family matters...

But why not bring that up? it’s a sore spot. I feel like the tables have flipped from my dad always saying “you all just think I’m an asshole!” to me thinking I’m the asshole. It’s too much to get into but I’ll touch on a couple important things... I’ve learned a major source of my anxiety is not being able to draw the boundaries between business and family and myself, because they’re not properly defined. When I’m told by my bossfather after explaining the distress I feel simply thinking about the family company, and he goes typically all-or-nothing when I touch on crucial issue and says “if you want out just tell me you want out”, I can’t separate between whether he’s saying it as a father or as a boss in the moment. He would say, “of course I just mean the company”, but where does company end and family begin? It’s also an intense pressure, maybe shame, simply typing this and thinking in the back of my head about someone who might read and think “what a spoiled brat, has a family company and blah blah.” But who put all that in my head? He says he’s changed from the days of putting immense pressure on me with the sort of sentiments that cause that shit in my head like always telling me how great I have it and all the opportunities, shit, I’m feeling it right now, the frustration and I can’t even identify these emotions. At least I am aware of them, that’s a huge milestone for me. But the only thing that’s changed is he sees me as a the broken mother fucker I am and treats me as such. Sometimes it’s nice, and sincere sympathy, other times his frustration with having to check his language all the time is palpable so it does no good to do so. The immense pressure, the intense urgency, the confusing complexity, all those market pressures haven’t changed. This is evident when we were driving somewhere and I suggested not worrying about the fastest route on the map because one minute isn’t a big deal and he insisted that one minute IS a big deal. Sweating one fucking minute indicates a mountain of reputational pressure. In a way, that one minute is putting business ahead of family, but I feel harsh saying it because as he’s pounded into my head the business is what allows the family to survive. Not to mention why put the crack head of the family above that one minute (not literal crack, but it was obvious as soon as he saw I was “fucking around” on ketamine he decided to not take me as seriously) Still, I’ve made my decision that survival reasoning is fucking bullshit already. He’s the one that wants a mansion and wants enough mailbox money for us not to have to worry ever again, so he’s the one deliberately creating the pressure. Maybe he hasn’t considered how hardened he’s become to those feelings after a lifetime in the street and in prison. I really feel for mom. She’s okay now, but her spirit... It’s part of the reason I can’t relax myself at home. He has always painted her as dead weight in the past, never getting a job, sitting watching TV, but he’s unable to connect the dots psychologically because we’re all layman that part of the reason she’s like that is because her actions have been demonized already so who the fuck she got to prove herself to? Same reason I fell into relapse sometimes. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t sort of deal. The damned if I don’t being the reputation of yourself you have to live with after getting sober. He says “don’t worry about it” but I couldn’t accept that because the reason he doesn’t trust me (never mind respect, that’s even further away) is informed by my past. I can’t complain that he never allowed me to contribute to a crucial decision like choosing the building for the dispensary, talking about whether we want a certain investor or not, etc, is because that’s not something to entrust to a druggie. I’ve always felt he let me play make-believe CEO and gave me an allowance for it, while telling me otherwise. He’d say “this is all for you” but he’s making the decisions that truly move mountains and then putting it on us. Which is why I have a hard time saying “I want out”, he can be a baby about things just as much as I am, and I fear he’d let his entrepreneurial drive be affected by my departure. Sigh, this is already getting to be a headache to think about... He’s tired. I’m tired.

There was also something I wanted to say regarding the role social constructs play in all this, but it’s getting long enough already. Suffice to say I’ve been getting into psychoanalysis lately and it’s scratching the right itch for knowledge and wisdom. I can see why Zizek is enamored with Lacan, and why it’s so important to mix it with Marxism. And not to toot my own horn, but what the hell... There are a lot of lofty ideas I’ve been coming across that are already parallel to ideas I’ve developed through my own life experience, and it makes me think I’m meant for this sort of stuff. If I’m lucky in my pursuits (not to put too much weight on the luck aspect), I’ll be a journalist of some sort. Articles, video essays, whatever. Need to rein in my indecisiveness and dispel FOMO tho.

Back to DMT. But not really. Earlier in the summer I got some straight Ketamine and it was also immensely healing. But it has a great abuse potential, especially for me, so it’s harder to “hang up the phone” after I get the message as TmK would say. It made me feel again, and start to understand what love is. Partly because it conjured all these lost feels I had for Kat. She’s great people though, I think I’d just stress her out too much. Idk. Whatever. My love life is a total mess. Anyway after I ran out I wanted more of course and stumbled on some DCK, a somewhat rare ketamine offshoot. Coupled with my increasing propensity to trip acid more than once a week, they started building on each other. I was happier and happier at home, but at work/fam was getting more and more distressed about my place in that whole show. In his show. Simply thinking about the company, especially after having read that article about procrastination and how much it resonated with me, caused me unnecessary levels of distress. Normally as quickly as I can feel that, my mind will tuck it away and bottle it up somewhere so I can go about my day. The problem with drugs is they cause you to act instead. So he was doing the usual “it’s so easy! you’ll have it made!” and I interrupted with this torrent of shit I’ve been holding back forever, and he would not yield on his “you didn’t let me finish...” Incidentally, has he really never picked up on every time I interrupt I already know what he’s talking about? I said as much, something like “it’s not the labor” and he keeps saying “no you’re not listening” as though a frivolous detail changed the main thrust of the fact he’s always trying to make it easier for me. I wish he could simply let me go off and have the strength to take it a little less seriously, but considering how often I take things personally I shouldn’t be surprised he does to. On top of this, his brother/my uncle was in the hospital for some serious shit. But another reason I picked this time is because I only feel safe even confronting him when non-involved parties are around. He doesn’t care that I don’t feel safe confronting him though, he says “don’t worry about me” so maybe I shouldn’t. I feel like such an asshole about it, but that feeling is conjured by the ideological structure he helped to create. Where does my shame end with him being the causation and start with my personal ideology? How much can a person create their own ideology, truly? It’s about as small a window as free will, I imagine.

SO after feeling awful for going off after having all this stuff build up in my mind, I felt awful and went home to drug up some more. Again, not recklessly to the extent I used to be. But I did a fat line of DCK while on a couple hits of LSD and a smidgen of Zolpidem (a wholly underrated substance). Everything was getting to me all at once. A perfect storm of my problems. All the while another doubt caused by ideology from without (society and family both) was making me think it’s all the drugs. But the developments I’ve made are huge strides, I’ve matured so much from it all. And I realized every time I do this, those developments are wiped clean because the validity of them is rendered null due to both the general social stigma of drugs and my history with them. And maybe that’s a major trigger fo rmy relapse in the past. I’m not suppose to be on drugs, but I dabble, have incredible experiences and make strides of maturity, but because it’s drugs the exact opposite effect is percieved from the outside; the experiences are simple chemical euphoria, the strides of maturity are false delusions. It triggers a sharp roll back down hill. I wish someone respected me for who I am, I feel so alone sometimes.

Drugs as an umbrella term, drugs as a vice for the worst dregs of society. There are so many problems in our world regarding drugs. I could write a book. But how much I’ve written here touches on another pressure I feel. IS it simply him again? When he asks “you’re gonna be gone in a few days right?” is that what’s making me feel like this is a waste of time? I’ve got to get out of here. It’s so hard though. I simply have to be strong. The strength is in me to take the massive cut to pay and benefits when I move. Maybe I’ll get a portion of my strugglers card back and shit heads like Blasey Shomas can’t simply say “why don’t you take care of yourself instead of daddy taking are of you?” anymore. Part of me wants to say he says that because he’s driven by his own emotions and not smart enough to directly debate my claims, his insults should hold no weight. Another part of me is truly trying to be... I don’t know a proper term for it without sounding egotistical, but “enlightened”? This is why monotheism is sounding more interesting to me. Jesus’ position about those dregs of society. I’ve always tried to be a trusting person, understanding of people’s struggles, the ideologies they function under that make them lash out or otherwise act the way they do, etc. I even changed my wording there from “I’ve always been” to “I’ve always tried to be.” Not so much for my usual reasons of dodging a committing claim (which I’m working on -- instead of “I think ___” just say what I believe to give the claim more sense of authority so as to be taken more seriously), but trying to be more humble. And not to think lowly and use myself as a punching bag like I used to... ugh, whatever. This post is messy enough.

So that night after having done DCK every day for a couple weeks and tripping every other night on acid, I was at my wits end on what to do, where to go next, everything. The outside world is crumbling, the inside world is lost. I finally whipped out that DMT I’ve had for a long while, something inside told me it was time. Oh duh it was the wits end part, I had no other chemical recourse. I sat in my bed with a foil sculpture loosely resembling a pipe, repeated to myself “it’s okay, just let it happen to you, it will be okay.” A part of me even had a small fear based on those rare reports of those interdimensional beings mentally raping some people, but I don’t know what to make of those experiences, seem like flukes. I took my three deep hits and set the pipe aside as soon as the rusb began and laid back. It wasn’t enough to break through, so I need to get a proper pipe, but it was enough for a “being” (which I am convinced is a part of your mind, not from another dimension or otherwise external source) to appear before me. At least I think. Whatever it was slowly came closer, reassuring me that I’d be okay. The most profound part was an overwhelming sense of all these puzzle pieces suddenly falling perfectly into place where they should be. As though the answers to all my struggles obvious and within me the whole time. For example as soon as I came back I adjusted my posture, as that’s something that I’ve been wanting to work on, and because I was reminded of that just now I adjusted my posture in my seat while writing this. I felt an overwhelming sense of forgiveness toward myself, I think. Amazingly, the inebriation I felt before the trip was largely dissolved, as though the stuff I was on somehow all lost it’s potency. The distresses melted away. At least, the power behind them was nulled. I’m still facing the same problems, but there’s a zen(?) quality to my thinking when they come up in my mind. No longer will a pin drop trigger everything I’m feeling all at once. When I came-to completely, I started BAWLING. In being overwhelmingly consoled by the trip, I became inconsolable. Tears of joy. Tears of healing. And that was the main takeaway. The loudest words of the experience were “Now the healing can truly begin.” At the same time, now the real work also begins. 

Balance is key

[desiree-harding]

Not the same anon as before but do you have any ideas about moments when Barry and Lup have to spend time around one another post-fallout (seeing as they have mutual acquaintances) ?

This is not exactly what you asked for but technically it is after the fallout and technically they are around one another so :)))))

Edit as of 2020: This snippet includes depictions of illness assumed fatal. But Just a Quick Reminder that this story has a happy ending and everyone turns out completely fine.

This is an installment from my ongoing ReJEANcy (regency) AU.

*~*~*~*~*

Lup’s condition did not improve.

Before the end of day she was in fits of fever, her skin flushed, sweat beading on her forehead, wrinkled in discomfort. No longer did Barry wander the halls of Kravitz’s large, empty house in silent contemplation. He felt unable to tear himself away from her shivering form. No more did the servants suggest his presence might be of more use elsewhere. A chair was pulled up on either side of the bed, and Barry occupied one at all times, watching in silent, petrified horror as Lup descended into someplace dark and deep, where words and touch would no longer reach her. And for all his smarts, for all his knowledge, there was nothing he could do but continue to watch, as Doctor Highchurch poked and prodded at her, as he let blood from her in the hopes of bringing her fever down. Barry held her arm still.

It was the most contact he’d had with her in years. 

Finally the doctor finished, and silently he bandaged her wrist once more as Barry pulled the bowl away, handing it to a servant at the door to empty.

“Mister Bluejeans,” the doctor said, and Barry turned. The man was packing his instruments away, back into his bag. He did not look at Barry. Behind him, Lup lay still in the bed, and the afternoon light slanted in through the windows. 

“I am sorry to say it,” the man said, mildly, “I know you wish to still hold out hope. But I fear it may be time to prepare yourself for the worst.”

The pit of Barry’s stomach did not drop so much as it disappeared. One moment he was a man, and the next he was nothing but a heavy mist where a man once stood. His eyes were drawn, inexorably, to Miss Taaco’s form once more, her shallow breaths, her complexion flushed and the sheen of sweat on her brow. He should refresh the cloth for it -

“How long until Lord Kravitz and his husband return?” Dr. Highchurch said, and Barry’s head snapped up again, to look at him, terrified.

“I… I do not know…” he admitted, panicked, “we haven’t heard anything from them, I - I sent a letter, but I don’t know if it’s reached them.”

“For Mr. Taako’s sake, let’s hope it has,” Doctor Highchurch said, grimly, and Barry’s mind was a wash of panic. “I will return this evening.”

“Should I call you, Doctor, if anything changes before then?” Barry asked desperately. Doctor Highchurch’s eyes were full of nothing but regret as he looked back at him.

“If it will make you feel better,” he said, “then you may. But… there is little I can do for her now. Keep her comfortable. Try to keep her fever down, if you can. The rest… well. Let us hope she has some fight left in her.” And then he picked up his bag and he was gone.

Barry could not think. He could hardly breathe. He fell heavily into the chair they had pulled alongside her bed, unable to tear his eyes from her. He felt as though he would be sick. 

His eyes had missed the sight of her. He had thought, only a week ago, how much he longed to see her, more and more often, how he longed for the closeness of her company, how he wished to be allowed into her life, in any paltry way - 

Not like this, he thought desperately. How terrible, how disgustingly ironic that his wish had been granted, here, in this space, that he shared alone with her, only hours, perhaps, from her - 

He could not think the word.

He would give anything not to have his wish come true now. He would leave her a hundred times, tear himself from her, if only it meant that she was out of danger.

Prepare for the worst, his mind screamed at him. Prepare for the worst, and it was apt, was it not? What could be worse than the loss of her? Not just for Barry but for the world? What could compare to it? Surely nothing else in god or man’s imagination could be so tragic as the loss of Lup. To snuff such a light from the world was the cruelest act Barry could conceive of.

He had been so foolish. He should never have believed Lydia’s venomous words, should never have avoided her, should never have spent so long harboring animosity in his heart. For all of a sudden, like a morning light breaking over the top of a hill, it was clear to him how hopelessly, endlessly in love with her he was. Now, faced with the loss of her, there was no question as to his affections. He loved her, every inch of her, every word from her lips, her quick wit and beauty and kindness. And he had been such an ignorant, stubborn fool.

Even when she went out of her way to make amends for the gossip that had turned Barry from her, he had hardened his heart, had chosen suspicion over forgiveness. In all the months she had been so kind, he had kept himself at a distance, and for what? What seemed rational and reasonable at the time, now, sitting in silence watching her struggle for every breath, revealed itself to be nothing more than a stupid, proud inclination. What did he need to prove? That he could be heartless too? But she never had been, and Barry had kept himself from her, and now she was on the verge of leaving this world, and Barry had not made amends himself.

But all of it - the once imagined prospect of marriage, the image of her as his wife, as a partner - all of it, and the loss of it, paled in comparison to the thought of her lips stilled in death, the loss of her mind and her soul, no matter what they were to Barry. The light gone from her eyes, the hole in the world that would be left if she was gone.

He briefly imagined it, Taako and Kravitz standing by in mourning clothes, as her coffin was lowered -

He leapt up from his chair.

No, it could not be. Doctor Highchurch told him to prepare, but nothing was confirmed - nothing was ever confirmed until - until the moment itself - no - he went to fetch another cloth for her forehead.

And the evening wore on. Doctor Highchurch returned, checking her again, letting blood. He did not need to speak for Barry to know what the downturn of his lips meant.

Evening turned to night, and Barry did not sleep, even as Doctor Highchurch dozed in a corner armchair. He watched with terrified eyes, for the smallest of changes, too frightened to retire. Distantly, he could feel exhaustion creeping up in the back of his mind, in his limbs, from so many hours of waking fear. But he did not give into it.

She tossed now, more restlessly than before, back and forth beneath the covers. He could see her pillow wet with sweat, her hair greasy with it, even braided back as the servants had left it. She would shift, uncomfortable, and her face would contort and she would moan, sometimes the indistinct shape of words, and sometimes her eyes would open, unseeing, for a brief moment and she would breathe desperately like she was drowning, before the invisible force she battled pulled her back under. It was terrifying.

More terrifying yet was the stillness that came next. Around two in the morning, her movements slowed, until she lay completely still, and Barry, feeling like his heart would fail, leaned closer in fixed, morbid, horrible attention.

“Miss Lup?” he ventured, in the dark, leaning closer still to her, resting an elbow on the bed as his eyes searched her face. “Miss Lup?” She did not respond, even physically, and in a fit of passion he took hold of her wrist, pressing his fingers into her pulse point. His other hand he rested against her forehead. Her skin burned to the touch. Her pulse was sluggish and weak. Her hands were cold, even with the heat of her face.

“Oh no, Miss Lup,” he whispered, so tired, now, that his thoughts would no longer remain just in his head. Irrationally, he spoke, as though his voice alone could pull her back to the living world. “Please,” he begged. “Please, you must continue to fight. Darling, please,” here in the dark silent morning, his heart spilled out over his tongue, “please, you mustn’t let go so easily as that. How will any of us live without you?”

Her stillness seemed all the answer he needed. There was not so much as a twitch of her fingers in his hand. He watched, always, for the miniscule rise and fall of her chest.

“Please,” he begged again, “do not leave us. We cannot lose you.” But he was certain she could not hear. And it seemed any moment would be her last. He felt a tear course down his cheek. He did not take his hands off hers to wipe it away.

“Please.” It seemed the only thing he could say. He bowed his head, brushed his lips along the back of her hand, unable to contain himself. His head coursed with something akin to pain. His vision swam. “And if you must go,” he murmured against her skin, “at least do not leave us before your brother returns. Do not deny Taako the opportunity to tell you goodbye.”

He had the delirious thought that perhaps, to just lay his head down beside her, where her hand rested atop the covers, if only for a moment -

“If not for any other among us, please, Miss Taaco, you must hold on for him,” he whispered, and then he knew no more.

*~*~*~*~*

[abbyfreemansmind]

Let’s talk about Hazbin Hotel

So, I finally sat down and watched Hazbin Hotel. I’d heard so much about it and felt the need to launch myself headfirst into having my own opinions about it instead of just listening to other people talking about it. This is gonna be a long post, so I’m gonna put it behind a neat little read more. Please note that this is coming from someone who genuinely enjoys adult humour and edgy humour and themes. I’ve got no problem with something that’s all swearing and raunchy jokes. It just needs to be done right.

Point 1 - The Plot The plot is describes as the Princess of Hell trying to open a new hotel to rehabilitate sinners so they don’t get exterminated during the yearly heavenly extermination to deal with Hell’s overpopulation problems. This plot is quickly undone through a few things that anyone can notice during the first viewing. 1 - Overpopulation? WHAT population? The scenery is most often noticeably devoid of any signs of life, outside of when background characters are called for. The scene where Charlie’s doing her news presentation is the most notable example of background characters. After this scene, we see almost nobody outside of the main cast and those weird little egg things. There are a few throwaway demons but outside of that, the streets are devoid of people. There aren’t even the corpses we had just seen during that opening scene. 2 - Charlie may as well be a total nobody what with all the power being the Princess of Hell holds. Just look at how the other characters treat her. You’d think the Princess of Hell would have some kind of benefit that would sway people towards agreeing with this whole idea. Instead, she gets mocked by just about everyone for reasons I can only guess involve winning her sympathy points from the audience. 3 - At no point does she give any proof that redemption would work. She basically says, “Hey guys! I hate seeing you all die, so I have this idea that has no backing evidence, that may or may not work, to try and get you guys into Heaven! Let me sing a song about it where I insult you all!”

Point 2 - Presentation I applaud the animators. Must’ve been hard, especially for Charlie’s overly fast song that really didn’t need to be nightcored, or literally any time Angel Dust was on-screen. Frame by frame. No rigs. All those stripes. All those colours that blend if you stare at them too hard or squint even slightly while watching. All that unnecessarily constant movement. It’s no wonder the thing took four bloody years to animate. Outside of animation, there are too many unneeded details and not enough needed details. Seriously. 1 - The turf war. We didn’t need this. We didn’t need this at all. If you take out the entire opening to it and the entire actual fight scene here, the episode still flows smoothly and we get the same amount of information and worldbuilding. In a pilot/first episode, you should only give the audience necessary details. Leave them wanting more, yes, but make sure they actually know what they’re getting into from the first episode. Make every scene count. Make it mean something. Don’t just shove every detail you can think of together and call it a day, especially if you don’t actually give the audience much information from it. 2 - Why is Hell overpopulated? Why isn’t Heaven? Why can angels go from Heaven to Hell, but demons can’t go from Hell to Heaven? Why does nobody care about being redeemed if Hell is so overpopulated that Angels annually come down and kill people because of it? Why does everyone treat the Princess of Hell like she’s worthless? Why doesn’t Angel Dust know about Alastor if they got into hell within 10 years of each other? Where is this supposed overpopulation problem? Would redemption even work in the first place? Why should I care about most of these characters (who are mostly complete jerks with no redeeming qualities other than “PROTAGONIST”, especially when two of the fan favourites repeatedly sexually assault other characters and, in one case, is both sexist and racist at one point)? Why are there turf wars? I should not be having to ask these questions. Don’t hold the audience’s hand, but don’t leave every single question you present in the show unanswered. Some of the questions presented make absolute sense to leave unanswered. Why does Alastor want to help with the hotel? Why are characters like Vaggie and Niffty, who do nothing all that bad, in Hell? These are questions that make total sense to leave unanswered for now. 3 - What crime is too terrible to be redeemed for? Charlie seems to think that literally everyone can be redeemed. That means murderers, rapists, abusers, tormentors... Certainly her song holds some kind of key to figuring it out! “Inside of every creepy hatchet-wielding maniac” Hmm... Okay... “All of you cretins, sluts and losers, sexual deviants and boozers” Uh... “So, all your cartoon porn addictions, vegan rants, psychic predictions Ancient Roman crucifixions end right here All you monsters, thieves and crazies, cannibals and crying babies" Oh... Also, did she imply that mental illness, alcoholism, drug dependency, plant-based diets/lifestyles, rabies and enjoyment of sex were sins in that song?

Point 3 - Edgy for the sake of edgy Hazbin Hotel tries to be an adult cartoon, but comes off as something a mentally disturbed teenager wrote during their emo/scene phase. 1 - The swearing and sex jokes. Oh boy. I’ve worked with children under the age of 15 who swear and crack sex jokes better than the adults in this show. The swearing and sex jokes are the only reasons this show couldn’t be aired as a Cartoon Network show aimed at edgy teenagers. It’s so poorly done that it in and of itself takes away from the quality of the show itself. Also, we have a character who’s name is an actual sex joke itself. Vaggie, full name Vagatha - a lesbian sex worker, of course. Fun fact for those who don’t know, but all of her previous character drafts had her name as some form of joke on the word vagina. This isn’t an accident, this is blatant and intentional. Also, here’s a pro tip for you! You can make an adult-oriented show without having swearing, slurs and sex jokes taking up a solid third or more of your script. 2 - The... “Representation”. Yes, Hazbin Hotel has LGBT+ characters! Yes, it has biracial and Latina characters! Charlie is bi, Vaggie is a Latina lesbian, Angel Dust is a gay man, Alastor is ace and biracial, Husk is pan, Niffty is Japanese (YIKES). Except none of it actually matters. No, really. Vivziepop was all like, “btw you can ship w/e, idc! also, i rlly like the fanon version of human alastor (who is whiter than marshmallow fluff even though he’s supposed to be half black)! :)” and threw all that out the window because... Who knows at this point. Now, if you look at the connected series, Helluva Boss, you get Moxie and Millie - an extremely obvious and loving couple. In Hazbin Hotel, you get Charlie and Vaggie who you probably couldn’t tell were a couple without somebody telling you that in the first place, what with all the loveydovey-ness going on with them. In fact, the biggest hint we even get is literally one line. “Life ain’t a musical, hun.” But then again, I’d be more apt to believe Charlie and Vaggie are friends, or Vaggie is pining after Charlie. Also, Charlie is a really bad girlfriend! She lets Vaggie get abused by practically the entire cast without so much as a single word in her defense and ignores everything Vaggie says. It came as no surprise when I remembered hearing about how the only reason these two are a couple is because one of the people on the team thought they were during storyboarding and Vivziepop just went with it. Also, fun fact, Vaggie fits both the angry lesbian and fiery Latina stereotypes. Charlie fits the stereotype for the bisexual cheater, what with how she seems to actually like Alastor more than her own bloody girlfriend. Alastor is canonically ace because he’s too full of himself to be with anyone else. Speaking as somebody who’s ace... WHAT?! As much as I don’t like Charlastor, it’s partially more popular than Chaggie because Vivziepop actually made them act like a couple for an entire musical number. Also, he’s annoying. He not only kept telling Vaggie to smile (heck you dude), he also smacked her butt, which is a form of sexual assault, people. This was all played for laughs, along with Vaggie’s (actually very reasonable) anger. Niffty is Japanese. A yellow-skinned demon who’s boy crazy and obsessed with cleaning... Big yikes. Finally, Angel Dust. The kinky gay man porn star/drag queen/drug addict/prostitute who verbally sexually assaulted two guys. Where do I begin. When it came to this guy, Vivziepop must’ve been like, “Imma throw every stereotype for gay men on this guy and call it a character!” If you look a Helluva Boss again, you get Stolas, who verbally sexually assaults Blitzo over the phone and also cheated on his wife with him in the first place, so this isn’t a one-off. Also, he was originally AFAB, so that whole line about “Why are you all women?” is more than a little heinous and in extremely poor taste.

In conclusion, this show is terrible. Everything about it. It needs some serious reworking, because as it stands, it’s really truly not that great of a creation.

tl;dr: Needs a lot of work and “ThEy’Re In HeLl!!1!!one!!!eleven!!!11″ isn’t even remotely an excuse for the genuine problems in it. Remember, at least one actual human being on Earth, not in Hell, wrote this garbage fire. Also, the animators deserve a higher wage than whatever they’re getting to deal with these designs. I shudder just thinking about animating them, with or without a rig.

[ruthfeiertag]

Random Ruminations on Depression

Preamble:

I want to take back the word ruminate. The Online Etymology Dictionary explains that the word “ruminate (v.)” dating from the 1530s, means “'to turn over in the mind,’ also ‘to chew cud’ (1540s), from Latin ruminatus, past participle of ruminare ‘to chew the cud; turn over in the mind,' from rumen (genitive ruminis) ‘gullet,’ of uncertain origin.” Merriam-Webster Online Gives the definition of ruminate as

transitive verb

1: to go over in the mind repeatedly and often casually or slowly 2: to chew repeatedly for an extended period

intransitive verb

1: to chew again what has been chewed slightly and swallowed : chew the cud 2: to engage in contemplation : REFLECT

https://pixabay.com/photos/pensive-female-woman-window-staring-580611/

But psychology — and in general I have real respect and genuine gratitude for the healing and support psychology and psychotherapists provide; if I kept a gratitude journal, my therapist’s name would be on every page — has come near to ruining this apt word that perfectly expresses the way many of us need or choose to take the time to ponder and deliberate rather than hasten to judge or get embroiled in the consequences of an ill-considered decision. Psychology, as a field, has decided ruminate should mean obsessively thinking about whatever is bothering one, over and over and over… 

I think one of the reasons this definition has become popular, not only among psychologists, but in the general public as well, is that we have such short attention spans and have come to prize speed over all else. We rush to embrace technology that robs us of our privacy, we don’t stay to watch the credits after a movie (unless there’s an added scene), we expect to know the results of every election before the votes are all counted. Take a breath, people. Being ruminative used to be a positive attribute, one that indicated one was a careful, thoughtful person, not inclined to fling one’s self pell-mell off a cliff. Now it is a weakness, a character flaw that indicates one brings one’s misfortunes upon one’s self because one can’t control one’s thoughts. 

Join me in my mission. Let’s rescue ruminate. Start using it in its proper sense. Fling it with abandon into your philosophical conversations: “I was ruminating upon the meaning of life the other day and wondering just what 42 really has to do with it.” If someone tries to push you into making a snap decision, say, “You know, in order to give you the thoughtful answer you deserve, I need to ruminate on that for a day or two.” When next asked to describe yourself, pause for a moment,  then declare, “I am an attentive, measured sort of person with a ruminative cast to my mind.” (Just don’t tell anyone you’re a ruminant. That will totally undermine our goal.) 

And after we save ruminate, we’re coming back for you, enable.

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Every so often, the New Yorker slips a suggestion for an archived article into the Inbox of my e-mail. That how I came across Andrew Solomon’s article, “Anatomy of Melancholy,” that appeared in New Yorker’s January 12, 1998 issue. It’s a pretty harrowing description of the depths down to which depression can pull person, and of the biases that still pertain when it comes to admitting to others or to ourselves that we have a mental illness and, worse, might be so “weak” as to need chemical (or electrical) interventions. As I moved through the essay, I can upon this proffered bit of wisdom:

Accuracy of perception is not an evolutionary priority. Too optimistic a world view results in foolish risk-taking, but moderate optimism gives you a strong selective advantage. “Normal human thought and perception,“ Shelley Taylor writes in her 1989 book, Positive Illusions, “is marked not by accuracy but by positive self-enhancing illusions about the self, the world, and the future. Moreover…these illusions are not merely characteristic of human thought; they appear actually to be adaptive.” As she notes, “The mildly depressed appear to have more accurate views of themselves, the world, and the future than normal people. [They] clearly lack the illusions that in normal people promote mental health and buffer them against setbacks.”

hulki-okan-tabak-SKadYI4E7OM-unsplash-scaled

So — why are those of us with depression and accurate perceptions the ones who are mentally ill, while the “normies” with their illusions are the ones who are considered sane? Why are we the ones who are seen as less evolved? Am I the only one who thinks this assessment is a little bit off?

************************************

  In a recent car commercial, actor and apparent guru Matthew McConaughey ruminates (see how easy it is to just slip the word right into a sentence?) out loud about the process of identity formation. He muses 

“Knowin’ who we are is hard — it’s hard. Eliminatin’ who you are are not, first, and you’re gonna find yourself where ya need to be.”

OK: first, shouldn’t the logic of the first sentence — the search for identity — lead to a statement about finding out who one is rather than where one is? I guess that’s what happens when one infuses manufactured sagacity into an advert for a vehicle. And never mind the lack of parallel structure in the second sentence.

But what I keep thinking is, “What if we, as is recommended by Mr. McConaughey, eliminate all the people we are not, only to realize there’s no one left?” That’s kind of who-where I keep finding myself.

*********************************

An ethical dilemma: At the recommendation of a friend, I picked up Change Your Brain, Change Your Life, by Daniel G. Amen. M.D. I haven’t read very far into it, but so far there are some sensible observations about the practicality of having one’s brain scanned for damage so one knows whether medical or psychotherapeutic remedies are most likely to be beneficial. However, on page twenty-nine, our friend the doctor discusses thing that hurt the brain and things that help the brain. Under malign influences, Dr. Amen notes that “even spending time with unhealthy people [is] bad for the brain.” OK: I can see how that can work.

In the next paragraph, Dr. Amen lists things that can boost the brain. This list includes the point that “In many ways, the best thing you can do for your brain is to spend time with healthy people. As we will see, they are contagious. I often say the fastest way to get healthy is to find the healthiest person you can stand and then spend as much time around him or her as possible.” That also makes sense.

BUT — and you may already see the problem here — let’s say I’m a healthy person. I know an unhealthy person, someone with, say, depression, someone who would immensely benefit from spending time with me. Yet if I do spend time with that person, I’ll be engaged in an activity that will be detrimental to my own grey matter. On the other hand, if I choose to protect myself by shunning the depressed person, I’m selfishly depriving her or him of my beneficial “contagion” and preventing that person from attaining the flourishing cerebrum she or he deserves. (Unless, of course, that person has been ruminating. In that case, she or he deserves all the melancholy that infests her or his soul. [That’s an example how NOT to use the word ruminating.]) I’m either allowing harm to come to myself or withholding aid from another, which makes me a pretty lousy human being, and knowing that I’m a pretty lousy human will depress me.

Now let’s imagine that I am the unhealthy person, and I know a tremendously healthy person, in whose salubrious presence I never fail to rally. I have a lot of time on my hands. I easily could spend days with this person and notably sharpen my dulled mental functions and ameliorate my debilitating mood. However, by latching on to this bloom-imparting individual, I will be causing harm to that person’s well-being and will likely disrupt her or his equilibrium. That would make me an insensitive parasite, sucking the life out of someone for my own ends, and being such a draining leech would make me feel horrible and depressed.

So what to do? I hate lose-lose, damned-if-you-do-or-don’t, caught-between- Scylla-and-a-hard-place options.

**********************************

And then Will Wheaton put this up on his Blog:

報復性熬夜

Revenge Bedtime Procrastination, which has a much more beautiful name in Chinese (the literal translation for revenge bedtime procrastination means “suffering through the night vengefully.”), is a phenomena unique to people who feel out of control in their daily lives, so we refuse to go to sleep early, to exert some control over our lives, and to enjoy some quiet time alone, when the rest of our people are sleeping.

I should confess, straight up, that I am, by nature, a night owl. It runs in the family. But I love both this concept and its name. Between the depression and the M.E. and the State of the Union, I’m having an increasingly hard time getting any sleep. I just wish being AWAKE YES I’M AWAKE YES I DO KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS OH ISN’T THAT A LOVELY SUNRISE? would wreak some actual vengeance on the conditions and people who are responsible for my near-insomnia. 

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Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay https://pixabay.com/photos/fantasy-face-branches-woman-3317298/

I hope my ruminations provide some conceptual cud for your synapses, dear reader, to masticate at the pace of your choosing. And don’t forget: enable is still waiting for us to effect an heroic rescue, one worthy of our idiom.

[theresabookforthat]

Oprah’s Book Club, April, 2020 Hidden Valley Road: Inside the Mind of an American Family by Robert Kolker

from There’s a Book for That reviewer Debbie:

As we are globally witnessing something only seen before in movies, today’s social isolation - necessitated by COVID 19 -  affords us another grand wonder, Hidden Valley Road. If it were fiction this true story would never make it to the screen, for it is not to be believed!

Who wouldn’t want to be a fly on the wall to witness the unimaginable story of a family wherein half of the children eventually develop schizophrenia? As if giving birth and raising a family of 12 children isn’t crazy in and of itself, the true madness lays in the mental illness afflicting six of the ten boys and what can be considered the neglect of the remaining healthy children.  This is a narrative of profound sadness, suffering, hurt, abuse, neglect, confusion, tenacity, determination, and ultimately acceptance, forgiveness and tinges of hope.

After reading this book, I’m about to have Siri dial Dr. Pearlman to cancel therapy altogether because this story makes me rejoice in my trauma as the middle child of three!  Many might be quick to cast Mimi and Don as villains here, I mean, really, who celebrates the end of WWII for 20 years? Joking (and the not funny subject of mental illness) aside, some of the trauma and abuse in this family is made possible simply because of its size.  I went from admiring matriarch Mimi’s artistic attributes to anger for myriad, obvious reasons and ultimately ended up applauding her fortitude, strength and unwavering commitment. Like many dads of this time, Don is a minor player and he is barely yellow carded for playing hooky as well as playing the field.  And it’s no wonder, thank you Dr. Freud (and the world), that Mimi bears the burden of blame. Sadly, we have a deep-rooted history of faulting mothers for everything from supermarket tantrums to autism and schizophrenia.

Based on one New Yorker Magazine piece I read years ago, I falsely believed - and wanted to - that schizophrenia was a treatable disease so long as the sufferer adheres to his pharmaceutical regimen. However, in the span of 75 years Hidden Valley Road provides a fascinating peek into the way one family copes with the devastation and limited choices brought on by a disease of this magnitude and nature as well as a deep enough history of schizophrenia, its study, clinical research and treatment. Sadly, with the coalescence of many factors, Hidden Valley Road’s saga included, it’s impossible to continue believing in magic pills.

It’s no wonder I quickly passed this engaging page-turner on to my daughter’s girlfriend and the line of, “can I read it next?” is quite long! It’s only apt that Hidden Valley Road be the extraordinary book I grabbed for first during this extraordinary world event.

Watch Oprah’s video announcement here

follow the Book Club Discussion schedule on Facebook here.

[dcnativegal]

Day 55 of Pandemic, & I’m sick

Monday, May 4, 2020. Day 55 of the global pandemic (declared by World Health Organization on March 11th.) We as a planet hit 3,500,000 cases today, and 250,000 deaths. There are many more than that, but the planet doesn’t have enough tests.  But then, there was this announcement:

So obviously we’re in good hands. [Sarcasm alert.]

 The entire planet has slowed down, such that seismologists can detect the quieting of the earth: less shuddering of industry, cars, construction. Check out the drop in electricity usage:

Here’s a bit of perspective from Instagram:

The Lesbians of Paisley have been fertile ground for viruses. Valerie is nearly recovered from the viral pneumonia she was diagnosed with on March 26 at the emergency room at Lake District Hospital. She’d begun to feel feverish and achy, with violent coughing on March 15th, 2 days after what turned into my last day in my office at the hospital’s primary care clinic, and a day and a half after we’d dined with our friends Toni, Al, Bonnie and Bruce in person, sans masks. We began 100% isolation from the outside world the minute she felt sick. She recounted the ER adventure to a friend thusly: We drove in and they have organized a system that resembles getting on a [military] base after 9-11. We sat in the pickup at the checkpoint until a somebody in protective attire had taken my temp and saturation levels and asked a bunch of questions. Then they slapped a red sticker on the dash, told us to park in the ER lot and "don't get out of the pickup." Five hours later I had donated blood and been CAT scanned. I had two pneumonia shots that were current and two flu shots, also current. They checked the blood against 14 different virus strains and came up blank. The chest showed white lungs and my saturation levels were iffy. So they used one of the tests they had been sent, gave me antibiotics (just in case) and sent me home. Took me three days to sleep off all that fun.”

Me and Griffey the poodle waited in the pickup for her. At every sound, he got up from the passenger’s seat and looked at the ER entrance where she’d disappeared. No Valerie? Back to sleep. I walked him 3 times.      Hope, her RN daughter, told us that her flow through the ER was great practice in maintaining distance and perfect hygienic process through the CT scan, taking blood, even pushing her food on a tray to her. Lake Health District Hospital is prepared, and still, technically speaking, zero cases in the county.

I was so anxious about her health, her ability to breathe, that I gave up all thought of working from home. I listened to her breathing and coughing, brought her tea, and finally, asked her to write out her last will and testament. She did, and put it away. I figured, her kids are wonderful and won’t fight about stuff but, better for her to express her wishes, even if the paper wouldn’t be legally binding.

Apparently, I get the FrankenDodge (the pickup which has hit one too many deer and who’s grill is sewn together by wire). I’ll take it but I’d much rather have her.

We waited 10 days for the nasal swab results. While we waited, she got better. Never had that cytokine storm, nor that respiratory crash. Storms and crashes; pretty apt words for the medical horror of end stage COVID-19. Once her test came back negative, despite the warning of her PCP who says that nasal swabs miss between 30 and 47% of positive cases, I was able to go to town on the 10th of April, get some software downloaded onto the computer so I could work from home, and hit Safeway while wearing a mask. I also dropped off one of Valerie’s homemade masks to a friend, along with some toilet paper illustrated with Trump’s kissy face. The moment of levity was greatly appreciated.

I started feeling lousy six days after my jaunt to Lakeview (April 16th). Cough and release of gook high up in my chest. Headache. No fever. Who knows if I have COVID-19. We listen to a British gentleman, Dr. Campbell, daily, as he reviews what’s going on globally, and he interviewed a woman who had exactly my illness course, before she moved on to fever and gastrointestinal symptoms. She never got tested. Too much hassle. Which is so ridiculous, criminal really, and in the USA, a direct result of American hubris and incompetence. Fine. Anyone with any symptoms of any illness is isolated until we have a vaccine and treatment, is my prediction. I’m still feeling shitty, though better. Started taking antibiotics just in case and in the hopes of recovering SOMEDAY.

 My son Jonah and his girlfriend June escaped just in time the terrible plight of New York’s COVID19 deluge of infections and hospitalizations. They’ve been in Baltimore at June’s mother’s beautiful home. He spent his 26th birthday in the basement because they were still in quarantine. See adorable picture, below. Now they’re allowed upstairs, enjoying the quiet. Apparently, writing and directing music videos is not an essential service during a pandemic, but he’s writing pitches and living off the most recent lucrative gig with Kesha, thank goodness.

One of the most moving things that is happening in the USA during this time is the 7pm clapping ritual for medical workers and first responders in New York City, in all the boroughs:

There’s a firefighter in DC who’s going to hospitals and nursing homes to play the bagpipe.

That’s where my daughter Clara lives, in DC, but right now she’s staying with a friend in Laurel, MD, since her group house dynamics are stressful and had a symptomatic guest at last report. She’s working from home to make sure the Latinx school children are getting the tutoring they need now more than ever. We worry about her husband Jose and his country, Guatemala, since there are COVID-19 cases down there, and refugees seeking asylum are being dumped there, with and without the virus. Over 700 cases in Guatemala as of today. We hope he will get to the USA this year. However, Trump referred to it as a shithole country, which doesn’t bode well.

My sister and her husband are well, thankfully. They work fulltime from home in the company of Pepper the cat and Darcy the chocolate lab. Yuuki, 25, stays there, too, mostly in their room; they are out of work and applying for unemployment. Kohji, age 28, works from home in DC and makes more money as a web designer than I ever will after 34 years as a social worker, but who’s counting. (I remember well the admonition of a field instructor back in 1987: don’t go into social work for Power, Pay or Prestige.) His girlfriend is probably out of work; she works for a nonprofit that plants trees in DC. Probably not essential work right this very minute. Makoto, 23, is out of quarantine and looking for something to do; he’ll be a senior at the University of Delaware this fall. As far as I hear on Facebook and email, the rest of the folks with whom I share DNA are well. So that’s good. I worry about my Aunt Mary Lee who is 87. But she says not to:  she’s fine and her ritzy retirement community in McLean, VA is on “lockdown.”

Psychologically, in the experience of quarantine and ‘social distancing’, there’s me, and then there are my clients.

My moods go up and down, but a little further down than usual. The terror that Valerie might die of COVID-19 has passed, but I figure I will always need therapy.  I have “Facebook messenger” video chats with my therapist, Darcy of Bend, every other week now, which helps. Having ‘Generalized Anxiety Disorder’ and a tendency toward major depression, I find therapy to be a corrective. A bimonthly tune up. Without it, I naturally veer toward negativity and neurosis, and a hypervigilance that served me well when I was a child, but is exhausting, overwrought and over-thought as an adult.

Psychologically, Valerie is always fine. Seriously. She was once told as a young woman by a therapist who’d tested her with the MMPI (the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory) that she was outrageously and puzzlingly normal. Now that she’s feeling mostly well again from the pneumonia, she’s been tearing up the joint, fixing the sump pump that apparently keeps this little house from drifting down main street on the wetlands it’s built on. Digging out the leaves from our irrigation ditch, chopping and clearing the wood from our front yard.

The BEFORE picture:

The AFTER Picture.

 And this happened one morning in March. Just a cattle drive past our front door.

Valerie’s planning a garden at her daughter’s place, which has a deer-proof fence and lots of sun up on the hill above us. A delivery of horse manure is scheduled, and the garden bed has been rototilled. Val’s granddaughter Jessica and her husband Alan are living up there now, working from home for their Portland-based gigs. They’re almost finished the 14-day quarantine since they moved down here. The new normal: anytime anyone leaves one locale for another, they disappear into strictest quarantine, not to leave their abode. Groceries are delivered to the doorstep. A recent day turned out to be Jess’ 25th birthday: I’d bought a canvas bag with a picture of a pug on it, like her dog Archie, and Valerie found something gluten free flour mix with fresh jam to give her. Birthday gatherings are suspect at the moment.

Here’s a lovely idea for quarantined birthday celebrations:

What a kind and generous offer.

Even in isolation, Val and I do socialize, on zoom. The one pictured below is church.

We ‘visit’ with our fellow parishioners from St. Luke’s on Sunday evenings. Then we say Compline together, from the Book of Common Prayer. My favorite prayer of all time is this one from that service.

Yes, shield the joyous. Because joy is fleeting.

Our writers’ group, Easy Writers, ‘meets’ on zoom every Monday now. I wrote this bit about my yarn for the prompt, ‘write something in your home that means a lot to you.’

I am doing a great deal of crochet and a little knitting.

Yarn is my comfort and my joy. It is the raw material I create blankets and scarves and hats with. My tools are hooks and needles made from wood and plastic and metal. My fingers are also my tools.

Some of the yarn is like cotton candy: spun mohair from a goat is said to have a ‘halo’ or ‘aura’ because of the gentle cloud of color you can see an inch or two away from the spun thread. Some yarn is like twine: you can see every string of ply. My favorite is merino wool and single ply. A unity of color that will not split. All for one and one for all, the fuzzy stuff is twisted and bound into a single string of strength…

My clients are stressed out. The pandemic adds a layer to the stress they were already experiencing. I listen and knit, from within the cocoon of the yarn room which my folks can see behind me.  One of my clients wanders about with her phone in her hand while I get slightly dizzy. I like this kind of counseling since I get a glimpse of my clients’ homes. Reminds me a little bit of being a geriatric care manager. You can tell a lot about a person from their home. From my home you can tell that I have a lot of yarn, and I work multiple projects at a time because there are piles of them alongside my recliner.  

One of the sad weights of being present for my clients is their level of estrangement for most if not all social connections, especially people with whom they share DNA. And every single one has what is called in the mental health world “complex PTSD” from multiple traumatic experiences.  I sit with them, on the phone or via video. I hope to model for them what Carl Rogers called ‘unconditional positive regard.’ I breathe deeply to release my own distress at their sadness. We explore one tiny step toward reducing their isolation, the sense of trust. All during a pandemic where other people could be carrying a potentially deadly virus.

It’s no wonder I’m pawing mohair out of screen for my own comfort.

Sometimes I email clients links or articles on how to keep their spirits up, or about good things that are happening instead of the dire predictions they’re listening to or watching. There is much to share that is hopeful.  I sent one to a client on creative ways to care for everyone and she shot back:

“I believe this is Liberal rhetoric. 

Esp the paragraph below:

 This current emergency provides the possibility for a new emergence—the birthing of a truly civil civilization dedicated to the well-being of all people and the living Earth. “

Oh well. We can’t have a truly civil civilization dedicated to the well-being of all people, now can we?

Sigh.

 Brilliant writing is being penned right now, since the entire planet’s human inhabitants are barely one degree of separation away from this virus, which is apparently ‘barely alive’ and therefore hard to kill, as it spreads onward to make millions miserable and hundreds of thousands die.

I’m saving articles from The Atlantic, The NY Times, and the Washington Post, and following a historian named Heather Cox Richardson who writes a daily blog called Letters from an American. In a recent post she writes:

“The big news … has been the ‘protests’ of state governors’ stay-at-home orders and mandatory business closings to try to contain the novel coronavirus …These protests are a classic example of trying to control politics by controlling the national narrative. The protests are backed by the same conservative groups that are working for Trump’s reelection. …These are not spontaneous, grassroots protests. They are political operations designed to divert attention from the Trump administration’s poor response to the pandemic. Even more, though, they are designed to keep the American public divided so that we do not protest the extraordinary economic inequality the pandemic has highlighted.

These protests have diverted the national conversation by turning a national crisis into partisan division along the lines the Republican Party has developed since the 1980s... The change of subject protects not just Trump but also the ideology at the heart of his Republican Party. Since 1981, Republicans have argued that the economy depends on wealthy businessmen who know best how to arrange the economy—the makers-- and that it is vital to protect their interests. Under their policies, wealth in America has moved upward. The pandemic has highlighted how these policies have removed economic security for ordinary people. They cannot pay their bills, and they might well turn against an ideology that uses our tax dollars to bail out corporations while they must risk their lives to pay their rent.”  [Emphasis mine]

I am so glad someone smarter than me can reveal the interconnections of what’s going on politically.

There is food for thought on Facebook and Instagram: in the guise of a rewrite of Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese, this poem.

Mary Oliver for Corona Times (after Wild Geese)

by Adrie Kusserow

You do not have to become totally zen, You do not have to use this isolation to make your marriage better, your body slimmer, your children more creative. You do not have to “maximize its benefits” By using this time to work even more, write the bestselling Corona Diaries, Or preach the gospel of ZOOM. You only have to let the soft animal of your body unlearn everything capitalism has taught you, (That you are nothing if not productive, That consumption equals happiness, That the most important unit is the single self. That you are at your best when you resemble an efficient machine). Tell me about your fictions, the ones you’ve been sold, the ones you sheepishly sell others, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world as we know it is crumbling. Meanwhile the virus is moving over the hills, suburbs, cities, farms and trailer parks. Meanwhile The News barks at you, harsh and addicting, Until the push of the remote leaves a dead quiet behind, a loneliness that hums as the heart anchors. Meanwhile a new paradigm is composing itself in our minds, Could birth at any moment if we clear some space From the same tired hegemonies. Remember, you are allowed to be still as the white birch, Stunned by what you see, Uselessly shedding your coils of paper skins Because it gives you something to do. Meanwhile, on top of everything else you are facing, Do not let capitalism coopt this moment, laying its whistles and train tracks across your weary heart. Even if your life looks nothing like the Sabbath, Your stress boa-constricting your chest. Know that your antsy kids, your terror, your shifting moods, are no less sacred than a yoga class. Whoever you are, no matter how broken, the world still has a place for you, calls to you over and over announcing your place as legit, as forgiven, even if you fail and fail and fail again. remind yourself over and over, all the swells and storms that run through your long tired body all have their place here, now in this world. It is your birthright you be held deeply, warmly, in the family of things, not one cell left in the cold.

-Adrie Kusserow

 Not one cell left out in the cold. Yes.

There is so much to be grateful for. I have a place to live, and even while paying off my bankruptcy debt, I have plenty. Enough that I can make small donations here and there. Here’s one cause I found: supporting foster children who were in college and now have no place to go. (Terrible visuals for the logo: it’s “Together We Rise.”)

Soon, the nights of below freezing temperatures will pass, and both Lesbians of Paisley will be healthy at the same time.  Perhaps I’ll get my Tricycle-for-Grownups serviced and toodle around for exercise. Perhaps the Stitch & Bitch knitting/crochet gatherings will resume, maybe in a park for physical distance and social connection.

And maybe I’ve already had Covid-19, and so has Valerie. Looks like 50-70% of all the people on the planet, not quite 8 billion humans so maybe 4 to 6 billion people, need to catch this thing in order to give our species herd immunity. Or WILL catch it because we have no way to stop it, only to slow the infections so that health care is not overwhelmed. We live and Love in the Time of Coronavirus, to paraphrase Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I maybe a libtard, a snowflake, a lily-livered liberal, who’s heart bleeds. But I agree with this sentiment, found on Facebook, our American ‘commons’:

Love absurdly and abundantly, my people. And wash your hands. 

[roominthecastle]

Ok so since you’re a believer/supporter of Agnes Gate I have this question. Lizzy’s memories were wiped, but how do you explain Red? What does he know/suspect? How do you explain his behavior? Where does he stand in all this? Hope you got my point because I’m sick and I’ve lost my ability to think clearly and transform thoughts into words 🤒😂

*cracks knuckles*

Yes, you’re coming across clearly, anon, these are all valid points/questions, and I hope you’re feeling better.

Now “believer” is a strong word but I do believe there’s enough wiggle room in current show canon to accommodate this theory. In other words (bc I really don’t want anyone to misunderstand me here): there’s still enough story space for this idea to emerge but there is no direct, overt proof that it is there or that it will.

So consider what follows NOT a proof post but a simple, albeit long AF - thought experiment that presupposes two things:

Liz and Red slept together while on the run (canonically that’s the period when Agnes was conceived)

Liz’s memory of this has been either altered or removed by Dr. Krilov

Now, behavior was, in fact, the one thing that initially put me off this theory bc I didn’t think Red would be willing to just step aside if he suspected he might be the baby’s father. BUT the following seasons revealed a couple of good reasons why he would not speak up (Kirk and the never-ending list of other hostiles, Liz’s “I hate your guts” phase, Liz clinging to Tom, Liz’s selective memory - courtesy of Krilov, fake-DG & the issue of the suitcase, an illness).

They also continued to show just how apt both Red and Liz are to not deal with stuff that’s not an immediate threat (e.g. Liz’s ‘I love you’ which they both willingly continue to just not address), and the thing is: despite not contesting paternity in any overt way, Red never actually stepped aside.

I think this paternity issue and its various complications - from Red’s perspective - can be separated into 4 major time blocks:

S3B

S4

S5A

S5B–present

Even if there’s a reason for Red to think he might be Agnes’ father, I don’t believe he works off anything more than mild suspicions in the S3B–S5A period.

During this time, his relationship with Liz is rapidly unraveling and several other roadblocks and threats emerge that likely discourage him from openly broaching this issue. Then he gets to raise Agnes for 10 months, which provides the perfect opportunity to safely run a paternity test and maybe even another genetic screening (they made a point of telling us that baby Agnes was getting a standard one back in S3 + it was emphasized how having the correct info about her parents’ medical history is crucial for accurate testing - info Tom couldn’t provide). The beginning of Red’s collaboration with Dr. Stark roughly dates back to the time period when he had Agnes with him. If Red has a hereditary (late-onset) illness, he could have been driven to seek a cure once the tests confirmed his suspicions, and he’s now testing it on himself to make sure it works and is safe before giving it to Agnes.

IF.

– more on all this behind the cut – (apologies, mobile users)

- [ S3B ] -

Confirmation of the pregnancy is a wedge between Liz and Red, and it’s Red who screws up first when he rejects the baby right off the bat and tries to bury himself in work. It understandably hurts Liz and the tense tone of their interactions begins to snowball. The main issue concerning Red’s behavior in S3B, right after Liz tells him that she’s pregnant and he bounces back from his initial rejection, is that he becomes “suffocating” and more committed than ever to keep her and the baby in his orbit (which also alarms and later sets off Mr. Kaplan). Red has little sense of boundary, he starts isolating Liz, and he barely tolerates Tom’s presence. When he makes an effort to tolerate him, that’s bc he is trying his best to respect Liz’s choices/wishes (just like in “Ruin”) regardless of his own feelings, but it doesn’t prevent him from repeatedly trying to push Tom out of the picture. He saves him from going to prison but he still has a hard time dealing with Liz having a close relationship with him. This also echoes his original plans for Tom: being there for her but also keeping his distance. This, in turn, echoes his original “invisible benefactor” role he cast himself in (and both of them clearly crossed these lines as the years went by – more on this later).

Despite telling her that he’s known about the pregnancy for some time, Red does not act out until after Liz doesn’t deny that Tom is the father. Red knew about the pregnancy already, he had weeks to vent and get used to the idea, so his spiraling is kind of puzzling unless it’s not the pregnancy itself that sets him off. The only thing he wasn’t sure about was paternity (why?), so the only emotionally logical reason for his weird spiral is that part of him was still hoping that the baby was not Tom’s (tho, in theory, nobody else was in proximity other than the two of them + a more closer look at the timeline reveals that Tom was, in fact, nowhere near Liz when the baby was conceived).

But when Liz didn’t deny it, that’s when it became too much for Red: he didn’t want to have a child (for several reasons) but what he wanted even less was Tom to be confirmed as the father. Then his entire outlook on this subject changes by the end of the episode (after reminding himself how Katarina, too, dreaded having a baby but changed her mind completely). This also brings that Samar/Aram conversation to mind where she tells Aram how being around him changed her attitude towards having children, but now she cannot raise one bc of her condition.

But back to 312 and the “I’m pregnant” moment:

This whole conversation is just weird. Red is tense from the moment he sees Liz at the Post Office, then feeds her the answer to his own question, presenting it as a statement: “I assume Tom is the father.” Why not just give her the opportunity to name him? What this feels like is him giving her an out instead, and his closed-off, prickly, I-am-being-very-inconvenienced-by-this behavior (and Tom’s enthusiasm) is practically willing Liz to take it. And she hesitates for a moment, then instead of saying “yes” she just says, “I haven’t told him yet.” And this is where Red’s barely civil behavior veers into total assholery rejection, then he does a 180 at the end of the episode. By then Liz is sufficiently pissed off and is already pushing him away and sliding back into Tom’s arms. So in many ways ep 312 is where things truly turn and then get worse, and it all happens over Tom, essentially.

After this fallout, we get the episode where Red is thinking back to Josephine who was maneuvered into marrying an abusive scumbag for strategic reasons (as usual, we have parallels too). It was all arranged by a third party, which reminds me of Mr. Kaplan referring to Tom as her “confidant”, which makes me wonder about the extent of their off-screen interaction. Mr. Kaplan was doing everything to tear Red and Liz apart bc she saw that bond as fatal to both and a danger to the baby. Maybe she arranged that 2nd session w/ Krilov (who might have planted images that switched Red and Tom like he did w/ the fire memory where the roles were switched around), then she tipped Tom off, urging him to rekindle his relationship w/ Liz (his proposal was so out of the blue, I still don’t know what to do w/ that).

When Liz wants to give up the baby for adoption, she is told that she has to discuss this with the father, too, as his consent is also needed. Liz says the father is busy with work, then she has 0 conversation about this w/ Tom and goes to Red who, now being very pro having the baby, tries to talk her out of it. He also sabotages Tom’s teacher job and, at the same time, swoops in and presents Liz with a trust fund he set up for the baby, insisting that it’s for the child. As far as symbolic actions go, this one is screaming “I am the provider, not him”. And if it’s not clear enough, he also spells it out by telling her Tom’s not worthy of being her husband and of raising the baby. But it’s too late. Liz rejects him and clings to Tom. She even re-watches the video of Tom being interviewed as a potential adoptive father, which we saw in S1. Liz has been show to chat with potential adoptive parents, so her watching Tom’s adoption agency interview kinda makes it look like she picks Tom to “adopt” Agnes.

S3B is the time period when the threat from Kirk starts emerging. Mr. Kaplan also begins to view Red and Liz’s bond as sth to sever and Red himself as a threat to Agnes, saying that the baby hasn’t even been born yet but is “already paying the price for her association” with him. Then Liz kicks Red out when he asks to see the newborn baby, and soon after Liz’s “death”, Tom tells him that Agnes would only need protection if Red remained in her life. The three of them manage to gaslight Red to such an extent that he completely breaks down. He begins to contemplate ending it all and wanders around, cataloging the reasons.

And that episode-long contemplation is where we get to see (his version of) Katarina in this exact position, her pain at losing the man she loved at a time when there was so much anger and tension btw them, at not being able to raise her daughter, and all her reasoning for committing suicide (all paralleling Red’s). We can also glimpse Red’s innermost thoughts/feelings regarding Liz, Agnes, and Tom. He says “her mother is dead. All she has is the father.” Somehow he cannot bring himself to call Tom “her father” and this is reflected in future real-life interactions w/ Tom as well, when he switches between calling Agnes “Elizabeth’s child” and “your daughter” in his presence. Liz similarly switches btw calling Agnes “my” and “our” around Tom, and initially she refuses to refer to Agnes as anything but “my baby” even after Tom corrects her. It’s almost like both she and Red need some time to adjust. She does. Red? not so much.

Dom further adds to Red’s crushing guilt by reminding him how his choices doomed Liz like they doomed Katarina before. But then he also reminds him that he still has a reason to live as there are others out there who depend on him (“God help them.” - I LOVE Dom). So Red returns to make sure Agnes is safe and to exact vengeance for Liz’s death, two goals which are tied in his mind as he claims that the only way to protect Agnes is by killing Kirk who’s responsible for Liz’s death. He makes a deal with Tom: he lets him participate in the hunt in exchange for being allowed to spend time with Agnes. Again, this whole exchange has a vibe of negotiating visitation rights.

And Red’s interactions w/ Scottie give us a feel for why he will not argue much in the future when Liz decides to pick her to look after Agnes: Red calls Scottie “a brilliant strategist” who - despite Red’s visceral dislike of her - is a suitable “guard” as long as she believes Agnes to be her granddaughter. So not giving any reason to undermine that belief is in the little girl’s best interest (for now).

- [ S4 ] -

This is a period dedicatedto the overarching theme of “truth vs. appearances”, and we have afew interesting ideas and info snippets introduced that can help furtherexplain Red’s behavior if (he suspects that) Agnes is his.

First of all, we meet Kirkand gain some insight into the relationship dynamics of the past - dynamicswhich reflect those in the present.

Mirroring is a curiousfeature that’s utilized right at the beginning, in 401. It’s briefly touchedupon (here) but what makes the Red-Kirk-Liz scene especially interesting isthat the mirroring btw this exchange and the Red-Tom-Agnes one in “CapeMay” is not merely visual but also verbal, giving some weight to thesuspicion that they are linked by design. In both scenes we have the“designated dad” in a room with his daughter while the real father(Red is not Liz’s father but in 401 he “stands in” for real Reddington) is separated and looking in from the outside. On top of that, the dialogues are verysimilar, too:

Red (401): Are you okay? || Red (319): She’ll need protection.Kirk (401): Unlike you, I’d never hurt my own daughter. || Tom (319): Only ifyou are in her life.

And to push it even further,Kirk’s words (“What I desire is to raise my child. To watch hergrow.”) reflect Red’s innermost wish he voices in 319: “ I’d giveanything to be a part of that child’s life […] see her, hold her, watch hergrow.” And this also echoes Liz’s fantasy she shares with Red when theyare on the run. And Red’s retort to Kirk in 401 (“She was never yours toraise.”) also matches Red’s dance around the issue of Agnes’ paternity in319 where he refuses to directly call Tom her father, paralleling Katarina’s pain that she feels due to being separated from her daughter.

So I think what we can statewith certainty here is that there is confusion around paternity inboth scenes.

As the season unfolds, we dolearn that Kirk was a “cover dad”, designated as such by Katarina formultiple reasons (that happen to match Liz’s reasons for wanting to“escape” Red in S3 and be with Tom instead):

best chance at a normal life: Kirk did not work as an agent or any kind ofoperative, he had a (relatively) stable life in Russia. Katarina wasmarried to him and they lived together until real Reddington, believing Mashato be his daughter, took their daughter back to the US.

safety: asRed put it, “Your safety was guaranteed because Kirk believed you to behis daughter.” This belief was cemented in by a fake DNA report andentries in Katarina’s journal where she writes about their relief that Mashawon’t be exposed to the genetic illness that plagues Kirk’s family as it canonly be inherited by sons.

“no other path”: despite loving Reddington, Katarina accepted that she was never gonna endup with him. The circumstances were forever against them. This is why she began distancing herself from him and this is why she didn’t want to know ifhe was Masha’s father.

If Katarina had written apro/con list for her baby, I bet it would have looked a lot like the one Liz wrote, exceptit would have said “Kirk????” instead of “Tom????” But, as Redtold Liz, being Katarina’s husband didn’t make Kirk her father, which is apotentially relevant observation given how Liz kept trying to marry Tom at allcosts to force a “normal family” into existence that was never more than anillusion + how she was trying to distance herself from Red.

Those three main reasons abovealso provided the motivation for a cover-up that Kirk refused to acceptas the truth until multiple tests confirmed it when he fell ill and needed agenetic donation from a blood relative. As Red pointed out, “You saw whatKatarina wanted you to see.” This also echoes Mr. Kaplan’s words to Red atthe end of S3: “You saw what we needed you to see.” which might godeeper than “merely” faking Liz’s death and could be a hint at Kaplan’srole in arranging the 2nd memory manip session with Krilov.

In this season, Red alsostruggles with appearance vs. truth, with the cost/benefit ratio of deceptionsand false assumptions. This happens indirectly when he “auditions” hisnew cleaners in a pristine white apartment where one of his friends wasmurdered. He is both upset and marvels at how clean everything looks –“your cleaners removed even the memory of his blood”.

This practicality takes on asymbolic meaning as it carries over into Red’s relationship with Mr. Kaplanwhom he calls his confessor: “every trespass I committed, expunged.Cleansed as if it never happened.” Mr. Kaplan claims that Red betrayed Lizand held her “emotionally hostage”. These are rather extreme accusations… unless Red and Liz slept together while on the run and Redconfessed this to Mr. Kaplan. Now that act could be easily and understandablyconsidered trespassing by her, a crossing of a line that never should have beencrossed (= a betrayal). Red felt rage when he learned that Tom had become intimate with Liz. He considered this a betrayal, too, and Tom an immediate threat. He went about correcting the situation the same way Mr. Kaplan goes about correcting Red’s behavior in S3B-S4. Perhaps the trigger was the same type of trespassing too.

Mr. Kaplan makes it her mission to separate Liz and Red,and it all begins back in S3, around the time somebody hired Dr. Krilov to takecertain memories from Liz. Red is very close to directly confessing his feelings for Liz in 302. If he ended up confessing that he’s in love with her and they ended up in bed, that can be considered “a truth” about him that Liz uncovered – a truth that someone who doesn’t want them to be together would definitely object to.

Mr. Kaplan urges Liz to “do what yourmother never had the courage to do: walk away from Raymond.” IF Red and Liz slepttogether and Agnes was the result, then Dr. Krilov’s 2nd memory manipulationdid what Red’s cleaner(s) did in the white apartment: the “trespass” got “expunged”. Even the memory of it.Truth became elusive and assumptions took its place (like “I assume Tom is thefather.”).

Red is trying to complete a white puzzle in the white apartment,which takes on potential relevance after we can hear him compare memory toa jigsaw puzzle in 514. The possible relevance? Maybe he’s wondering (puzzled, if you will ;) why Lizacts as if nothing happened between them on the run, as if her memory of it were wiped clean. And while it is undoubtedly simpler and safer thisway, and it’s best to leave that topic alone, it is hard for him to accept, esp with Tomin the picture and taking on roles Red wishes to be able to fill, roles Liz now rejects him in.

In this episode we can also hear Gale make a pointed, suggestive remarkto Liz about her time with Red in S3A: “What was it like on the run withhim? Did he charm you?” And all this happens while Mr. Kaplan is hell-benton tearing Red and Liz apart for the sake of all of their safety, claiming thatRed’s presence in their lives is a threat to Agnes, Liz, and also to himself.

Memory manipulation - or the presence of holes in one’s memory - has itsown “footprint” in the show. It usually manifests as images drifting outof focus and echoing voices. There are two instances where this happens to Liz with no apparent reason. One is in 308 when she is in a gas stationbathroom - already pregnant - staring at her reflection in the dirty mirror. The other is in 317when Red marches towards her in the church, calling out her name and interrupting her and Tom’s wedding -both are situations where her baby’s father and her husband are likely on her mind. In317 she even connects the two by saying she wants to build a life with thefather of her child and Red keeps pleading with her to not marry Tom.

We are periodically reminded that Red is a Proust fan, and Proustjust happens to be the author of À la recherche du temps perdu (In Search of Lost Time) - a monumentalexploration of the various connections that web reality, perception, and memorytogether. The concept of involuntary memory originates from this novel series,and we can see this in action on The Blacklist, too, when Liz’sburied memory of the night of the fire gets triggered in 222. It’s also possible that she was close to being triggered in those twoscenes mentioned above, and maybe she won’t even need Krilov’s help in regaining the memories she’s lost the 2nd time as they could also be triggered unexpectedly by the smallest, most random thing - a smell, a taste, a voice, a gesture.

The white apartment incidentalso coincides with Liz, Agnes, and Tom moving to a new apartment. Redhas a hard time adjusting to this change, to no longer being able to see Agneswhenever he wants (and he was visiting her regularly while they were in his safe house, always showing up w/ the request to see her in particular), which brings the downside of deception into focus: separation. And Redstruggles with this despite understanding the safety that lies in it and inhiding truths - something Katarina knew a lot about, as well.

It’s not surprising that he soon starts musingabout the importance of truth (in 412):

“You said something before. The truth doesn’t matter, that the only thing in this world that matters is just the appearance of truth. I fear you might be right about that. Lately I find that the truth has become… so elusive. Often imaginary. But in the end, it’s all that we’re left with, isn’t it? What is real, what you can taste and touch and feel. The words that pass between us as we look each other in the eye are… all we have to hold on to. The truth. I hold it dear.”

then he proceeds to make a cuckoo clock forAgnes in the following episode (x, x). His first remark on how he is no longercomfortable with the idea of dying at any second also pops up in 412, and itgets reaffirmed in 415, in the same episode where the bad guy of the weekexpresses the same sentiment: his reason for clinging to his miserable life is fatherhood andhe wants a family even if he is barred from being physically present in their lives.

Red faces this issue, too. Tom remains Agnes’ (designated)dad and Liz’s husband while he is now kept away. He stillkeeps prodding that family unit, though, keeps teasing Tom about his pastand keeps involving him in missions to strip away his thin veneer of “normaland safe” to prove to Liz that she is mistaken about him. (sidenote: Tom also“takes over” the sentiment of Liz - and Agnes - being his future; thisis Red’s “thing”, has been since S1)

Meanwhile, Red keepsflip-flopping between accepting Mr. Kaplan’s accusations and rejecting them (“Maybe I am the person you need protection from.” vs “She was wrong to think Elizabeth and Agnes were safer without me in their lives.”). Hecannot seem to make up his mind as others join the chorus of blaming him forhow badly things turned out.

This is also the seasonwhere Red has an awkward and out-of-the-blue exchange with Cooper about thelatter’s sick daughter (414), and in another ep (404) - one featuring a parentand child sharing the same disorder - Red is asked point blank if he has achild with special needs but he doesn’t answer.

His personal struggle with appearancevs truth, however, is temporarily suspended when Liz blindsides him with the DNA test in 422. Despite his visible discomfort, Reddoesn’t correct Liz’s false assumption because it happens to provide theperfect cover he so desperately needs to find the skeleton Mr. Kaplan unearthed.But this strategic move comes with the price of having to keep his silenceabout Agnes for the foreseeable future. Thanks to Mr. Kaplan’s parting gift andCooper’s (accidental?) “antidote” of running that DNA test and providing cover, Red is now backed into a corner where the only way topreserve his secret is by not challenging appearances.

- [ S5A ] -

this block is nestledbetween two high-impact turning points: the DNA test and Tom’s death. The DNAtest locks Red into a false role, that of Liz’s father, which holds throughoutS5 and to a lesser extent in S6. The only reprieve is the 10-month period duringwhich he gets to take on the role of father in Agnes’ life (=inhabiting thetruth). Liz spends this time unconscious, which I find quite symbolic, as well (her being not conscious of his true role).

The DNA test is both a curseand a blessing. Red undoubtedly enjoys the sudden warming of his relationship with Lizbut he clearly does not enjoy her referring to him as “father”. Everytime it happens, we can see him wince, cringe, or glare in silence. But it happensto be the perfect cover for him to keep searching for the skeleton since it preventsLiz from asking the very questions he doesn’t want her to wonder about.

So Liz confrontinghim with the DNA test closes the window of opportunity Red still had in S3B andS4 to contest paternity. This turn of events also forces him to prioritizepreserving his secret over almost everything else (he is only ready to give it up when he thinks Liz’s life is at stake), so the struggle we can see him having in S4 - the onebtw appearances and the truth - promptly takes a back seat as keeping upappearances becomes the #1 strategic necessity.

That being said, Red still onlydoes the bare minimum (= not denying it outright) to play father to Liz. And this time block brings some interesting remarks about geneticsand secrets, which may have more significance than simply serving as empty redherrings until the impostor reveal hits at the end of the season.

Smokeydrops some comments about being “just like daddy” and having “noway to avoid the family curse” because “DNA is what it is.” Onthe surface this ties into the (beyond grating) tendency of some characters to blame-shiftand refuse to take any responsibility for their shitty life choices. But what makesthis exchange stand out is the wording “family curse” becauseKatarina uses a similar phrase (“this accursed disease that has afflicted his family for generations”) to describe Kirk’s condition.In 506, Tom also remarks to Red that “family secrets” always comeout. And now Red is sick and is in need of a pioneering geneticist’s help to find a cure. Somehow I don’t believe this is all just coincidence. + judging from those (brief) (glimpses) we get at Agnes, she is already a lot like her dad. ;)

Ep 504 in particularhas some curious details because they don’t line up with Red and Liz’s pretendrelationship but they do line up with the idea of Red having “a familycurse” that puts Agnes at risk. In this episode, asoldier gives up her child to get him out of harm’s way, but when the child presentswith an incurable disorder, she takes him from his adoptive parents, thencommits suicide to provide the donor heart needed to save his life. Witnessing this,Red remarks that “given the same circumstances, I’d like to think I’d beas brave as her. I know I’d wanna be.”

And then Tom dies, Liz endsup in a coma, and Red is left to take care of Agnes. If she is his, this 10-month period gives Red the perfect opportunity to finally confirm it and, asI mentioned above, have her tested for whatever disorder he knows he - and thus she too -carries. The timeline is always tricky on this show but by my rough estimateRed invested in Dr. Stark’s gene hacking research around the time he still had Agnes or not long after.

- [ S5B–present ] -

In this period, Red shouldalready have confirmation about paternity, about whether or not Agnes is atrisk, and Dr. Stark is already working on the cure for both. However, theskeleton and all the threats attached are still out there, circling them, and Liz is stillunder the impression that he is her father, which Red cannot push back againstif he is to keep his main secret secret.

We’ve seen how far he is willing to go tokeep his identity hidden, so letting Liz believe he is her father is really notall that out there for this guy. Only life-and-death situations can push him to reveal certain things, so it might be unruly genetics that will end up forcing his hand this time around. If Agnes needs treatment, that’s gonna be tricky to administer w/o somebody eventually noticing.

Red is still in a false role for now but its confines have weakened since he realized that Liz now knows he used to be someoneelse.

WhenLiz decides to go away for a while and entrusts Agnes to Scottie, Red questionsbut eventually goes along with her decision. “It was what youwanted,” he tells her later on. Even locked in his assumed role hecould have dug his heels in and claimed that he had a say in this matter, but he letLiz make the decisions and respected them. It carried way more risk to let her disappear alone than to let Scottie take Agnes, yet Red did not argue and did notrepeat the mistakes he made in S3B when things got so out of hand, Liz began toresent him and he was genuinely worried he was suffocating her. So he did what everybody toldhim to do in S4: he let her - and Agnes - go. And then she came back to him.

But for now, it is best if Agneshas safe distance from both him and Liz. In 520, Red told Jennifer that she was notabandoned but protected. That’s Agnes, too. Red may detest Scottie but he doesacknowledge that she is an excellent strategist with the skills, insight,motivation, and resources to keep the little girl safe. Shebelieves her to be her granddaughter, which - imo - in Red’s book ensures her loyaltyno matter how he feels about her otherwise. And in ep 512, we can see that Redknows exactly where Agnes is and, knowing him, he has his own invisiblemultilayered security web in place, monitoring everyone in Agnes’ life 24/7 and sendingdaily reports to him.

Whenhe and Liz observe Agnes from a distance at the end of the episode, the topic oftruth once again emerges, making it the third time that Agnes and talk of“the truth” co-occur: one is earlier in this episode (“If I misseven one more day with [Agnes] than is absolutely necessarybecause you’re not being completely honest…”)and the other is the cuckoo clock scene in S4. Red tells Liz heknows how hard this separation is and that they want the same thing here, whichechoes his remark in S4 about how they are in lockstep where Agnesis concerned. It also reminds me ofhis stunned reaction when Liz shares her fantasy with him in S3 (“I’mwalking in a park with my husband. Inbetween usis our little girl. I’mholding her hand in mine… and Inever let go.”). They do want the same thing and they are on the same page about Agnes, but everything else is still in disarray. For now, there is safetyin separation and keeping up appearances, even uncomfortable and painful ones.

In 514, Red gives us and Liz areminder when he points out that in the criminal underworld you can neverreveal how important someone is to you without making them an instant target. Theshow continues to provide examples of this specific danger, and the cases thatdirectly touch upon this topic “borrow” elements from Red’s situation: in518, Mosadek’s son is abducted by business associates because they suspect himof being an informant, and in 610, criminals attempt to extort money from a fatherwhose daughter was born premature with a condition to which there was no cureat the time, so the father came up with one.

Ep605 is extra curious because it features the story of a guy who never knew hisfather and only learned about his identity when he was unexpectedly summoned to the readingof his will. Van Ness was fighting an illness, too, and decided to change hiswill to include his only son that nobody even knew about. His last written message to himwas: “I loved your mother but didn’t have the courage to stay withher.” Van Ness’ seat and vote in an international criminal syndicate are also automaticallytransferred to his heir, making him a target for various reasons. It’s also a reminder of what kind of dangerous entanglements thechildren of international criminals have to deal with once their family ties arerevealed. In this episode, we also get a reminder from Aram that “in arelationship, the truth always comes out.” and Dembe continues toplead with Red to be honest with Liz, tell her the truth and leave the rest to fate. Red, however, stubbornly keeps his silence.

Theparallels btw Red/Liz and Samar/Aram also continue in S6, and what Samar tells Aram in 613has potential relevance to deciphering Red’s perspective and reasons for not speaking up about Agnes. Samar says that she made peace with the idea that she was never gonna havechildren (back in S3, she told Liz she picked career over family) but meeting Aram changed everything. After that, she wanted nothingmore than to try and balance the two, to build a family with him. But now that she knows she has anirreversible condition, she cannot raise a child, and she feels he deservesmore than what she can give.

Ifeel all these sentiments also play a role in how Red evaluates the possibilities of hisrelationship with Liz (even if Agnes is not his). His initial reaction to the baby was rejection,remarking that a child would make their difficult work infinitely harder. But then he changed his mind. In 319, he confessed that hewould give anything to be able to raise Agnes but he was also painfully aware of the factors preventing him from realizing this wish.“Your baby deserves more than we can provide,”Mr. Kaplan told Liz right at the moment she decided to separate her from Redfor good. This idea also emerges in 614, when Red notices Liz staring at thephoto of herself with Katarina, and tells her that the photo represented everythingKatarina wanted but couldn’t have after she became a hunted woman. Being a fugitive himself, Red facesthe exact same problem. And now he alsohas an illness to overcome, so him having the same attitude as Samar - i.e. writing himself off as notbeing a suitable match and accepting not being with “the one” - feels right on the mark, imo. Katarina also shared in this heartbreak where realReddington and their daughter were concerned. She, too, had to let go of what she really wanted.

bottom line (bc it’s time to wrap this up): everything that’s happened since Liz confronted Red with the pregnancynews has been discouraging him from “coming out” as Agnes’ father:

initial uncertainty regarding paternity

Liz’s growing resentment towards him that culminated in a faked death

Tom + Liz choosing him over and over again coupled w/ Red starting to accept that Tom somehow makes Liz happy while he only manages to bring pain and hardship into her life

the constant threats and Red’s growing worry that he might indeed be athreat to Agnes and Liz

the unexpected DNA report that was also the perfect cover

Red’s emerging health issues

Liz’s missing memories (without which how would he even begin to explain it or have any hope she will not freak completely or worse?)

But we are in a period now where there is tangible improvement regarding these main issues. Red now knows whether or not he’s Agnes’ father, so that uncertainty is gone. Tom is dead. Liz’s resentment subsided and she knows Red is an imposter yet loves him anyway and told him so. He also knows about Krilov’s 2nd interference that explains some of Liz’s behavior. His illnessis being treated, too. But the risks and threats in their lives still remain. For now they are mitigating this by staying away from Agnes, but if theimprovements hold, hopefully the time will come when this issue of paternity - along with some other questions - can be broughtforth and sorted between the two of them.

[draculalive]

Dr. Seward's Diary

30 September. -- I got home at five o’clock, and found that Godalming and Morris had not only arrived, but had already studied the transcript of the various diaries and letters which Harker and his wonderful wife had made and arranged. Harker had not yet returned from his visit to the carriers' men, of whom Dr. Hennessey had written to me. Mrs. Harker gave us a cup of tea, and I can honestly say that, for the first time since I have lived in it, this old house seemed like home. When we had finished, Mrs. Harker said:---

"Dr. Seward, may I ask a favour? I want to see your patient, Mr. Renfield. Do let me see him. What you have said of him in your diary interests me so much!" She looked so appealing and so pretty that I could not refuse her, and there was no possible reason why I should; so I took her with me. When I went into the room, I told the man that a lady would like to see him; to which he simply answered: "Why?"

"She is going through the house, and wants to see every one in it," I answered. "Oh, very well," he said; "let her come in, by all means; but just wait a minute till I tidy up the place." His method of tidying was peculiar: he simply swallowed all the flies and spiders in the boxes before I could stop him. It was quite evident that he feared, or was jealous of, some interference. When he had got through his disgusting task, he said cheerfully: "Let the lady come in," and sat down on the edge of his bed with his head down, but with his eyelids raised so that he could see her as she entered. For a moment I thought that he might have some homicidal intent; I remembered how quiet he had been just before he attacked me in my own study, and I took care to stand where I could seize him at once if he attempted to make a spring at her. She came into the room with an easy gracefulness which would at once command the respect of any lunatic -- for easiness is one of the qualities mad people most respect. She walked over to him, smiling pleasantly, and held out her hand.

"Good-evening, Mr. Renfield," said she. "You see, I know you, for Dr. Seward has told me of you." He made no immediate reply, but eyed her all over intently with a set frown on his face. This look gave way to one of wonder, which merged in doubt; then, to my intense astonishment, he said:---

"You're not the girl the doctor wanted to marry, are you? You can't be, you know, for she's dead." Mrs. Harker smiled sweetly as she replied:---

"Oh no! I have a husband of my own, to whom I was married before I ever saw Dr. Seward, or he me. I am Mrs. Harker."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"My husband and I are staying on a visit with Dr. Seward."

"Then don't stay."

"But why not?" I thought that this style of conversation might not be pleasant to Mrs. Harker, any more than it was to me, so I joined in:---

"How did you know I wanted to marry any one?" His reply was simply contemptuous, given in a pause in which he turned his eyes from Mrs. Harker to me, instantly turning them back again:---

"What an asinine question!"

"I don't see that at all, Mr. Renfield," said Mrs. Harker, at once championing me. He replied to her with as much courtesy and respect as he had shown contempt to me:---

"You will, of course, understand, Mrs. Harker, that when a man is so loved and honoured as our host is, everything regarding him is of interest in our little community. Dr. Seward is loved not only by his household and his friends, but even by his patients, who, being some of them hardly in mental equilibrium, are apt to distort causes and effects. Since I myself have been an inmate of a lunatic asylum, I cannot but notice that the sophistic tendencies of some of its inmates lean towards the errors of non causa and ignoratio elenchi." I positively opened my eyes at this new development. Here was my own pet lunatic -- the most pronounced of his type that I had ever met with -- talking elemental philosophy, and with the manner of a polished gentleman. I wonder if it was Mrs. Harker's presence which had touched some chord in his memory. If this new phase was spontaneous, or in any way due to her unconscious influence, she must have some rare gift or power.

We continued to talk for some time; and, seeing that he was seemingly quite reasonable, she ventured, looking at me questioningly as she began, to lead him to his favourite topic. I was again astonished, for he addressed himself to the question with the impartiality of the completest sanity; he even took himself as an example when he mentioned certain things.

"Why, I myself am an instance of a man who had a strange belief. Indeed, it was no wonder that my friends were alarmed, and insisted on my being put under control. I used to fancy that life was a positive and perpetual entity, and that by consuming a multitude of live things, no matter how low in the scale of creation, one might indefinitely prolong life. At times I held the belief so strongly that I actually tried to take human life. The doctor here will bear me out that on one occasion I tried to kill him for the purpose of strengthening my vital powers by the assimilation with my own body of his life through the medium of his blood -- relying, of course, upon the Scriptural phrase, 'For the blood is the life.' Though, indeed, the vendor of a certain nostrum has vulgarised the truism to the very point of contempt. Isn't that true, doctor?" I nodded assent, for I was so amazed that I hardly knew what to either think or say; it was hard to imagine that I had seen him eat up his spiders and flies not five minutes before. Looking at my watch, I saw that I should go to the station to meet Van Helsing, so I told Mrs. Harker that it was time to leave. She came at once, after saying pleasantly to Mr. Renfield: "Good-bye, and I hope I may see you often, under auspices pleasanter to yourself," to which, to my astonishment, he replied:---

"Good-bye, my dear. I pray God I may never see your sweet face again. May He bless and keep you!"

When I went to the station to meet Van Helsing I left the boys behind me. Poor Art seemed more cheerful than he has been since Lucy first took ill, and Quincey is more like his own bright self than he has been for many a long day.

Van Helsing stepped from the carriage with the eager nimbleness of a boy. He saw me at once, and rushed up to me, saying:---

"Ah, friend John, how goes all? Well? So! I have been busy, for I come here to stay if need be. All affairs are settled with me, and I have much to tell. Madam Mina is with you? Yes. And her so fine husband? And Arthur and my friend Quincey, they are with you, too? Good!"

As I drove to the house I told him of what had passed, and of how my own diary had come to be of some use through Mrs. Harker's suggestion; at which the Professor interrupted me:---

"Ah, that wonderful Madam Mina! She has man's brain -- a brain that a man should have were he much gifted -- and a woman's heart. The good God fashioned her for a purpose, believe me, when He made that so good combination. Friend John, up to now fortune has made that woman of help to us; after to-night she must not have to do with this so terrible affair. It is not good that she run a risk so great. We men are determined -- nay, are we not pledged? -- to destroy this monster; but it is no part for a woman. Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer -- both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams. And, besides, she is young woman and not so long married; there may be other things to think of some time, if not now. You tell me she has wrote all, then she must consult with us; but to-morrow she say good-bye to this work, and we go alone." I agreed heartily with him, and then I told him what we had found in his absence: that the house which Dracula had bought was the very next one to my own. He was amazed, and a great concern seemed to come on him. "Oh that we had known it before!" he said, "for then we might have reached him in time to save poor Lucy. However, ‘the milk that is spilt cries not out afterwards,' as you say. We shall not think of that, but go on our way to the end." Then he fell into a silence that lasted till we entered my own gateway. Before we went to prepare for dinner he said to Mrs. Harker:---

"I am told, Madam Mina, by my friend John that you and your husband have put up in exact order all things that have been, up to this moment."

"Not up to this moment, Professor," she said impulsively, "but up to this morning."

"But why not up to now? We have seen hitherto how good light all the little things have made. We have told our secrets, and yet no one who has told is the worse for it."

Mrs. Harker began to blush, and taking a paper from her pockets, she said:---

"Dr. Van Helsing, will you read this, and tell me if it must go in. It is my record of to-day. I too have seen the need of putting down at present everything, however trivial; but there is little in this except what is personal. Must it go in?" The Professor read it over gravely, and handed it back, saying:---

"It need not go in if you do not wish it; but I pray that it may. It can but make your husband love you the more, and all us, your friends, more honour you -- as well as more esteem and love." She took it back with another blush and a bright smile.

And so now, up to this very hour, all the records we have are complete and in order. The Professor took away one copy to study after dinner, and before our meeting, which is fixed for nine o’clock. The rest of us have already read everything; so when we meet in the study we shall all be informed as to facts, and can arrange our plan of battle with this terrible and mysterious enemy.

[rebelwheelssoapbox]

#DoctorsAreDickheads vs #PatientsAreDickheads : Social Media & The Consequence Of Language

#DoctorsAreDickheads is a classic example of #'s that uses language that could (for some) imply that all people in a particular group (in this case Doctors), are this one thing, (in this case dickheads.)

However, the truth is, hashtags of this nature, whether it's in regard to sex, race, sexuality, gender, disability etc., created by people in a marginalized community impacted by the oppression in question, is rarely actually intending to say that all people in this group are the same.

“Oh my god. It's like [Not All] Men. In 2018, people are still Not Alling” commented one Twitter user, responding to how some doctors were taking offense to the trending #DoctorsAreDickheads hashtag, and replying with “hey, not all doctors”.

[photo of a statue doing placing their head in their hand] Those who have plenty of social media experience dealing with these hashtags, know what the hashtags are implying (and what they're not) but to a less experienced person, because the language is not #SomeDoctorsAreDickheads or #WhenDoctorsAreDickheads (as an example), one could easily argue that it's just not realistic to expect all people to get it.

In communication, one can achieve one of two goals. One can either tell “the other side” to go to hell, or they can try to start a conversation and exchange of ideas. It is important to note that, these kinds of hashtags, are not created with the intention of having a nice conversation between the two groups. To be clear, they are not created with the intention of having a conversation with the “other group” at all. They are created (sometimes in a moment of frustration) so that the oppressed demographic in question can get together, compare notes and let each other know, you are not alone. Hashtags of this nature can be very healing for the marginalized demographic in question, thus making them incredibly important.

[image of two cat hugging / cuddling and thus being adorable]

And while I agree it is not realistic to expect people to always get it, it is also not realistic to expect the marginalized demographic to be super mindful of their choice of language, so not to offend (what is often referred to as) “fragility” of the other side. While perhaps ideally (since this is done in a very public forum) there would be an awareness of language, it is not fair to put that on the marginalized group of people, who are already dealing with the toll of trauma & oppression.

So what does one do when you find yourself coming across a hashtag of this nature, and you start to feel that knee jerk defensive reaction rising up within you? Well, what not to do is start a response hashtag, such as the destructive and highly egoic #PatientsAreDickheads .

[image of a doctor looking up at the viewer while folding a chart in his hands]

One could argue that if patients can start a hashtag venting their feelings, with little regard to the consequence of language then why can't doctors do the same? Technically, doctors can (and some did) but that statement, implies that both groups (in this case, the patient/doctor dynamic) are on equal footing in regard to privilege and power, when that is simply not the case. In the end, the demographic who has more authority (in this case, doctors) should be the ones to make it easier for patients (in general but particularly in this situation), that often experience medical based oppression (and/or ableism), regardless if the doctors (in this case) are the ones directly contributing to the oppression.

And while some doctors took offense to the hashtag, responding with the knee jerk reaction of “not all doctors!”, citing the toll of high student loans, long hours and working within a system that leads to #DoctorBurnOut (which I do not doubt is a thing), it was the doctors who used the hashtag as an opportunity to really listen and educate themselves regarding patient experiences and the problems that need to be tackled in their field, that got it right.

Dr. Philip Lee @drphiliplee1 and Dr Clomoween @SezClom are examples of two doctors who got it. Photo of Dr. Philip Lee wearing doctor scrubs and looking at the camera No one is negating the struggles of being a doctor, but this does not excuse the incredibly harmful treatment of patients. Furthermore, a doctor chooses to be a doctor. A patient has no choice.

In the end, this isn't some petty hashtag because patients don't like their doctors choice of facial hair (if applicable) or even just about doctors being late (which actually isn't petty to complain about, as that is highly annoying). Below are just a handful of stories being shared (including some of my own.)

[image of Alexandra who is wearing a black top, black eyeliner and has dark hair] I was sent to an inpatient psychiatric facility because I was told that my chronic pain and POTS symptoms were due to an “undiagnosed mental illness” #DoctorsAreDickheads - @AlexandraJurani

After being 3 hours late, the neurologists asks me questions. Age, height etc then inquires re: my marital status. "I'm Single." "You've never been married?" "No." "You've NEVER been married?" "No..." "Ever see a psychiatrist?" #DoctorsAreDickheads - @RebelwheelsNYC

once a doctor told me that my depression would be cured if I just stopped talking about feminism #DoctorsAreDickheads -@emilyhoven

[image of Eman who has curly hair, is wearing a gray top and is smiling at the camera] #DoctorsAreDickheads I emailed my old Rheumatologist to tell him I'd no longer be seeing him since he didn't believe me about the pressure/pain in the left side of my torso (which turned out to be a bleeding ulcer that I was in ICU for 6 days)- @Eman_Rimawi

I can't even count the times I heard #Psychosomatic & that I was just doing this for attn. Yes, I have nothing better to do with my life than to be sick & get attn from you dr, who I so thoroughly enjoy spending time w/. (p.s. had brain cyst and spine damage) #DoctorsAreDickheads - @RebelwheelsNYC 

I have too many #DoctorsAreDickheads stories to share and it's too traumatic to even start. Point being, it's not rare and the effects last forever. Listen to all who are sharing here. It may hurt to hear this, but it hurts more to experience it. - @GilmerHealthLaw

My mobility was to where I could barely get around my apt. I ask my neurologist for a motorized wheelchair referral & she says "Oh, you don't want a wheelchair, do you?" (as if wc = bad thing) No, I prefer to be trapped in my own home for the rest of my life. #DoctorsAreDickheads - @RebelwheelsNYC

[image of Asher who is wearing retro cat eye glasses. the photo is B&W.]

I spent 20 years with both chronic and acute pain. My right hip and shoulder dislocate on a daily basis. I have a dozen comorbidities. I was told it was my weight, anxiety or all in my head. It was undiagnosed Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. #DoctorsAreDickheads - @Asher_Wolf

Lastly from @crippledscholar who (along with @stevieboebi ) is being credited as started the now trending hashtag conversation, wrote

kinda want to see #DoctorsAreDickheads trending with stories of medical gaslighting and abuse.

because in the end, these stories are not rare or a fluke.

[image of Kim who wears retro eyeglasses, dark lipstick and short hair. the photo is B&W] 

[image of Stevie who had brown and purple hair. They are wearing an open black furry coat and are looking right at the camera]

(Author’s Note: There was an abundance of tweets and stories to choose from, many powerful stories that did not make it into this article. However, by the time I wrote this article, the top tweets were not stories as much as responding to the backlash. Personally, I lacked the spoons to go through all of them, so I chose the ones that were the easiest to find.)

[semipretentious]

I relapsed and i feel so fucking stupid sosososososo stupid so stupid. you stupid bitch!!! the last two times ive relapsed was after a huge huge fight/ almost break up w my bf, then i look manipulative.

after we had fought for hours where i had a full bpd split rage fit turned dont leave me screaming on the floor, i said okay im gonna give u space and go calm down in the shower and he said pls pls dont cut yourself in there. so i was honest and said i alr did, (when he were crying in the shower earlier (bc i was being so mean)) and it made him upset & i felt so fucking bad but i was freaking the fuck out screaming at the top of my lungs and idk how my neighbors havent called the cops fr.

Since being off my meds the last two months ive had 4 full mental breakdowns. 1 involving sh relapse and another involving him having to physically restrain me bc i was beating myself in the head and slapping myself. He doesn’t deserve this and he said the other night that was the last time, it’s too much. he said being with me is draining. I love him more than anything but he said it doesnt feel like it. I truly have let my mental illness take control of my life, control of me. I am a shell of a person, barely living, and when I go out it’s all based on lies abt how/ what im doing.

So anyway my goal for tomorrow is to make an apt with my old therapist (hopefully she has some openings soon) thus start dbt back IMMEDIATELY. Prior to writing this, bc i needed an outlet, i was reading thru one of a few books im gonna read and send the relative points to my bf abt being ina relationship w someone w bpd. I encourage anyone struggling with maintaining relationships to check them out, i like workbooks etc bc i find them validating and helpful, idk why the fuck I stopped trying lmao

Anyone w bpd reading this thinking nah ill be okay off my meds... lol.. get back on! its literally my fault. I just haven’t bothered to make an apt w the dr to get it straight. Ughh heres to healing I guess??? ugh

[forgettinggirlinterrpted]

Sunday 5/6

My roommates name is Shauna. She doesn’t flush and when I got here there was what I can only assume were soiled clothes in a brown paper bag. 

A woman in the hall is also talking about her shit. I’m the youngest person here and im afraid to shower, there’s no door. The poop lady is cackling. 

My roommate and I talked, she’s nice, and I met her night nurse and she is so nice. Her name is Maria. 

I’m having a hard time figuring out why I feel like this. Its hard b/c I’ve been hungover but surely that’s not all it is. How do you recover from a hangover so bad you end up in a psych ward?

It weird not having my phone, I want to check twitter. I don’t want to go to group therapy tomorrow. 

I just can’t stop crying, my eyes actually hurt. 

My mouth tastes bad but I have no toothpaste. 

I started reading this book called notorious nineteen and it is truly trash. 

I don’t have the lights on bc Shauna’s sleeping- I feel like Mozart. 

My eyes hurt, I might go call my dad again to get my moms phone number. 

Ill be back. 

Got Taylor’s # and called her/my mom. Maria gave me some antihistamines to try to calm me down/sleep. 

My sisters want to come visit me on Tuesday. 

I’ve only eaten a donut this morning. 

There’s a painting of a window that is 100% mocking me. 

I’m sweaty. 

Some snaps I would be sending if I had my phone 

*a pic of the little card that was on my bed when I came in w/ a number on it for housekeeping. Caption idea- 

is this a joke?

It’s a work in progress. 

*def a snap of me whipping/nay naying to the woman whose been singing in the hall all night (singer)

Shauna is snoring. There’s no joke there but its absolutely worth noting. 

I just want to play candy crush. 

Monday

(12:30 pmish) I feel like I’m in a dream. I’ve been sleeping all day- it turns out it was only like 3 hours tops.

I had so many dreams. 

I just went and talked to a big ass table of doctors about my life and I just feel so groggy. They’re in there talking about me. 

I skipped lunch b/c my tummy hurt so bad after breakfast. 

Shauna puked everywhere. 

I think she’s leaving. 

Also turns out she’s in withdrawal AND pregnant. 

And she has an infected injection site on her arm. 

I just talked to my mom/dad/Taylor and asked them to bring me some books + shirts. 

The nice psychiatrist said she would give me some adavan to calm me down. Also I skipped lunch b/c my stomach hurt so bad from breakfast but now I’m hungry so I guess they’re gonna order me something. I feel so weird. (might have napped here)

4ish pm

40 mg stratera (sp?), one mg atavan. 

Finally left my room, I’ve been asleep all day. 

Nurse went and got me a coke + a water and I saw they’re watching forgetting Sarah Marshall so I thought Id join. Everyone called me out when I came in since ive been hiding out. Bitches. 

Movies suggested by the dude I’m watching FSM w/

- assassin’s creed

-Dogma

10 positive ways to describe myself

1. Legs that go up to my asshole

2. College educated

3. Big heart

4. Good sense of humor

5. Love babies

6. Love my friends 

7. Good communicator

8. Love the outside

9. Big smile

10. Lovely family

9 positive coping skills 

1. Talk to Taylor

2. Going on walks

3. Calling my parents

4. Reading

5. Going to therapy

6. Doing hw

7. Watching movies

8. Candy crush (questionable) 

9. Eating veggies

8 things I’ve accomplished 

1. College

2. Getting into grad school

3. Learning Spanish

4. Coming to the hospital

5. Making great friends

6. Moving a lot and making it through

7. Driving to SLC 

8. Supporting myself (for the most part)

7 healthy things I can do each day 

1. Eat well

2. Shower

3. Talk to my friends

4. Not drink

5. Clean my room

6. Clean my clothes

7. Do my hw

6 things I can change

1. My eating habits

2. Drinking

3. Exercising more

4. Getting a routine

5. Whitening my teeth

6. How I see myself

5 things I can’t change

1. How my family acts

2. How my friends act

3. The status of the US public school system

4. The amount of sunlight in my apt 

5. My face 

4 reasons I can’t give up

1. My family

2. I’m going to change the world

3. My friends

4. My future students

3 places I can get help

1. w/ dr. whose name I can’t remember 

2. my apt (Taylor)

3. the hospital 

2 people I can really trust

1. Taylor

2. my parents

1 reason I’m here

1. I need to not feel like this anymore

I’m holding myself back from asking why everyone’s here. 

Assassin’s creed guy, also known as biting guy (an inside joke from earlier) and sweater girl are talking about if the food delivery guy has extensions. 

We got called to dinner, now were finishing Sarah Marshall. 

Biter dude told hair guy “nice hair”.

Oh my god, when peter sings about how much he hates himself, biter and white shirt turned to me and said dang sounds like he’s going to be in the room next o me! way to be self aware guys! 

Just called my dad to find out about my stuff getting dropped off but turns out he did 2 hours ago and its all been in my room. 

I started crying immediately b/c Taylor is amazing- she brought me the perfect books. It was like she was talking to me through the books. 

She gave me b Franks autobiography and Jesse Donaldson’s ‘on homesickness’. And the book Amanda gave me. also wuthering heights and pastures of heaven. All so perfect. 

Shirts is roasting the shit out of double lasagna (he ate… double the lasagna we all got for dinner).

He keeps saying he looks like he’s about to give birth 

“I mean were already in the hospital we just gotta figure out what floor is maternity”

Wuthering Heights

1801- Mr. Lockwood +Heathcliff

Thrushcross Grange

Double lasagna is talking about the last time he had tequila- brother the last time I drank it I ended up here. 

What an anecdote. 

“they could have stolen my jewelry or even my virginity!” – about the guys who helped when he got too drunk. Double lasagna’s real name is * but he just introduced himself as Dorothy (to hair the night nurse helper). 

Fake Abby (biting guy came to my room thinking I was her) is here and shirt just said “you’re awfully quiet” and she rejected him hard. It was awk. 

One of the helpers is just chillin in here w/ us while I read my shitty book and we watch “just go w/ it” – its so bad. 

One of the nurses (pony tail) just made me go on a walk down the hall w/ him. They all keep asking me how I’m feeling and I keep saying fine but I’m not. As long as I don’t talk I don’t cry. I’m starting to think I want to stay here longer but also leave right away. Its all so confusing. 

Double lasagna just asked hair nurse if he could have his phone out of his bag and the way just looked up from his phone and said “nuh uh” was iconic. 

Its 805 pm and I think I’m going see about getting my sleeping pills so I can just crash. 

I need to document stuff better tomorrow b/c I don’t like how much of a blur today is. 

I finally showered and I feel better I think. I just don’t know what the move is once I get out. Like I don't know how to talk to anyone. 

I need Taylor to contact Morgan I think. 

I’m sure she’s confused. Or maybe she doesn't care literally at all.  Who cares. I’ve been surprised at how easily I’ve been sleeping today especially without my phone and with everything on my mind. 

I need a talk therapist like yesterday.

I can’t bring myself to get through any of the books Taylor brought. The 19 book in such trash but it’s easy to read.

 The shower needs to be pressed every 45 seconds to say on. I wore shower shoes.

 Fake Abby doesn’t know what the move is, I can tell.

I called Taylor + my mom then got snack in my night meds. I mom told me to call back to talk to Mack so I just did. She’s lovely. 

Double lasagna somehow talked to snack nurse into giving him a full sandwich. I got a strawberry poptart and a coke. 

They’re checking in a new girl now who looks a bit like she’s closer to my age. 

I’m happy she’s not my roommate. 

I think tomorrow ill try to call family/friends less and trust the process. I need to really take a step back. 

I’m just happy I feel comfortable sitting in the sun room. I knew a lot more about movies than they did 

Goals for tomorrow-

Check out group

Find rec room/sign my name by Mack’s 

Document everything

Keep room clean

They still haven’t cleaned Shauna’s side. Its off putting. 

Have I mentioned they check on me every 15 minutes? 

Its off putting also. 

I wish I had just like some mascara or something. I hate to be that girl but damn. 

My mom keeps trying to talk about the funny aspects of this but I can’t say I’m feeling them yet. Today just really was such a blur. I sept a lot then talked to therapists then I think went back to sleep? Then begged for lunch then I think slept? That’s where its fuzzy. Called my fam too much, I need to not tomorrow. 

I also want to gain control of tv room tomorrow. Power move!! 

Did I mention I called Chelsea? My brain is mush. 

- Be more present tomorrow-

- Ask more questions- 

be warned: new beginnings are rarely pure, and neither are the men who seek them

On Homesickness pg 23

Scott County

We are homesick most for the places we have never {truly} known

37, Franklin County 

Questions to Proteus -> how do I get home? 45, Montgomery County 

Tuesday 

7:10 am 

slept super hard but also had super vivid dreams. Mack and I talked about that last night. 

She said she had never brought it up. I was a little restless, prob just bc they were constantly opening my door and eventually just stopped closing it. 

I’m just trying to let go of control. I don’t want my phone back. I need to talk to someone about the insane anxiety I feel when I think about home back to the real world. 

Even just being in my apartment scares me b/c it feels like its full of negative energy. I need to focus on the good when I get out. 

I keep thinking about my phone bill and I can’t remember if I paid for internet. Also the maintenance light is still on in my car. 

Even though mom and dad are coming today I need to be communicating less w/ outside world. If I really want to be off the grid I need to really b alone with me thoughts and be okay with it. 

I kept feeling for my phone throughout the night. 

I wonder what the nurses think of me. do I seem different than everyone else?

I keep finding myself trying to relate to the nurses, esp. the young male one (hair) but what am I trying to prove? That I’m not like everyone here? 

Newsflash, asshole, I am 

(I’m the asshole)

I need a sharper pencil- do you think a lobotomy joke will be appropriate when I request one orr?

I wonder if Prather has texted me. I’m supposed to sub on the 21st. 

Yikes

Not looking forward to checking my bank account. I really spent a lot w/out giving a shit. It was freeing but I also haven’t worked in over a week + a half soooooo. 

On homesickness is so dramatic but I love it. Makes me think of Taylor. (bc home, not the drama)

Also I think I’m getting fucking sick. Or, according to Lula (Flula) in 19, I’m getting hospital cooties. 

7:27 am 

I’m in TV room w/ singer. I asked what we’re watching and she said “some kind of cartoon”. She’s not screaming which is awesome. I’m going to read Wuthering Heights. 

Almost 8 

Called dad and asked him to bring me a pair of readers since my eyes hurt. Nice nurse #2 is here again. She’s blonde. I haven’t seen Maria again. Met another nurse too. She was young. Also there’s a fake nurse (fake nurses are in teal, like hair, and he real ones are in blue) who I def. know. Cant figure out from where, maybe high school? Either way, not cool with it. Also, they sharpened my pencil. 

TIME TBD

Having a hard time focusing on reading. My eyes hut. 

I don’t like waiting around. 

Is it petty to point out inconsistencies in the rules? There’s different info on different sheets in the packet they gave us. Makes me wonder how closely these patients are reading it. Its all petty though, like whether or not we should take 5 or 10 minutes to use the phone or how many visitors we can have at a time. 

I know myself too well, ill be bringing it up. I’m going to check on breakfast. 

8:30ish

breakfast was sub par. Sat alone. New girl, sat w/ double lasagna. She only wanted milk so homeboy asked if he could eat hers! Has he learned nothing?? I ate pretty quick; I think I need to go back to sleep. I feel weird. 

Time-?

Dr.?? (nice psychiatrist) came in and we talked. Started fine but I got really upset b/c of how much I feel like garbage and I don’t now if I want to be here. But also I don’t want to go back to the real world. She left and I went to go get a visteral 25 mg b/c I’m so upset. They gave it to me and when I got back to my room I 100% had a panic attack. 

I felt like I was a kid again. Maybe its b/c I’m here but I’ve never been sure that what it was until now. They happened a lot as a kid and usually ended in my mom holding me and saying everything’s ok. Its so hard not having that now. I left my room and the med student from Sunday was in the hall and he came and talked to me until I calmed down. 

With talking to them I finally feel like I’ve been able to verbalize how anxious I feel here along with how I feel about leaving. I just need to rest my eyes for right now, but when I’m up I need to write down what Dr. B said about when I get out. 

I miss my parents. 

Time unknown

Honestly can’t remember what happened next. 

Social worker came in, she’s lovely. Talked a bit then I kept resting. 

She gave me some info on how to stay grounded during a panic attack. 

Then I think I went to the rec room to do a puzzle but then religion group started. I stuck around but then little dr came to get me and asked if I would meet with big table of doctors even though I hate it. 

I did it but it made me upset again. They said they would come talk to me but they haven’t. 

I fell asleep again then not Maria nurse came to tell me they’re gonna give me more adavan once my visteral wears off. Fell back asleep then got a drink/ate lunch.

My puzzle got hijacked so I brought a new one into my room. I hit a wall so I stopped to write all this down and go find out what they talked about it my meeting. 

I think its around 1 pm. 

2pm

Sat and watched how I met your mother for a little. Started crying. Asked a nurse when I was gonna get talked to when little doc came up. they gave me an adavan and now I’m waiting for him to come talk to me. the maid is making up Shauna’s old bed while I sit and cry. Very awk. 

I don’t know why I keep crying. I just feel like I’m going to keep having these attacks. I feel so hopeless. 

Still sitting here crying. Still no doctor. 

My name is Abigail and I am safe. I am in the present and I am safe. 

~505

lil doc came to talk to me and I got upset. I don’t understand what my next move is. 

Just slept pretty hard until now then got dinner. Going back to sleep is very tempting. 

I think I’m allowed another pill. What’s the point? 

6:50 pm 

I honestly don’t know what I’ve been doing since after dinner. I’ve been doing the puzzle in the TV room. I’ve been watching the office. I asked nice nurse if I could have another pill but she’s pretty sure she cane until its time for bed. My anxiety is pretty high right now my parents will be here in like an hour. 

7 pm

officially been hoarding pencils. They say I can have an atavan at 10 pm for bed, but they gave me a V. im wondering if that’s going to help me sleep. They’re going to put me on abilify on top of my startera. I’m hoping they’ll give me some of this visteril to take home in case I start to freak. 

Decided that in order to help me not get stressed I want someone to take my phone and ask me one by one about who texted/called/emailed and help me deal with it. Same w/ my bank statement. 

I want to say I feel better, but I don’t know. Its just all a blur. 

I want to see m parents so I can find out what the move is when I get out. Maybe a meeting with Andrea and social working and one of them would be cool. 

I don’t want to get out after Taylor leaves. Fuck.

Double lasagna and biter left. 

* is still here, and fake Abby is MIA. 

New girl who I don’t know 

New guy Brandon- wears vans 

And tad who Mack warned me about. Apparently he called 911 on the nurses from the phones. 

Bold move. 

Fake Abby and I are friends. I think she’s lonely, I know she wants to be my roommate, but I can’t deal with that. 

Now I just kill time until mom gets here. 

930 ish?

Mom and dad came and I feel a bit better. Mom and I did our crossword puzzle and dad and I figured out grad school. I also had him assure me I don’t need to worry about $ right now. 

I asked for a pen but they said no. but I STOLE ONE FROM MY DAD!! 

Honestly its low on ink but just having it feels great. 

Just called my mom and said goodnight to Mack. I feel ok. Mostly just shook b/c of how much of a dream this all feels like. But I’m ok. Time to crossword and eat my poptart like the star patient I am. And I’m gonna do it in god damn pen! 

Goals for tomorrow- 

- track when all meds taken

- get better at checking time 

8am

slept like shit. But I think I might go home today?! I’m sick so my head fucking hurts. I dontknow what to think. I just want to sleep in my own bed. 

11am 

talked to dr. B + some of the team and I think I’ll just stay another night. It was hard for me to think of what I wanted to b/c I just woke up. but she made a good point that if I’m sick and drowsy it could be good to stay since they’ll change the time I get the abilify. I don’t know. Just very tired. 

1109

Watching fresh prince. Thought there was gonna be group in here, but so far nothing. Fuck this. 

Fake Abby told shirt he looks like Carlton and no shit he kind of does. He deadass did the dance while he was walking out. He thinks side burns were cool. Now singer is singing Elvis songs. 

Newer girl is even scarier she’s very touchy. Seems like she doesn’t listen. 

singer is standing directly in front of the tv. She threatened to fire the nurse that told her to stop. 

Shirt is leaving today. 

New girl just came in and snatched the stuff out of singer’s hands and then tried to talk to everyone. Now singer is out for blood. New girl is wild. 

1140

going to lay in bed until lunch. 

~12

slept a little until lunch. Hamburger and a coke. 

I’m def staying another night. Thinking of some ideas for pickup since I need someone to go back to my apt w/ me. 

I think that’s the move. And then if its horrible I can try to stay somewhere else. I’m thinking of asking my sisters. Idk. Might call some of them now. 

I’m really just waiting to get something for my cough. 

215

just slept super hard

even denied taking my cough meds so I could sleep more

I finally got into the rec room and unsurprisingly it was a disappointment. 

Couldn’t find macks mark so I left. 

Gonna go try to get more crossword 

255

just called Chelsea, she said she would try to come over after work/talk to liv about doing the same. I just want to take a real shower. 

Crazy Tad just said hi to me. 

New girl (maid) is asleep sitting up, we’re watching that 70’s show. 

My shirt smells like Keenan. 

Also its almost snack! 

Hmmmmm 4? 

took a shower after smashing a poptart. The sheets they gave me to use as a bathmat smells like actual piss and shit- maybe I shouldn’t have wrapped myself in it. 

A little before 5

Slept again. Got woken up for dinner. It was ok. God I’m so fucking tired. 

I’m glad I’m writing everything down b/c its all such a blur. 

Cant remember if I already wrong down that I talked to chels. I want help meal prepping and doing some laundry. Also someone to sleep over. I want my own bed, but I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want my phone. I don’t know what good anyone can do me right now until my meds get figured out. I don’t know!! 

I met my new nurse, DD, who said I’m taking my abilify in an hour. Then I want my sleeping pills so I can konk out, ugh. 

Time to lay down. Again. 

I think I fell asleep again?

Went to get my abilify around 615. Panic attack happened again. 

I can’t stop crying and I don’t want to be here anymore w/out talking to someone about all my regrets. 

I think more than anything I’m really disappointed with how this whole thing is going down. 

Just want to stop crying. 

830 pm

calmed down. Kind of okay w/ leaving but also so anxious. 

844

Singer has 12 different personalities. 

About to go ask for my meds/follow up on what’s up w/ the nurse’s research 

9ish 

Ate a poptart. Nurse was doing meds so she hasn’t looked into anything. Took 2 hydroxizines (50 mg) + a 3 mg melatonin. Called dad, still not a grad student. Very frustrating. Everything sucks but its ok bc I am Abigail Nash and I am safe in the present. I am not in the past. The present. And there are people that love me. 

Thursday 

- if… because then 

- one day at a time 

9 am?

Had breakfast, found out I’m going home today. 

Called mom + dad, and mom is gonna pick me up around 5 

2 more free meals! 

Getting a therapist is going to take a minute but I feel ok about it 

Nurse Nadine is so sweet. 

These people are getting the wildest thank you cards later. 

930

I’m going to get a watch 

I don’t like not always knowing the time 

That fucking short haired nurse came in again and gave me shit for being in my room

 Don’t know her name 

But I don’t want to 

I’m getting out here short haired lady! And I’m pulling out to win! 

I’m getting sleepy, fuck 

I have like 8 hours to kill 

Soooo

Suddenly now that I know I’m getting out I feel like some kind of bubble has been burst and I feel semi normal 

Am I really the Angelina Jolie of this place? Not actually Angelina, but her character from Girl Interrupted? 

She’s hot in that too, though.

Final thoughts for now- RIP Brittany Murphy. 

925

group- only going because nurse Nadine is leading it. 

Tad gave a very sweet little speech about his dad

Grabby girl wouldn’t share, she it nuts

But now miss congeniality is on!!

1055

cute rec therapist let me into the rec room. I wrote 

SCABZ

In big letters on the table, and made a picture frame. Also played ping pong with grabby. I’m not even going to go into how that went. 

Update: grabby thinks I’m her mom 

My best gift:

The gift of travel. Travel in the sense of moving, traveling to see a friend, or a friend traveling to see me. travel has allowed me to maintain friendships w/ people I usually wouldn’t. Another gift coming from travel is my best friend, Taylor who traveled to another state for school, where I met her. And the gift of going to visit my best friend in France a few years ago who I’ve known since I was 9. 

~~~~ when the party is at it’s best, it’s time to leave the party ~~~~ 

- Tad’s ex-father-in-law

almost noon 

Tad (ok turns out its not the Tad Mack was talking about) said some really good stuff in group and when he was talking about finding balance I said, “like the yin for your yang?” and he did not know what I was really talking about but it fit into the convo really well. So I started to draw him one and when it was over I gave it to him and he was really touched. I feel really good about it. It sucks I’m just now getting to go to group but I think my meds might be working b/c I haven’t gone back to sleep yet. 

Also, they said I could keep 19! 

I need to get some books together to donate. And some puzzles. 

After lunch 

Pulled pork. Singer change the channel on TV to cartoons. I see a nap in my future. Also brushing my teeth. 

There’s a new kid, he’s gotta be newly 18 b/c he looks young. 

Tried playing monopoly w/ Tad, maid, and new guy, but it devolved. 

Thought he was cute but he might be nuts (shocker)

I said he was welcome to my books and he looks a mans search for meaning and I’m about to leave so I don’t think im getting it back. 

Amanda wrote a nice note in it. That sucks. I gotta stop being so nice. 

I asked them to give me a visterile and they did. I should be ready to rock when mom gets here. 

430

did more painting- made a weird sign for door knobs. No sign of homeboy + my book. I kind of don’t want to leave, but I refuse to let myself have fomo in a place like this. Idk what the move is for my book. He better be reading it. I don’t want to leave before dinner so he can at least have a chance to say something to me about it. 

Tad is really fun to hang out w/. he is really nice. We talked about grounding during panic attacks and he invited me to play monopoly and we talked about how it sucks that we all just started talking to each other but that’s also prob just a sign that the meds are working. 

I saw he put my yin yang in the front of his journal. Very sweet. 

This isn’t to say he isn’t totally nuts. Also, young guy said my voice reminded me of “stuff” what the fuck. 

Grabber called me mom and tried to give me her hand. 

[marginalgloss]

to cleave the sea

Gene Wolfe wrote a story called The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories, which in turn enabled him to put it out in a collection earnestly labelled The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories and Other Stories. As a literary joke this is rather fun. Was it only a joke? The more I read into Wolfe’s fiction the more sure I become that for this author nothing is ever really just a matter of wordplay. Later he wrote stories called The Death of Dr. Island and Death of the Island Doctor, both of which are also featured in this collection. All three are quite different in style and apparently unrelated.  

In The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories, a boy comes upon a paperback novel in a drugstore. The boy has the pleasingly odd name of Tackman Babcock, though he’s mainly referred to in the second person singular — as if he were you, the reader. 

Tackman is fascinated by the book:  

‘The covers are glossy stiff cardboard, and on the front is a picture of a man in rags fighting a thing partly like an ape and partly like a man, but much worse than either.’ 

Jason, the older man he’s with, says: ‘That’s camp. Did you know that?’. Is it camp? Tackman doesn’t really know what this world means, but in this context it would seem to be Jason’s way of dismissing what he sees as meaningless frippery. 

The story unfolds at first in direct quotation from the books: a somewhat butchered version of The Island of Dr Moreau, complete with a sinister vivisectionist and his half-human, half-animal creations. It is not long, however, before those characters become part of Tackman’s world in a very immediate way. Jason is not his father, and there is something strange going on at the costume party that evening.

The story assumes a shape which is somehow comforting, even through the chaos. Adult life is complicated, even incomprehensible, to you; but a white man’s adventures on strange foreign soil somehow make sense of it all. The story has it all — even pleasant moral platitudes, like ‘the evil are always foolish in the final analysis’. It is an appealing balance.

And it ends on a strange note: a sudden tragedy — or a sudden crime — and Doctor Death at the boy’s elbow, reassuring him that when he starts reading the story over again the characters will resume all their old roles. You’re too young to realise, he says, but it’s the same with you. The dominance of these archetypes is eternal, it seems. It’s hard to decipher whether this is a promise or a threat. 

***

The Death of Dr Island works a little differently. It is a science fiction story, though that much takes a while to become apparent: at first it appears to be about a boy on a desert island. His name is Nicholas Kenneth de Vore. Something has happened to Nick. Paragraphs of description are peppered with uncanny details: initially he emerges into the world via a hatch; his body is marked with traces of sutures; he hears voices which seem to come directly from the flora, fauna, and waves. 

Sometimes he screams: 

‘His screaming was high-pitched, and each breath ended in a gibbering, ululant note, after which came the hollow, iron gasp of the next indrawn breath. On one occasion he had screamed in this way, without cessation, for fourteen hours and twenty-two minutes, at the end of which a nursing nun with an exemplary record stretching back seventeen years had administered an injection without the permission of the attending physician.’ 

And he is not alone on the island. There are at least two others there: Ignacio, a violent and unpredictable older boy, and Diane, a strange young woman with whom Nick becomes involved. The island is part of a facility designed to contain the mentally ill. Nick has been through surgery to separate the two sides of his brain. 

What is this story? It’s a wild, strange, linguistic safari. Wolfe’s prose has a tendency to skip lightly along, as if he had written it out then carefully excised every alternate excessive concrete detail. He seems to encourage that feeling of being slightly lost. At its best it is mysterious, but sometimes it is slightly confounding. Writing about this now I find myself slightly at a loss to explain what this story is about, or even approach a satisfactory description of it. 

The story ends with Nick destroying the island — with the literal death of the thing, Dr Island. Is it a metaphor for how fighting against mental illness sometimes entails the destruction of the system of treatment itself? I don’t know. There is an elusiveness here, a resistance to interpretation, that makes me think of Nabokov in its playful textual manipulations; but also writers like Cormac McCarthy in terms of that muscular, allusive, dark, and wholly American style. 

***

Death of the Island Doctor is only a few pages long. It describes a retired professor, a man ‘a little cracked’, who is given the opportunity of running a seminar by his university. His name is Dr Insula and he asks to teach about islands:

‘I may also decide to include isles, atolls, islets, holms, eyots, archipelagoes, and some of the larger reefs…it depends how they come along, you know. But definitely not peninsulas.’

It is not especially clear whether this is intended to be a history class or a literature class. But at first, the question turns out to be irrelevant; the university awards the course no credit, and so of course no students attend. Insula goes on teaching his none-existent class for six years until, by a happy administrative accident, it is awarded a tiny amount of credit, and two students show up. 

They are a young man and a young woman, and since it is only them they go to his house to receive the seminar. He serves them tea, and talks to them:

‘He told them of Lucian’s travels to Antioch, Greece, Italy, and Gaul, and this led him to speak of the ships of that time and the danger of storms and piracy, and the enchantment of the Greek isles. He told them of Apollo’s birth on Delos; of Patmos, where Saint John beheld the Apocalypse; and of Phraxos, where the sorcerer Conchis dwelt. He said, “‘to cleave that sea in the gentle autumnal season, murmuring the name of each islet, is to my mind the joy most apt to transport the heart of man to paradise.’” But because it did not rhyme, the young man and young woman did not know he was quoting a famous tale.’

He gives them homework, too: Dr Insula tells them to take a little boat to an actual island, a specific place in their locality. He instructs them to come to their next meeting prepared to describe what it is they found magical there. And so they go, and nothing at all of note happens. The reader knows, I’m sure, that when the young man and young woman return for their next seminar they will find that old Dr Insula has since died; but how much more mysterious for him to be found sitting in the old boat in his garage, as if to set out to sea again one last time. 

This is one of Wolfe’s more comfortable stories, I think. In some ways it is gently conservative. It has a tone reminiscent of Calvino or Borges: that sense of a bibliophilia beautiful for its own sake which regardless becomes a sort of mental prison, a labyrinth of its own making, in which the protagonist is never quite sure if he is Theseus or the Minotaur. Dr Insula will never do anything again other than teach this non-existent class. He there in perpetuity. I don’t know if there isn’t something horrifying about this. 

Hope is manifest in the young man and young woman. (They are pointedly described as ‘young’ throughout.) The final line implies that they formed a relationship, and that later they came to realise Dr Insula wasn’t wrong about the island at all. It’s an echo of the final lines of The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories — a reminder that life frequently happens in spite of our best intentions, and that the shape of our lives tends towards archetypes which we find reflected in fiction and myth.