#it’s coming up 3am in like 45 minutes and my brain doesn’t want to brain anymore

[bliss-wily]

So take that as you will.

Side note: ignore the tags it’s just nonsensical ramble. I’ve been ill and when I’m ill well you’ve seen the results before if you’re looked at my page for more than a split second. My brain just doesn’t stop.

[dreamy625]

This rockstar life - 3.10 Fragmented

Words: 2020

Content: Quite angsty, mentions of self-harm & OCD

-----------------------------

We made an agreement, early on, that it’s always okay to wake the other one if you have a nightmare or any other kind of middle-of-the-night freak out. Always. No matter what. I just could not bear the thought of him lying there alone and uncomforted after one of his horrible dreams. But I’m a terrible hypocrite because, when my anxiety runs wild at 3am, I try not to disturb him if he is, for once, sleeping peacefully. However still and silent I think I am though, somehow he always knows and I’ll hear a mumbled ‘c’mere’ as he pulls me to lie with my head on his chest and strokes my hair. 

-----------------------------

“Oh god. Third alarm. We really have to get up now.”

Steve, still resisting fully waking up, just grunts in response. Alice pokes him, which only results in an aggrieved squeak and him pulling the duvet over his head.

“Your car’s coming in 45 minutes.”

“Cancel it.” he growls.

“I’m supposed to be at work in an hour.”

“Call in sick.”

“I can’t. Not again. I’m running out of convincing ailments.”

“Tell them I’m sick and you have to look after me.”

“But you’re not sick.”

“Might be. I feel fucking horrible.”

Alice burrows down until she is face-to-face with her boyfriend. In the dim light filtering through the covers, she takes in the pale clammy skin and bloodshot eyes. 

“You don’t look great. Poor baby.” She wraps her arm around him.

“My head hurts.”

“Mine too. Why do we do this to ourselves?”

“Coping mechanism? So they tell me.”

Alice tightens her embrace. After a few moments of silence she says dreamily, “Sometimes I pretend our bed is just floating in the clouds. Just you and me, and the rest of the world has gone away. Nobody can get at us.”

Steve closes his eyes again. “Can we just stay here today?”

“Okay.”

-----------------------------

Sometimes he gets 'stuck'. He always has to do all the things the right number of times in the right order, but when his mind is really running away with him, he then doesn't believe he's done it correctly, and has to repeat it again and again. Everything has to be three times, but if he misses something, it has to be three times three. And then maybe three times more. And then again. Sometimes it helps if I count it through with him, and act as witness that he has in fact performed the ritual perfectly. He doesn’t trust himself, but he’ll believe me. I'm not sure how you're 'meant' to deal with someone who has these compulsions, probably not like that, but it does at least allow him to leave the bathroom. On bad days though, that’s not enough. One night I stood, arms wrapped around him from behind, as he went through the sink sequence over and over for an hour or more, tears of frustration running down his face but completely unable to break out of the loop. 

-----------------------------

“I hate everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone that isn’t you. All of humanity except pretty blond guitarists named Steve.”

-----------------------------

“No, I don’t understand what it’s like to be a rockstar. And to have that pressure and that weight on your… to have so many people looking at you and expecting… I can’t ever feel that. But you can tell me and I can try. And I do know what it’s like to never feel good enough, to always be the fuckup, to be pretending so hard you don’t know who you are any more and to… yeah…” she sighs, “never be able to explain why.”

Steve just grimaces and pours another slug of vodka into his glass.

“In fact, I think I’d find it stranger if you were totally well-adjusted about it. You were nineteen, working in a factory, and suddenly, boom, you’re on a stage in front of thousands of people. How could you have a brain that’s set up for that?”

“Everyone else seems to be fine with it. Joe’s happy as a pig in shit!”

“Yeah, but Joe’s… simpler than you. I don’t mean stupid. He just… doesn’t have your sensitivity. And, like, total tunnel vision. He just knows what he wants and goes for it full steam ahead, with the rest of you pulled along behind. He’s not introspective like you, he doesn’t stop to think about everything.” 

Steve doesn’t reply, just staring at his glass and turning it around and around on the tabletop. 

“Must be nice. To have self confidence like that. He must have some self-doubt, surely? But it doesn’t seem to stop him.”

“I wish I knew how he does it. How anybody does it.”

Alice shrugs. “If I knew I would tell you.”

-----------------------------

Steve, idly threading his fingers in and out of Alice’s while they sit reading, squished into the one armchair nearest the fireplace, suddenly stops. “What’s this?”

He pulls her arm into the light from the window, revealing the row of faint pale scars up her forearm, and a few redder, angry-looking, marks. 

Alice tries to pull the sleeve of her sweater down, but he won’t let go of her hand. “You know what they are. They’ve always been there.”

“I know, but…”

“The second time we… you kissed them… like Shirley Valentine.”

“But some of them look recent?”

“Yeah. But just little ones. Scratches. It barely counts.” She leans her head on his shoulder. “It’s okay. Really. Just… you know… turns out love doesn’t fix everything else.”

“No. They should put a warning on those soppy films.” He strokes her wrist gently with his thumb. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“I wish I wouldn’t too.”

-----------------------------

“It’s too early to argue.”

“This is still the argument from last night. You just passed out before it was finished.”

Steve pulls the pillow over his face. “You’re right. Whatever it was about. You win. Just for god’s sake woman, let me sleep.”

-----------------------------

The unfamiliar sound of tinkly new age music draws Steve to the livingroom, where he finds Alice sitting cross-legged on the floor. Ah, a meditation session, the latest prescription from Dr Garrison. The effort of trying to calm her thoughts has creased her brow with a tiny frown. He tiptoes silently across the room and squats down beside her. The corner of her mouth turns up as she senses him there, but she keeps her eyes closed. Reaching his hand up to the back of her head, he places a gentle kiss on her forehead before standing and creeping away.

-----------------------------

“Why is she here again?”

“Dunno. He just said he couldn’t leave her at home.”

“No girls in the studio; we made that rule for a reason.”

Phil shrugged. “They were already here when I got in, I wasn’t going to argue.”

Joe considers the couple over the rim of his cup. Alice is tucked under her boyfriend’s arm, all big bushbaby eyes staring into space. “She doesn’t look well.”

“Neither does Steve come to that.”

“He always looks like that on a Monday morning.”

Oblivious to being the topic of his bandmates’ muttered debate, Steve breaks off from scribbling on the sheet music in front of him and absently drops a kiss on the top of Alice’s head.

Joe sighs, “Oh all right. At least she’s quiet I suppose.”

-----------------------------

Steve slopes into the livingroom and drops down on the far end of the sofa with his arms folded.

“I still think I was right.”

“I still think I was right.”

There is silence while they both stare unseeing at the television.

“Do you still love me?” This sounds like a challenge.

“Yes. Of course.” she retorts crossly, still scowling at Newsnight. 

“Good. I love you too.”

“Fine.”

Another pause where neither one looks at the other.

“Bedtime?”

“Yup.”

Alice stands and holds out her hand.

-----------------------------

“You need to eat something that’s not coffee”

“You need to eat something that’s not vodka”

- Impasse -

-----------------------------

“Lissy?...Liiiiiis?”

A small voice, “Down here.”

Steve squats down and looks under the table. “Um, what are you doing under there?”

“Hiding.”

“Right. What from?”

“Everything.”

“Okay.”

“I don't think I was meant to be a human. I’m bad at… humaning.”

“What were you meant to be?”

She thinks for a while, “An aubergine?”

“Oh.”

Steve ducks further under the table and pats Alice’s shoulder tentatively. “It's okay, I'll look after you.” He pauses, eyes flicking from side to side, trying to think of something helpful, “I'll put you in a moussaka!”

“But I'm dairy intolerant.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Alice starts to laugh, and Steve does too. The laughter borders on hysterical and they lean into each other, shaking. Eventually, it subsides into just the occasional giggle. Steve puts his arm around Alice and pulls her against his shoulder. “Fucksake.”

-----------------------------

I’ve looked everywhere. All the usual places, all the pubs, even the ones he’s barred from, the pool hall, the cinema, that dodgy after-hours place behind the tube station. I’ve called Phil, I’ve called Malvin, I’ve called all the numbers scribbled on the pad next to the phone. I even asked that dealer he thinks I don’t know about. No one’s seen him, no one’s heard from him. That’s over twenty-four hours. He never does this. He always makes it home eventually, or someone brings him back, or someone calls me. There’s no Steve Clark on record at the hospital, and the police weren’t interested (they know him too well, said he’ll turn up when he sobers up). I’ve walked around and around and around. He should be easy to spot, all that blond hair, but it’s got dark again. And cold. Really cold. He just had his leather jacket when he went out, not a proper coat. 

Finally, thank gods, finally, a glimpse of that familiar hair. A hunched figure on a bench on the embankment, staring into the water. He doesn’t look up when I sit down beside him.

“Hi.”

He blinks. “Hi.” 

“Nice view.” 

It actually is - there’s an old bridge and it’s lit up all prettily at night. Steve tilts his head up to look at it for a few moments before returning his focus to the river.

“So, where have you been?” I try to make this neutral and not show how frantically worried I was. 

“I had to… get away… I couldn’t… explain.” His voice is croaky; I guess he hasn’t used it for a whole day.

“Right. Did it help?”

He puffs out a breath through his nose. “No, not really.”

“What was… what were you trying to get away from?”

A long pause, and then, “I’m scared… of what’s in my head.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

Another pause. “I can’t.”

“Do you want to go home?”

He shakes his head.

“Do you want me to go?”

Another shake.

“Okay. We’ll… just sit here then?”

He nods. 

-----------------------------

There’s just nothing I can do. He’s surrounded by people who love him and have tried to help. If there was anything another person could do, they’d, we’d, have done it by now. I’ve thought and I’ve thought and the only thing, the ONLY thing, I can possibly do that maybe no one else can, is try and make him feel safe. 

Because he doesn’t believe in love, not really, not other people’s love. Or maybe believe is the wrong word; He doesn’t trust it. He wants to. He loves so intensely, so steadfastly, not just romantically but his family and friends. But he doesn’t think he’s lovable in return. So when he, inevitably, because he’s human, messes up, and he sees disappointment, anger, or pity, he thinks that’s it, they don’t love him anymore. 

So yeah, that’s the plan. Unconditional love. Not just feeling it, but showing it. So he knows,  however far he falls, he’ll always have a safety rope with me holding onto the other end of it. The flaw in the plan is that, well, I don’t think I’ve ever had that before either; I don’t know what it looks like. 

But it turns out it’s easy. I just have to mirror back the way he loves me. 

(January 1991)

[wizkiddx]

in your own way

so someone sent me this idea and I thought it was really cute and wanted to do it as a blurb but then I got all confused so it’s very shite and I can only apologise. also I am not no genius so pretending to be one was literally just putting words together they make no sense ahaha

Summary: tom gets self conscious of his intelligence compared to you

        (bit of angst but mainly fluff ;))

tomhollandxreader

The doorbell ringing through the couch grabbed the attention of all five of you, your heads all whipping towards the door the round to each other. You’d already got the pizza (had demolished it too) and nobody had ordered any desserts - at least that you knew of. It had been a rather tame evening, your four uni mates all stuffed into you cosy but homely studio flat. Lix had just moved to London and had wanted some help with a new project that she couldn’t afford to cock up at her new job. So, assembling the ‘dream team’ back from simpler days, you were all crouched down over many print outs - trying to puzzle your way through how the plans could be redesigned to make the invention much more ergonomic. 

“Don’t stop working!” The four around you all just groaned in return, Josh lightheartedly slapping your leg as you skipped over him.  Laughing at their exhausted and almost beaten brains , you jumped up and hopped toward the door frame, picking a discarded pizza box off up the floor and onto the countertop on your way.  As you reached the door you tightened your hair in the scrunch before painting a welcoming smile on your face and opening the door. Whatever you had been expecting, it was definitely not what you saw. 

Warm brown ochre eyes, a mischievous grin and a bunch of beautifully arrange yellow and white flowers.

“TOM!”

Squealing his names, your body apparently decided to ignore the flowers he was grasping to his front, still choosing to throw your arms around his neck and pull him close - the precious petals squashed between your two bodies. 

“God I’ve missed you!” He grinned into the side of your head, only stopping to press multiple kisses to the side of your face till you arched back and met him with your own lips. 

“Thought we were meeting tomorrow? You asked against his lips, with a little smirk - you could have a pretty good guess as to why. He had just returned from a long shoot abroad and had planned on spending the evening with his parents and brothers, then in the morning the idea was for you to go get breakfast together. You would never dream of competing for his affection against his family, so had been more than happy to give them a day with their eldest back before you saw Tom. It was still early days in your relationship anyway, you actually only been a couple and in the same country for a matter of weeks, but of course the time he was away you made time for the long distance phone calls and FaceTimes. 

“Mhmm well I just kept imagining you in a cold lonely bed and it’s not like I’m gonna let them all hop into my bed for quality time is it?”

“Well you are close!” Giggling back, Tom playfully gasped before releasing his one arm from round your waist - both of you chuckling at the crumpled flowers. You stepped aside to let him in, in all the excitement forgetting you weren’t alone until you turned around and were met with four pairs of beady eyes staring at you. Because yes perhaps it had slipped your mind to mention to them you had a boyfriend of six months, especially forgetting to tell Josh - who you had a complicated history with to say the least.

Cursing under your breath, you watched Tom freeze up, clearly shocked by the fact you had company too. He hadn’t met many of your friends, purely because you and him were still on the downlown. Not that that particularly mattered with these 4, you were more than certain they would have no idea who he was - as Lix had said before ‘superhero movies are just stupid peoples version of research papers. Innovative and exciting, except papers don’t require the variables to beat each other up to keep their audience entertained.” 

So tom’s reputation wasn’t the issue in this situation…. Instead your ex boyfriend meeting his replacement. Josh could be cruel too when he was jealous, even if it had been a year and a half since you’d called your brief relationship quits, it was evident he still wasn’t completely over you either. The amount of drunken calls asking for a hookup was evidence of that. 

You’d been almost transparent with Tom, he knew this name ‘josh’ was your ex, he was aware you were still friends and hang out. He didn’t know about the 3am booty calls but that was just to protect everyone, no other hidden agenda. He’d always regret it in the morning and beg for your forgiveness so it appeared very much to be a subconscious thought only copious amounts of alcohol could release.

“Sorry I didn’t know you had-“

“No no” You interrupted Tom, grabbing the flowers and placing them on the counter, ontop of the pizza boxes, before reaching out and squeezing his hand reassuringly. “It’s okay, let me introduce you guys.”

Following that preceded an awkward taking turns of hand shakes and small talk, though you were acutely aware of Tom’s tightening grip round your waist when the blue eyes boy introduced himself as ‘Josh’ - and in fact every time he spoke thereafter. 

The small talk was nice enough, the group of you all resumed your positions on the floor with Tom now squiggled between you and you painfully awkward ex flatmate Will. In fact it was all going oh so well till Lix opened her big bloody mouth. 

“So Tom, what do you do?” 

He immediately tensed against your side, you saw his eyes widening with shock. Instantly reading him, you realised Tom was shocked by the fact they didnt know. 

And he was! He assumed they hadn’t mentioned it purely out of respect, not wanting to make the situation awkward. They were, as you’d summarised to Tom before, nerds. As you were - no nerd shaming here. But this type of people were normally primed marvel superfans, or at least had some sort of awareness- so he was surprised to say the least. 

“Oh uh I…. I’m an actor”

“Oh really?” Josh’s eyes widened and he smirked. You knew , you knew what was coming. “So you convinced Y/n that drama’s a good thing? She used to absolutely hate everything when we had to do it at college.”

“I hated drama classes, that doesn’t mean I hate the whole entertainment industry dickhead!” You tried to joke, tried to lighten the mood. 

“Uh well she’s supportive of my stuff and I’m supportive of hers it doesn’t mean I have to like neuroscience either.”

“Neurobiologist. You’re a neurobiologist right Y/n?” For fuck sake. Will had no intention behind it at all. He was just oblivious to people and was so upfront at times it was painful, even if underneath it all he was the sweetest person you’d ever met. Watching Tom out the corner of your eye swallow thickly as he tried to compose himself you quickly worked to diffuse the situation. 

“Yeh but it’s kind of the same thing isn’t it? I say either or a lot!” Josh took a swig of his half drunk beer before nodding at Tom.

“Acting though… it’s impressive. I definitely wouldn’t be able to persevere through all the rejection though, seems cut throat to try and make it in.” There Josh goes. Tom shifted, his hand dropping from you side and his eyes fixed on the beer bottle you’d given to him as he smirked. 

“Yeh well the rejections hard when I was younger but I get that less now. Now I get to reject the parts I don’t like which makes it all so worth it.”

Josh’s face morphed just slightly in pain, as the penny somewhat dropped. Apparently Tom wasn’t the aspiring actor working 3 jobs between failed audition as he had assumed. Just as you were getting bloody desperate, a literal light went off in your head, shooting your back straight as you rifled through the haphazardly spread papers in front of you -  the groups focus now away from the obvious tension between Tom and Josh. 

“Y/n what do you need?” Lix asked slowly realising you might’ve just found the answer and not wanting to disturb the thought process. After asking for a pen and triumphantly ‘ah’-ing when you found the right plan you looked up with glee evident in your eyes first to Lix, then Will, then Sophie, then Josh. 

“We’ve been missing the whole point the whole bloody time. Look!” You jabbed your pen at an intricate diagram “It’s so bulky because we’ve been going on this assumption we need a battery and recharging ports but if we take that component out-“

“Then you just need a transformer for there” Will joined in with a sparkle in his eyes, him being the first to click where you were going with this.

“Exactly! And then size is no longer an issue and by placing an external detachable unit-“

“Y/N YOU GENIUS” “fuck that’s good” Lix exclaimed an dsimultaneously Josh much more inwardly praised your ingenious. 

“We got it!” Laughing back, you encouraged all of them to join in with, noting down all the necessary inputs and outputs and components necessary to form a vague redesign. 

Though it felt no time at all, the 5 of you consumed in mumbling through thought processes and logic of trying to actualise your theory, in reality it was almost 45 minutes before Lix leaned back with a relieved sigh. Announcing that you’d saved the day, she called time on the night, relieved that she could sleep worry free that night. You made light work between all of you of clearing her stuff up and saying goodbye to all of them with brief hugs. In all honesty, you were so in the zone you’d completely forgotten about Tom, who you were only alerted to when Lix went over to the kitchen to say bye as well. He’d obviously been there for sometime, clearing up all the greasy plates and pizza boxes, the flowers now sat in a vase in their full glory - or at least what was left of them after the crush injury. 

This wave of insurmountable guilt washed over you, realising he’d come here after only spending a couple of hours with his family after a long haul flight home to fall asleep with you in his arms. Instead, he’d faced your rude ex, been ignored for the majority of the time he was here and he’d done the washing up. You fucked up. 

Choosing till you’d finally ushered Will and Josh out, promising Will you would go and see their new shared flat soon, you closed the door slowly - knowing this wasn’t going to be simple. 

You walked up and leant against the kitchen counter, watching him place the last two mugs in the top drawer of the dishwasher before pushing it closed and then closing the appliance door too. 

“Thankyou for doing all this. You really didn’t have to.” He didn’t make eye contact, moving about the kitchen to wash his hands in the sink opposite. “And I’m really sorry I-I was gonna usher them out but the I worked it out and kind of got overexcited.”

“Mhmm … for an hour?” It was a rhetorical question and although he said it very quietly you knew he was demanding an answer. 

“I know I know I’m a shitty girlfriend, I should’ve sent them away as soon as you got here. I am so so so sorry.” That statement was left in silence for a few, painful moments.

“I was the one who showed up here. Don’t worry about it.” It was muttered and god only know you were still very worried about it. 

“No Tom I was a dickhead you have a right to be ang-“

“It doesn’t matter!” If it didnt matter, why the hell was was he answering so grumpily.Turning back around to you with a sigh, he spoke with shoulders slumped. “Look… lets just go to sleep yeh? I’ve had a long ass day.

He wasn’t in the mood to talk, you weren’t about the force him too - so with a small nod you half heartedly agreed. You knew you would have to address it at some point, but apparently now wasn’t the right time. 

So without much more conversation the two of you got ready for bed, even if the atmosphere felt jilted and cold. It was rehearsed, this wasn’t not the first time he’d stayed over so like a rehearsed scene the two of you got ready and then wormed your way underneath the sheets. You waited for him to make the first move, which of course he did. Pulling you into his bare chest which you happily obliged to, your leg wrapping round his as you nuzzled into his chest. Both softly whispering ‘goodnight’ your eyes closed as you tried to sleep.

Except it didnt work and wasn’t going to. Mainly because Tom’s heartbeat was thundering right under your ear. So you were hardly surprised when he whispered in the quiet. 

“Do we work?”

“What?” You arched up, a hand on his chest as your head hovered over his - your eyes burning into his in the dim light of the street lights. He sighed heavily, shaking his head and trying to avoid your gaze.

“I just- we have so little in common” 

“That’s not true.”

“It is. I have no idea about even what you do! Seeing you with all of them tonight… you were enjoying talking about stuff I could never ever understand!”

“I don’t have a clue about scene direction or physical acting does that make you dislike me?”

“No course not!” He argued huffily, making you sit up in frustration and reach over to turn the bedside light on.

“Then will you please explain what is going on?”

“Just… just look I know intelligence is attractive and-and well you are and I’m not.” 

That physically hurt you hearing him be so self conscious in front of. Clearly, you had made him feel like pure shit this evening and that guilt would surely eat you up later - but right now the focus was purely on making him feel assured of his own mind-blowing talents. 

“Tom…it’s not intelligence that’s attractive! You know…” You sighed, how the hell were you going to explain to him how much you LOVED HIM.liked him, you hadn’t said that yet. “You know when you’re reading a script that’s good your mouth move along as if your living and breathing every single word. And you completely are oblivious to anything around Tom, I always thought if someone crashed into the house you wouldn’t notice cos your so into it. And then when your finally finished with it, no matter what time of the day or night, you’lll be like this excited puppy running in to tell me all about it. Or-or when you’ve visited a children’s hospital and you phone me bouncing off the walls, full of stories of how these kids inspire you….” Trailing off, you looked intently between both of his two brown eyes. “Thats passion right? And ambition?” He nodded minutely. “Thats what’s so bloody attractive. For all I care, you could be a supermarket shelf restocker if that’s what your passionate about and you would still be the most incredible person to me. I love your passion you idiot, I don’t care if you don’t know stupid facts about astrophysics or where in the brain control movement of your big toe! In your own way your so bloody clever and I love you because of you and your passion you idiot.” 

“Seriously?” You nodded profusely at his whisper, now cupping both hands round his cheeks. “You seriously think…. I’m like a puppy?”

There was your boyfriend again, grinning from ear to ear as you giggled at him.

“Yes you most definitely are.” He gasped in fake shock, before pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours. Now straddled over his body with the duvet weighing down on your back as you tasted the minty toothpaste still fresh on his lips. After a short while you once again settled back down on his chest, feeling much more warm than mere moments ago, and confident that Tom was reassured and happy once again. 

The silence lasted long enough for you to be slowly drifting off before a deep rumble had you blinking your eyes open, eyelashes dragging against his shoulder as you tried to focus on his voice.

“By the way…” Tom dragged it out, making you hum in encouragement as you listened to his slightly hoarse and sleepy sounding voice “in your big soliloquy just then… you said you love me?” You froze, desperately trying to claw a good answer or cover up. Completely failing, you went for the next best and oddly relevant statement. 

“I don’t know what solliquarity means because its an actory word so I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Solliliquy darling… but for the record, and I hope you understand this… I love you too.”

[jaeknightorbats]

Tunnel Caprica [M]

Pairings: Baekhyun x Sehun (SeBaek) 

Ratings: NC-17

Genre/AUs: Smut, dark romance, slice of life

Description: It was a normal day for convenience store worker Byun Baekhyun when Sehun—a wealthy looking man—entered the store, only getting overdosed by drugs afterwards.  It was the encounter that would change Baekhyun’s life. It was the encounter that introduced him to a world that should never exist in this already problematic world. 

Warnings: Graphic sexual content, substance use, drug overdose, alcohol, and strong language

Chapters: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 (NEW!)

Synopsis: Tunnel Caprica connects two cities under the huge and long mountain ranges of the country Ioca [a-yo-ka], making it one of the longest tunnels in the world with a distance of nearly 40 kilometers. However, people choose to drive the 3-hour long pass than driving through the tunnel, because driving through the tunnel can be claustrophobic—an hour drive with nothing but repeating images of the never ending tunnel. But through the tunnel also hides the entrance to another world that Baekhyun is yet to find out.

Part 1

Word count: 3.9k

Just a single response—a single response that could make everything better.

Or could make matters worse.

It had not been long since his girlfriend replied—five hours outmost. But five hours felt like a day to him. Getting used to quick replies, it’s making him crazy as to why he wasn’t getting any response even after sending her messages and giving her calls.

She’s mad.

He couldn’t help but think, and it’s making him weak. He doesn’t like anyone getting mad at him, especially if it was her.

Ple—

He stopped typing. He shouldn’t bother her, she’s at work. He shouldn’t annoy her. She must be annoyed. He wasn’t at work—it was his rest day, leaving him alone with his thoughts and his phone. Nothing worse than that—overthinking.

He dug his face on to his phone, praying to the gods to make a miracle for him.

He waited, and he waited. Still got no response.

Maybe staring at the screen would make a difference. He stared at every icon he could see, scrolled from side to side.

Why am I lying to myself?

Nearly 30, he was, but he could be still naïve at times. He was a high school dropout with divorced parents.

What divorce? They have no money for such things, his parents only lived separately, and things were too confusing for him. He ran away from his home at the age of 17, and started to find ways he could live on his own. Things never worked out for him, still broke at the age of twenty-nine. He’s renting a small, cheap apartment, and he had a third-hand car that needed constant maintenance. He worked at a convenience store near where he was staying, only a 15 to 20-minute walk.

Byun Baekhyun considered himself as a good-for-nothing, and was only working to survive. The only thing that was making him somewhat happy was his girlfriend’s affection. Now, the person giving what he wanted was mad at him.

He took a deep, hopeless breath as he dropped his head down to his table from where he was sitting. At the brink of losing hope, his heart jumped when his forehead felt the vibration of the table coming from his phone.

He didn’t check from who it was, and immediately clicked the notification and read the message.

Disappointed, he was, when the text message was from his carrier, reminding him that his phone bill’s due was approaching.

This girl, now this. His grip to his phone loosen, feeling weak—he could hear his heart beating. He felt like he was losing his mind.

A picture of his wallet flashed through his head, remembering exactly how much money he still had before his next pay. $43.05.

His phone bill usually cost $45.

He didn’t want to double check his wallet, it was too heartbreaking for him. He recently spent most of his money buying his girlfriend a nice dinner and a new phone—a phone she didn’t like that’s why they’re in a fight. She wanted an iPhone. He couldn’t afford such phone. He himself was sticking to his 3-year-old phone. As long as he could send his girlfriend a message, he was fine with any phone.

He pressed his eyes closed, thinking what should he do to pay his dues and to make his girl happy. His feet couldn’t stop tapping—he couldn’t think of a solution.

“Money can’t buy happiness?” he muttered to himself. “Bullshit.”

He stood up from his chair, threw his phone to the sofa just to release some stress—even a tiny bit. He needed a break.

He started walking circles in his small place, thinking of different things how to earn enough money to, at least, pay the bills.

Baekhyun never turned his head so fast when he saw his phone screen flashed from his peripheral view, hearing the vibration from the sofa. His feet dragged him fast towards the sofa and his hand grabbed the phone.

Disappointed again, it was from his friend, Park Chanyeol.

Im coming 2 ur place.

Baekhyun felt so pissed. He was hoping it was from someone better—his girlfriend. “I don’t need you to come,” he muttered to his phone.

Subsequently, a rapid knuckle impatiently knocked on Baekhyun’s door. It paused for a quick while, then started knocking again.

Baekhyun already knew who it was. He stomped his way to the door to stop the noise.

The grin on Chanyeol’s face faded, cocking his brow after he saw Baekhyun. “What’s with the face?” He made his way into Baekhyun’s place without permission and went straight to Baekhyun’s living room.

Baekhyun followed Chanyeol with a glare as he closed the door. “What are you doing here?”

What a stupid question—Baekhyun realized immediately. Chanyeol only visited Baekhyun for one thing, and one thing only—sniff drugs.

“I’m telling you, bro. You should break up with Yuri. She’s just using you,” Chanyeol said as he was pulling out his cheap snuff set from his jacket, placing it on the glass coffee table afterwards.

Chanyeol already knew what was bothering his friend, especially when Baekhyun made a face like what he was wearing. Nothing else bothered Baekhyun but women. Sometimes, Chanyeol knew Baekhyun doesn’t know how to straighten his priorities just for the sake of a woman.

But Baekhyun doesn’t like anyone minding his own business, so Chanyeol only watched him be stupid.

Baekhyun ignored him, and changed the topic. “Hey, when are you going to take home your shot. It’s taking a lot of space on my fridge.” He only had a mini fridge, it could only fit a few drinks and few foods.

“For as long as I don’t need it,” Chanyeol blatantly replied. “I don’t want my mom seeing that, she’ll start asking questions.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You already said that.”

Chanyeol still lived with his parents since he spent a lot of his money on the things he liked to snort.

Baekhyun pulled a chair on the dining table, and watched his friend do his thing.

Chanyeol carefully released a portion of his powered drug from a tiny airless balloon on Baekhyun’s table. Chanyeol pulled his wallet out and took a card to collect the scattered powder on the table and made a thin line with it. He licked the remaining powder that was on his card. Then, took his already-rolled-up bill from his kit. His nose made a loud noise as he snorted the powder. He twitched both sides of his nose and sniffed again, just to make sure his brain received that well. His eyes slightly became watery from the mild burning sensation that went through his nose. He cleaned the white dust excess on the table with his finger and brushed his gums with it—every bit counted.

Chanyeol sighed, satisfied, as he rested his head on the sofa.

“What was that?” Baekhyun asked.

“Heroin.”

Baekhyun was still a traditional man. Drugs never interest Baekhyun. He’s tried a pot, but it was never for him. He’s seen people around him done it, and he didn’t like what it did to them. Besides, these substances cost too much.

“By the way,” Chanyeol lifted his head up and pointed at Baekhyun, “I told boss you’re gonna take my shift tonight.”

Chanyeol also worked at the same convenience store, that’s where they met each other.

Baekhyun reacted, “What?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you. I have some business tonight.” Chanyeol winked mischievously—obviously planning something sketchy.

Baekhyun thought he’d have his rest day for himself.

Then, Baekhyun remembered his bills and his girlfriend.

Maybe he needed that shift.

“Breaking news: Kang Sunmi filed a divorce. The fifteen year old allegedly—“

Snapping fingers diverted Baekhyun’s attention from the television back to his manager who was in front of him. The manager pointed his pen to Baekhyun and said, “That news will stay for a while, customers don’t.”

Baekhyun nodded lazily.

It was past 3AM. He was on his second cup of coffee but he still felt drowsy, his eyes wanted to close itself. He’s not used to night shifts unlike Chanyeol, who could do any shift at any time of the day. Baekhyun still had an 11AM shift after his shift at 4AM. He’ll have less time for sleep, but a little more money for him. He needed every cent.

Less than an hour left.

There weren't many people at the store, so he was pissed off at his boss for being such an uptight motherfucker.

He couldn’t wait for his shift to end, he missed his bed. But he missed his girlfriend, Yuri, a lot more. She was still ignoring Baekhyun’s call and messages, making him miserable. He didn’t know how to make her notice him again.

I’ll pay her a visit after my shift. I’ll be there before breakfast, before she leaves for work. She’ll be surprised, see my effort and sincerity, he thought.

The idea washed away his sleepiness in a snap. He got excited to see Yuri’s face again. Baekhyun hoped she would forgive him and give him a kiss or hug.

His brain cells started to work actively, thinking of what things he should say.

How should I apologize?

Thinking of what he should do.

Should I text her first or knock straight away at her door?

Should I buy her a chocolate?

No, maybe hotcakes. She loves hotcakes.

He was alone with his thoughts, distracted by the challenges of love.

The bell on the top of the door rang when somebody pushed it open.

It woke Baekhyun up from his thoughts, his instinct greeted the customer who got in. “Good evening.” He, then, realized it was already early in the morning. He corrected himself, “Morning, sir.”

They were trained to greet anyone who came in the store.

Baekhyun watched the tall man take big steps as the man walked in, not even turning his head to Baekhyun’s direction. The tall man vanished from Baekhyun’s sight as he passed by the tall shelves.

Baekhyun had seen different types of people enter the store when he took night shifts on some occasions. There were people in pajamas buying food for breakfast, or maybe for their late night snack. Guards, drivers, and night shift employees buying coffee. Normal looking families who were on a trip buying snacks. Bunch of drunk teenagers wearing cropped tops and/or bomber jackets who came from a party buying cigarettes, or water for their friend who kept throwing up. People of any age wearing tacky clothes who were obviously on drugs—he could tell it from their teeth—buying lighters. Some people looked dangerous, he dared not to judge the things they buy, but they were usually alcohol and cigarettes. And, some men buy condoms.

But Baekhyun had never seen a person walk wearing sunglasses. Who wears sunglasses late at night?

What was also striking was the man was wearing an obviously expensive black coat. It was beautiful how vivid the color was; it was the blackest of the black he had ever seen. If the man came from a party, it must be a fancy one, might be a ball, or a fancy wedding of a multi-millionaire. Baekhyun thought the man was lost. The man should have asked his butler or driver to buy things for him.

A pair of heels started to echo his ears—it got louder as it got closer.

Of course, he has matching Italian shoes.

Even the most decent shoes don’t make a sharp sound like that.

Baekhyun turned his head to the man’s direction as the man got closer to the counter.

The man stopped in front of Baekhyun, still holding on to his items. He slightly lifted his head and scanned his eyes around the top shelves that were behind Baekhyun.

Baekhyun noticed the man was wearing a high-end brand of sunglasses. The way the light reflected on the black frame and on the black lenses, it was something else. His skin glowed as the light met his face, showing his healthy and almost poreless skin.

“Do you have anything besides Jack Daniels?” the man started to speak.

Baekhyun turned around and scanned the shelves himself. He knew the man was looking for something hard. “We have Johnnie Walker. Red, black, and double black.”

He rarely drank such expensive alcohol, but he enjoyed the scotch he recommended when he tasted it.

The man scoffed. “I’d take the bourbon.”

Baekhyun nodded and stretched his arm to reach the box of Jack Daniels.

The man placed his item on the counter. Baekhyun scanned the box, and the cotton balls that the man placed.

“Is that all?”

The man looked down at the front of the counter, turned his head from left to right, searching for something. He finally reached for something that caught his interest. He lightly threw the item on the counter

“That’d be all,” he said as he revealed a part of his side body under his coat, reaching his back pocket for his wallet.

“$27.14,” said Baekhyun after scanning the box of condoms—the ultra-thin one.

The man took another item in front of the counter the moment it caught his attention.

Baekhyun scanned a small bottle of lubricant. “$38.54”

The man initially took a hundred-dollar bill out from his wallet but he put it back. He extended his arm, slightly revealing a shiny silver watch under his sleeve, and gave three 20s instead.

The man looked at Baekhyun and said, “Keep the change.”

Baekhyun's eyes slightly widened, his lips curved upward. He couldn’t be happier, he needed every cent of money he could get.

It must be his lucky day.

“Thank you, sir!”

The man cocked both of his brows as a response while he put the smaller items inside his coat and carried the bourbon by the hand. Then, Baekhyun watched the man leave the store.

Baekhyun couldn’t stop grinning as he put the change on his wallet after he cashed in the payment.

“That was a nice watch,” he muttered to himself. It was like love at first sight when he saw the man’s watch. It was still at the back of his head.

Baekhyun looked at the store’s watch.

Ten minutes left before 4:00.

He started to fix his things at the staff room. Removed his tacky uniform under his white shirt, and wore a cozy jacket. He bid his goodbyes to his co-worker and manager and left the store at 4:05AM.

Cold wind blew on his face, making him shiver. He dug both of his hands on the pocket of his jacket, and started to walk across the almost empty parking lot.

He couldn’t spot a single person around. Few vehicles, yes. It was still early. The area of the city he’s in wasn’t exactly the busiest.

Baekhyun put a smile on his face. “I’m gonna buy hotcakes. I’m gonna see Yuri.” He felt excited. He tried to paint the look on Yuri’s face when she saw him at the front of her doors.

“We’re gonna have breakf—“

A long honk of a car distracted Baekhyun from walking. He turned his head where he heard the noise, but he couldn’t see anything—it was too dark, and the parking lot was too huge.

He turned around, checking if other people were around. But he was alone.

It was still honking, it wouldn’t stop. There was panic in Baekhyun’s eyes, his heart started to pound hard, he was nervous. Other parked cars seemed peaceful. His eyes searched everywhere, but he seriously couldn’t see anything. He started to walk hesitantly where the loud beep was coming from, he was unsure.

Silence.

Baekhyun’s ears rang and felt deaf after the vehicle stopped honking. But he was still worried. His feet wouldn’t move, his mind went blank, his ears still ringing.

Then, a tiny, orange light suddenly emerged from his sight from where he was walking to. The light was from inside a car. He could see tiny silhouettes in it.

He started to walk forward, but still hesitant. He turned his head from left to right to check if there were other people besides him. He was still alone.

The light got closer and closer as he walked nearer.

“HEELP!”

A loud screech of a woman alarmed Baekhyun, putting him to a stop.

“HEEELP!”

Baekhyun ran as fast as he could to the light, to the woman’s voice who cried for help. He saw the woman looking in his direction. Baekhyun was having a hard time to breathe because of the cold wind blowing against him, but he ran faster after he saw an unconscious man next to the woman.

Baekhyun panted heavily when he finally reached the vehicle. Him and the woman looked at one another with panic in their eyes.

“HELP!” The woman cried while she was shaking the man on his shoulders.

Baekhyun shifted his look to the man—it was the man who tipped him earlier. He was unconscious.

Baekhyun opened the door. “What happened?!”

The woman was in a state of panic, she didn’t know what to say. She was only worried for the man.

“Have you called 911?”

The woman blinked. “Are you fucking crazy?!”

Baekhyun looked around the vehicle. He saw a spoon, an elastic band, a syringe, a dust of power, and cotton balls. Baekhyun suddenly noticed the man had his sleeve rolled up.

“He fucking OD’ed?!” He concluded after he saw the things around them. The man got overdosed by some drug.

The woman didn’t know what to say. Her eyes were shaking—she was unsure if she should trust the man.

“You must call 911, or he’ll die!” exclaimed Baekhyun.

“No, no, no. Please don’t call them!” the woman begged.

Baekhyun knew if they called 911, they'd go to jail after he regained his consciousness because they were doing illegal drugs.

“Fuck,” Baekhyun cursed, he knew the woman won’t change her mind—he had met a lot of people on drugs, so, he somewhat understood. He removed his jacket, dropped both his bag and jacket on the concrete.

He stepped up to their high SUV and searched for the recliner lever of the man’s seat. But he couldn’t find it. “Where’s it?! How do you recline this fucking seat?!” Baekhyun yelled at the woman.

The woman jumped in panic, “Fuck.” She pulled something behind the seat of the man she was with to recline the seat.

Baekhyun lent his face to the man’s face to feel and listen if he was breathing. He wasn’t. “Fuck.”

“Don’t fucking die on me, Sehun,” the woman begged, pulling her hair. Her eyes began to tear up.

Baekhyun held the man’s face upward. He’s going to perform CPR.

He had his face close to the man, then the woman spoke. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Do you want him to fucking die?!”

Baekhyun exhaled all the air from his lungs and passed it to the man. He pumped his chest with both of his hands intertwined.

No response.

Baekhyun performed another around. He gave air, pumped the man’s chest.

Still, no response.

Baekhyun performed another, and another, and another round.

“Fucking shit. Don’t die on us, man.” He kept pumping his chest, sweat was breaking on his forehead despite the chilly climate.

The man wasn’t breathing.

Then, Baekhyun remembered his friend, Chanyeol. He remembered that he had Chanyeol’s adrenaline shot in his fridge.

“Fuck.”

Baekhyun carried the man on his shoulders and transferred him to the back of the car.

“What are you doing?!” The woman freaked out, confused. She followed them behind the car.

“Keep giving him CPR. I have something in my place that might help.”

Baekhyun went in front of the car, fixed the seat, and started driving. He drove as fast as he could to his place, he had the hazard lights on, he didn’t stop at any red light, he kept honking the car on every car that was on his way. Every second counted. The man could die at any moment.

They reached his place in 3 minutes.

Baekhyun carried the man on his shoulders and ran as fast as he could to his door steps.

Baekhyun’s eyes widened. His keys were in his bag.

He left his bag in the parking lot.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This isn’t happening,” he muttered to himself.

“What? What’s happening?!” The woman freaked out while she held the man’s face behind Baekhyun’s back, trying to wake the unconscious man.

“Fuck,” Baekhyun panicked. He didn’t want to let the woman know. She’d make him freak out more if she knew.

Baekhyun searched his pockets. He was starting to feel the weight of the man on his shoulders. Baekhyun gulped. Then, he felt the bulk in one of his pockets. It was his wallet. He remembered he had a spare key in his wallet.

He immediately took his wallet and searched for the key inside his wallet.

It was the biggest relief of his life when he felt the cold brass meet his finger. It was his key.

He opened the door, then carefully placed the man in his living room.

“Keep giving him CPR,” he ordered the woman as he ran as fast as he could to his mini fridge, and took a package on the top shelf.

He ran back to the man. His hands were shaking. He had read the instruction of how to use the shot countless times when he had nothing to do with his time and when he attempted to throw it away because it took a lot of space. Chanyeol had also told him how to use the shot once or twice just in case Chanyeol got overdosed himself. But Baekhyun still read it, just in case he read it wrong before.

But he was shaking, his head couldn’t think straight. There was an unconscious man in front of him.

“Fuck this shit.”

He’ll have to trust his memory.

He opened the package, and there was a tiny bottle that came with a huge syringe in it.

“Rip his shirt open,” Baekhyun commanded the woman as he tried to inject the 6-inch needle to the bottle with his shaky hands.

Baekhyun breathed heavily. He held his hand high over his head with the syringe, focused on the man’s chest. He had to inject the shot hard enough to get through his ribcage to his heart—to make his heart pump again with the adrenaline shot.

Baekhyun’s breath got heavier and heavier by the second.

Just a single response.

Baekhyun held his breath and stabbed the man with the needle.

A single response that could make everything better.

The man arose from his position, making a loud noise as he inhaled every air his lungs could get as he came back to life.

In a shaky voice, breathing rapidly, the man cursed, “Fuck.”

Or could make matters worse.

To be continued...

J/N: Send notes, reblog. Follow me on twitter @/jaeandbats for updates

**

Read next chapter

**

Tunnel Caprica: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (NEW!)

[poledancingghostson]

you opened a damn can of worms this is your fault but i literally cannot stop thinking about Elle's first real winter being in Boston after living in LA her whole life and getting snowed in???? or first white christmas??? there is so much opportunity there??????

As someone who is also from LA and has always wanted a goddamn white Christmas, that connected with me, so here’s what that turned into! Have some Elle and Emmett Christmas fluff to start December off right!

***

Emmett’s ringing cell phone wakes him at 6am on Christmas morning. He lifts his head with a groan, reaching clumsily to where it’s charging on his bedside table. He picks it up and flips it open. “Hello?” he answers groggily.

“IT’S SNOWING!!!!!”

Emmett winces and puts some distance between his ear and the phone. “Good morning, Elle,” he says with a laugh.

“Oh, did I wake you?” she asks, sounding legitimately concerned.

“I mean, yeah, it’s 6am,” Emmett responds, laying back against the pillows. “How early do you think I get up?”

“I don’t know! You did tell me one of the first times we met that you never sleep!”

Emmett rubs his eyes tiredly. “Well we all need a break at least once a century, don’t we?”

Elle laughs. “Well I’m sorry to have ruined yours.”

“It’s not ruined,” Emmett smiles. “Not by a long-shot.”

“Good! Because it’s snowing, Emmett! And I wanted to call my mom about it, but it’s 3am in LA and I figured that was a little overkill.”

“Good instinct,” Emmett agrees.

“It’s, like, magical, Emmett,” Elle says, her voice dreamy and wistful. “Everything is sparkling and white!”

“Yeah, that’s what snow does.”

“Oh, you don’t get it. You’ve had it your whole life!” Elle complains. “It’s different for me, like… you know that song White Christmas?”

“Never heard of it,” Emmett replies sarcastically.

“Oh, shut up,” Elle laughs. “The point is, it was one of my favorite Christmas songs. Every year, all I wanted was to go somewhere where we could have a snowy Christmas. You know, make snowmen and have snowball fights and curl up by the fireplace and make hot chocolate with marshmallows… All the cliches. Dreaming of a white Christmas, right? Well, look outside, Emmett!”

“Do I have to actually look? My bed is warm!” He groans.

“I never knew you were so lazy,” Elle scolds. “You’re always on my ass to pull all-nighters but you can’t even take–what–three steps to the window? I mean, your apartment is tiny, it can’t be more than that.”

“Well, I’m not in my apartment, but point taken,” Emmett sighs, standing up reluctantly and pulling open his curtains.

“Why aren’t you in your apartment?” Elle asks.

Emmett leans against the windowsill. “It’s Christmas. I’m at my mom’s,” he explains. “Looking out the window now, by the way.” He squints out at the five star view: their back alley; littered and dirty and a little bit broken. Nothing like the streets around Harvard. Nothing like the streets that Elle is used to seeing. “What am I supposed to be looking for, again?”

“It’s snowing, Emmett!” She sounds so excited, so giddy, like she had the first time she’d aced one of Callaghan’s exams.

“That it is.”

“On Christmas!”

“I know!” Emmett tries to muster some of the same excitement, but, growing up poor in the Northeast, all snow meant was struggling to keep warm and pay heating bills and get to work or to school when the streets haven’t been ploughed. Besides, the snow in a city quickly turns brown, so the white Christmas look never really lasted very long anyway.

“Your lack of excitement is seriously ruining this for me,” Elle complains.

“I’m sorry,” Emmett sighs. “I’m trying, I swear.”

“Where’s your Christmas spirit?” she asks.

“It doesn’t wake up until at least seven.”

“Fine, you can go back to sleep now.”

“No,” Emmett responds, a little too quickly. “No, I’m already up.”

“Good,” Elle says. “That was actually a test.”

Emmett laughs and sits back down on the bed. “I passed, then?”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

The line goes silent for a while, but it’s not an awkward sort of silence. It’s rich and calm and natural. It’s the kind of silence that deepens a conversation, like a well-placed rest in one of Mozart’s sonatas. “I’ve been using your Christmas present, by the way.”

“Oh yeah?” Emmett grins.

“Yeah,” Elle says, a little dreamily. “You were right. Real time-saver.”

“I told you,” Emmett gloats.

“Why do you always have to be right?”

“I don’t know,” Emmett shrugs. “I just am.”

“It’s annoying.”

“Can’t help it!”

“Still annoying.”

Emmett laughs and shakes his head. “If you don’t like it, don’t call me at 6am on Christmas.”

“Fine. I’ll hang up then.”

“Fine. Hang up then.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Maybe.”

She doesn’t respond, but Emmett doesn’t hang up, waiting patiently for: “Emmett? You still there?”

“I thought you were hanging up!”

“No, you didn’t,” Elle sighs.

“No, you’re right, I didn’t,” he concedes.

“So you admit you were lying. And on Jesus’s birthday, no less. Shame on you.”

“You know, he was actually probably born in spring.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s really the point,” Elle says. “I think it’s more of a symbolic thing…”

“Those ancient Jews and their goddamn symbolism.”

Elle laughs. “Such a bias towards English majors.”

“To be fair, that’s basically all an English major is useful for.”

“You’re right. Let’s give ‘em this one.”

It continues on like this for a while: natural and easy. It amazes him that he’s only known her for a few months. Talking to her is like talking to a childhood best friend. There’s never a second of awkwardness or not knowing what to say. Like they’re already familiar with every nook and cranny of each other’s brains, even if he doesn’t even know what her middle name is.

At around 7, Emmett can hear his mom; up and bustling around the kitchen. “I should go. My mom just started making breakfast.”

“Okay,” Elle says sadly.

“What are you doing today?” Emmett asks.

“I don’t know. I’ve never not been home for the holidays. I was just going to read about some more cases that were resolved a hundred years ago, then call my family to say merry Christmas at some point.”

“You should come over,” Emmett suggests. “Celebrate Christmas with us.”

“I thought I was supposed to spend the whole break with my nose in a book.”

“Well, we all need a break at least once a century, don’t we? Even you.”

Elle hesitates. “I couldn’t put you out like that.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Emmett assures her. “My mom would love to meet you. I would love to have you around. And we always have way too much food, anyway. She always makes a Christmas feast meant for fifteen at least.”

“That rhymed,” Elle points out.

“I’m a poet,” Emmett laughs. “So, when should I expect you?”

“Just need a coat, then I’m on my way.”

Emmett grins widely. “Can’t wait.”

-

About 45 minutes later, there are bagels and cream cheese and scrambled eggs and a jug of orange juice laid out on the kitchen table, and he hears the knock at the door.

“Coming!” Emmett calls, rushing to the front of the apartment. He pulls open the door to reveal Elle, flushed and shivering from the cold. “Merry Christmas!” she says through gritted teeth, holding out an expensive-looking bottle of wine with a big pink bow plastered to the front.

Emmett takes it from her and raises an eyebrow. “Experiencing the wonders of a white Christmas, I see.”

“Yeah, when I’m out here freezing my butt off it kind of loses its charm, honestly.”

She’s wearing a bright pink peacoat and a fluffy white scarf and there’s snow falling around her head and landing on her blush-colored beanie. And there’s something about the early morning light and the halo of glittering white flakes… she looks beautiful. Even with the bright red nose that’s starting to run and the red-rimmed eyes, puffy from wind-induced tears, she looks so damn beautiful. “I don’t know,” Emmett says, beckoning her inside. “I think I’m starting to see it.”

“See what?” Elle asks.

Emmett turns to her and smiles. “The magic.”

***

AH HOPE YOU ENJOYED! I’m actually really proud of a lot of the dialogue in this so I hope you like it too! I’m getting better at these! Yay!

Here it is on AO3!

PS I am always open for requests so just send me an ask and I’ll comply ASAP! 

[rikki-lynn]

(via What It’s Like to Live A Day with ADHD)

Writing about a day in the life of someone with ADHD is a tricky thing. I don't think any two of my days look alike. Adventure and (somewhat) controlled chaos are my constant companions.

As someone who runs a YouTube channel called How to ADHD, who’s engaged to someone with ADHD, who has ADHD herself, and who talks to tens of thousands of ADHD brains, I can tell you this — if you’ve met one person with ADHD, you’ve met one person with ADHD. We’re vastly different creatures.

We do have a surprising amount in common though, especially when it comes to the stuff we experience on a daily basis. Most days, it’s:

a rollercoaster of successes and failures

some moments feeling like a genius, and others feeling stupid

both distractibility and hyperfocus

good intentions gone off the rails

little emotional wounds from being judged by the outside world — or ourselves!

the healing from being understood and accepted for who we are

I hope this peek into my experience of one day with ADHD helps with that understanding.

The morning scramble

I wake up suddenly, search for my phone — what time is it??

Oh, okay. Still early.

It takes me awhile to fall back asleep — restless legs — but as soon as I do, the alarm goes off. The snooze button and I trade punches until my fiancé turns it off.

I jolt awake — what time is it now??

I scramble for my phone. 11 am.

SHOOT. Totally missed my morning yoga class, and now there’s not even time to shower. I growl at my fiancé — “why did you turn off the alarm??” — and stumble toward the dryer for clean clothes … which are still in the washer. I start a new cycle, then dig through the hamper, literally sniffing for something to wear.

I throw on semi-decent clothes, deodorant, mascara, take my meds — I’m almost out, SHOOT, gotta make an appointment to get another prescription — grab a Fiber One bar on the way out the door …

And then I run back inside to grab my phone. 11:15. YES! I’ll still make it to my meeting!

With time to spare, I run upstairs to kiss my fiancé goodbye and apologize for my morning crankiness. And I’m out the door! Woot!

I run back inside to grab my keys. 11:19. STILL GOOD!

The part where I wish time machines were a thing

As I jump on the freeway, I remember to call my psychiatrist — also that I forgot to charge my phone last night. Gotta decide between my headphones or my charger (thanks, iPhone 7).

4 percent battery? Charger wins. I wish wireless headphones were an option, but I have a hard enough time not losing regular headphones. And technically, they’re on a leash.

I try using the speakerphone but it’s too noisy on the freeway, so I hold the phone up to my ear as I call. The receptionist says there’s only one appointment available before my meds run out — do I want it? “Um … let me check my calendar … ”

Shoot. It’s the same time as coffee with Anna. This would be the second time in a row I’ve canceled on her. Not much choice though.

I’ll make it up to her, I vow … somehow.

I bring the phone back to my ear and see police lights in my rearview mirror. I panic and wonder how long they’ve been following me. The receptionist is halfway through confirming my appointment — I hang up and pull over.

One policeman eyes the dirty plates on my passenger side floor — I call these my car dishes — as the other hands me a ticket. As soon as they turn away, I start bawling. But I’m very aware I deserved it and weirdly grateful for being called out. I’ll definitely drive safer from now on.

Wait, 11:45?!

I get back on the road and check Waze obsessively to see whether I can make up for lost time. I drive faster, but Waze is annoyingly accurate. Eight minutes late as predicted.

Well, not terrible … you don’t really need to call unless you’ll be more than 15 minutes late, right?

Except I still needed to park … and fix my mascara … and walk over.

12:17. Ugh, I should’ve called. “SO sorry I’m late!”

My friend is unfazed. I can’t decide if I’m grateful he isn’t annoyed, or depressed that he expected it.

I tell him that, half joking. But he takes me seriously and says, “I used to have trouble with that, too. So now I just leave early.”

But this is what I hear: “I can do it, why can’t you?”

I don’t know. I try. It never seems to work out. I don’t get it either.

He starts pitching an internet project he wants me to write and I’m having trouble focusing. I’m doing a good job of pretending, though. I’ve got the thoughtful nod down.

Plus, my meds should kick in soon … Seriously though, does he have to talk that slow?

I see a server hand someone a check and I wonder how much my ticket was for. When do I have to pay it by? Do I have to pay by check? Do I even HAVE checks anymore? Wait, did I set up autopay for my new credit card?

I’ve missed half of what he’s saying. Oops. I start playing with my spinner ring to ground my attention. Focusing gets easier, but this doesn’t look as good as the thoughtful nod. I can tell he’s wondering if I’m listening now. Ah, the irony.

Honestly, this project sounds cool. But something feels off — I don’t know what. I have good instincts, but I’m kinda new at this whole “success” thing. I failed pretty regularly the first decade of my adult life.

It’s weird being successful enough that other people want to work with you. It’s even weirder having to decide whether or not they get to.

I awkwardly end the meeting.

Back on schedule — let’s try to keep it that way

I check my bullet journal, the only planner I’ve ever been able to sort of stick to, to see what’s next. Research from 2 to 5pm, dinner 5 to 6pm, writing 6 to 9pm, relax 9 to 11:30pm, bed by midnight. Totally doable.

My meds are in full effect, my focus is good, so I decide to head back home and start early. I should maybe eat lunch, but I’m not hungry. The table next to me orders fries. Fries sound good.

I eat fries.

On my way home, my friend calls. I don’t answer. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want to get another ticket, but I know it’s because I don’t want to disappoint him. Maybe I should do his project. It was a cool idea.

Back home, I cuddle up with a soft blanket, and start researching — and realize why I didn’t want to do the project. I reach for my phone and can’t find it. The hunt begins — and ends with me giving up and using the Find My iPhone feature. A loud beeping emerges from my blanket.

I call my friend. He answers. Does anyone else find that slightly weird? I almost never answer when people call. Especially if I might not like what they have to say. Call it phone anxiety, but a text to announce a phone call is the only way to get me to pick up — maybe.

But he answers, so I tell him why I don’t want to write his project: “Because YOU should write it!” I tell him what he said that made me realize it and walk him through how to get started. Now he’s excited. I know he’ll crush at this. I feel successful for the first time today.

Maybe I do know what I’m doing. Maybe I — I hang up and see what time it is. 3:45.

Oops. I’m supposed to be researching dyslexia for an episode.

I throw myself into the research until my alarm goes off at 5, reminding me to stop for dinner. But there’s stuff I still don’t understand yet. Ehhh, I’ll just keep going until 6.

It’s 7 and I’m starving. I grab way too much food — wait, wait.

I bring the food to my desk and begin typing furiously: “Turn ‘reading with dyslexia’ into a game …”

I write half the episode.

I get a better idea.

I start working on that one — WAIT — laundry! Not gonna beat me THIS time!

Switching the clothes to the dryer, I realize my workout clothes aren’t in there. Argh, I missed today so I have to go tomorrow or I’m not gonna feel good.

I grab my yoga pants and a bunch of other clothes off the floor of pretty much every room in the house and start a new load. I remember to set a timer!

I sit back down to write, but the idea doesn’t seem as great now.

Or maybe I don’t really remember it.

ADHD, the after hours

I can tell my meds are wearing off. It’s getting harder to hold all the thoughts in my brain while I work with them. The page in front of me is a random tangle of words. I’m getting frustrated.

The timer goes off. I gotta change the laundry — except the dryer’s still going.

I set the timer for another 10 minutes and head to the couch to hang upside down and try to get my brain to work.

Upside down, I remember I’m trying to get better about work-life balance and wonder if I should stop, even though I haven’t gotten much done. But tomorrow’s super busy, especially now that I have to work out, and — BZZZ.

I race back to the laundry room, take a corner too sharply and run into the wall, bounce off, grab the dry clothes, dump them on my bed, switch over the wet ones, and start the dryer. I race back and check the clock. 9:48.

Okay, I’ll keep working, but I’ll stop at 10:30. And fold the laundry. And relax.

10:30 comes and goes. I find a way back into that idea and I’m in a flow. I can’t stop. This is hyperfocus, and it can be both a blessing and a curse for those of us with ADHD. I write and write, and rewrite and rewrite, until my fiancé comes to check on me and finds me passed out in front of the computer.

He carries me upstairs, sees the pile of clothes on the bed, pushes them aside, and tucks me in. I promise to do better tomorrow, to make more time for us. And to fold the clothes.

He kisses me and tells me that clothes are just clothes, but the stuff we make lasts forever.

I hug him, hard. And see the time over his shoulder — it’s 3am. I’m gonna have to choose between sleep and yoga. Tomorrow’s gonna be another scramble.

Written by Jessica McCabe on July 27, 2017

[w1737087]

1st June

Sipped on mango juice through the night.

Up at around 9 from mother’s rigid voice and all her disputes with father.

Got up shut the door and shut the window. I could still hear her.

I finally placed multiple orders on ear buds..

Today she thinks dads out with a woman

I put on back to sleep playlist and later fell asleep. It was hard work, to fall asleep,

Dad called. I ignored it.

Kay called. I ignored it.

Up before 3pm and out of bed by 3

I cried before sleeping from all the frustration and triggering the sack of thoughts about my never ending tribulations and vast entrapment by mother.

Dreams? A little fucked up.

Shambolic scenarios being slammed in and out of one from another.

Killing bunnies?

Interrupted sex dream?

Other weird & hectic shit happened I cannot recall but I remember being sucked in by my pillows into some visions like a vacuum literally PULLING my face in. This happened twice and funny thing, I was in my mind REALISING it but also having the want to not... wake up because of it so I gave in again. It soon..was getting intense. Not scary but just hitting the red meter and I thought I’d burst and die and mentally I recited my shahada. Again, no fear, just intensity. Who dreams like this? For someone who dreams a lot this was something new I experienced.

When I woke all I concluded was that I really wanted to sleep. I hadn’t gotten enough and knew I wanted to get some more to meet the amount I should have gotten.

By 4pm completed the last mask sitting in the bed in my parents room.

Packed it up got ready. The little one tagged along. Dad came home and stormed back out. Mother has been fighting over the phone with him since the morning disrupting my sleep. I can hear her all day as I get on with my own day.

We went to post office to drop the mask sack off. Learnt what postage stamps are really for. A source of posting currency. Second band I sent it. Dad actually waited near the shops on the way there spontaneously, he called and we hopped in.

He took us McDonalds and we ate sitting in beckton car park. It was hot.

The little un wanted to return her books and I also needed to go to the high street.

We didn’t do either and I felt bad for not having taken her where I told her we’d go.

She also mentioned the zoo recently and I said a couple weeks time.

I’ve got to tell work I ain’t working my usual days then I’ll plan the zoo.

The car park is pretty empty. Around us boxed tarmac and in front upgraded stores.

Dads wearing a half sleeved shirt and

I wanted a fag as he had his.

I sat at the front, the little one at the back.

She talks about newspapers and her friends hand drawing being in today’s paper. She wanted to see. Dad only had dated ones.

I had one in my hands now and decided to do a crossword puzzle and a sudoku. I was really into the crossword as we arrived home.

We came home and through the journey dad talked about mother’s behaviour and she called a couple times and I didn’t like it. She is just so bothersome. Rightfully so but to witness it and know enough of what’s going on I’d without a doubt shove a muzzle on my mother for life and let my dad be. She would also be settled by this. Then I would be and that’s my main motive.

6pm

Tried to poop. Fail.

Eldest was in the shower. She was prompt.

Middle one wanted to go. I got out unbothered as i couldn’t go.

Came up

18:10

Lit up out the window.

My heart does that thing again.

Somethings deeply wrong. Inside of me I know for a fact there’s a riot, flaccid tears, somewhere along in the past couple weeks or further back I malfunctioned.

I don’t know if this is anxiety or not but I find myself alone and noticing my heart beating at an abnormal rate. It is everything but peace. I feel horrifyingly unsettled. I’ve got the essays I’ve got to write on my mind. It’s a factor in play as well as the wrecked sleep and I just feel so so insufferable these days. I can’t stop it, I try to be calm, I seem calm, I tell myself calm, I am so, but just as I am, I am entirely not all fine. Whatcwr this is I need it stop. My motner and her aura, ber behaviour which wrecks my sleep every morning as well as being underpaid at work and so many otber reasons. I cannot seem to stabilise myself correctly enough anymore. Everytime I want to yell at my parents it goes down mentally and when with them individually it’s to come out as I would be deemed crazy to blurt these issues out at the wrong times. At the right time it doesn’t work either. Either their good mood or their something is in the way. I’m doing so many things wrong and i just feel I’m in the middle of an identity crisis too. I don’t go to uni, I picture my desk and have no clue what’s there, I don’t go so label it as I can’t go, my baby sis is growing up and I haven’t been there, day by day I still feel I’m doing wrong by her, now that I’ve started work I’ve wasted time to better things with her. I don’t want to be here in this house and nobody will let me leave. I have no one to speak to because speaking to people is all that’s ever done, they hear they listen but they just don’t know the root of my problems and I am just beyond in need of help. How do I survive another year of this and manage to build the money and courage to move myself out of here, i don’t want grey hairs, if they show up I’ll know I’m damaging rn and I want to be settled if anything for now, for whatcwr this feeling inside of my chest is to mellow. It’s hectic between my rib cage there and my mind is swell. They are not in sync. I am not fine. Summer always had me feeling a type of way too. It’s a very very fine day and I want it but I feel once it comes around every year I’m not a part of it. Ever. It’s like it’s always for the world except for me. I cannot indulge in it enough to feel like it’s for me too.

The house is empty for now. Just us girls. Parents gone out to get some papers for the little one.

They may be back. I don’t know. I’m in my room holed up.

Mood today:

Absolutely off

Down

Unsettled, torn.

18:40 tbwy levaw. The sisters now. I’m all alone. It’s Such a rarity I don’t have time to pick what to do. Today’s agenda was to begin emailing Stewart and getting started on something to do with the essays.

I’m still dressed.

I cleaned up the powder that fell to the ground dispersing into a thousand pieces from my compact blush case.

I remember growing massively agitated over it as it was a fat mess and it fell like they always somehow accidentally do due to lack of space here and how I always always mentally be careful to not let them fall and they do anyway.AND I GET WO MAD

🆘

Recap

Been a busy day. Productive.

Moved extension cord back. Had to move alll my shoes and did rearrange them better seeing as the few at the bottom were damaging by the compression.

Tidied the messy tower of clothes on my chair.

Emptied the underwear drawers and distributed everyone’s own to their own rooms. Assigned the two empty drawers to the little one now. She needs the space.

Liphi went for her lip filler appointment today with Nam who didn’t wanna go with.

We FaceTimed later around 9:45 for a bit.

Her lips are bruised.

I cleaned the floor. Emptied the bin, enjoyed the brief empty house before bleaching and washing my shirts.

Shuffled some things around

Tidied the bedside table and some of the drawer, moved all the bundles of colour pencils and placed them in my art box under the bed, the drawer now has better space but still clogged as usual.

Opened a package which held my sports bras that I wanted more of after having one. They stabilise my breasts well.

The little one stayed by me as I cleaned my room. She was refolding her clothes all very neatly for their new place.

She went out with my parents when the house was empty to collect madrasah forms and tbwy went shopping at galleons. From H&M she bought a sky blue dress, trackies with hearts on them, pink sliders with cartoon slapped on and a pair of leggings.

Meals:

Macdonnas in the car with dad

Late night lasagne. 00:30

Ice cream from truck - sister bought after I sorted out everyone’s underwear with the little one in parents room. She sat in her car much of that hour.

Brain kicker

A nutty Lindt bar and I just ain’t taking care of my body anymore am I in terms of eating matter..

Notes

Sneezed 3 times

Thought about that bee lad at today.

Remembering to take my vitamins.

Killed my first mosquito tonight and seeing more than a couple. This means summer has officially kicked in.

Almost burnt the entire microwave down and could have blown a fuse. I placed my lasganve in and the wrapped food pack it was in caught fire immediately and I lunged at the push button.

Couldn’t blow the flames off as they were too great. Tossed it in the sink quickly and splashed water all over it which went everywhere too.

I was very alarmed. I don’t find myself in such situations that cause panic ever really.

Didn’t go to the Palestine protests as there were fights breaking out and harm occurring with the movement.

Humayra’s in the bathroom at midnight when I’ve already set my clothes in there and was ready to shower. I went back up for something and did an arm workout for 30 minutes or so including some rnr

I didn’t like that she was in there at this hour, why is it every time I need the bathroom she utilises it. I felt aggravated and those thoughts immediately crept in that I need out, I need my own place where I can get shit done without wasting these few minutes a couple hundred times a day of everyday due to others. It’s literally slowing my life down and she’s in the way of my kitchen and bathroom use, more so the latter this season.

So I showered, scrubbed my face, ears, in between toes and all and finally done with my day around 3am

[jailstories]

I am sick of negative people who just sit around trying 2 plot my downfall... Why???? I understand if people don't like me because I like me or if people think tight clothes look gay or people say I run my mouth to much, But this Bonnaroo thing is the worst insult I've ever had in my life. This is the most offended I've ever been... this is the maddest I ever will be. I'm typing so fucking hard I might break my fucking Mac book Air!!!!!!!! Call me any name you want.... arrogant, conceited, narcissistic, racist, metro, fag whatever you can think of.... BUT NEVER SAY I DIDN'T GIVE MY ALL! NEVER SAY I DIDN'T GIVE MY ALL! THIS SHOWS NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY TO BE GOOD AT SOMETHING THERE WILL BE PEOPLE THERE TO LIE ABOUT YOU AND BRING YOU DOWN! LIKE WAYNE SAYS PLEASE DON'T SHOOT ME DOWN CAUSE I'M FLYING! I'M FUCKING HURT BY THIS ONE. ALL I CARE ABOUT ARE THE FANS. JUST SAY THIS OUT LOUD IN A ROOM FULL OF PEOPLE, "KANYE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT GIVING A GOOD PERFORMANCE." CAN ANYONE HONESTLY SAY THAT ????????? HAS ANYONE EVEN TAKEN THE TIME TO AT LEAST DO THE MATH??? BONNAROO SHOULD HAVE RELEASED A STATEMENT IN MY DEFENSE BUT SINCE THEY HAVEN'T LET'S BREAK DOWN THE WALLS ON THIS TRUMAN SHOW AND LET YOU KNOW WHAT REALLY OCCURRED!!! FOR OVER A MONTH WE WENT BACK AND FORTH ON WETHER OR NOT WE COULD EVEN FIT MY STAGE AT THE FESTIVAL. ONE DAY THEY WOULD SAY YES... WE'D SEND THEM OUR SPECS THEN THEY THEY'D SAY OK... THEN THEY WOULD SEND SPECS BACK THAT DIDN'T FIT THE STAGE. WE WERE OBVIOUSLY DEALING WITH FUCKING IDIOTS WHO DIDN'T REALLY HAVE THE CAPACITY TO REALLY PUT ON THIS SHOW PROPERLY. THEY TRIED 2 GIVE ME A TIME SLOT WERE IT WAS STILL LIGHT OUTSIDE ... I HAVE A FUCKING LIGHT SHOW DUMB ASS, IT'S NOT CALLED GLOW IN THE DARK FOR NO REASON SQUID BRAINS! MY PEOPLE WORKED OUT A COMPROMISED STAGE PLOT AND A 3AM TIME SLOT AND I AGREED. FAST FOWARD TO THE DAY OF THE SHOW. MY PRODUCTION MANAGER TRIED TO LOAD IN FOR 24 HOURS BEFORE I WENT ON STAGE BUT THE FESTIVAL WOULDN'T ALLOW US TO DO ANYTHING UNTILL PEARL JAM LEFT THE STAGE. PEARL JAM ENDED ONE HOUR LATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AT THAT POINT WE'RE RACING AGAINST THE SUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AT 4:20AM DON COMES BACK 2 THE BUS AND TELLS ME, " IT WOULD TAKE 45 MORE MINUTES TO PUT ALL YOUR PYRO IN!" I SAY I HAVE TO GET OUT THERE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE . I HIT THE STAGE AND PEOPLE HAD BEEN THROWING SHIT ON THE STAGE AND HAD ACTUALLY HIT THE JANE SCREEN WITH, I GUESS BOTTLES OR SOMETHING AND HAD BROKEN MY FUCKING SCREEN. REMEMBER WHEN YOU WERE A SHORTY AND WATER WOULD HIT THE TV?????? WHEN I GOT 2 "THROUGH THE WIRE" I STEPPED ON THE FRONT PART OF MY STAGE AND THERE WAS SO MUCH LIQUID ON THE STAGE I COULDN'T MOVE WITHOUT SLIPPING. I HAD TO ADJUST MY WHOLE PERFORMANCE STYLE BECAUSE OF IT. A FEW MORE SONGS IN AND THE SONG WAS ON IT'S WAY UP.. I CUT A FEW SONGS FROM THE SET BECAUSE I WANTED PEOPLE 2 EXPERIENCE STRONGER WHILE THERE WAS STILL SOME DARKNESS TO PERFORM IT IN. I'VE STRUGGLED WITH STRONGER FROM IT'S CONCEPTION. REMEMBER LAST SUMMER WHEN I CANCELED SOME TV APPEARANCES. IT WAS BECAUSE I DIDN'T WANT TO PERFORM STRONGER IN THE DAYTIME. ANYONE WHO CAME TO THE GLOW TOUR CAN UNDERSTAND WHY I WANTED PEOPLE TO SEE IT PROPERLY. IT BROKE MY HEART THAT I COULDN'T GIVE THESE FANS STRONGER IN IT'S GREATEST FORM... BY THE TIME I GOT TO STRONGER IT WAS DAYTIME AND IT BROKE MY HEART. I'M SORRY TO EVERYONE THAT I DIDN'T HAVE THE ABILITY 2 GIVE THE PERFORMANCE I WANTED TO. I'M SORRY... SOMETIMES I GO 2, 3 DAYS W/O SLEEP WORKING ON MY PERFORMANCE... I HAVE TO ICE MY KNEES AFTER EVERY SHOW AND THEY HURT WHEN I WALK THROUGH THE AIRPORT... HAVING AN EXPENSIVE STAGE CUTS MY PAYDAY IN HALF... CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT BUT NEVER SAY I DIDN'T GIVE MY ALL!!!

[thekintsukuroikid]

November 12th 2017 4:11am

Tofino is never worrying about  running out of battery life, or the gas tank. Or atm service charges.

It’s is an odd place. Living on the mainland you get hit with the same cold and rain and you learn pretty early on how to shelter yourself in the rat race, to keep busy until the clouds roll through. Tofino is this weird anomalous places where people travel here for the express reason of running headlong into the rainy cold. Duh, the waves are better for surfing and storm watching. It’s weird being this close to the ocean. You’re surrounded by it here, you can hear it from the dead middle of town. It’s dark, cold and can swallow you up, and yet here we are grabbing neon coloured boards and wearing goofy rubber suits and paddling away from shore. Standing up, riding it.  There’s a metaphor there somewhere I think. A really lame one.  Suffice to say Tofino is the setting where I’ve always been most comfortable with entertaining feelings of optimism, they linger in my mind a little bit longer here,  there aren’t a lot of things here that can take them away. And yet standing here alone on this beach I still wonder what it would be like to walk into the water and let the water I love so much fill up my lungs. To finally feel the tension unclench and release. 

-

A girl bought me a drink and told me how happy she was that everything about this place wasn’t like home.

I agreed.

this trip was really about  running away.

The band getting to create beautiful music for people to enjoy on a Saturday night, Thats pretty amazing right?

I remember how hard learning 3 chords was and thinking how weird it must be to be able to do so much more but the peak of your musical ambition is playing for my drunk ass.

—

I met a girl at the merch table. She was kind and she was pretty and in our conversation about the logistics of fitting a surfboard on a motorcycle I noticed her biting her lip…and looking at mine…and exhibiting every  universal sign I could think of to express a “shut the fuck up and let’s make out already” sentiment–

“All I could do was wonder how much she’d have to know about me, to hate me as much as I do.”

This isn’t me. I’m so tired of this

I’ve been diagnosed with clinical major depression.

atleast I think thats what its called, I kinda zoned out when I hear it.

I’ve known that somethings been wrong forever but I’ve never had it named by someone else before. I’ve never been in a position where I could go out and really do that. I’ve been getting help for months but this  weekend was the first time  I’ve been able to process it all. 2 doctor’s a therapist and a councillor.  4 different opinions.  The same mdi-10 depression index score. How it works is, 20 is dysthemia or mild depression and 25+ is no bueno moderate depression. 30+ is major depression. I figured I’d be around 18-19 with my shiny psych degree and my practicing of mindfullness and understanding of CBT and readings of Dr. Marsha Linehan and Brené Brown.–-

I got a fucking 38.

Of all the fucking tests to ace I sure know how to pick em lol.

Talk therapy’s helped narrowed it down, where In reality I’ve likely been dealing with this for over a decade. I could have and likely should have gotten help when I was in early highschool/late middle school. The fact that I’ve never been on medication pretty deeply concerns my therapist. I still don’t know if I want the pills, I stare at the prescription sometimes and wonder what the sweet fuck I’m going to do. It’s hard to plan things in a pros and con’s type of scenario with brain altering chemicals, like its not like theres a frame of reference or anything.  I’ve always been  getting by with habits and discipline. Reading ahead, doing homework early in case I sleep through my classes again. Never letting anyone get close enough to be in a position to judge you.  Never be vulnerable. You’re not cool enough to have baggage.

It’s not like I’m like this all of the time. I have good days, mostly when I’m around other people, even strangers. It’s when I’m by myself for too long that it starts to creep into my mind, a little voice getting progressively louder and more persuasive. I Have fun by remembering what it’s supposed to feel like and selling it to everyone who can see me. This isn’t the stereotypical 3am negative thoughts, I mean those happen too but its more like 3pm, in the middle of my group of friends laughing, just getting hit with this whole body feeling of dread and trying to crack a joke anyway.  I then follow this with sullen, silent car rides home or 45 minutes sitting on the shower floor wondering if I’ll always feel this numb?

That’s the worst part…the numbness of it all. Losing hours in the day to this thing that I can’t even really describe. I never get mad or sad or happy just attenuated, dulled versions of these emotions.  I’m scared of heights, like really fucking scared of heights but I learned to rock climb because fear hits me in such a meaningless way now. This is such a weirdly strong biological component.  I feel like I can never move forward to create myself because I’m always looking back, trying to get back to how I used to feel. That’s the one thing I know is missing, that sense of self that guides my decision making. I’ve never been able to go with my gut, the kind of spontaneity and passion and creativity that comes with that,  Instead Its always minimize the damage, lower the risk. I feel inadequate in every measurable and measurable way, to the point of it being physically crippling. 

I’ve been really fucking good at hiding this. Its the thing I’m honestly the most proud of, which is a bit counterintuitive.  It’s allowed me to flip something that feels so intrinsically selfish and allowed me to keep focus on the people that are important to me. It’s allowed me to learn some really important lessons about friendships and relationships, coping and empathy, all without the vulnerability of facing those things head on. Depression to me, at least  the way that i’m doing it (which I know is the wrong way to think about it)  is this selfishness I don’t want to indulge.  

There is massive guilt with this. I have so much. I have taken so much time, love, energy, money from the people in my life and I feel like I am and I have so little to show for it. That I am a highlight in every  worst way, of the differences between what is good and what is just nice. but the thing is  I’m starting to realize that this thing, this depression thing it couldn’t give less of a shit about how you rationalize it, its taken better people than me, I’ve seen it first hand.  

For me this thing hits two-fold. Its the physicality of these symptoms I can no longer ignore or fight through.  Messed up eating schedules, sleeping too much or too little,  missing classes, being late to events or appointments and just constantly feeling zoned out, in a daze.

On the mental side of it, its been management. I’ve been in a dark place for a long time and my diminishing ability for me to manage these mental health symptoms means that I feel increasingly less equipped to take on this complete feeling of stagnation. This shit takes work. It’s like im trying to carry a weight with broken arms and no cast. It’s a  feeling that even if I had an opportunity, job or otherwise,  I lack the tools and the self belief to actually be and do what I want. It is such a weird sensation to feel the slide from wondering how to make it by 30…to wondering about making it to 30. 

 I Try to work hard to be grateful and find the joy in things. I spend my days trying to bridge the gap between the humility of recognizing this reality, with the ego of thinking I deserve better.  I mean maybe this is as good as it gets? Maybe some people just spiral. I hope that isn’t me, I don’t want to see how far this rabbit hole goes, I don’t want to become what its trying to make me become, I think thats why I work so hard to keep being extraverted.  I try to be around my friends, especially if I know  that they have it a lot worse or are facing a difficulty. Being empathetic to what they’re dealing with makes you feel like a bit of a daft jerk for dwelling your own bullshit. That used to keep things quiet long enough. Then again you don’t win a fight by closing your eyes.

—

I went to the bar in Tofino where I bought my first legal drink and I  thought about all the drinks I’ve had since then. I got hit with this really intense feeling of dread. Not that I had wasted all that time in those  5 years, Worse still,  That I’ve never truly had the ability to truly appreciate all the amazing things that have happened since then.

Even if I couldn’t feel it I wanted to do the logical work towards getting out of this. I learned really early on  to  focus not on building a resume but on building a eulogy. To live a life well lived. To do things not for the spoils but for the man I’d become in the pursuit.

In the 5 year since I’ve been back to Tofino, I’ve hated that man.  I still hate him. I am so much of what I told myself I’d never be: alone, weak, and of little consequence.  I’ve tried everything to fix that man and I still can’t explain where that process went wrong.  I’ve tried to surround myself with people who I love. But never letting them get close enough love me because of a combination of never feeling like I deserved it and never wanting to be burned or betrayed for being vulnerable.  

I don’t know if I can really get better I don’t really know what better is. But trying has to be better than this. Thats the funniest bit about this, I don’t even think I can really imagine what better would be like, what the absence of all this would feel like.

I just know that there is more than this…that maybe I can be more than this.

I was always ashamed to take. So I gave. It was not a virtue. It was a disguise.— Anaïs Nin, The Diary Of Anais Nin, 

I  want to make all of  this mean something. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. I just know that  I could set myself on fire to keep others warm. If I couldn’t feel wanted, or that I deserved to be wanted I could at least make people comfortable.  I never knew there was a difference between  happiness and the distraction from sadness. I would just connect to benevolence. I’d try volunteering, donating time and money partly because I enjoy those things, but deep down in a small way it was also an attempt to try reconciling the diminishing potential I felt.  If I kept doing the right things, things would turn around, that I could out work this thing I was fighting. It was all just heading to nowhere,  I realized I could get hit by a car tomorrow and nobody would know this truth about me, the uphill clawing. I think now  I want to turn this pain into something tangible for myself and others.If this is rock bottom I want to look around,  I want to carve my name in the rock beneath my feet and remember what this feels like. I never want to know it first hand again.  Maybe this is that first step. Who the hell can see forever but maybe I can just win tomorrow.

— This is the most I’ve ever written about myself and it’s a hell of a lot more than I’ve ever wanted to. Hell it’s the most I’ve ever thought of myself and part of me  feels like this sounds really self obsessed. But I think, at least I hope, it’s just a self awareness that comes from no longer seeing the contrasts in life.

If you are reading this it means that 1) you’ve found this randomly, and in which case… “sup?” or 2) you are one of the maybe 4 people I genuinely trust to tell this too without fear of being treated differently after doing it. If it is option 2…Surprise? I’ve worked extremely hard to make sure you couldn’t have seen this coming. It also means that you’ve shown me love  implicitly in such a way that removes so much doubt, I hope you know how powerful and beautiful that is. 

I don’t know man I think this is all really just about wanting to feel that oneness  with myself again, to finally find peace one day. I don’t have to live, I get to, and I want too. The world is abhorrently beautiful  man. daunting, ridiculous, backbreaking and gorgeous. I want to feel all of it,  I want to find my place in it and I can’t do it alone. Not anymore.  

Happy Birthday to me. ayeee.

[wanderingwonderingwanderlust]

Roommate From Hijab Hell

I’m awakened from a deep sleep, exhausted and butt naked—a necessary protective measure against the heat in my un-airconditioned, poorly circulated room at the hotel I work at in Amman. One series of knocks wakes me up but I hesitate to get out of bed though I’m now awake yet disoriented. I reach for my phone to check the time, waiting for another knock to be sure it’s a knock at my door which woke me. “It’s 2:45… am or pm?” A good question considering I’ve certainly proven capable of sleeping twelve hours straight. “Did I miss work?” I think to myself through squinted eyes.

Another loud knock at the door, “Alicia?” It’s the voice of the receptionist. Okay Alicia, you’re naked. It’s the middle of the night. Do something. Brain, please function.

I wrap myself up in the thin, cheap white sheet untucked from my bed. I crack open the door and peak my red, dry eyes in the opening to see the receptionist standing with an older woman in black abaya and hijab. He asks, “Can she stay with you?” I’m thinking, yeahhhhh… as if I have a choice? It’s a hotel and if she pays, she stays. The decision isn’t mine to make.

I’ve been spoiled. Though I have currently been living in a four person female dorm room for a month, the only other person I’ve shared it with, besides the two nights a German traveler was here, was with was a fellow worker and good friend—Adelaide. But Adelaide has been gone for a week and I’ve become comfortably accustom to having my own private room, evidenced by the fact that I can comfortably sleep naked without the fear of bombardment.

I’m rather disheveled and my mind isn’t functioning even close to optimally because of being abruptly woken up compiled by the lack of sleep from the past few nights. I hear myself asking out loud what time it is, though I already know and I answer the receptionist, “Yeah, I guess. Give me five minutes.” My clothes are strewn about on the two empty beds so I shut the door and cleanup a little. I return and in comes this wide awake woman with no luggage, only a purse. Before I close the door, the receptionist warns me, “Be careful. She’s acting strange. She’s an odd woman so look out.” I ask why he would let her in my room at this time if she’s so odd and he explains, “She cried. She only had 5 dinar, she’s old and she refused to leave the lobby. Just wake her up when you get up for work.”

WHAT?! What do you mean be careful? How am I supposed to sleep with a warning like this? Is she going to stab me? Steal my stuff? Go on a rampage? Cut off my hair? Poison my toothbrush? And what did she do to make him call her strange? Listening to your own paranoid mind churn is a funny thing. My room has been forcefully invaded by a stranger who has come with a warning label and my body is now pumping with adrenaline; there will be no sleep for me.

The woman who doesn’t speak English immediately tries to become my friend and I watch her perform for me, unimpressed. I know right away that she’s overcompensating and attempting to build trust for something but I’m nice at first. She manically reenacts the receptionist knocking and her entering; I think she’s implying that he wanted to enter without knocking but she “protected” me. She’s rather animated—leaving the room and using her full voice and body to show me the story in an attempt to form some womanly bond. She’s smiley and I’m so uneasy at how to handle all of this. At this point it’s 3am. Woman! Don’t you want to sleep? She prowls the room and opens a random drawer (red flag) and walks over to my makeup to touch it. She has no sense of personal space and apparently no awareness of the time or the disruption she’s caused me. She comes back and sits on the bed next to me; it’s only a foot away. She just sits on the edge and stares at me, smiling. Without hijab she looks even older, she’s badly balding and wrinkly in the unflattering florescent light. She’s already pissing me off but my face is a pro at hiding my real emotions.

She eventually takes a shower in the room’s bathroom. A long, long shower. I feel as if she’s banking on me falling asleep but I cannot because she makes me so uncomfortable and I’m in this heightened fight or flight state. I decide to take my laptop and tablet to the receptionist desk for safety. I glare at the receptionist for letting her in my room, telling him she’s still not asleep. When I return she’s still showering and eventually she comes out; the light is still on and it seems clear she’s either a completely unabashedly rude woman or she’s up to no good. I like to keep the faith and see the best in people so I imagine her to be a beggar who saved up enough for a hot shower and a bed for a night. Ha.

But there she is, clean and safe and she still will not sleep. I’m curled up in the fetal position on my bed; I’ve already hidden my small purse behind the curtains. She sits on the bed next to me again– watching me. I do not trust this woman. She makes a “hmph” noise occasionally as if she’s perfectly content to be awake all night. And she keeps sniffing her underwear to buy herself time and still will not turn the lights off though I motion at them over and over. Then she tries to be all cute and throws away an empty water bottle of mine like she’s cleaning. She looks at me as if she wants me to applaud her action.

Randomly she points to herself and says “old” and points to me and says “young”. I only see this as a way to garner sympathy for a future act of injustice she will commit. I’m no fool but my patience certainly lasts too long at times to my own detriment in hindsight. When I demand she sleeps by pointing at the lights and the time on my phone, she goes to the bathroom again. When she returns she starts rambling on in Arabic in her see-through pink tie-dyed short dress about something and I get up to turn off the lights myself, ignoring her. I can no longer stand to see her stupid grin. I tried to be nice. Finally she lays down and I pretend to sleep—with one eye open of course. From the way she lays there on her back and doesn’t get under the covers but instead wraps herself shabbily in a nearby blanket, I know that her intent is not to sleep. But I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. Ha.

My intuition is proven right once again—this happens a lot when traveling—and after five minutes she sits up in bed speaking about something and goes to turn the light on. I’m really in awe. She begins to point to the television repetitively. I hand her the remote; she repulses me but I’m telling myself to continue being patient, she’s old and maybe she’s picky about how she likes to sleep. Ha. I turn it on; it’s the Mecca channel– my favorite– it’s hypnotic and the Quran is beautiful when being sung in Arabic. She wants the “Hindi” channel and tries for a few minutes to find it. At this point almost an hour has passed and I’m so done with her.

I pickup my phone and point over and over to the time. I say, “Halas! Enough! Look at the time!”, I motion in the universal language of charades for her to sleep. My increasing frustration transmits. And I recognize that no one shows up to a hotel crying for a room at 3am to repetitively avoid sleeping. She won’t turn off the lights though I keep asking and at that point I storm out angrily; I’m going to have the receptionist kick her out. She rushes to the bathroom and slams the door. I go to the receptionist and he agrees and heads to my room; I’m so angry that I take the elevator to the rooftop to make tea. I cannot be around her and must remove myself from the situation. I need peace and a view for my boiling blood; though I’d be more humored if it weren’t 4am and I didn’t have to work in two hours.

The phone in the kitchen rings. The receptionist wants me to come downstairs to check her bag to see if she’s stolen anything. Uhhhh do I have to? I usually go such lengths to avoid conflict and this one is being presented to me on a platter I must take. I go to my room first and see that she didn’t find my small purse but only my big, empty one with my passport. I see my shoes and other bags are all in different places. She was ransacking my stuff and apparently wouldn’t let the receptionist enter right away blaming her “modesty”. I exit the elevator and there she is, back in hijab leaning on the lobby desk and the receptionist is going through her purse. She has multiple passports and he reads some of the many notes she has in her bag. For some reason she utters the words “American boys”. She’s still trying to be charming towards me I think. She then points to her lips, drowned in red, and the receptionist tells me that she says the only thing she took and used was my lipstick. Ew.

But her irritation quickly spills over at the violation of him going through her stuff and she randomly explodes with an irrational, intense anger all aimed at me. This woman is seething and it’s in this anger and hatred that I see how absolutely insane she is. She’s batshit crazy. She’s screaming insults at me back and forth between Arabic and Hebrew and English and I feel as if she’s casting a curse on me from the way she’s using her hands. The witch. I start laughing at her when she curses in English because she’s getting in my face screaming “duck” and “donkey” over and over. She’s fully committed to naming these farm animals as if she’s a child who just learned “Old McDonald Had a Farm” for the first time. Apparently, calling people animal names is very offensive in Arabic. The offensive nature was definitely lost on me because I impulsively start to “quack” at her and make the animal noises while giggling as she’s screaming. I whip out my phone to record a snapchat for the beautiful memory. Simply for posterity. She’s furious at this point.

Bitch. Pig. I found out she was saying these things when my friends laugh hysterically while translating the mini-video for me later. I think the fact I was unaffected began to piss her off more. She reaches down to her foot and removes her shoe and raises it to strike me. Okay granny. I don’t want to have to whip out these ballet inspired self-defense moves on a woman almost thrice my age, but I will if I have to. I flip 180 and suddenly hear myself calling her a myriad of nasty words which is so unlike me. I’ve absorbed her anger; I felt threatened. She is in my face with her hand raised and she’s screaming, surely waking up the guests. I hear the word “haram” and she lunges over and grabs my butt. A big beautiful handful, enough to leave a red mark that I discover later—something I would love under different circumstances. She then tries to pull down my ankle length skirt. I’m grateful she’s unsuccessful because not wearing underwear is kind of my thing when traveling. The less dirty laundry, the better. At this point the receptionist has called the police (it’s Jordan, they never come) and has gotten out the big black cane from behind the desk to threaten her with like she’s some stray animal who wandered inside and needs to return to the streets. He suggests I leave and I do, gladly. I head back up to the sixth floor and still hear her nasty voice echoing up the hotel walls. I thought how unsurprised I’d be if she hopped on a broomstick hidden under her abaya and flew to the sixth floor to continue harassing me through that thin-lipped mouth which is wearing my red lipstick. Gosh, it’s 4am and I already need a drink. A shot. Actually, make it three. Back to back, no chaser.

I’m not sure how or why these kinds of situations find me, but they do. Even when I’m peacefully asleep and locked in a room. They always find me.

[mjsmum]

Bluffing it: a day in the life of a disorganised parent

When you become a parent, naturally you look to others for guidance on how to raise your tiny person. For me, this has meant following an extraordinary amount of mummy (and daddy) ‘influencers’ on social media – some of which have proven more helpful than others.

There is one particular blogger whose content I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with; mainly because I’m jealous that she gets to make a living posing in front of brightly coloured walls, and can afford to eat avocado on toast six times a week. But as our babies were born one day apart, I do keep an eye on her account to see if there are any parenting hacks I am missing.

This blogger recently uploaded a post about her baby’s routine, and it’s safe to say that a child’s temperament is not driven by their zodiac sign. Matilda might be one day older than her son but they couldn’t be further apart in their behaviour! To the point where I found myself laughing out loud at the difference.

So in the interest of parenting diversity, here is my take on a typical day. Although in the world of Matilda Groome, there’s no such thing…  

Sometime between 3am and 5am – Matilda randomly cries out. We make a sharp intake of breath and grab the video monitor, by which time she’s already gone back to sleep. I remain wide awake for at least another half an hour.

7am-8am – Matilda stirs. Sometimes she’ll be bright and breezy at 7, other times she just can’t be arsed with the day and wants to lie in until 7:45ish*. We have to leave the house at 7:40 on Tuesdays and Fridays for nursery, which means she pretty much always chooses to sleep longer on those days. As a result, we end up throwing a bottle of milk down her and pulling her clothes on as we run out of the door.

*Except for solo parenting days. Jim and I take turns to chill at the weekends; on his days she’ll laze in her cot until 8:30, but on my mornings she’ll be yelling by 6:20. Obviously.

8am – breakfast! The only meal of the day she’ll consistently eat, probably because daddy feeds it to her. We’re currently rotating between porridge, Weetabix, cornflakes and – new addition for this week – rice krispies. Sometimes with half a banana or a satsuma for good measure. We’re still doing a post-breakfast bottle but it’s very hit and miss as to whether she drinks it.

8:30-11:30am – on days when Matilda’s not at nursery or with her grandparents, I attempt to find a stream of activities that will wear her out and stop her destroying the house. Soft play and swimming are our usual saviours, and sticking Peter Rabbit on CBeebies buys me 10 minutes’ peace to drink a cup of coffee (Peppa and I are on a break at the moment). At some point in this window I will attempt to give Matilda a healthy snack, which she will grind into the carpet before demolishing half a box of breadsticks instead.

11:30am(ish) – Matilda and I start playing the ‘sleep or lunch?’ game. She’s in a weird transition phase where she doesn’t need two naps but needs more than one, so by this point she’s either lying flat on her face on the floor with her thumb in her mouth, or she’s gone into stroppy bitey mode. Either way I usually delay lunch and stick her in her cot with the hope she’ll sleep blissfully for a couple of hours. I usually get 45 minutes.

12:30pm – lunch! I lay out a nutritious home cooked meal on Matilda’s plate, which she throws on the floor piece by piece. Any attempts to spoon feed her are refused, and she no longer likes the foods that she wolfed down happily a couple of days ago. Eventually I give up and hand her a sandwich, or some more breadsticks. She attempts to stand up in the high chair several times until I offer her some pudding, which she happily eats off the spoon. I lift her down and get the brush to sweep up the debris. Matilda starts eating the original lunch off the floor.

1-4pm – more play time, which usually consists of me building wooden block towers, reading Where’s Spot? 764 times, or letting her eat my car keys. If it all gets a bit too much we go for a coffee (mummy’s treat) and a couple of milky bar buttons (Matilda’s treat).

4pm – Matilda shows all the signs of being worn out, so I put her back in her cot. She stands at the bars and shouts to herself for fifteen minutes until I go and collect her.

4:30-5:45pm – the square nanny looks after Matilda (Peppa and I reconcile at this point) while I rack my brain for ways to entertain ourselves until daddy gets home from work. I feel guilty about Peppa doing all the legwork so we turn the TV off, sing some songs, read Where’s Spot? again and play with the plastic farm.

5:50pm – tea! I contemplate throwing another nutritious home cooked meal on the floor myself to save time but then pass it to Matilda, who does the honours for me. After consuming approximately half a babybel, four sweetcorn kernels and ANOTHER breadstick, the pudding/floor food routine from lunch repeats

6:15pm – daddy gets home from work and takes over parenting duties while I hide in the kitchen eating peanut butter with a spoon. They watch In the Night Garden together while she chatters to him, clearly sharing how long and boring her day with mummy has been.

6:50pm – daddy does bath time, which actually takes place in a plastic box in our shower as we don’t have a bath. I put the tea on, wander next door and get caught up in last night’s episode of Ghost Whisperer until I smell burning.

7:10pm – daddy puts Matilda in her pyjamas and calls me up to say goodnight. He gives her 7oz of cows’ milk (which she sometimes drinks, sometimes doesn’t) while I empty the bath and put the towels away.

7:20pm – Matilda goes down to sleep. I go downstairs, mentally compile a list of all the things I said I’d do this evening, then sack them off to finish watching Ghost Whisperer with a massive plate of dinner. All while ignoring the trail of toys strewn across the living room floor, hoping that the tidy-up fairy will come and sort them out. She is yet to pay us a visit.

[insecurities-ofthe-secure]

Alright fuckers here we are again.

You know, you’d think I’d eventually get tired of this blog, of shouting things into the endless void but no, apparently I’m still here. 

I’m still here...

You know, several years back if you told me I was still here, I wouldn’t have believed you. Not here, here, but just... Living. Both in general and back with my parents. If you had told me that I would be able to actually be open and talk to them about things, including them actually respecting my gender and pronouns and trying to do what they can to help with my mental illness? If you told me that this blog post actually isn’t about them? I would have called you crazy. But here we are. Here I am.

And I don’t even really know what this is about. That’s a lie. I’m here because I’m a self destructive moron who will do anything it takes to escape the slog of the mundane as life churns endlessly on in this existential nightmare. 

...... Alright it’s not actually that bad.

It feels bad though. In a different way than I’m used to which makes it hard. I can’t bock this out. I can’t just suppress it and hope it goes away, this isn’t a feel it for a night and scream at the void until I feel better this... It doesn’t end. I know it will, one day, but... It still sucks. And I know I’ve felt that hope in the past while going through this but still... As the famous (I think) phrase goes, hope is fleeting. And it’s hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel when it’s 3am and I’ve spend 5 hours on a device I shouldn’t have used for more than 45 minutes much less this long. It’s also hard when I’m facing the fact that... That maybe I do cause myself harm. No, there’s no maybe about that sentence.

I cause myself harm.

It may not be the self harm everyone is used to seeing and my thoughts of physical self harm and suicide are things that I hate and try to push away and they scare me but. I am still self destructive in different ways. And I hurt myself in different ways. Like actively not doing what would help me most (i.e. turning of the laptop). And not taking care of myself. And... and just letting things fester under the surface to the point where my therapist will suggest a healing treatment that could do a lot of good for me but involves going digging in my brain and I can only respond with fear. Because as much as I told her I don’t know what’s in there, I do. And they are locked away for a very good reason, thank you. 

..... I miss sleeping. I miss wanting to fall asleep. I’d say I miss not having to wait till I was completely exhausted in order to fall into unconsciousness but to be honest, I don’t remember what that felt like. I don’t remember times when I could just curl up in bed satisfied with the day and close my eyes and... and not care if I was asleep or not or if I was going to sleep or anything like that. I wish I could know what it’s like to close your eyes at the end of a long day and be content to the point where you can shut your brain off so you can fall asleep peacefully and without exhaustion. I wonder what that’s like. 

I’m also self destructive in other ways. I know I need to lose weight for example yet I keep sabotaging myself on that front in every way that I possibly could. And it’s not like I don’t want to lose weight either, I do, I hate the way I look in a mirror and it will never stop blowing my mind that there is a person in this world willing to have sex with me and this body and also actively enjoy doing so and love me for all of it not just my brain.... But it’s just yet another way that I get in my own way and I harm myself. I harm my intentions. I harm my perception. I harm my habits and my ideas of what is “healthy” because I don’t think I’ve ever lived a healthy day one damn day of my life and that is on me for getting so caught up in my own rhetoric that I wouldn’t be able to tell the cave I’m in apart from my own ass my head is shoved so far up in.

..... Is it too much to ask for a day without pain? That’s all I want. I have to carry so much every day. Physical pain, mental pain, emotional exhaustion, shock, trauma, physical exhaustion, lies, facades, fake smiles and shallow platitudes I am just. So... tired. I was tired before all of this. And I’m sure I’ll be tired after this. But I just want to stop being in pain. I do. It hurts. It hurts so much. And my parents keep praising me for how strong I am and how high my pain tolerance is but holy shit that does not stop the pain. It doesn’t lighten my load. It adds to it. Because now, there feels like there’s an expectation. I am now expected to be strong, to not show pain, to just keep trucking and pushing through because I’ve done it for 3 weeks now and I’m “so strong” and I’m doing “so well” and I’m NOT. But this shit is hard enough without adding your disappointment to the mix, your worry and frustration and genuine fear I know is coming if I finally snapped. You keep saying that you will be there when I am ready and that you are always there to support me but I still know you. And I know what you would do once I told you. And I can’t live with that. I can’t.

So I guess I’ll stay awake at 3am. Just so I can put it all down for a second. Even if I also have to add a couple of things to my load in the process. But it’s fine. I got it. No need to worry. Always smiling, right? Always have to be the bubbly, energetic person you’ve come to consider me to be.

It’s amazing how much a grimace can look like a smile.

[As badass as that last line is, I know future me (and any potential reader) might need context so here we go! I was in a car accident July 17th and have suffered a concussion as well as whiplash and I’m pretty certain I fucked up the muscles in my shoulder. I am in pain. I also have pre-existing anxiety and depression and concussion symptoms have a surprisingly large overlap with those two things. It’s also within COVID 19 which has been a whole host of other issues that you are welcome to read about below because I think they’re there but over all, I am not okay but at least I’m in therapy now. While I recover from the concussion, I am physically incapable of going home so I’m at my parent’s house where everyone is trying their best but their best never feels like enough and if I told my parents how much I’m going through and the fact that I’ve wanted to kill myself while I’ve been here means that they would have me locked up in a hospital :) And wouldn’t that just be so fun right now. 

So a lot is happening and a lot is going on and did I mention it’s 3am? This all isn’t exactly coherent or the best time of the day for coherency so just take this as it is. At least there’s background now. I knew this would be too much to put in the tags.]

[misschelseabun]

Bluffing it: a day in the life of a disorganised parent

When you become a parent, naturally you look to others for guidance on how to raise your tiny person. For me, this has meant following an extraordinary amount of mummy (and daddy) ‘influencers’ on social media – some of which have proven more helpful than others.

There is one particular blogger whose content I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with; mainly because I’m jealous that she gets to make a living posing in front of brightly coloured walls, and can afford to eat avocado on toast six times a week. But as our babies were born one day apart, I do keep an eye on her account to see if there are any parenting hacks I am missing.

This blogger recently uploaded a post about her baby’s routine, and it’s safe to say that a child’s temperament is not driven by their zodiac sign. Matilda might be one day older than her son but they couldn’t be further apart in their behaviour! To the point where I found myself laughing out loud at the difference. 

So in the interest of parenting diversity, here is my take on a typical day. Although in the world of Matilda Groome, there’s no such thing...  

Sometime between 3am and 5am – Matilda randomly cries out. We make a sharp intake of breath and grab the video monitor, by which time she’s already gone back to sleep. I remain wide awake for at least another half an hour.

7am-8am – Matilda stirs. Sometimes she’ll be bright and breezy at 7, other times she just can’t be arsed with the day and wants to lie in until 7:45ish*. We have to leave the house at 7:40 on Tuesdays and Fridays for nursery, which means she pretty much always chooses to sleep longer on those days. As a result, we end up throwing a bottle of milk down her and pulling her clothes on as we run out of the door.

*Except for solo parenting days. Jim and I take turns to chill at the weekends; on his days she’ll laze in her cot until 8:30, but on my mornings she’ll be yelling by 6:20. Obviously.

8am – breakfast! The only meal of the day she’ll consistently eat, probably because daddy feeds it to her. We’re currently rotating between porridge, Weetabix, cornflakes and – new addition for this week – rice krispies. Sometimes with half a banana or a satsuma for good measure. We’re still doing a post-breakfast bottle but it’s very hit and miss as to whether she drinks it.

8:30-11:30am – on days when Matilda’s not at nursery or with her grandparents, I attempt to find a stream of activities that will wear her out and stop her destroying the house. Soft play and swimming are our usual saviours, and sticking Peter Rabbit on CBeebies buys me 10 minutes’ peace to drink a cup of coffee (Peppa and I are on a break at the moment). At some point in this window I will attempt to give Matilda a healthy snack, which she will grind into the carpet before demolishing half a box of breadsticks instead.

11:30ish – Matilda and I start playing the ‘sleep or lunch?’ game. She’s in a weird transition phase where she doesn’t need two naps but needs more than one, so by this point she’s either lying flat on her face on the floor with her thumb in her mouth, or she’s gone into stroppy bitey mode. Either way I usually delay lunch and stick her in her cot with the hope she’ll sleep blissfully for a couple of hours. I usually get 45 minutes.

12:30 – lunch! I lay out a nutritious home cooked meal on Matilda’s plate, which she throws on the floor piece by piece. Any attempts to spoon feed her are refused, and she no longer likes the foods that she wolfed down happily a couple of days ago. Eventually I give up and hand her a sandwich, or some more breadsticks. She attempts to stand up in the high chair several times until I offer her some pudding, which she happily eats off the spoon. I lift her down and get the brush to sweep up the debris. Matilda starts eating the original lunch off the floor.

1:00-4:00 – more play time, which usually consists of me building wooden block towers, reading Where’s Spot? 764 times, or letting her eat my car keys. If it all gets a bit too much we go for a coffee (mummy’s treat) and a couple of milky bar buttons (Matilda’s treat).

4:00 – Matilda shows all the signs of being worn out, so I put her back in her cot. She stands at the bars and shouts to herself for fifteen minutes until I go and collect her.

4:30-5:45 – the square nanny looks after Matilda (Peppa and I reconcile at this point) while I rack my brain for ways to entertain ourselves until daddy gets home from work. I feel guilty about Peppa doing all the legwork so we turn the TV off, sing some songs, read Where’s Spot? again and play with the plastic farm.

5:50 – tea! I contemplate throwing another nutritious home cooked meal on the floor myself to save time but then pass it to Matilda, who does the honours for me. After consuming approximately half a babybel, four sweetcorn kernels and ANOTHER breadstick, the pudding/floor food routine from lunch repeats

6:15 – daddy gets home from work and takes over parenting duties while I hide in the kitchen eating peanut butter with a spoon. They watch In the Night Garden together while she chatters to him, clearly sharing how long and boring her day with mummy has been.

6:50 – daddy does bath time, which actually takes place in a plastic box in our shower as we don’t have a bath. I put the tea on, wander next door and get caught up in last night’s episode of Ghost Whisperer until I smell burning. 

7:10 – daddy puts Matilda in her pyjamas and calls me up to say goodnight. He gives her 7oz of cows’ milk (which she sometimes drinks, sometimes doesn’t) while I empty the bath and put the towels away.

7:20 – Matilda goes down to sleep. I go downstairs, mentally compile a list of all the things I said I’d do this evening, then sack them off to finish watching Ghost Whisperer with a massive plate of dinner. All while ignoring the trail of toys strewn across the living room floor, hoping that the tidy-up fairy will come and sort them out. She is yet to pay us a visit.

[mostly-plants]

Week 3 of eating vegan

Day 15 started with baking a couple of loaves of my new favourite bread: Caraway Rye Sourdough. It is soooo savoury and delicious, and develops such a beautiful rich chestnut colour when baked. I was taking one to a friend, and one was for the boyfriend and I to eat over the week.

Once the bread was out of the oven I travelled through the city to go to a workshop on plant based nutrition by Bloom Nutritionist, who my friend had recommended. The workshop was very informative and covered a range of key practical info, including recommendations to supplement a whole food vegan diet with B12, Algal Omega 3s, and a multivitamin to cover things like Iodine and Selenium. I got a lot out of the workshop, but I had made the mistake of not having lunch because I’d had a reasonably late breakfast, and wasn’t hungry - until I got to the workshop venue. I managed to score an apple at the event, but I got the brain-fades half-way through the talk, and then by the time I got home I was so hungry I ate a stack of food including Popcorn Tofu with chilli sauce, leftover vegan pizza, and a handful of these very un-nutritious cookies. Oops!

Day 16: I had some bircher muesli with blueberries for breakfast, and ordered some more fruit and veggies / pantry staples from CERES Fair Food. I had a late snack and then made wholemeal pasta with lentils and veggies for dinner, topped (of course) with a generous amount of Cashy-Cashy Parm-Parm. YUM!

Day 17 was a very busy day getting prepared for some upcoming work deadlines and then going to class in the evening, but because the fridge was stocked with leftover pasta that made lunch easy. The boyfriend and I were both finishing our days late, so we ended up meeting up in the evening and getting dinner from a local Mexican food place. Luckily they had good vegan options, but I did feel a bit sad not being able to just share our meals like we usually would. I think this was the first day that I started to feel challenged by eating vegan. For me it’s not the food part, because I love fruit, veggies, nuts and seeds (and yes, I love my legumes now too). I can imagine being fairly happy eating these things as the main components of my diet, but I realised I would really miss the positive feelings that comes with sharing the same food together with loved ones. In starting this challenge I had thought that the social aspect of eating vegan would be the most difficult part for me, and that’s probably the case. 

Day 18: Overall I’ve been feeling really good after eating vegan for two weeks - my energy levels are the same or better than they have been, I feel fine physically and mentally, my digestion is great, and weirdly I don’t seem to be sweating as much? (Not that this was particularly a problem before, it’s just my observation). I have been trying to read and listen to more information about the case for (or against) plant-based eating in order to weigh up the available evidence and decide whether to continue. 

Although I’m leaning towards more plant-based eating (mostly because of the environmental and welfare impacts of animal products), I do think I would struggle with not being able to share things with my partner, or participate in family dinners etc. in the same way. At the moment, I think I might end up settling on more of a flexitarian approach (i.e. mostly plant-based, but flexible on occasion). I guess I’ll see how I go with the rest of this challenge...

Day 19 I woke up a bit tired because I’d had coffee about 5pm the day before and was a bit too wired for sleep until about 3am. My bf had the opposite problem and woke up super early. Luckily, he somehow managed to be functional anyway, and because he is lovely I got coffee delivered right to my bedside <3 I made a quick breakfast of avocado on toast, and chopped up some raw veggies that needed using, to take with baba ganoush dip for lunch. I also packed some homemade granola, a bit of dark chocolate, an apple and a banana (I’m getting better at this “always have plenty of snacks available” thing.  Work was pretty hectic, so I didn’t get to have lunch until about 3:30pm when I realised I was getting pretty hangry. I felt much better after some food, and a little afternoon chocolate pick-me-up. I felt like something a bit different for dinner, so ended up making miso-glazed eggplant with garlic bok choy, and crumb-coated smoked tofu and sweet potato. I know that sounds super fancy, but actually it was mostly so I could use up the wilting bok choy at the back of the fridge (and bump up my calcium intake for the day!). 

The miso glaze for the eggplant is sooooooooo ridiculously good, and actually very quick and easy to make (my favourite combination in cooking!) We got the recipe from a vegetarian / vegan cooking class at Gourmet Kitchen Cooking School - I’d highly recommend their classes as something fun and special to do. Anyway, so, you want some miso glaze? (Spoiler alert: yeah, ya do). Just get a small saucepan and mix in: 2 Tablespoons of Miso Paste (I used white miso) 2 Tablespoons of sugar (or a neutral tasting liquid sweetener like agave syrup) 1 Tablespoon of Mirin 1 Tablespoon of Sake (I didn’t have this, so used Shaoxing Chinese cooking wine instead - it worked totally fine) Pop the saucepan on a low heat, stir/whisk the ingredients together, and in mere moments you will have your golden brown and delicious miso glaze! The eggplant gets sliced in half lengthways and roasted cut side down at 220c for about 30 mins. Then you turn the eggplant cut side up, and coat generously with miso glaze. Like... Seriously. Just pour that goodness all over everything, it is DELICIOUS! Pop the glazed eggplant halves back into the oven/under the grill for a few mins (watching that the glaze doesn’t burn), and then when you just can’t wait any longer, take them out of the oven, sprinkle them with some green spring onion and sesame seed, and try not to burn your mouth as you inhale that deliciousness!  The bok choy I (finally) learned how to cook properly from watching the Viet Vegan, and the crumbed tofu and sweet potato was just to use up the rest of the coating mixture from making Popcorn Tofu earlier this week. It was great! If you want to try this, I’d definitely recommend marinating your tofu beforehand, or dunking it in a really flavourful sauce afterwards, because although the crumb coating is tasty, the tofu itself doesn’t have much flavour. The sweet potato was a definite winner! No oil needed, just toss bite-sized pieces of raw sweet potato in your crumb/seasoning coating, and bake them in the oven at 220c for about 45 minutes. NOM. So, at the end of Day 19 I’m feeling good about kicking some nutrition goals, and eating some hella tasty food. Yay!

Day 20: I felt like something savoury for breakfast and since I had the luxury of working from home on Friday, I decided on a Mexican inspired breakfast, with a spicy mix of cooked black beans, onion, carrots, corn, topped with fresh tomato, chives and coriander, and (of course) guacamole. Tortillas from La Tortilleria because they are by far the best I’ve had. A very satisfying start to the day!

Lunch was nice and easy - leftover bok choy and sweet potato with steamed silken tofu and a quick miso dressing (1/2 tablespoon miso paste, 1/2 tablespoon mirin, 1/2 tablespoon maple syrup and 1/2-1 tablespoon of water to get the desired consistency. Then, because it was so tasty - more Mexican for dinner, along with some red wine and dark chocolate for dessert. :)

Day 21: BREAKING NEWS - Scrambled silken tofu with miso dressing and chives on toast is DELICIOUS. I know the recipes say to use firm tofu for scrambling, but personally I think silken tofu matches the texture of scrambled eggs more closely. The miso dressing works great in this, because it’s got the salty/savoury flavour going on, and the slight sweetness balances the slight bitterness that some tofu can have. Sold!

After breakfast we went to the markets to pick up a few ingredients for the bakesale we were doing on Sunday. We braved the supermarket on a Saturday, bought many kilos of flour and sugar, and then paid a visit to Trang for Banh Mi - they have stacks of vegan options so I’m keen to try more, but so far I can’t get past the vegan BBQ pork because it is so tasty!  I was pretty hungry by the time we ate so forgot to take a photo, but trust me - it is packed with lightly pickled veggies, fried spring onion and delicious magical vegan meat (I’m guessing they’re probably seitan-based, but I don’t know for sure).  Pretty much the rest of Saturday was spent baking a ton of things for Sunday’s bakesale, and “quality testing” the several batches of cookies I made. I also ate wayyyyyy too much cinnamon coffee icing while trying to get the right consistency to top the chocolate cupcakes I made. Whoopsies! So... I guess I’m proving that you can definitely be vegan and eat a bunch of junk food, but then you probably won’t feel so great afterwards. Eat your veggies, kids! 

[people-of-uber]

Thurs 2/23 to Fri 2/24, 2017

It’s not rocket science, or even brain surgery, except when it is.

1:41pm. Picked up a brain surgeon downtown. He’s here from New York City for the International Stroke Conference, which is a gathering of doctors and researchers to learn the latest techniques and research, and to network. This one was also here for an interview, as it turned out, down in Clear Lake where I live. We spent much of the trip talking about what it’s like living in the CL area; he didn’t seem to know much about it, like he was surprised that it’s where NASA is. He was also the second person in as many days to have lived in Edison NJ, where I used to live before I came to Houston, so I mentioned some of the things and places I used to go and do which aren’t there anymore.

3:46pm. Picked up another neuro guy in for the conference, this one a researcher (not a surgeon). He is not interviewing here, but he and his wife took the afternoon off and visited Space Center Houston. They were very impressed at the facility and at the tram tour of JSC.

4:38pm. Dropped him off at the convention center, and my next passenger was waiting right there (despite the efforts of another Uber driver and a taxi driver to get him to cancel on me and go with them). Not in the medical field at all, this guy works on motion capture/VR hardware, and he was there from California representing his company, showing demos of surgery "training" hardware (they can’t officially call it “training” because it hasn’t been certified for actual training yet). He usually works with the game industry and has been on the road for the last 3 weeks, last weekend in Vegas working with a company doing interactive gaming, and the weekend before that in London.

1:53pm. Guy was going into work on his day off. He’s the front of the house manager at a local restaurant, part of a restaurant empire owned by a local billionaire. He worked his way up from server to shift lead and they recruited him into management because of his work ethic. (Google says that “The Front of House Manager is responsible for the supervision, staffing, training, and management of all Front of House operations ensuring maximum profitability, quality food product, and exceptional customer service.” The Front of the House is the dining area, as opposed to the Back of the House which is the kitchen area.) One time when he was a server at another restaurant in the chain, his customer was the big boss owner, who was not in a good mood that night. My passenger said he was afraid that it had something to do with him, but the general manager told him that it was unrelated to the restaurant, which calmed him down a lot.

2:41pm. An 18-year old high school student was going to the airport for his father’s wedding in Las Vegas. We talked a lot about what Vegas is like on the Strip and what there is to do and see if you’re underage (he’ll be with his 20-year old sister). I gave him a rundown on what the casinos are like and what he’d be able to do while underage, but tried to emphasize other things he can do that don’t involve gambling, from shopping to shooting large guns to driving fast on a NASCAR track to driving construction equipment. He’s looking forward to going back when he turns 21.

4:35pm. Picked up a mom and two teenagers from the Houston Zoo. They spoke Spanish for the first 10 minutes of the ride, then slept for the next 45 minutes going out to Jersey Village, 23 miles away. I dropped them off only 10 minutes away from my parents’ house, so I detoured and had dinner with them.

7:38pm. On my way home, I stopped at a nearby apartment complex to pick up someone. When I tried to notify him, I got an error message in Russian, English, Spanish, and what I found out shortly was Norwegian. Turns out he had just recently come back to the US after 4 years in Norway working in the oil industry, and forgot to change his phone number in the app. His wife and kids live in Indiana but he’s in Houston because he got a good job here. Took him into Midtown to join some friends.

11:35pm. Guy at the airport had no luggage, but it was because he didn’t work there, only came to pick up the bus to go home from his job, but the bus was running late. He’s working two minimum wage jobs, at KFC and McDonald’s, but not pulling in a lot of money. He wants to drive for Uber, but they require you to be 21. He said it’s tough finding a job because of his background, he just got out of jail where he’s been for the last 8 months. He was on probation for something but got busted for smoking pot, and the probation violation cost him 8 months in jail. He thinks that’s an unfair amount of time, but he admitted that he knew there was a chance he’d get caught when he smoked and did it anyway. He said that if he stays clean, the charge will eventually get wiped off his record, so he’s not smoking any more.

11:50pm. Was adjacent to a car crash downtown. Slowing down in the left lane for a red light, there are two cars next to me on the right in the center lane. Just before I stop, I hear the crunch/thud of one car hitting another. I checked behind me and on my sides, nobody hit me, well duh, because I didn't feel anything. But next to me, the second car that's behind has just gotten rear-ended, and I saw it being pushed into rear-ending the first car in line. Someone was going a pretty good clip down the road and didn't notice that the light was red or that there were cars in front of him. When the light turned green, I started going forward slowly, still trying to make sure that I was not hit, and people started getting out of all three cars. Since I knew nobody needed immediate help, I left because I wouldn't be able to provide any more info than what the three cars already knew.

12:08am. Picked up a girl at the Lost Concert Café. A friend of hers is the road manager for one of the groups doing a show, and she stayed for the next band until it got too cold out for the outdoor venue. She liked that last one, said there aren’t enough funk bands playing. Only 26, she’s a big 70s rock fan because of her parents, specifically Earth, Wind & Fire. Said that if she was around in the late 60s and early 70s, she definitely would have been a hippie. She’s sad that she never got to see the Eagles live. She’s been in Houston for about 4 years, moving from Colorado. The winters are better here but the summers are worse. She has gotten stranded due to local flooding, though. Dropped her off in the Montrose area…

12:30am. … right next to a gay bar, where I picked up my next passenger. He lost his friends somewhere, but he was in a good mood and didn’t feel like going home (even though he’s been up since 3am) so he was going to go have fun at another gay bar. He explained that there are different kinds of gay bars that cater to different kinds of gay men who are looking for different things. Brought him to another place right near downtown.

12:40am. Guy was just leaving the office to go home. He had been there since 8am Friday morning, and had to go back in at 8am on Saturday. He planned to have a beer or two and try to relax and get more than 4 hours of sleep. Something to do with the oil markets around the world meant that he didn’t get to have normal weekends like if you were in the stock markets.

12:57am. Four girls from New Jersey going from the bar to the home of one of them. They’re all high school friends, but only one lives down here and the other three came in for the weekend. They like the winter weather down here and one suggested they move here, I suggested opening a New York bagel/pizza combo restaurant and they thought that was a great idea. We talked about the New Jersey accent, and they squealed when I told them I grew up in Edison (just a couple of towns over from where they live).

1:22am. Drunk guy with his sober girlfriend at a bar, they were out celebrating his birthday on Saturday. He kept calling his sister on the phone telling her to leave a key under the mat for him (she was dog-sitting while they were out) since he didn’t bring his keys with him and he left his truck at home. Oh, and she shouldn’t use his truck. And that she shouldn’t have any guys over when he gets home. And he found some hairs in the bathroom that aren’t his or his girlfriends or his sister’s, so whose were they? And make sure to leave the key under the mat because he doesn’t have his keys. No, under the mat. THE MAT, are you deaf? Just put the key under the mat, OK? I’ll call you back in 5 minutes to make sure you went out and put the key under the mat. You better leave that key for me. And you better not take my truck. They lived all the way out in Missouri City, a 23 mile drive, and I didn’t have a rider back with me.

2:23am. Last run of the night, a girl and two guys. The girl and one of the guys went to Arizona State, while the girlfriend of the other guy went to University of Arizona, and despite being rivals, they are friends. The girl was telling us about her 57-year old mom who went skydiving while she was at work (the first text was “you and Elizabeth are my emergency contacts in case something goes wrong” and the next one 4 hours later was “obviously I’m still alive, that was so much fun!”). None of the other guys had been skydiving before, so I told them about my one and only jump back in 1989 when I was 23. They didn’t know you could do a parachute jump that wasn’t a tandem jump, mine was a static line so I was all by myself under the canopy.

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