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astrozones · 5 years

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Sanders Behavioral Health; Chapter 5: Virgil’s Assumptions

hey gays I’m Aster and I’m actually posting woah. it’s also on ao3 which is where I post as soon as it’s out so.

uhhhh discord- Astro’s Zone

yeethaw-

ANGST AHEAD

Virgil found himself in front of the door to Roman’s house, which was, frankly, ginormous . His house was almost as dramatic as he was, for God’s sake! He shuffled around at the doorstep, working up the courage to ring the doorbell.

He just had to force himself to do it! Just reach out and press the button, no regrets!

He pushed the button.

Regrets.

Roman had probably been kidding- right? They weren’t even friends yet, why would he have invited him? Well, technically Patton had invited Virgil and Logan to Roman’s house, which was confusing in itself, but that wasn’t the point, the point was-

The door opened, Roman standing in front of him with a smile, but was quickly pushed aside as Patton launched at Virgil, trapping him in a hug.

“MY SON HAS ARRIVED~” Patton shouted, arms tight around Virgil. Roman looked amused.

“I- ok I guess we’re doing the son thing- erm, can I breathe? Please?” He wheezed out. Patton let him go, cheery disposition not faltering in the slightest.

“Patton got here about 10 minutes ago, Logan has yet to arrive,” Roman started. “You’re welcome to come in.”

“Ah, right.” Virgil skirted around the boys and into the house. He looked around.

It had a very, well, home-ly feel to it. The windows allowed a few streams of light into the room, and a viewing of the sunset. The floor was mostly carpeted, from what he could see, and he was standing on the few bits of wooden floor there were. He assumed he was supposed to take his shoes off- or, wait, what if he was wrong?

“I think I understand why you’re so dramatic, now.” He said bluntly, turning to face Roman, who looked sheepish.

“Yeah, this place is pretty dramatic. My parents work a lot and are very stressed, so they like to have somewhere nice to return to. I’m really grateful I have all this, really, even if- well now I’m rambling!” he laughed. “You can take your shoes off and we can wait for Logan before I show you around?” he offered. Virgil nodded.

Roman told him to deposit his items in the corner of the living room as they waited. None of them said anything, just stared at random corners in the room waiting for someone else to peep up.

Virgil stood and walked over to the fireplace, which had a few books on the mantel. Virgil picked up a book that was titled 'The Hospital Is No Place To Meet Future Boyfriends' by Queen_Whovian_And_Everything_Else555. Well that's a weird pen name for a professional author , he thought. He shrugged it off.

He noticed other books like ‘Waste Away’ from NicoAndTheNineGalaxies, and ‘April Fool’s (Would You Be So Kind) by TiredPanAndNotAFan. Okay, clearly either Roman or his parents had a weird obsession with weird author pen names.

“I didn’t know you could read, Roman,” he commented, looking over yet another book with a strange author. He smirked as he heard Roman splutter behind him.

“Hey! I totally read! Those’re my parents’ books though. Mine are in my room.” he explained. Virgil shrugged.

“If you insist,” was all he got to say before the doorbell rang again. Patton nearly flew to the door to greet Logan, Roman following at a much slower pace. Virgil would’ve stayed in the living room, but followed them because, well, anxiety .

Patton bounced around a very confused Logan, screaming about how ‘the whole family is here!’ Virgil was glad to be the one viewing the Magic (or Insanity, depending on who you ask) of Patton, rather than be on the receiving end.

“If we’re all a family, excluding Roman, then why don’t we share the same last name?” Logan asked, trying to prove a point. It was a futile attempt.

“Well than we can make up a last name!” Patton dragged Logan into the house. “Why not Sanders! Get it? Cause we all go to Sanders Behavioral Health!” he giggled. Logan sighed, shaking his head.

“If you say so, Logan Sanders,” Virgil smirked. Logan glared.

“Aaaaanyways do y’all want me to show you around or are we just gonna stand here?” Roman interrupted. Logan physically cringed, but nodded.

And with that, they were off.

—

“Jesus Christ,” Virgil sighed, falling onto Roman’s bed. “I thought that ‘little’ tour was never gonna end!”

Roman snickered, letting the others into the room. “Yeah, it’s pretty large, my parents kinda just want the best for me… Sorry, that was a bit rude, wasn’t it?” Roman shook his head.

“Anyway, we’ll probably hang out here for most of the day, but we only have one guest room, so I was thinking 2 stay here and the others in the guest room? I mean, I’m claiming a spot for this room, so one more here and… yeah” Roman finished awkwardly.

“‘m not moving from this spot for at least a day,” Virgil mumbled, fiddling with the blanket he was on top of. Patton and Logan nodded, content with this plan.

“The guest room is similar to this, with a king sized bed as well, so it should be pretty comfortable for you guys!” Roman grinned at the two. “I’ll lead you back there, and you can get yourselves situated.”

“I’m staying here,” Virgil said immediately, causing Roman to laugh. They all chatted for a few minutes before the others left the room.

And Virgil was alone with his thoughts.

Maybe they had left him on purpose, maybe they were already bored of him. He heard Roman’s laughter from down the hall, and he shrunk into his hoodie.

Distraction- Find a distraction, Virgil.

He glanced around Roman’s room. He had… a lot of Disney posters, to say the least. A lot of musical posters in general, really. A Disney poster for just about every movie they had, even the more obscure ones. And the musical posters varied, from Mamma Mia! to Avenue Q, and Chicago to School of Rock.

Damn. To say he loved musicals would be an understatement.

Virgil walked over to the bookshelf that Roman, surprisingly, actually , had. He scanned the titles, finding a huge collection of fairytales. If they weren’t actual fairytales, they were twisted fairytales, he could only assume. With titles like ‘The Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister’ and ‘My Name is Rapunzel’.

The few titles he did recognize were The Lunar Chronicles, a story following Cinder, who was essentially Cinderella if she was a cyborg, overthrowing a dystopia with other fairytale characters. The only reason he recognized that was because he had seen so many people reading it at school that he had eventually decided to pick up the book himself.

Virgil fiddled with his hoodie strings, needing to do something that wasn’t crushing his head between the bookshelf and the wall behind it. He flopped down on Roman’s bed.

He couldn’t really describe why he had the impulse to do that. It was, to say the least, disturbing. But he could hardly think when the buzzing in his head was so loud. It was like a bundle of thoughts trying to push its way out, begging to be released.

He felt annoyed that the only word he knew how to describe it with was buzzing, but he couldn’t think of anything else, just that it was there and it wasn’t right and it mentally hurt .

Virgil closed his eyes and just… well, he existed . He tried to push the thoughts and buzzing out of his head by just letting go and focusing on the world, focusing on the little things that made him happy. Like outer space, like reading, like getting into a pool at just the right temperature on a hot day. Simple things. Simple, distracting things.

He was having a hard time resisting the urge to use the harsh edge of the table beside him to cut his arm open.

He was fine, he was safe, he was okay .

And okay was an okay thing to be.

—

He was almost asleep by the time the others returned. The moment the door slammed open, he was sitting straight up and panicked.

!!!TOO LOUD!!!!!!

“Jesus Christ,” he started, rubbing at his eyes, trying not to let the panic show. His heart was going a mile a minute. “Warn a guy, yeah? I was almost asleep because you took so long.”

“Well jeez, so rry I’m not psychic!” Roman jumped on the opposite side of the bed, the impact nearly causing Virgil to fly off his end. He glared at Roman, who smirked.

“So, what are we supposed to do until we sleep?” Virgil asked. Roman shrugged, and Logan looked indifferent.

Patton, however, bounced on his feet.

“Why not hide and seek? This place is big enough to have a lot of places to hide in! It could be fuuuuuun!”

Logan sighed, “I’m not particularly interested in playing children’s games.” was all he said. Roman fixed him an accusatory stare, which caused Logan to groan, before agreeing to play.

Err… what?

Both Roman and Patton badgered him to join their game, and after a few minutes, Virgil relented, on the contract that he could be the seeker. He was not about to squeeze himself into a small space for an undetermined amount of time today, thank you.

They established a couple rules- no going outside the house, no revealing other’s spots, and they weren’t allowed to move many items, or they might break something.

They made a system where every participant would text Virgil once they were hidden, because they weren’t sure how many seconds were needed to hide in the obnoxiously large home.

Virgil had to wait in Roman’s room once more until everyone was hidden. He even had to switch his notifications on (he usually had them off so they wouldn’t ring at inopportune moments. It was a valid fear, okay? He had notifications on for a lot of YouTubers.) just for this game. He hoped to a God he didn’t believe in that he remembered to switch them off before he went to sleep.

About 10 minutes later, he finally got the notification from Roman (the last one who had found a spot) that he was ready. He waited for a couple seconds more, the bed was so comfortable, before forcing himself up and out of the room.

He walked down the hallway to a railing at the end, overlooking one of the living rooms. From his vantage point of two floors up, he couldn’t see anyone, but that still was no certainty. Years of anxiety had forced him to check every place, and it was time to finally use that for something good.

He walked into a few more rooms, overanalyzing every place one could hide, even the more obscure ones. Nothing.

Virgil found himself in Roman’s mother’s room. Roman had only mentioned it on the tour, as with most of the rooms, saying, ‘My dad snores too much so my parents sleep in separate rooms.’

It was clean, not a speck of dust to be found, not a thing out of place.

At first glance, at least.

Virgil shuffled through the room, checking under the bed, that was a lot of bottles , and in the closet, where he only found a bunch of family photos shoved into a corner.

There was an apology note for Roman, dated 4 days prior, because apparently his parents were extra, too.

He knew he shouldn’t read it, but… his curiosity told him he had to, and it was right there and there were no good excuses for it, but he did it anyway.

The letter’s contents included Roman’s mother apologizing for not being able to be there that day, telling Roman he was a good son, and that she was so, so, sorry for not appearing until the next day. It was signed with a heart.

Roman really had life going for him, didn’t he?

Virge couldn’t help but feel jealous. Roman had all of this, the whole house, anything he wanted, supportive parents, everything. While Virgil had grown up being pushed around and suffering, Roman was probably laughing and getting presents every day. It just didn’t feel fair.

Why was Roman in therapy, anyway?

It didn’t add up. He was likeable, extroverted, fit, had kind parents, rich, and if Virgil was being honest, not bad looking in the slightest. So why was he there with the kids who had extreme issues?

Maybe… maybe he had lied to get into the group, lied to get attention .

∨İгｇ¡🇱 ωαડ Ｓ໐, 🇸๏ ш🇷०በ🇬.

He pushed his thoughts away with a sigh, giving the room a final once-over before leaving, closing the door behind him.

One more down, an insane amount of rooms left to go.

—

10 minutes later, he found Patton had contorted himself into an empty kitchen cupboard. It took 5 minutes to help him get back out.

They chatted while Virgil searched, Patton was very careful not to give anyone away, to Virgil’s chagrin.

—

After searching for what felt like 30 minutes, they still had no clue where Logan or Roman were. Virgil slumped against the door to Roman’s room with a sigh, thumping his head on the wood.

“Y’think we can just hang here until one of them gives up?” he asked. Patton shrugged, causing Virgil to groan.

They chatted about nothing for a few more moments, before Virgil decided to speak up against something that had plagued his mind since he left Roman’s mom’s room.

“Not to sound rude but, do you think… Maybe Roman’s faking it? Like of course there’s a chance he isn’t, but, looking around, don’t you think it’s a ‘lil suspicious? He’s got everything he wants and he acts so happy all the time and… I dunno…” he finished awkwardly.

“I don’t know, Virgil, but I doubt it. Why would he want to fake being in therapy?”

“To laugh at us! To laugh at those of us who are actually suffering!” Virgil spat. Patton backed away a few steps.

“Calm down a bit there, kiddo… I’m sure Roman has issues of his own, just because it isn’t on the surface doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

Virgil allowed himself to be calmed down, Patton giving him an awkward side-hug once he had. 5 minutes later, they were participating in the game once more.

—

The room had thin walls.

—

Virgil eventually found Logan in the basement that Roman hadn’t shown them on the tour. Logan explained he had noticed the door and, seeing that Roman hadn’t explained it, decided to investigate.

Virgil groaned at his own stupidity.

—

When Virgil had finally found Roman, it was when he had completely given up.

“Y’know what? Fuck this,” he said, ignoring Patton’s disappointed stare. “I give up! I really do! Roman must know some weird, obscure hiding place that he didn’t show us. So yeah, I’m giving up.” Virgil threw open the door to Roman’s room and-

Roman was there.

Roman was there , lounging on his bed, phone in hand, and looking at them expectantly.

Oh, for the love of God-

“What took you so long?” he snickered, sitting up to face them. Virgil stammered to find the words he was looking for, and might as well include the right emotions he was trying to wrangle up, too.

“You- I- Found you.” He finally got out. Roman smirked.

“Nuh-uh! Thin walls!” he knocked on the wall behind him. “I heard you say that you gave up!” Virgil groaned.

“How long were you in here, anyway?” Logan asked. Roman smiled.

“I snuck in here after Virgil disappeared into another room! I’ve been chilling here ever since.”

For a reason Virgil couldn’t figure out, Patton looked concerned, and guilty.

—

After the game, Roman roped them all into watching Disney movies, which was no surprise to Virgil considering the amount of posters.

Virgil was a bit of a Disney fan himself, but he wasn’t going to let that slip out to these strangers, surely they’d make fun of him for it.

One might think that Virgil was being stupid for forgetting that the only reason they had been watching them in the first place was because Roman forced them to. But anxiety was a pull, constantly overanalyzing the most simple things and underanalyzing the more complex. It wasn’t a case of ‘this is a bad thing, I should be anxious’, it was ‘this could be a bad thing, I should be anxious. So many things can go wrong’.

And that could was warped into will, no longer a maybe, but a definite, no matter how the situation actually happened.

It wasn’t fun in the slightest.

—

It was quiet.

Near silent, if it weren’t for the crickets chirping outside.

Patton and Logan had long since left the room to go to sleep. That left Virgil laying on the side of the bed he had claimed, silently scrolling through Tumblr, and Roman to get ready to sleep.

Roman had been staring at himself in the mirror for 10 minutes before Virgil took notice.

“You must really like yourself, huh?” Virgil deadpanned. This only supported his theory.

“Wha-” Roman jumped and spun around as he spoke, hand on his chest. “Oh, um… not really- WAIT I mean- uh- mOVinG On!” He cut himself off before glancing at the mirror once more.

Wait , he thought. I’ve been a dumbass, haven’t I?

Virgil made a lot of assumptions.

Just because the mental diagnosis isn’t obvious doesn’t mean it’s not still there!

“‘s there any like… weird hidden areas you know of ‘round here?” Virgil asked. Roman turned back to him, thinking.

“Wanna hang out on the roof?”

—

“I’M GONNA FALL!” Virgil shouted, clutching onto the gutter as if it were his only hope for survival. Roman snickered.

“C’mon, I’ve done this for years!”

“ We are three storeys high you bitch!”

—

Through a hefty amount of consoling, Virgil had finally reached the top of the roof, sitting on a small part of the roof that was flat, and clutching onto the chimney.

“So you’ve done this since you were a child ?” He asked. Roman was spread out on the slanted roof, seemingly indifferent to the fact that one wrong move could send him to his death.

“Mhm. I was the more adventurous type, if you couldn’t tell.” Roman glanced at him with a smirk. “But yeah. I find it calming up here, nothin’ to disturb ya but the wind. Plus, the stars are pretty.”

Virgil wouldn’t help but agree.

“Didn’t take you for a space nerd,” he said. Roman turned back to face the sky.

“I’m not, really. It’s just pretty. The most I really know about is galaxies, because they’re beautiful, really. I recommend looking up the Rose Galaxy, it’s my favorite… sorry, I’m rambling.” Roman laughed awkwardly. “But other than that, I don’t know much. Just the names of a few beautiful places.”

“That’s better than nothing,” Virgil supplied. Roman hummed. “I like planets, personally. ‘Coulda guessed your favorite was based around roses though.” he laughed. Roman smiled.

“The whole Disney thing kinda gives it away.” Virgil added.

“I hate that you aren’t wrong. Floriography has always been an interesting topic for me. But to be fair, roses have different meanings based off of the color.” Roman sat up, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but was holding back. So, Virgil acted on a whim.

“How so?”

It was like setting off a glitter bomb. Roman turned to him, and Virgil could practically see the stars in his eyes.

“WELL! Of course red roses mean love, yellow roses are for jealousy, pink is grace and elegance! Blue’s mystery, peach for gratitude, and purple are for pride and enchantment.” Roman paused for a second, calming himself down. “And I need some christmas roses.”

“What’re christmas roses?” he asked. Roman smiled. In his rant, he had scooched over towards Virgil, not enough to invade his space, but just enough that he was able to whisper,

“Well, I thought it fit well with the whole therapy thing,” he started. “But christmas roses mean relieve me of my anxiety.”

“Bitch I need some too!” Virgil said before nearly falling off the roof by laughing.

—

“I refuse to die crawling down a roof!”

“Well how else are you gonna get down, then?”

“I won’t. This is my home now. Just throw some food up here every now and then and I’ll be golden, because I am not falling off a roof .”

“Oh my god ,”

—

The beauty of a king sized bed, he found out, was that two, maybe three people, could fit on it without even having to be close to the other.

Virgil went to bed without even changing his clothes, a nasty habit he had picked up. He stared at the wall, willing his brain to recognize that it was time to sleep.

He felt Roman start shifting on the other end, another insomniac, before he spoke up.

“And I oop- OW !”

Taglist because apparently I have that now:

@too-attached-to-fiction

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lkmrn · 5 years

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De-Colonize Your Life: How to Identify and Dismantle White Supremacist Patriarchy

I found the event on Facebook. It sounded like something he would talk about. I don’t know if he’s actually go to it. They. They didn’t share much of that part of their life with me. Neither the pronouns. I’m guessing, based on what I gathered from their profile after I I friended them. A new identity, sense of self, completely disconnected from me but nonetheless running parallel to mine. I thought as much, although I’m still cautiously unraveling the gender binary in order to include identity beyond gender. I still have room to grow. No one else I know is going to this. Practically no one has committed to attending to begin with. There are about 200 people invited and 100 (including myself) expressing interest in going, and 7 people confirmed attending. How many of those seven were involved in organizing and promoting the event? I wonder if they feel the same disappointment I would feel over that turnout, if I would even be able to get seven people to show up and talk with me. I wonder, ashamed, if this energizes them, if they’re pumped about sharing their knowledge with those seven, soon to be eight with myself included. I’m the rest of this bus ride and two metro rail lines away from getting to the east side of Los Angeles. It takes over two hours to get to Mariachi Plaza, the station I’ll end up in order to walk the rest of the way. I feel guilty because I don’t do these things very often when I know I should. It’s just the commute. It takes so long to get downtown from the valley, but I don’t want to risk the potential financial ruin of taking my car and having something break down again. I wonder how other people do these commutes. I’ve already gotten used to reading on the bus, but food is a big concern for me. Do other people pack a meal? What do they pack? What’s a good meal that doesn’t need to be heated up or kept cold, that you can eat sitting on the bus bench or standing up because the seats are all taken, or sitting on the ground waiting for the gold line train? Maybe just fruit and carrots. Sometimes they have food at these community events. But they ask for a donation, or they just go ahead and charge. And I don’t have cash on me. I’m still worrying about finding a second job starting this coming month so I don’t have to dip into my savings again in order to cover rent. It’s been months, and I’ve been teaching group piano and voice classes two days a week. I make $400 a month. My rent is $650. I feel bad for feeling bad about how I’m struggling. I went to art school, almost $40,000 a year, on my parents dime. No scholarships, no financial aid, no honors or awards from my high school telling my college that they needed me there, that my name, my talent would put them on the map. My senior year, I started seeing posters going up about students whose parents paid for their spot there. I wondered if that included me, shutting out some prodigy’s dreams of becoming the next Michael Pisaro because they couldn’t scrape together the tuition. I still don’t know if I’m that person. I don’t know who I am. The bus drops us off at the North Hollywood Station. I put my bookmark in its new place in my book, gather up my backpack, and walk down the steps from the back exit. Some people yell thanks up to the driver. I always wanted to do that, but I felt weird doing it, like I need to be a regular in order to gain that level of cordiality. Anyway, the moment’s passed. People complain a lot about the red line. People from the professional and working classes alike whisper their uneasiness, a lot of words like unsafe, crazy, homeless, dirty being thrown around. From my rose-colored glasses, there’s nothing much wrong. It’d be nice if more people chose to take the buses and trains, instead of clogging up the freeways, and maybe Metro would expand its services so my commute times would get cut. So I could see my friends in Burbank without having to call a Lyft home or risk driving my car. Every now and then, I think I’d like to see the bus pass my stop because it’s operating at full capacity, instead of the rides when I’m leaving the bus empty well before it’s final stop. I lose access to data when I go downstairs to wait for the train. It’ll be at least another year before they somehow open up internet access in the underground stations. No noticeable construction necessary. It makes you wonder why they took so long to get it done in the first place. Anyway, I’m not as bothered by the inconvenience as the commuters sitting at the top of the steps. I have my book. I picked up this book about white supremacist patriarchy permeating supposedly feminist pop music. It’s really interesting reading a philosopher’s take on music I’ve been listening to for years, even if it’s critical. I got the suggestion from one of my professors. Not from him personally, but from his Facebook post. I’m trying to open myself up to ideas and opinions that aren’t my own, gravitating toward topics that I’m already interested in. Hence this workshop, a series of what will most likely be a combination of lecture and discussion, in order to activate my sense of responsibility to disadvantaged communities around me. I hope that I’ll be given a role in their movement, something small that allows me to support them. I’m getting excited as I draw a little bit closer and closer, an anxiety that tangles fear with future potential elation. I’m starting to feel hungry, but you can’t eat on the subway. It’ll have to wait until I get to Union Station. As the time passes, I start drinking more water, clearing my throat. There’s a funny feeling creeping up in the back of it. I hate when this happens. I go off schedule with these excursions, and my body starts attacking itself. Or maybe the subway actually is germ-infested, and my refusal to appease my body by eating dinner at that moment has allowed a virus to break through my immune system’s defenses. I’m on course for an incredibly annoying sinus infection that will last close to three weeks. But in the moment, I don’t care so much. I think my body can handle anything. I need to switch from the red line to the gold line at Union Station. As soon as I get off the subway, I can smell that deceptively irresistible scent of warm pretzels from Wetzel’s, and my body begs me to stop at the very strategically placed stand to the left of the top of the final staircase to the main part of the station. But my financial worries force me past down the corridor to reach the stairs leading up outside to the gold line station. I check Facebook again when I get there. No new attendees, definitely not Fernando. I go ahead and confirm my attendance, considering I’m more than halfway there anyway. A thought starts planting itself into my head, that somehow Fernando will see this, and he (they) will think more of me. That my interest in their interests wasn’t passing or manipulative. I let that scenario play out while I’m waiting, distracting me from the book I hold open, leaving me on the same page for the entire 20 minutes. My focus returns on the train. Of course they won’t notice. Even if they did, it wouldn’t change their opinion of me. Because I’m not sure if the dissolution of our friendship was ultimately because of me. But that’s a one-sided conversation that still to this day has not ended. I make it to Mariachi Plaza, and for a few minutes, genuine elation takes over any anxiety. I feel genuinely happy to be here, seeing kids skateboarding around the open area in front of the steps of the station, the older folks sitting on benches conversing in their native tongues. It’s a home that isn’t my own, but it feels open and welcoming nevertheless. That thought makes me feel a little guilty, and the anxiety returns. I’m a white person feeling at home where quite a few other white people had previously felt at home, had in fact purchased homes somehow with their seemingly endless supply of income. You see, the millennials who don’t buy avocado toast are the ones gentrifying low income neighborhoods. I’m not one of them. I don’t want to be one of them. I look up directions to the place where the meeting will be held. It’s about a 20 minute walk. I have about thirty minutes until we’re supposed to start, so I try to walk a little slower. I tend to show up early to things, but for this I want to be right on time. I just want to find a seat in the back and take everything in. I don’t wanna make a spectacle of myself, prostrating myself to the organizers, telling them how invested I am in improving myself and how much I care about their cause. How much I am on their side. No, it’s best to show humility. This isn’t about me. I’m there to observe and support. I show up 5 minutes early. I sneak a glance inside as I walk past the door, not breaking my pace. There are a few people inside, sitting around two large white plastic tables pushed together. I start getting nervous again. I decide to walk a little ways down, then head back. Just until the workshop is supposed to start. But I’m afraid this is one of those things that doesn’t start on time. I wish I’d had friends who were into this sort of thing. Then it wouldn’t be so hard to go. I’d have someone to talk to about interesting things, to help make introductions to other attendees. Time’s up. I head inside and sit down in the first chair I can find. A few more of the seats have filled up, but the room is still pretty empty. The organizers started passing out paper and containers of markers. Some of the participants start doodling while a few others work up the courage to say a few words to each other in between excruciatingly silent pauses. No one is talking to me, so I pull out a pen and my planner, and I dive into my future laid out on the pages. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice someone walk in. I don’t lift my head up, out of fear that might draw attention to myself. They sit a couple seats down from me, and again out of the corner of my eye, I notice a familiar figure. I know him from school. Relief washes over me, surprising myself. I call over to him and start in on a conversation. I don’t remember what we talked about. We probably tried to catch each other up on how we were surviving post-grad life. I was focused more on having a friend I could share this with. We started about 10 or 15 minutes late because the organizers were waiting for the last of their own to show up. I don’t remember what he said, but he was charismatic and impassioned. More people showed up as the night went on, probably regulars. They talked a lot, about their own experiences in the neighborhood, fighting against displacement, struggling to support themselves through school. They threw a lot of curses as whiteness, at the patriarchy, at capitalism, which I self-righteously agreed with. Then a guy in the back, dressed in militaristic uniform, began expanding on the destruction of capitalism, namedropping Marx and more contemporary communist ideologues. That was when I started checking out. I’d heard enough white men elaborating on the benefits of a classless system, the need for the oppressed to rise up against the bourgeoisie. Not that I didn’t sympathize with the message; I was tired of the messengers. Anyway, the meeting ended, and although I didn’t feel as though part of a revolution, I felt part of a new community. I was overcome by excitement, anxious elation, and I couldn’t wait to get started. I imagined walking back to Mariachi Plaza with my friend from school, starting what would be a series of revolutionary discussions. He was making his way up to the organizers, so I figured I’d wait for him outside. We hadn’t talked about afterward, but I figured it was a nice gesture. 5 minutes passed. He was helping them put up chairs. I kept sneaking glances back inside. At this point, I wondered if it was more awkward to continue waiting around for him outside, or if I should go inside at this point and draw attention to myself. I chose neither. I started walking back alone. I had no idea if he was taking public transit anyway. It was a stupid idea. Me, once again, imposing myself on others in order to feel better about myself. The white savior, white activist. Maybe he would think I’m rude for leaving without even saying goodbye. Maybe that’s who I am.

#storytime #losangeles

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beyainica-blog · 6 years

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Weight on 2/3/19

I am 105.2kg or 231.9lbs

So much to say. Honestly it’s therapeutic to write these posts and having accountability its also nerve wracking and time consuming. I feel pressured too. I know not that many or anyone at all is really paying attention to me but it just feels overwhelming. But I will be able to look back at this and hopefully be proud

Weight

Honestly I’m just as shocked as anyone who might stumble on this weight loss journey. I don’t know why I’m losing 2-4lbs a day on this liquid diet. At first I was like oh, I have pneumonia, I’m taking phentermine and its a liquid diet I expect to lose alot of weight. Especially the first week thats typical. But I have been doing the liquid diet for over a week. I’m not “sick” anymore I might still be fighting off the infection (probably why I sweat so much I’ll get into that later) so I don’t get it. I feel like my scale is wrong, but we’ll see at the doctors office. My scale was 1lb off so it was pretty accurate. I just feel like my eyes are decieving me. On my water fast. I lost weight much slower. Granted I didn’t move around at all. Didn’t drink that much water. But now I don’t drink that much liquid. In fact I was less than sedentary so I wouldn’t faint I was pretty weak. On the liquid diet I’m still weak but not as much because of the sugars in powerade or whatever I’m drinking. I move around ALOT in comparison. I didn’t have a job during my water fast and I wasn’t very active except for school. And I only had ONE class. I have a job that I move around alot AND I workout every morning even though I don’t eat anything. I know being at such a high weight I will lose quickly but I didn’t think it would be THIS quick. If this is true of course I’m fucking happy this is exactly what I wanted. But its just too good to be true and I don’t feel like I deserve it. I don’t want to jinx it. If this is true I want this to continue until I get to 170. I’ll be the happiest girl in the fucking world. I think its true though. Even if the scale is wrong its still super motivating to see the scale move and thats whats keeping me going

Body.

Honestly I can kind of see the weight loss. My pants are looser. My boobs are reducing. My stomach is SLOWLY but surely reducing. My legs look leaner. My arms are kind of reducing too. I feel like I really am losing this weight. But again we shall see at the doctors office coming soon. In about 19-20 days

Phentermine

I stopped taking phentermine. Why? Well because I have anxiety already. My heart rate is already elevated. I also am fat with high cholesteral so my heart is even more elevated. At rest my pulse is 80 thats a bit high for someone my age. The amount of caffiene in there is just too much for me right now. I was fearful of what could happen to me if I kept taking it. I’m all about doing ANYTHING to lose weight but I don’t want to die. Does phentermine work? Um YES. It doesn’t inherently cause weight loss I have been losing the same if not more being off it. It helps you not feel hunger pains or hunger. Off it I have to deal with hunger which is way better than potentially getting a stroke. Maybe I will get the pill cutters and just take half. I’m waiting to get to 200lbs or 199lbs to try it again. Yes I intend to still take it and on my next visit I am getting more. Why? Because it had helped me so far. It does work. Its my own fault I cannot take them. I intend to get the 3 month supply and store it for anytime I binge in the future. My heart rate has a direct correlelation to my weight if my weight reduces so will my heart rate and obviously everything else. 230 I remember having issues with bp thats what I weighed at the end of the semester in college. I know that because I donated plasma and sometimes turned away because of how high my heart rate was. So if I lose another 30lbs I should be fine. Though I still will start with half. See how it goes. Yeah phentermine was making my workouts difficult. I felt like my heart was going to pop out my chest. Anxiety, caffiene and exercise is not a good combination. Now I don’t struggle with my workouts since I stopped taking it.

Weight Reality

I havent properly gushed about my weight loss so far. I can’t believe I got here. I use to stay at the same 252 or shoot back up to 268 and stay there. Now I’m ALMOST IN THE FUCKING 220’s. Literally 2lbs away. And Valentines day is 10 days away. I will hit my first goal weight in a week. Which technically was my valentines weight goal intially but I feel like I will be less by then. 220’s then the 210’s before you know it I will be 200 and THEN I WILL TASTE THE 100’s I cannot weight to be out the 200’s I never want to see it again. EVER. Ugh can it come quicker. (I mean its already coming pretty quick lmao) I’m just impatient. My goal since its monday 2/4/19 is to lose 5kg in the next 5 days. I want to be 100kg by the time I get to work. 100kg exactly is 220lbs omg. Thats 11lbs in 5 days. With the way my weight loss has been going I really feel like I can do it fly by the 230’s quickly. If I dont binge. Speaking of that

Cravings/Binge

I am fighting a potential binge

EVERY FUCKING TIME I GET ON THE VERGE OF A NEW WEIGHT (232,242,252) EVERY FUCKING TIME I AM ABOUT TO GET INTO A NEW WEIGHT RANGE I WANT TO BINGE. I have said this before and I will REPEAT it until I get to my goal weight.

I want CHICKEN. Omg I fucking love fried chicken so much its not fucking fair. Ugh TENDERS AND WHITE GRAVY. I want a family pack and fries. I want to dip and eat all day. SUCH A DISGUSTING FAT FANTASY but I can’t help it. I really want RAMEN. Chicken flavored obviously but spicy too. Ugh. I want to try the new flaming hot doritos. I WANT CARAMEL CHOCOLATES. I fucking want subway lol why. I want egg and sausage burritos. I want PAPA JOHNS EXTRA LARGE PIZZA with extra cheese bacon, ham, pepperoni.

I want ALL of this in one day. Now you see why I had continous binge cycles. Because I wanted all my cravings satisfied. Thats alot of food even for a fat ass like me. It could take me days to eat all of that. And thats just today as feburary passes I will just get more cravings with new foods.

Here is why I’m not going to give in. Because I know it won’t be just one day binge. I know I will gain weight. I am so close to my first goal weight. I am treated better the more weight I lose. I will deter my cam girl job, I wont move out as quick.

I lost my train of thought. Anyway I’m waiting for my calculated and planned binge. Knowing I will have these foods again is comforting it just feels like forever you know. I only get my binge if I reach 194-193 or lower. 199-195 isn’t enough. The goal is to GET OUT the 200’s and stay there. If I binge at 199 I will go back to 200. If I binge at 193 the most I will gain is 4lbs at most send me back to 197 which is very close to 200, but not 200!

Weightloss Goals & Plans

I want to be 220lbs or 100kg before I get back to work this friday. The 8th thats 4-5 days away. The mini goal is 5kg in 5 days but also. Lets go ahead and do 7kg in 7 days. I want to be 97-98kg by Sunday-Monday.

If I’m 220 by this friday. I should be 210 by valentines day. Which is next thursday.

Honestly I just really want to get to size 9 so I can go ahead buy these good fashion nova jeans and fit into size 9 pants my work jeans are getting to big. Like I’m not even saying it proudly its fucking annoying. I’m not buying anything thats not a size 9 I will keep wearing big ass pants and think nothing of it period.

What else?

So much but let me seperate it

I think thats it. I got alot more to get off my chest this is just the weightloss portion.

The liquid diet is meh. I miss eating. I DONT MISS exercising everything off only to lose half a pound. I do enjoy the fast weightloss. I like powerade so its whatever. I dont have a choice being this fat you do what you can. I might switch it up once I hit the 180’s which is 40lbs away.

#abc diet #skinny #skinny girl diet #ana #pro ed #adipex #anorexia #anorexic #apple cider vingar #diet pills

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megamegaturtle · 6 years

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gorgeous (chapter one)

Spencer Reid x Reader Fic

No Rating

Ao3

Summary: You're early for your first day at work, but the universe is a funny thing where butterfly wings cause hurricanes from a wing’s single flutter. A story about how you and Spencer become friends and one day lovers.

WC: 11K

(First Criminal Minds Fanfic. Here goes nothing!)

Everything has a beginning and an end and yours starts when you pass through security at 8:05 AM. You're early for your first day at work, but the universe is a funny thing where butterfly wings cause hurricanes from a wing’s single flutter. Being early by 25 minutes has that effect as well, events brewing in your future that you won’t see until years later. Your every movement spins with faster velocity, creating a pressurized cyclone wherever you go. Gales under your fingertips as the world goes round and round and round.

Your true beginning started a few years prior, where you luckily got a job working in the administration and payroll department at your regional Census Bureau Office. Who knew that serendipity laced fingers with surveys and data of the American population? Who knew life held on tight as you moved your trajectory to where you are now?

It was a nice pre-beginning, a small start towards a government career you always wanted and maybe you weren't an analyst right then how you dreamed, but payroll paid well and—life in Los Angeles can only be so exciting and—there was a posting in the FBI and—

(You have always been defined by your ambitions, by your zeal, your need to strive and chase after things and be better and life had been so stagnant and—)

You applied, were interviewed three months later, and waited six months and thirteen days to receive your final offer after that. Waiting and waiting and waiting because bureaucracy is slower than glaciers moving in the Arctic. Slower than drip coffee pods when the machine is clogged. Slower—than waiting for your period to start when you are ten years old because your best friend had hers at nine.

(At twelve when it happens, you think maybe it began all too soon. Maybe childhood should have tried a little harder to cling on you.)

And then life springs into action, butterfly wings causing hurricanes in the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbeans and the world is ending as there is an onslaught of terrible news every day and yet—

You get a job in the FBI. In a Bureau people actually know by name. A step closer to prestige and recognition as you sign your name on the dotted line of your new contract. A step closer to an image you’ve always wanted for yourself because you want to be someone important. You want and want and crave to be someone important.

It’s human nature, you’re told, to see that grass is greener on the other side and you try hard to humble your roots, but the sun shines so bright as the future promises good things for those who work hard. And you’re not the kind that gives up, not the kind that goes home if there is work to be done, not the kind who says no to when opportunity knocks.

(Pride will continue to be your biggest folly, a double edged sword that is painfully sharp with a wobbly handle.)

You are a new admin and timekeeper clerk for a bureau built on secrets and hidden information. It's a stepping stone like how going to grad school was a stepping stone, how working for the Census was a stepping stone, how this will be a stepping stone to being an analyst or researcher or—

(Anything will do. You just. Want to work with information. You want something fast paced. You want something that makes you think. Puzzles. Calculations. People. And you can be cross trained and transfer because once you’re in, you’re in and you just—you just—

You want to think.)

You wear an outfit you've kept from all your precious new beginnings, wearing a milestone ring on one hand, wearing milestone earrings too. Gifts to yourself for being better than you were yesterday. Jewels to reward yourself because someone has to love you and you love yourself. Sometimes. With therapy. Reminders to yourself that hard work will see you through to as many as tomorrows you’re willing to see.

You wear a plum colored dress with plum colored lipstick. Contour carves out your cheekbones and you angled dark purple blush to make you look striking. You wear winged eyeliner and waterproof mascara that can thankfully hold a curl. You feel powerful, otherworldly as people smile a bit brighter and the several security guards all comment they have never seen a lipstick match a woman's dress so perfectly.

This is your reckoning. A beautiful, colorful storm and no one will ever be ready.

(Butterfly wings flutter against your heart and your stomach and metals that wrap around your finger and pierces through your ears anchor you to this moment, become armor from nerves that start to accumulate at the levys, threatening to flood every quarter of your being.)

But everything comes back to serendipity, to fate working in mysterious ways and metaphorical hurricanes as you wander the halls of Quantico, looking for Human Resources which is tucked away in some odd room by the vending machines the guard told you about because of remodeling and—

You round the corner quickly, happiness and giddiness soaking in your veins as you think of your higher pay grade, a song in your smile. A brilliant tune of glistening silver and persuasive chimes. Earbuds in each ear as you play your favorite song of the moment one more time, the words on your lips and a hum in your heart. Vocal courage, you think, as you sing your most favorite line quietly and maybe too much excitement as you bump into another human being and…

All their files go tumbling to the ground, clashing like thin cymbals and fanning like ocean waves.

The music that rang with every step fades as reality comes rushing back, your rose tinted glasses cracking into something useless. You blink once, then twice as the concept of manners come back to you, your mortality recognized as you are filled with acute embarrassment. A surprised gasp escapes your lips as you see the mess scattered around a man’s feet. You tear off your earbuds and tuck them back into your purse, music still blaring from the tiny speakers.

Mindful of your dress, you hurriedly get to your knees and help the man pick up the files you rudely knocked away from his person.

Papers are everywhere as you collect them, trying to be as neat as you can. Without looking at him, you say, “I am so, so, so sorry. I—ah, today is my first day and I am a bit excited…” you babble. “I just—you know, new career and ah—”

(Your pride is a shaky thing, battle armor useless once you interact with another human being and you’re reminded that purple lipstick can’t erase social fumbles.)

He laughs, the first sound you hear him make. “No, it’s fine. Thanks for helping me pick these all up.”

Your bangs cover your eyes as you grab a page tucked under a bench. “Of course. I hate it when people just like…walk away or something. Biggest pet peeve ever.”

He hums in agreement.

You two work for a few more moments gathering the fallen files, once you have a generous stack in your hands you look up finally, stunned a little at a smiling handsome face. Long curly hair and hazel eyes greet you as pleasant warmth spreads into your own girn.

(Oh, your heart was not ready. Not ready at all for someone so cute this before you had a second cup of coffee.)

You check your watch and see it’s about 8:20 AM, panic brushing your insides again as you quietly squawk about the time. You hurriedly stand up as he does the same, noting with abject humor that he towers over your extremely small frame.

(He grins a little unexpectedly wider when he realizes you’re so tiny even in heels.)

You extend the stack in the space between you and help him gather it into his arms. You adjust the strap of your purse, time ticking in your ears.“I’m sorry about bumping into you again. Hopefully there’ll be no more collisions today. ”

He nods, looking at you a little brighter. “Ah, yeah. That might be good.”

You smile and wave goodbye at him, glancing down at your watch once more. “Yeah. Anyway, I hope you have a great day, Mystery File Guy. I gotta run and try not to be late for paperwork. Whoo!”

He fixes the papers to rest more comfortable in his arms, bidding you a feeble wave. “Good luck on your first day.”

“Thanks,” you beam, happiness fluttering in your being.

As pride will always be your folly, honesty with always be your strength so you’re not surprised when you pause and let the words fall from your lips in complete sincerity.

“By the way, before I go, I just wanted to say you’re really gorgeous and I hope you have an awesome day.”

The man snaps his attention at you from a page he was examining, caught off guard as he tries to reply. Honesty colors his expression, the unperceived positivity shocking him. Somehow he whispers his words of thanks.

You giggle as you turn on your heel to embark on a new journey in the FBI.

(It dawns at you hours later you forget to ask for his name.)

(Unbeknownst to you, he thinks the very same.)

You learn his name is Spencer Reid.

Doctor Spencer Reid to be precise and this is where everything starts to go downhill because the other day you called a man with eidetic memory gorgeous. You called a man with three PhDs and two BAs (maybe three if you heard the humor correctly about philosophy) gorgeous. And the universe works in funny ways because you’ll be his new timekeeper and write his paychecks and—

Dear lord, he’s everything you’ve ever inspired to be wrapped up in a generally nice person as your new supervisor introduces you the Behavioral Analysis Unit and he’s there.

The man you bumped into.

The one named Doctor Spencer Reid.

In the back of your mind, you’re aware that he will not forget this because he does not forget anything and you try not to stutter, but you stutter your name anyway and he gives you a look of confusion because a few days ago you were this striking young woman you told him he was attractive and you know and he knows that and—

The universe works in funny ways as your growing admiration for the man before you makes you unable to speak.

(He’s everything you’ve ever wanted to be.)

(You don’t realize until years later that he’s everything you’ve ever wanted.)

You rarely have to speak to Doctor Reid which makes you count your lucky stars as months go by because talking to him is impossible because you have so many questions and questions and questions and—

You might have read a lot of his papers. It begins innocently enough. You’re just Googling him—for science and/or morbid curiosity—and there he is in Google Scholar and then you find his website that a friend runs and… Okay, you don’t really understand the math behind them, but the theories are understandable and you wish you were just as accomplished and talented.

And when you hear his name you feel a little more centered and focused because you’ve always needed a goal, you’ve always needed inspiration, and what is more inspiring than watching a young genius be so good at striving?

The East Coast is a little lonely, you think, one early winter day. Sunny California is across a vast continent and maybe, maybe, maybe you were a little rash when you packed up and left because adventure was calling you, but the East Coast is a little lonely.

Watercolor art prints and patterned sofa cushions can only keep you so much company. Who will see your teal and golden plates? Who will to come over to play video games and watch movies snuggled under fluffy throw blankets? Who will you invite to dinner one night after you cooked all day?

Your lovely apartment isn’t as warm with just one body. You need someone to talk to minus the lonely girl in you find in every mirror you own.

(Granted, there is nothing wrong admiring the self, just you can only tell your own joke so many times until it stops being funny.)

But friendship finds you fast one morning as you walk to the BAU and find the local tech analyst to certify timesheets for her colleagues.

(Sure, you could have dialed her extension, but sitting is the new silent killer and well—there is nothing wrong with meeting people. You can only talk to Mary for so long. The woman could easily be your grandmother.)

Your heels click once last time as you stand outside her door, hearing her voice muffled through the thick material. You pause with your fist raised and wait for her to stop speaking, not wanting to interrupt. But after awkwardly standing outside her door for five minutes, you think it’s best to try again later.

You sigh to yourself and turn to leave when the door swings wide open.

“Oh, a visitor!” she squeaks, asking about your name.

You clear your throat and tucking fallen hair behind your ear. “Yep, that’s me. Um, Ms. Garcia, I just wanted you to certify these timesheets are correct? I was told to ask you when Agent Hotchner wasn’t on site.”

She’s wearing a lovely shade of oxblood lipstick, her teeth far more than pearly when she smiles at you. “Yeah, the team just finished up their latest case and will be on their way home soon.” She glances at you and moves out of her door. “Come inside and I’ll sign these for you, alright?”

You nod and enter her office. There are computer monitors everywhere, much like a spy movie. “Thank you, if I’m not too much a bother. You seemed—like you were about to maybe leave?”

She plops herself in a rolly chair and laughs, logging back into her computer to e-sign if she needs to. “I sometimes get a little stir crazy in here, but my precious angels saved the day as usual so I thought I would get some fancy coffee or something.”

You like her outfit, you like the swirls and shapes of her dress. You like her snowflake earrings and headband and the way she smiled when she saw you was so cute you can’t help but ask.

“I’m about to go on my lunch. We can...we can go together if you’d like?”

(Winter is such a lonely season and you're desperate to connect with someone, to make sure that this move was worth it.)

Ms. Garcia peeks at you over the rim of her glasses, a friendliness in her very smile. “I think I’d like that very much. Lord knows I have to know where you got your blush!”

You laugh and find that in the months to come, things are less lonely with a new friend.

(The answer is you shop indie; loose powder blushes are best with a light hand.)

You go home for Christmas and run into your ex-boyfriend. Your heart calls out to him, wanting so much to pick up where you left off because you haven't stopped loving him yet.

He's smart, makes you laugh, is the one you've known for so long, that that familiarity is hard to replace.

As he kisses you, you realize he feels the same.

(He told you once that his home is California, but now he tells you that his home is with you.

A dark part of you wonders how long he’ll keep this claim.)

Winter snow melts and the seeds you planted in your friendship with Penelope bloom into soft laughter and happy conversations. You have someone whose office you run towards when paperwork gets boring and—

And she listens to your hopes and dreams as you crave to do more.

“My job,” you tell her, “is stupidly easy. Everything I do is stupidly easy which is fun and all, but I just…want to do more.”

Penelope laughs. “Okay, but I think payroll would hard. Like, really, dollface, there is nothing simple you do.”

You shake your head. “Nah, I used to work at a car dealership and I had to do all the math by hand. I had to learn how to do sales commissions by hand in about a month’s time. And while it was time consuming, even that wasn’t that hard. They’re just numbers, you know?” You groan. “I was just hoping for something a bit more fast paced, but I finish all my work so quickly and stuff? They’re running out of new tasks for me to learn because I keep getting them all.”

Penelope takes a sip of her coffee. “You should come work for me. I’d keep you busy! Plus, the department over here is a little understaffed in general.”

“Haha, maybe I can come train with you at least when I finish some of my other work?”

Garcia looks at you, thoughtful for a moment, and then grins. “Let me see what I can do.”

You get caught in an elevator with Doctor Reid. You avoid speaking to him still, but you have a notification setup that you get an email if he writes a new paper.

His latest one was about the mathematics for poetry formatting in books and how there is an algorithm to which poems are deemed best. It was a lovely weekend morning read. You left an anonymous comment on the journal’s page.

(You dug out your grad dissertation on universal global feminism and you’ve always wanted to rewrite it and submit for publication. You started a new document on Sunday.)

“Good morning,” he says.

You mumble the greeting in return, wincing internally that this will only add to your fumble tally.

He notices your bracelet, a lovely arrangement of turquoise cast in silver. A gift from your grandfather.

“Did you know,” he starts, “that the ancient Egyptians thought turquoise was a holy stone that brought good luck? And it’s goddess, Hathor, was a cow goddess and the mother, wife and daughter of the sun god, Ra. She was known as ‘Lady of Turquoise’, ‘Mistress of Turquoise’ and ‘Lady of Turquoise Country’.”

You briefly glance at him, taking a mental note to look up more about her when you get home. You’re about to respond, say please continue, enquire more because you want to know more...when the elevator dings and you—and you—

—panic as usual.

You brush by him, whispering, “Interesting.”

(You’re reminded when you had a Japanese teacher in college who told that Americans only say “interesting” when there is nothing nicer to say, but you know that’s not true. It was interesting and fascinating and left you wanting more! You know it’s not true, you just can’t…befriend Doctor Reid.

He’s far too cool to be your friend, you think.)

Long distance is hard, but seeing Matthew’s face after a long day is worth so much. It’s dark in your room, your hair in a lazy bun with your big headphones your ears as you both video chat.

It’s getting close to 1:00 AM and you’re rambling about what happened in the elevator the other day. How awkward you were, how adorable Doctor Reid was.

Matt laughs, his voice a familiar balm for your anxiety. “Babe, I hate to break it to you, but it sounds like you have a crush on this doctor guy,” he tells you with an easy smile.

You loudly snort and bury your face in your pillow. “Matt, don't be ridiculous! Besides the only doctor I need is the one who I'm gonna marry,” you tease.

(Marriage is a fickle subject for you, both wanting a future together, but each of you stepping forward and back and your feelings hardly sync.)

He pauses for a moment, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well...if I get into Georgetown, then I think I can make that a reality.”

Doctor Reid’s comment in the elevator starts a fixation on knowing the meaning on every stone you own.

Pearls are for wisdom acquired through experience. They are also used to calm oneself and to balance out one’s karma. Natural pearls form when an irritant - usually a parasite and not the proverbial grain of sand - works its way into an oyster, mussel, or clam. As a defense mechanism, a fluid is used to coat the irritant. Layer upon layer of this coating, called 'nacre', is deposited until a lustrous pearl is formed.

Diamonds are created out of pure carbon. They have very strong crystal structure where the carbon atoms in the crystal are especially strongly bonded. They can form octahedral (classical diamond), trapezoidal and dodecahedral crystals. Diamonds represent faithfulness, love, purity, innocence, and relationships filled with love.

Emeralds are for hope; to help tranquilize a troubled mind. The characteristic live green color of this stone originates from chromium impurities built-in within its crystal structure at the positions of aluminum. Emeralds come from a stone called beryl. Lots of stones come for beryl.

For example, if there is too much blue in it, then it is an aquamarine. The Romans believed that if the figure of a frog were carved on an aquamarine, it served to reconcile enemies and make them friends.

(You’re not sure if Doctor Reid would appreciate a frog carved on an aquamarine.)

Two months later your supervisor calls you into her office and informs you that on Mondays and Wednesdays you will begin cross training with Penelope Garcia, provided there is no payroll that needs to be completed.

Butterfly wings find welcome in your heart again as your run back to your desk dialing her extension. She picks up on the very first ring.

“Thank you for dialing Penelope, the Fairy Godmother for admin clerks!”

You whisper loudly into the phone. “What did you do?”

Penelope chuckles and you can hear her shrug. “Nothing minus give you a challenge. Plus, if I train you, I can take more vacation days.”

You sink into your seat, disbelief seeping from your pores as you try to wrap your mind around everything. “But Garcia, I only know basic IT. I can’t even hack anything or anyone.”

“Oh, don’t worry, my sweet. You’re the one that said you’re a quick study.”

You scoff. “I meant for like! Simple things! I’m really not that smart.”

Garcia’s voice is warm over the phone. “Oh, I’ll be the judge of that. If you’re no good, I’ll send you back to admin full-time, but for now, be ready for next week!”

Your mother tells you she's so proud of you. So very proud of the young woman you’re becoming, happy that you’re seeking out good things out for yourself, so pleased that you’re living a life she didn’t get to have.

Matthew is oddly quiet at the news. He only sends a small congratulatory text and then proceeds to tell you about his day. He had avocado toast and is helping contribute to why millennials can’t afford houses.

It really bothers you when he does that. Ignores your successes because he thinks things are a competition between the two of you. Ignores your good things to shadow them with his bad.

(Recently he mentioned about applying to UCLA again. That California is a wonderful place and—

You tell yourself to be patient and just wait.)

You’ve always been one to like getting your feet wet, you’ve bragged enough times how you just jump into things without thinking it through. And the same is true come that Monday when the BAU is already hard on a case and you shadow and watch Garcia with amazing speed find all the information she needs.

You sit and shadow her, awe and fear rolling off you in waves.

Your mind spins after that first case, trying to keep up with everything, but you heart hammers happily in your chest and you feel breathless as you reason that you’ve been looking for this all along and—

Garcia smiles at you, warm and inviting.

“Show me what you can do, Miss Smartypants.”

(Lives were saved that day and you were apart of that.)

You properly meet Special Agent Derek Morgan on a night out with Penelope for dinner. His warm brown eyes size you up, see if you’re authentic or made of lies.

(Since you started therapy years ago, you no longer need to stitch yourself with false truths.)

You proudly grab his hand and give him a firm shake. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you. Penelope says you’re the light of her life.”

His smile widens as his fingers wrap around yours. “You know, my Baby Girl says the exact thing about you. Says you’re one of the smartest kids she knows.”

You scoff at that and roll your eyes. “She’s a flatterer who only wants vacation days. Truly, I have a wonderful mentor though.”

You sit with them on a late spring evening, enjoying good food and great company.

(You’re finding roots here, finding a home as people slowly begin to enter your life and call you their own.)

You mother calls you sounding tired. Her cancer has come back, but she goes to chemo every three weeks and is doing well.

You wish you weren’t so far from home, but she tells you she’s proud of you, proud of what you’re doing, proud of who you’ve become.

“You’re like me, my love, always chasing after something better.”

You see Doctor Reid in your local bookstore, browsing for something new to read. You’re doing much the same, perusing the oh so stimulating romance section.

You could say “hello” or ask what he’s reading next. You could ask him if he prefers paper or e-ink. You can ask him if he’d like to chat or discuss the weather or...

You could ask him a lot of things, but for some reason, anytime you see him, your bravery runs away.

(You don’t know this, but he sees you too. He’s at the same crossroads trying to befriend you.)

Penelope’s smile is so wide when you enter her office, two coffees in hand. “Why are you so happy?”

She spins in her seat and sighs with glee. “Oh, my wonderful and local genius has a girlfriend and gah, it makes me so happy!”

You giggle, “Well, that sure does sound wonderful! Congrats?”

She babbles about super genius babies as your mind drifts away. You wonder when your boyfriend will trek out East like you did too.

Doctor Reid doesn’t write for a long while. Can’t when you find out from a weepy Penelope that his girlfriend was murdered in front of him.

(He didn’t even touch her once and you find that’s far too intimate of information about a man you don’t even know and—)

You weren’t there when it happened, not training or shadowing. You went home to sunny California to visit your family and loved ones and yet—

Who knew that nine days away could change everything in a man’s life?

(Butterfly wings create hurricanes after hurricanes after hurricanes.)

Matthew breaks up with you via text.

I love you, but moving to the East Coast can't be part of my plans.

The message flashes over and over in your mind as you jab a punching bag. You don’t really know how to use a punching bag, but that’s besides the point as you smack at it away anyway. And since you don’t get field time, there’s no reason for you to have a gun. And maybe when someone is so angry, they shouldn’t want to practice shooting for the first time at the range.

You jab too swiftly to the right and your wrist bends in a way you’re positive it’s not supposed to and you hiss out in pain. In a fit, you kick the punching bag and it does little to soothe your building rage.

“Hey, hey, hey,” a concern voice says. It’s warm and kind, like milk and honey. “Pretty sure pretty girls like you should know how to put up a fight.”

You roll your eyes and cradle your wrist. “Hey, Morgan,” you say flatly.

He gestures to take a look at your wrist and he happily decides it's not broken. “So, what’s his name and how should I hurt him?”

He puts up both his fists and your mirror him, following his motions as he shows you how to punch correctly. You smile for the first time since this morning.

“His name is asshole and good riddance!”

(The calluses on your knuckles do little to ease your broken heart.)

Butterfly wings cause hurricanes and you’re sitting at a used car lot alone signing the contract for a 2012 BRZ in white. You’ve always wanted a sports car, wanted to learn how to fix one up, have a nice car to drive on pretty days, have one to call yours and—

Matthew didn’t think getting a second car would be worth it, said weekend cars were lame and—

—you realize once again, that things just aren’t the same.

You’re not very good at driving manual, and you stall about five times on the way home, but it’s okay.

Doctor Reid doesn’t come back to work right away. That makes sense. The love of his life just died in a most violent way.

But that doesn’t mean you don’t hurt a little, don’t feel any empathy. A life is gone from this world and now there seems to be a light missing.

(Will she be a star that watches over him and protects him? Does he even believe in those things?)

You might not be his friend, might never actually talk to him because he makes you tongue tied because you’re constantly afraid of fucking up in front of him so you always fuck up in front of him—

But that doesn’t mean you can’t send him your sympathies in an unsigned card, your heart going out to him as his remains missing.

(You kinda get the feeling.)

You might be, might be running yourself ragged as the months go on. Torn between payroll and the BAU, you can never get a moment’s rest. You’re in Garcia’s office more than just on Mondays and Wednesday. You’re there all the time, trying to soak up as much information as possible, learning the ins and the outs of her system, learning how to use computers in a way you’ve never thought before.

(You might use binary code to wash away every trace of Matthew from your mind. Try and try to forget him and just achieve.)

You’re taking over her little tasks slowly. Soon, you’ll run all of the inventory for all the field agents in the region, you’ll fix small problems, reset passwords, keep the world going and going as Garcia saves lives.

It’s hard work, being backup, but you go forth and try your best because this—this is what you’ve wanted all along.

It’s late one night as your eyes feel like they’re going to pool from your head. It was a payroll day and everything bad happens on payroll day, but you stay late in Garcia’s office long after she’s gone home to better familiarize yourself with her system.

It’s not hard, but there is a learning curve and just remembering all the things, all the little odds and ends.

Garcia is making you code a new program. She said it would be good to understand computer pathways. You want to pound your head against the desk, but you—you’re not the kind to give up. You’re almost there. You can do this by yourself because one day she won’t be here and you’ll have to help the team.

You refuse to give up and back away when you’re so close to something exciting and new and—

You see Doctor Reid pouring over paperwork when you go to get coffee and you feel slightly more renewed. If he can do it, then you can do it too.

You sit and close your eyes for a moment, finding yourself caught in the suspended reality of your body nodding off to sleep while your mind races. Black spots fill your vision despite you’re sure you’re still awake, but you’re not.

You wake hours later at the table in the kitchenette with a worn sweater around your shoulders.

(It looks oddly familiar.)

Fall welcomes you with open arms as you find yourself in Special Agent Aaron Hotchner's office a bright morning. You woke up at five, unable to sleep because today is the day and butterflies are swarming with every heartbeat.

You decided to wear dark red today with lipstick that looks much the same. You adorn yourself in pearls, praying for wisdom and maturity, for—

(Please remember to breathe, one breath, then two. In and out, out and in.)

You can—you can do this.

Hotchner sits across a dark wooden desk, a neutral expression on his face. “I see there is something you’d like to talk to me about?”

You nod, refusing to break under pressure because the man can read every micro expression. He can’t know there is tension between your shoulder blades. He also can’t know that it’s taking everything you have to not bounce your leg as nerves course through your whole body.

But the universe works in funny ways as it did almost two years ago, and events lead you to here as you catch a glimpse of Doctor Reid and you remember that this is where the man you most admire works and this is place your dearest friend works.

And this is the place you feel like you’ll belong because you’ve always been defined by your ambitions and this is no stepping stone, but somewhere you clawed to get to as you stayed up late for countless nights and learned how to code a computer in less than a year’s time and—

You square your shoulders back and let pride sing like your favorite song lyric.

You grab your resume and letter of reference from the folder sitting across your lap and push them across his desk. You read about this, performing a power play like successful businessman.

“I think it’s time you hire me, sir.”

Special Agent Aaron Hotchner gives you the briefest of pleased smirks as he takes your papers.

“Go on.”

Everything has a beginning and an end and yours starts when you pass through security at 8:05 AM. You're early for your first day at work, but the universe is a funny thing where you cause hurricanes because you have butterfly wings.

You greet the security team as you have done each morning, the sun shining brighter as it glistens spectacularly from a diamond milestone ring. It glows and sparkles with promises of a better future to come. You performed a small ceremony between you and this new opportunity.

You make your way up the elevators, finding friendly faces along the way. Today is a beginning, a new one for you, one you didn’t think you’d find but yet—

You’re the newest technician specialist for the BAU and they haven’t seen anything yet.

You’re ready.

You meet Hotchner in his office as he extends a warm hand and takes you to the meeting room where you are formally introduced to your new colleagues as Garcia’s new subordinate who will also do admin, payroll, IT, filing, inventory, and much more for the team.

“A jack of all trades, a master of none…” you start to say.

“...but better than being a master of one,” Doctor Reid finishes for you. He offers a small smile, an attempt, perhaps an olive branch.

(You want to reach out, you want to accept it like how Athena would want you to, but fear flashes fire in front of you and you...can’t.)

You swallow, your heart thudding in your chest, your smile falling, your tone more flat.

“Yes. Exactly.”

His own smile disappears, a slow descent like embers in the wind.

(Oh, you think with shaky feelings, maybe you’re not completely ready.)

You surprise the team with your efficiency, surprise them especially when you carry a crate and set up your desk in a half hour’s time. Your kettle sits on the corner of your desk, filled to the brim with steaming water.

You set up your packets of tea and line them up accordingly, place the sweetener in their container, organize your lipsticks and rollerball perfume bottles in their selected bin. You have knickknacks and things and a small plant.

You already knew which supplies you wanted, place every pen where it needs to go, setup your desktop and login, rearing and ready to go.

You surprise them with the snacks you have, always prepared with a bandaid and lint roller and anything thing one needs off hand.

You surprise them when you expedite their things and find files they need before they ask. You surprise them with extra thoughtfulness.

It’s only been two weeks.

(You ignore that your desk seats across from Doctor Spencer Reid. You ignore that fact, but you still politely offer him tea.

You no longer stutter, but butterflies dance on your tongue, the beats of their wings taking the rest of your words with them.)

You both politely exchange “hello” and “goodbyes” and work well enough when he requires something of you, but there’s a distance that stretches two years long of fumbles and weirdness and you’re not sure exactly how to take it away.

(You know he remembers every mistake. You know he knows ever ill attempt. You know he knows a lot of things, but you doubt he knows that you just want to be his friend.)

You know it’s wrong how you are able to laugh with the team, you being you and slipping your way to patch up the cracks effectively. It’s just how you are, you see the problem and fix it because you’re a fixer and—

—it’s so wrong when you can’t fix the awkwardness that sticks to you whenever you see Reid.

JJ smiles at you, but there is a distance in her smile, the same sizing you up, the same decision on the tip of her tongue that Morgan once gave you. She wants to know if you’re good enough, if you are quick enough, if you are enough.

She’s just too polite to directly ask.

You learn quickly that Doctor Reid is someone she cherishes most in the world, an underlying easiness and trust between them. Her son is the doctor’s godson. A bond of family and forever intertwining their lives.

However, there's a barrier between you and her as you continue to unsettle her.

And you're not sure how to branch the divide. How does one cross a desert in the middle of a sandstorm? How does one exit a forest but have no map? Yet the universe works in the funny ways and you find her struggling to carry heavy boxes. Wordlessly you take some from her and give her a hesitant from.

“Hi.”

JJ blinks then acknowledges you slowly. “...hey.”

“Tell me where to go, yeah?”

She blinks again, her mouth in a twitching line as thoughts speed through her head. After another pause, she nods and gestures not too far down the hall. “Follow me.”

It's a little stilted, but not impossible as you help her lift crates from one room to the next. There's a slight tension in the air; however, it does not hurt you. You don't mind. You're just trying to not dirty your dress.

After many quiet minutes, she gestures around the room. “Thanks,” she says as she wipes her hands on her jeans. “For everything. You're actually doing an awesome job.”

You feel warm at the unexpected praise, as if permafrost is melting. “Thank you,” you bashfully reply. “I'm still really nervous and I triple check everything no matter how small the job.”

Her firm mouth softens, understanding present in her blue eyes.”I was just like that when I first started. From media liaison to actual agent, micromanaging will always be my forte.”

You nod, sitting down and twisting your diamond ring. “Yeah, my business brain is good at it. It likes everything nice and organized.”

“Business brain?”

Your gaze meets her slightly before going back to your ring. “Yep, business brain. I’m much more relaxed when I’m not working. More chill, I guess? I just get really focused when I’m working so when I’m at home I kinda just...let my mind wander? Disarray doesn’t bother me as much and I’m quite messy much to my mother’s frustration.”

For the first time since you’ve met her, you hear JJ laugh because of you and it’s a nice sound. A bit warm and kind like she is. “I definitely know that feeling. The tunnel vision is real and by the time I get home, I just want to kiss my kid and husband. Who cares about dirty dishes when you get to lay in bed?”

Even though the two of you stand on opposite cliffs, the gap between you and JJ closes a bit more that day.

There will always be a gap between you, between the awkwardness that surrounds you when Doctor Reid is concerned. And he is one of JJ’s most precious people, a bond between them only needing glances, brimming smiles and inside jokes and—

JJ is more fond of you now, but you will not forget where her loyalty lies.

Will not forget where all their loyalties lie.

You have desks scattered around the office as the weeks go by and after forty-one days, you’ve accepted that your most central desk will continue to be the one right across from Doctor Reid. You tried to make yourself at home by one down the hall near the windows, in Penelope’s bat cave, and even at a small kiosk by counterintelligence.

But home is where your kettle is and the desk closet to the filtered water and the bathroom happens to also be the same once near Doctor Reid.

So you accept your fate and call that desk your home base, slowly giving that name to tell others where to find you if they need you. You say it in your emails, in your phone messages, in conversations had briefly in the halls.

“If you need me, I’ll be at my home base. The desk right across from Doctor Reid’s.”

(Of course, the other three get names as well: the windows, the bat cave, and the boondocks.)

But home base is yours as much as it is his in a way. It’s easier when he’s not there, when the whole team is away on a case and you can breathe without his all remembering eyes keeping detail of your every action. There is a freedom in doing the tasks without distractions and Doctor Reid’s eyes are inquisitive and curious things that follow your many movements throughout the day.

It’s unintentional, of course, the way his sight falls on your form when you’re there sitting across from him. They are not of lingering looks of longing from a lover or even jaded jealousy or fracturing frustration at the constant chatter. No, they are just learning eyes that can’t help but soak up information with their movement.

Maybe it comes from the fact that people have the eyes of a predator, always looking forward, always stalking, always hunting in slow motions. That humans have only survived so long by the ability to endure slowly, by always following, by tracing and remembering every detail. By pure stamina alone.

Sometimes you wonder if the Doctor realizes he’s a predator of memorization—of knowledge—his gift as easy as breathing, his mind a shimmering wonder. It—he—his mind unerves you. By one look and you feel exposed and the butterflies in your chest cavity break free and you feel very alone.

But you are just as human as he is, you think, so you continue to endure, continue to also look forward as you help a colleague reset his email and meet the Doctor’s quick instinctual glance with your heart hammering against your chest in both uncertainty and admiration.

If only you can be a predator of knowledge as he is, the world a book for your to reveal in every detail without forgetting, perhaps you would look at others so innocently and kindly without regard to their notice of your every movement.

You rarely speak full conversations with Doctor Reid. They are speechless and brief encounters as he tries to get you to open up. Mainly you just nod and listen before dashing. If you’re lucky, you avoid him before he sees you. But on the off chance you haven’t hidden yourself somewhere away in the vast building, he tries to talk to you.

(Bless him. Bless him because you’re awkward and you know that you shouldn’t be afraid but—

—the lingering fear of him always remembering your fumbles stops you from continuing.)

He’s tried jokes. Awful jokes about philosophy and physics. Little literary tidbits that delight your day. You smile small, your face feeling tight and you mutter you ever rude American interesting again and again and again.

Sometimes you switch it up. Sometimes you say “I see”.

But of course when you go home and have time to process, you cackle at his hilarity

He’s tried greeting you, asking you about your day, asks what you’re doing, but his very existence causes your hair to stands on ends and you don’t know why and you trying and so—you barely answer him.

“Hello.”

“It’s going well.”

“Working.”

Today you promise—will be different. You cannot continue to be like this around him as you grow closer to the people he loves most. You promised it will be different the day before and the day before that. But today’s a new day and you’re making coffee—

You feel cheerful at a dumb mug that’s ages older than you from your mother. A stupid mug for a worker in the cog and it’s faded yellow with the inside all marked up. You love this mug more than anything in the world because it reminds you how much time has passed since you were a little girl.

And you’ve always wanted to be just as hardworking, just as strong and powerful as the woman who raised you by herself for years and years and years until she found good love sometime later. You’ve always admired her and wanted to be like her and there was this dumb mug of hers that she said would be yours one day if you worked hard enough and—

It showed up in the mail a week ago, filled with all the sweets you adore most. Tucked inside rested a folded up note with her praise written carefully.

For my child, who has done everything I’ve ever wanted to accomplish and more. Who makes me proud every day and who will always be better than her yesterdays.

Love you more than anything in the world,

Mom

Joy surges deep within as you take a sip of coffee made from your press. Also a present that came with the mug. A glorious French press to only add to your stylish ambiance you’ve spent years crafting. Shining stainless steel glistening and gleaming as hot water simmers coarse ground beans into something delicious.

You feel a little complete, your back straighter than other days. Today will be the day you stop being a chicken and finally cease the awkwardness around Doctor Reid. It just has to be. You mote it be.

He comes in not too long after you’ve settled down while going over inventory for the department. He says hello to Morgan and Blake, and situates himself at his desk. He’s a little late, you notice, knowing that punctuality is important to him, but you ignore his slight frazzled rush as you recount the number of items you’re ordering.

Anxiety cements your stomach as you force yourself to look up and brave him a smile. You know it’s not your best, but you try as you steady your mug in your hand.

“Good morning, Doctor,” you say, meeting hazel eyes.

The mug is warm in your hands as you bring it to your lips to sip. You mentally pat yourself on the back.

He stares at you for a moment and gives you a tight nod. “Morning.”

In a flash, as if an idea has come to him, he’s searching for a paper in his stacks on his desk and you return to your inventory counting. It’s a start, you think. Just enough of something that you find yourself grinning a bit to yourself. You tally up the amount of one item and you’re quickly on to the next when he addresses you offhandedly.

“You know, you are lucky to work here,” he says.

Your pencil halts in your hand, a milimeter away from making a new checkmark in its column before you are entirely distracted. You swallow. You look back up, seeing he’s completely immersed in his search.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat yourself?”

Doctor Reid looks at you and smirks, though there is an oddness in his expression and you’re not able to quite place it. It...it unnerves you. “Yeah, I said that you’re lucky to work here.”

You blink and stop breathing. Anxiety clings to every part of you, you replaying his words on loop. And he’s right, because it’s only by dumb luck you’ve ended up on this team and hard work can only get your so far and you’ve seen talented and it’s comprised entirely of the BAU and—

The gap between the two of you widens beyond compare and you’ll never be his equal—its just not possible—and he’s knows that. He has all seeing remembering eyes, Penelope the greatest tech whiz on the planet, the list goes on and on and you count each thing in lightning speed and—

(Oh my, you might need to write this shit down later to talk about in therapy.)

You nod only once, getting to your feet and grabbing your cell phone. You clutch it so tight you’re afraid it will snap, the intensity hurting your knuckles.

“Duly...duly noted, sir,” you say quietly. A crashing train rings in your ears. Your mouth is dry. “There’s coffee cake in the break room if you’d like any…”

In the corner of your eye, you see Morgan start to rise. You can’t bare to look at Doctor Reid and ignore further still when he calls your name. You can’t look at any of them, the difference between them and you so striking. It makes the diamond ring on your finger turn into lead.

Tightness expands in your chest, but you expel it instantly when you see a supervisor is calling you. And supervisors don’t care if you’re in the middle of reevaluating your self worth.

“Hello, BAU Automation. How can I help you?”

You escape the rest of the day from the prying eyes of the profilers of the BAU. You ignore their looks and you don’t see Reid for the rest of the day. You count your blessings. Each one a soothing balm on the burns upon your skin and your heart and your disposition.

You are in the break room washing the coffee cake platter that you realize you haven’t washed your mug from this morning. Coffee was long forgotten as your heart sped up too much for you to stand. Makes you too antsy when you’re already in turmoil, you stomach too weak and your nerves too strong. When you get back to your desk, memories of this morning smack you with clarity as everything begins to make sense.

You’re lucky to work here, he said. You’re lucky to work here, he said, he said, he said.

Shame floods you instantly as embarrassment comes like an unwanted bully taunting you. Your mistakes laughing at you once again as your mind thought too far ahead without all the facts. Without asking. Without understanding.

(You’re a selfish creature, it seems. Sometimes caught up in your own mind on your own time without a care in the world for others.

Oh, what a stupid and foolish girl you truly are.)

For there, written as plain to see in red letters is the phrase: tell me again how lucky I am to work here again.

Penelope confronts you first about it, catching you in the kitchenette as you fill up your kettle.

“Hey, lovely, I don’t know how to say this, but—”

You stiffen for a moment, before bowing your head, accepting what fate has in store for you. “Please be blunt. I’m sure whatever you’re going to say won’t be that bad.”

You hear her swallow as she leans against the counter. “Well, as your closest friend on the team, we just—have kinda noticed—”

(You wince. You know. You know what she’s going to say. You know.)

“You’re really weird with Reid. And it’s super weird because you’re so nice and I’m pretty sure you actually read his articles and I was wondering if you—maybe had feelings? For him?”

Her words hang in the air, a squeaky echo that rings with your very heartbeat as everything comes swinging back in full motion.

You slam on all metaphorical breaks and refuse to let this conversation continue down this road. Refuse to take your heart down this road. You shake your head and groan. “No, no. Just. I don’t have a crush on him. I just—” you sigh and sit at the nearby table. “I just—”

Penelope grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze. “Did he do something wrong? Is that what it is?”

You laugh and feel heat spreading to your face. You can’t believe you’re about to say this. To someone who you work with because you’ve only talked about this with people detached from your job. “No, I just...really...stupidly admire him and he...intimidates me…because I think he’s one of the most remarkable people on the planet....”

(In fact, you told your therapist the same thing two weeks ago when you saw her last. Before the whole cup debacle, you told her how you were failing at this one attempt of friendship and you were watching everything go downhill in a fiery crash.)

Penelope blinks, her mouth forming a little “o”. She tries to speak, but laughs instead. Such a delighted sound spills from her and you want to bury yourself in quicksand knowing that it will never be like the cartoons.

“Oh, that’s rather sweet.”

You rest your head on your forearms. “No, it’s anything but sweet. It’s really weird and I keep obsessing that he remembers every stupid fuck up I’ve done so I fuck up more and...Penelope, it’s freaking awful. So yeah, there you go. I admire him very much and he gives me intense anxiety.”

Penelope leans forward, her cheek resting in her palm. “I don't think I've ever heard anyone say that Reid gives them anxiety, let alone intense anxiety.”

You look at her straight in the eye. “Penelope, that man is a demigod and terrifying. Terrifying!”

She chuckles again, her eyes warm. “Sweetie, this is Spencer we’re talking about. He’s a bonafide dweeb,” she declares with mirth. “I should know. He and I are the greatest of geek buddies!” She pauses for a moment before her eyes narrow. “Hey! Why is he a demigod and I’m not a revered goddess?”

This time you laugh, a true smile digging into your cheeks. “No, no. Don’t worry, my dear. You are most def a terrifying goddess, but I happen to love you.”

Penelope stills before melting in her seat. “Oh my god, I love you too, you sweetest of sweet talkers.” She captures your hand in hers again, mischief and happiness dancing in her eyes. “But still, there’s no need to be afraid of Spencer, he’s just a dweeb.”

You focus on the texture of her skin as your heart thuds in your chest, your mouth in an awkward line.

“Sure, Penelope. Whatever you say.”

A few days pass in relative quietness as the team is away on training. You’re praying that perhaps, just this once, Doctor Reid will be able to forget everything. Just once. Just one time and you’ll go back to your normal life where you’ll continue to be awkward and weird and—well, that’s the status quo you know and you’re gonna fucking stick with it if it kills you.

Because, okay, sure. You fucked up the other day, but today is the day! And yes, the status quo is awkward and weird, but you’re such a glutton for punishment, such a person who survives on succeeding, that you go back to the drawing board and will yourself to try again.

But of course, you’re an overachiever. A frightened and terrified overachiever, but one nonetheless.

So, you do the one thing you’re elementary school teacher told you to do: you write him a letter.

A hastily written letter detailing your vague explanations for your odd behavior. Your apologies are peppered with compliments and fear sprinkling in loopy misspelled words. You write only one page length, refusing to pen a novel. Because even you have standards when it comes to desperations and it has been two years of awkward miscommunications for this to continue any longer.

You stick it under his stapler and hopes he doesn’t notice it right away when he first comes in. You’re already knee deep in updating all the property passes for cell phones right now in the department, finding your stride as you listen to movie and video game soundtrack scores.

(You read somewhere that those kind of scores are good for keeping concentration.)

Doctor Reid pauses for a moment as he settles his bag down, his ears straining to hear what you’re listening to. You can feel his curious gaze wash over you as you continue to do your work, but you lightly swallow and glance up at him.

“Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood soundtrack. It’s an anime,” you say. Your voice sounds muffled as you continue to stare at the screen.

In your perphiary, you see him nod. Someone across the room catches his attention and he leaves his desk before he even sits down.

You ignore the part of you that wants him to notice the letter. You know that if he does, then things will change and change is hard and—it’s a lot easier listening to the part of you that hopes he never finds it because things can continue as they are.

You let out a breath and answer an email instead, finding out that Kevin needs you down in counterintelligence to help one of his guys with a password issue. It will be a welcome break from the waiting.

Or dreading.

(While you’re away, Reid finally notices a note under his stapler.)

An hour later after dumb conversations, you finally wind your way back home to your desk to suffer under property passes when Doctor Reid all but slides up to you.

You yelp, placing a hand over your heart. “Oh my god, you scared me.”

His mouth is in a firm line, holding something in his hand. “Like how I scare you daily or…?”

Your eyes drift to the paper, thoroughly crinkled now after you last saw it. “I—I think the words I used were intimidating and awe inspiring. It’s truly a compliment.”

He quirks a brow, his mouth twisting more with displeasure. “A compliment? Seriously?”

You take a step back, finding air in your lungs again as you assess the situation. You’re tired of the tension that simmers between the two of you. You’re reminded of a rubber band.

You shrug, putting on false airs. “Yeah, a compliment. You make me speechless and that’s kinda remarkable.��

Doctor Reid looks down, the paper crackling in his hand. “That’s really sad.”

Your heart is beating like thunder in your chest. You’ve been avoiding this like the plague because confrontation is hard and you’re—not as amazing as you claim to be. You’re just a person.

(And so is he.)

And relief rains down over you as you feel a giggle bubble in your chest. Doctor Reid snaps his attention to you, confusion marking his features.

“Are...are you okay?”

You suck in a quick breath of air, nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I’m just—oh god, this sounds so stupid, but I feel so much better now.” You smile is wide as you look at him, your shoulders feeling less tense and the world a bit more bright. “I’m sorry for being weird, but can we start over?”

The doctor blinks and quirks his lips in a wry smile, baffled yet pleased. “Um. Sure? Like right now?”

“Yeah, like right now,” you tell him. You stick out your hand. “Nice to meet you, Doctor.”

You know he doesn’t do handshakes, it’s not his thing. Germs and whatnot, but he stares at your chipped fingernail polished hand for a moment before grasping yours. He’s warm to the touch even if his grip isn’t the strongest you’ve felt.

His smile is careful as hope digs into his dimples. “Nice to meet you.”

There’s a gentle mist outside as you leave to go home that night. Doctor Reid is not far behind you, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag as a sudden chill sinks its teeth into both of you.

A hung silence stills as you peer over at the man beside you, your body on autopilot to flee, but your heart wanting to root your feet into the ground.

“It’s scary how you don’t forget things,” you tell him honestly. You scuff your shoe on gritty concrete, the sound a clashing cymbal. “And I got really hung up on that. I’m sorry.”

Doctor Reid doesn’t say anything for a long time, the night air frizzing your hair. Your adrenaline tries spiking again, but you’re tired. You’re tired and you just to have clear air between the two of you. Forever.

His voice is gentle and just as frayed as you feel. “When I first met you, the very first time, I was the one who was awestruck and intimidated,” he chuckles. “You were this bright purple entity and you smiled at me so brightly and called me gorgeous. I was…” he pauses, “...I literally stopped thinking.”

Heat rushes to your face, a natural blush creeping under your makeup. “I agonized over that for so long, you know,” you tell him quietly. “Like I felt like such a fool because you’re truly are inspiring and well—yeah.”

It’s hard to say all the things you think about him--idealized and fictitious and real. Too real to share with a practical stranger.

(If only you realize your feelings would spiral into something more fond than admiration, perhaps you would have jumped feet first faster.)

There is a magnetism between the two of you as you stand in the quiet. An otherworldliness where hurricanes no longer exists and all the butterflies sleep. A change happening quicker than you can think.

He hums. “I think—you don’t realize that you’re scary too. You’re actually terrifying.”

You snap your attention to him and he gives you a kind grin. “What? No, I’m not!” you protest.

Doctor Reid laughs and it’s a good and pleasing sound. It lights up his whole face as he gestures towards you. “Yes, yes you are! You are so calculated and great with people. Always fashionable and you’re so intelligent. And teachable. You just...absorb information. It’s fascinating. And everyone knows that you’re an extremely hard worker and adorable overachiever.” he says with a smirk.

Your throat feels thick with all the praise. “It’s not that hard...someone has to do it...”

Doctor Reid steps in front of you and briefly touches your upper arm. “See? You don’t even realize that to someone else watching you achieve all these great things, that you’re terrifying. You have no idea how high of a standard you’ve set. You have no idea how remarkable you are. I’m truly and utterly impressed.”

The pretty hazels of his eyes have turned a warm brown in the poor lighting. You nod only once, your voice soft. “...thank you, Doctor.”

“Spencer,” he corrects. “My friends call me Spencer.”

Everything has a beginning and an end, but there’s not end in sight as you grin. “Thank you, Spencer. Truly.”

—

Condensation mists at the coffee shops window as you both step inside, unsure exactly how you got here with Spencer, but pleased all the same. Who knew that a lame letter would be catalyst you needed?

You both order your respective drinks and sit down at table towards the back, away from the chatter of college students pretending to study.

Both of you don’t know exactly what to say.

“It kinda feels like an awkward first date,” you tell him and you squash all shame that comes up from feeling stupid because you’re not stupid.

You’re not.

(You’re so intelligent.)

Doctor Reid--Spencer!--lets out a surprised laugh, almost spilling his drink on his clothes, but only getting the table. “Dear god, I hope not. I have been on a lot of those. Enough for this lifetime, that’s for sure.”

You giggle as you sip a tea latte. “Mmmm. I have only been on a handful. None recently though. I don’t date much these days.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit...difficult to date...in this line of work.”

You see him swallow and slight unease rolls off his shoulders. You think of a card you signed almost two years ago, tucked into a basket Garcia left on his doorstep after--the you know, the thing.

“Well,” you start, picking up the energy. “It doesn’t have to be! This can be--this can be, I don’t know a fun first friend date. Friend dates are kinda best dates anyway.”

“A friend date?”

You nod. “Mmmhmmm. Friends don’t let you know, just dumb ex-boyfriends who break promises about not moving to the East Coast with you,” you sing.

Spencer’s eyes widen at. “Oh?”

You laugh. “Oh no, you have to go on like--at least, three friend dates to unlock my tragic backstory. Like a dating sim. It can be a heart event!”

He takes a deep breath through his nose, trying to suppress a laugh. “You know I’m...basically a technophobe, right?”

“I might not be as techy as Penelope, but I think I have enough gadgets for the both of us. I’ll get you up to speed with my farming simulation games.”

Spencer runs a hand through his hair, this time actually laughing. “Do I really even want to know?”

You smirk and lean back in your seat. “Look, farming simulation games where I can marry a cute villager is important to me. You’re just gonna have to deal with it.”

“Because we’re gonna be friends now?”

You smile wide and pat the top of his hand. “Exactly.”

(Oh, how the future looks merry and bright.)

#Spencer Reid #spencer reid x reader #sepncer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x #spencer reid fanfiction #reader fic #drabble #oh yeah i also personally call reader sunny #here is my first cirminal minds fanfic #please enjoy????

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arcticdementor · 4 years

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The Paths Ahead

Author Sarah Hoyt gives four scenarios for the not-too-distant future:

1. “Pie in the Sky”:

In this scenario people set themselves free. At some point, they get tired of the disaster porn the media is feeding them and get out of their basements, and look around to realize that no, we’re not all dying like flies, there are no bodies on the streets, the hospitals are so far from overwhelmed that doctors and nurses are choreographing dance numbers in the hallways, all while grandma’s cancer gets worse, and mom goes without heart surgery because the government closed the hospitals, to make way for a surge of COVID-19 deaths that never happened.

Then people get angry and jam the streets and start screaming and yelling and refusing to be arrested. They, in fact, become the America Hong Kong thinks we are.

The governors, in terror, realize they’ve gone too far, and lost all plausible cover.

If this happens soon enough, it will be tight this winter, but not outright famine. If this happens soon enough, and Trump realizes it (if he has a talent, it is reading people) he puts the blame squarely where it belongs. He denounces “governing by “experts”” and does a 90 degree turn and tells us how we were fooled. And what the media and the DNC (BIRM) did to the country, all to put their spokeszombie in charge.

…

In ten years, from a happy, prosperous America starting to colonize space, we look back at this moment of utter insanity and say “yeah, but without it, the breakage of the old institutions would have been slower, more painful, and we’d have ended up in a more centralized and less free society.”

2. “It Could Be Worse”

As the lockdown extended into July in some places, and the other places were far from normal, as the obviousness mounted of shortages, and that those who had presumed to tell us what to do were not only wrong but criminally so, unrest started to happen.

The fourth of July was bad across the country, as the nation woke to what had happened in Sacramento, and there was a brief attempt to demonize “militias” which had worked so well under Clinton. But while horrified by the events shown on TV, America as a whole had listened to the media for the last time. So the attempt had the opposite effect. One on one, neighborhood by neighborhood, neighbors started talking, organizing. At least in the functional parts of the country, this resembled more a mutual aid society. “Oh, your computer needs a part my dead computer might have.” and “I see little Timmy has outgrown his shoes. Well, since they still won’t let thrift stores happen and clothing stores are having supply issues, let me see if I have a pair Billy wore only for a month before his growth spurt.”

…

As cold hits and the personnel to man power plants isn’t always available — the authorities are still being paranoid about colds and there are union rules — even those who are self-sufficient pass some very cold nights. Media’s dramatization of homeless freezing in the streets is shrugged off by a population that is scrambling for the next meal (having money doesn’t mean there’s food you can afford.) Strangely a lot of the homeless clean up. More than freeze or starve? Who knows. It’s not like the media covers those. There are also some brutal crimes, some food riots, neighborhoods perceived as “rich” under siege by those who wish to redistribute. No one knows how many. The media makes it sound like “they’re coming for you next, and you must elect socialists to save you.” The socialist rethoric is now strident. You’re fairly sure 2020 has lasted a lifetime. Your doctor is still only sporadically in, as your local government takes sudden panics over “infection.” And you know damn well that grandma wouldn’t have died of her cancer if she’d had some chemo. She was only in her early seventies, too, and you were counting on her for babysitting.

When the famine hit in the rest of the world, including parts of Europe, most people didn’t even notice. They noticed the push at the border. They noticed politicians talking about the brotherhood of man and how we should open our borders and ship all our food abroad. In a leaner — literally — and more food-anxious population this goes over like a lead balloon.

Which is probably why all hell breaks loose when the election results come in and the international socialists won.

…

They don’t recommend you teach your kids about the winter of 20-21 until they’re mature enough. They leave it to you to decide what mature enough is, but for most people it’s just before franchise. Which is now 21 in most states and restricted in the way each state decided.

…

Most states agree that you’re an adult after you served in the army or have been married for 3 years with at least one child. SSM? Well, some states allow it. Cut your cloth to fit your pattern. You might have to immigrate to another state. Yes, it’s a pain now a days. But that’s the result of sending power back to the states and disempowering the out of touch feds.

Whether the fiddly bits of the person you marry are unlike yours or not, devolving to local rule means Mrs. Grundy has a say. The Karens didn’t go away. But instead of policing you for compliance with mask policy or compliance with the latest SJW command, after the boog the Karens want you to know you should be married, faithful and living a life just like everyone else.

We never go social credit or intrusion by the state. But we find out the tyranny of our neighbors is just as strong.

Oh, the boog was brief but horrible. Between it and increasing economic disorganization, we lost more people and wealth than we could afford. The US is a young country. Neighborhoods are full of children. Most of the children are either homeschooled, or schooled in neighborhood-arranged schools so the parents can go to work. Admission to college (rare) or trade school is by merit exam. No one collects data on the race of the applicants. They seem representative of the area it’s drawn from.

But college or trade school come after the army. Mandatory for men. Voluntary for women. Strangely no one complains women aren’t given combat posts, by and large (there are exceptions. The beast is always hungry), probably because serving in the army has a real chance of dying. People joke about it, nervously, as “have two and one for the war.” Most people have more, simply because they remember the twenties and how the elderly with no support network … well, most of them didn’t starve. But it wasn’t pretty.

3. “Cry Havoc”

It was around June the rocket went up. No one was quite sure what caused it, because it didn’t happen in JUST one place, but seemed to happen everywhere in the space of a week.

…

Someday when there is enough leisure and money somewhere to study the matter, someone will discover the true, first trigger to armed insurrection.

Was it when New Jersey, for the upteenth time blocked a protest and started arresting protestors? Was it people protesting the closure of their local hospital being shot on by state guard in another state? Was it the food riots in Chicago? Or the subway riots in New York City?

Figuring it out is more complicated because the media never reported these until it was everywhere at once. People woke up one morning to find out the nearest large-ish city was burning, there were shots nearby, and large, angry mobs in the street, and your nearest highway was bound to be blocked.

They did the sane thing and hunkered down, this time for cause, turned on the TV — mostly showing governors assuring people everything was all right — and waited for things to calm down.

They didn’t.

…

We are in the tenth year of the rebellion. You’d think it would have burned out by now, but there is just enough coherence and order to keep food on the table — sort of — most places.

Yes, the US army has engaged, but no one is even sure on what side. The answer is probably “on all”. We believe they are trying, most of all, to restore peace, except there is very little left. And a conventional army always has trouble with guerilla warfare.

Ordinary Americans still live, through this. Those who can work from home, if home is in a safe place and they can find a market for their work. And you remember how you hit the net during a snow storm, to find out what streets were safe to drive on? Same thing. Only it’s with gunfire and explosions as the risk. Informal networks, both of neighborhood and on line also communicate when food is available and where. You might even be able to find your local doctor, who is often operating way outside his specialty and with no materials but is better than nothing.

The possibility of driving to the grocery store and finding yourself in the middle of a pitched battle is always there.

…

There are rumors of a force marching on Washington DC to capture it and make some sort of order. Some people say it is the US military itself. Other people… well, reports vary.

Orders are given periodically purporting to come from the government, but since everything comes through informal networks, it’s impossible to be sure. We thought they had a network just for this?

This can’t go on forever. Right now, what’s happening is people leaving places they feel are hostile to join either family or their ideological brethren. That too is an order of sorts. The population is choosing territory.

4. “The Boot”

It started with Winnie the Flu, and looking around and wondering why everyone else had gone mad. Shockingly even a lot of people who were smart and whom you’d have considered rational and freedom lovers went all in on the side of the lockdown, and swore it was all justified, even though the rules made no sense and most of them had nothing to do with disease.

…

BUT the few people who screamed about this were dismissed as “denialists.” Apparently denialists of the end of the world.

And the government band played on.

And the two weeks turned into a month and a half to three months lockdown, destroying businesses, livelihoods, lives, and disrupting many supply chains including those for food. The fact people were confined in the house, watching TV 24/7 and that TV was non stop doom porn didn’t help. It never occurred to anyone that if TV could dramatize everyone under 80 who died, it was because there were so few of them. Instead people panicked.

…

There was a “temporary” lockdown in November and in the all vote by mail the left party won a stunning victory that might or might not have more votes than logical or plausible.

But people were too scared, some of the virus, some of the already precarious conditions. Too busy trying to find food.

The unlocking in December was trusted-people first. And in the aftermath — because the virus was so bad, you see — strict tracking of every citizen was instituted. Strict social credit too.

Want to keep a blog, or talk on your phone more than peer-to-peer one person at a time? Your social credit has to be perfect.

No one knows how many people died the winter of 20/21 or how many by famine and how many by bullet. Many a hunter in the woods, accidentally uncovers a mass grave, but if he knows what’s good for him, he doesn’t talk, and when the police who track the phone he must carry later ask what he saw, if he knows what’s good for him, he saw nothing. With a few years of staying silent, he might be trusted again.

And he has to be trusted. Everyone does. Otherwise buying necessities is impossible. They’re so scarce anyway. And having a job is a privilege. Receiving your dole if you don’t work is a privilege too.

…

If you manage to kill someone important on camera, you just sealed a death warrant for everyone you know. And the viewers, if they’re smart, will forget.

Periodically, if the rulers sense something particularly unsettled, they might lock down an entire region. It’s always a “virus.”

After 2028 they stopped bothering with the elections. We don’t know why power changes sometimes, only that the new face shows up on TV and nothing changes.

But we’re living. More or less. Most people live. We’re told people abroad aren’t that lucky. of course, no one not cleared has gone abroad in a long time.

Maybe some day someone will rebel in the name of freedom again, but food is so scarce, and even talking of how things used to be will get your ration card pulled.

#sarah a hoyt #read the whole thing

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kellyannecoaching-blog · 7 years

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A LiTtLe SoMeThInG YoU DiDn’T KnOw AbOuT Me!

Hi, I’m Kelly Barhorst, and I have Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy (JME for short....also link in the name)…..this is the part where you say “Hi Kelly!”. For some of you who may or may not know what JME is, it is a form of the seizure disorder called Epilepsy that usually forms in younger children who have absence (stare off), tonic clonic (the more known), myoclonic jerk (physical twitch ) seizures. Yes I didn’t know there were different types of seizures until I experienced these myself when I was officially diagnosed at age 14…..now I am 25 (*whew* time flies when you’re getting younger) and living in the warm suns of Arizona. I recently started to feel the urge to first share my experiences of being diagnosed and growing up with this disorder on my blog for anyone interested when I talked to family members coming home. Over this past summer of 2017 I have done a lot of healing, releasing and forgiveness around my life. Enough so that I have broken down my emotional barriers to share my personal experiences to help others, which is why I have become a life coach after receiving a bachelors in Psychology in Arizona. I have reflected on being in touch with what I went through at the time my seizures started and what events took place. Being this age, I felt pretty lonely going through all of this stuff and not being understood by anyone. Mostly people meant well, but how do you wrap your minds around a seizure disorder when you’ve never lived it or cannot see the damage? STORY TIME Let’s start a bit before the “war”, in a small town in Ohio. I was a young 13 year old girl who had been experiencing some stress at home with a sickness in the family, along with having a hard time making friends at a new school. I recall sitting bed one night with my sister in her room when I felt this small nod. It was so tiny that I thought it was maybe just me being so tired. It kept happening. Eventually, within the next school year, my stress started to heighten as well as the changes in my body. It finally showed up physically as my collapsing on the floor of my sister and I’s new bathroom getting ready for school and passing out. EKG’s, blood, and other tests were ran in hopes to figure out the cause of what was going on. We got our answer not too long after I returned to school. This is what I call “D-Day” for me. I remember vividly, being in 8th grade and going to lunch. After finishing all of my food, mostly everyone had left our table to go to the gym and play while I read my favorite book at the time “Maximum Ride”. Maybe one friend had been sitting across from be doing the same thing. Reading, yes reading, must have caused something to become triggered in side because that is the last memory I have.

MY FIRST BATTLE

If I could really describe a seizure, it would be something of this nature. Going into complete darkness….as if you do not exist. Consciously, you are not there and not aware of anything or anyone. It hits instantly for me, and time stands still in this dark void of a waiting room. Something seems (from what I am told) to take hold when I start to come to, because you could ask me anything under the sun and I will answer it full and truthfully. At some point, after the glaze in my eyes disappears I am released and return to my body with a welcoming headache of a thousand hangovers. My body feels like I have just been running for the past 3 days and on the way I pumped some mad iron at the gym while slamming my head against a brick wall. If I am lucky, I come out with no scratches or bruises. But alas, I’ve had (sometimes to me comical) bruises and scratches from a big fall. It’s needless to say, a magical moment in the family or relationship, depending on who is there.

I awoke to the paramedics and my parents standing over me saying my name. I remember thinking to myself Oh no! If my parents are here….I must have done something pretty bad! “Kelly, can you hear me?”, one paramedic spoke. “Yes, what happened?”, my voice was horse for some reason. “You just had a seizure.”, I recall asking myself what a seizure was and looking it up later. Quite a smart 14 year old! But won’t lie, it was embarrassing for me at that age to of had a seizure in front of all of my classmates. Some even thought I was dying at that age, at the same time my dark humor sort of chuckles at one of my classmates running the hall screaming that “I am dying” (if she reads this I want to thank her for alerting the teachers that day). Also to the teacher who came running and flipped a table to get to me! Well, at least I didn’t get in trouble, but I still wish the two squirrels in my head started to duke it out over that nut at my house rather than in front of my whole entire class. YIKES! Needless to say, I went home early from school that day. With my extra time I remember looking up stuff about seizures, which lead me to the possibility of me having Epilepsy. My path lead me to Dayton Childrens Hospital, where I had my first EEG (fun little party of colorful wire strapped to your head with itchy glue that can give your skin reactions) and the results were more off the chart than a politician on lie detector test. My first diagnosis was based on the fact of my symptoms and the fact my EEG had been irregular. I was also met with a following of catscans and bloodwork to conclude what has started this wildfire inside my mind....conclusion....nothing...doctors do not know. It was true I had Epilepsy, but my rediagnosis came after I switched doctors and better medication, that might come with a later post. But cannot say regardless of the medical professionals I have met, each and every one taught me something different and how to become even more of my own advocate because who really knows your own body but you. Being a young tot, I was given my Keppra pills and told to be a good girl. If I took these things for the rest of my life, I’ll be ok. I wish it was so simple. Oh and by the way this disorder will never be healed and you probably will never drive (doctors words). But if you do drive, it comes with at least 3 months (6 months to a year depending where you are) seizure free (at the time impossible). Having a child might result in you giving your child the same disorder. Especially, what no doctor could understand is the side effect each medication gives you. Walking through the fog and having the feeling that every conversation is like reading one page in a book 5 times over and over again and still not getting the freaking words. People not quite getting why you talk slower when you felt like you processed everything just fine. Being underestimated when you have all the capabilities, just need a little extra time the world won’t give or why you can’t get up out of bed as fast as anyone or you’ll risk another seizure. The emotional and sometimes personality changes different medications can cause. Being taken advantage of in friendships, relationships, and not to mention working life. The fear your parents have for your future and the confusion/ frustration you have sifting through the fog that is your mind while losing yourself. People have a underlying stigma which I feel I want to mention in future blogs. I’ve spoken to many different people and told them about my life. Once you show them a face, the fear and the stigma releases. Honestly, I have many stories, but it would turn into a long long post.

Being put into this corner at times you underestimate yourself and how many options you have out there. But really if at one point thats all you hear, why not believe it. I didn’t know until I and my family reached out to others who had gone through the same or similar things. I am grateful to my family reaching out to the people they did in my time of need. It was a confusing time especially through my teens at first with my having multiple seizures and a doctor that was hard to reach. It can be hard and at times lonely being: 1) a child with a disorder 2) a parent having a child with a disorder and doing your best

Becoming aware of diets like the Modified Atkins diet (if you have seizure, I suggest you look it up) is what started changing the chemistry in my brain. Along with going to a new doctor at the Mayo Clinic and becoming of all the other options as a adult and changing my medications to my needs. I personally drive right now, work through my own business, and strive to soon live on my own. It is possible, I have had my ups and downs where I have been set back with a seizure, but independence is possible. Maybe you’ll turn out more normal than me! But then again, who wants to be normal these days? =)

If you’re someone who has Epilepsy or knows of someone who has seizures please feel free to share. I understand what it is like to feel with Epilepsy not being as well known as it should. Becoming your own advocate and bringing light to the darkness of seizures is the best we can do. I’ve personally done this through my life coaching and my humor, because if you can’t laugh through the pain then you sink into it. WHAT I’VE LEARNED These are things I have healed from, and have learned deep lessons over time that I want to bring to people. Taking the time to reflect and realizing what I have learned and blessing the broken road makes it all worth it. I have learned a deep sense of patience and can listen to those who tend to not be heard. I tend to listen to my body way better over the years and have slowly gotten better at self love. Things like this always happen for a reason! I am perfectly imperfect as a result of it, so it is ok if I can’t get something right at first. The important part is that I have tried! I have learned if one thing doesn’t work, look elsewhere or outside the box and try everything! Take your time if needed, if someone is pushing you, they aren’t worth your time. Be grateful for what you have, not linger in what was loss. As a result the wounds, the scars, have made me a bad ass warrior along my journey to tell you the tale so far. I guess that kind of makes me cool!

If you’ve made it to this point I’d like to thank you for reading! And you’re awesome! If you liked this post feel free to look at my others and follow! https://kellyannecoaching.tumblr.com/post/165057903451/removing-the-mask

#epilepsywarrior #what its like #seizures #positive #epilepsyawareness #seizures motivation life coach

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junker-town · 7 years

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U.S. Open 2017: 10 things watch for at Erin Hills

The U.S. Open can be golf’s most entertaining mess. Here are 10 things (and players) to watch for going into the 117th edition at Erin Hills.

Although the host USGA is trying to get away from it, for years the U.S. Open has marketed itself as “the toughest test in golf.” Whether your love it or hate it, it’s unique and has its own strong to quite strong identity. There will be frustration, yelling, anger, absurd drives, exquisite shots, and a major champion. Here are 10 things to watch and know for this week’s 117th edition at Erin Hills in Wisconsin.

Mad About Grass

The always entertaining wall-to-wall coverage of some course feature or controversy has centered around the high fescue grasses of Erin Hills this week. We always get something every U.S. Open, whether it’s the debate over “native sandy areas” at Pinehurst, wrecked greens at Chambers Bay, and now this in Wisconsin. It’s hilarious to watch, if you just keep a little perspective.

Kevin Na, of all people, ignited this year’s controversy on Sunday, when he posted an Instagram video ranting (maybe half-jokingly) about how thick the fescue was just off the fairways here.

Erin Hills is a great design course but the fescue is almost unplayable. BTW never found the ball. So don't hit it in there lol. straight hitters have a chance! #usopen #erinhills #mikedavis #lostball #usga

A post shared by Kevin Na (@kevinna915) on Jun 11, 2017 at 10:24am PDT

There’s fescue at British Opens and other American venues, but what made this different was how dense it was just off the fairway. It was basically a hazard — you’d struggle to find your ball and if you did, you might not be able to hit it more than a couple feet. The best case scenario was a hack out into the fairway maybe 40 yards or so. There was also the legitimate problem of the fescue being the most dense just off the fairway and thinner farther off of it — rewarding those who actually hit a worse shot that was more off line and into the thinner stuff.

So this grass became the talk of the championship and the USGA made it even more of a drama on Tuesday when they just started removing huge chunks of it while players were out practicing. It looked like a pretty significant alteration just 36 hours before the championship started.

They've listened to the complaints and chopping down the rough on the 4th. Make room in the compost bin #USOpen http://pic.twitter.com/XLwPaNsifp

— Iain Carter (@iaincartergolf) June 13, 2017

The USGA was adamant that this was part of a “prescribed plan” of maintenance and not some reaction to Na and other players saying it was too much. They cited heavy rains early in the week making it “lay down” and become even more dense.

So that led to a reaction to the reaction, with Rory McIlroy being the most vocal. Rory’s biggest issue was that these are the widest fairways — 60 yards in many spots — in the history of the U.S. Open and if you can't hit them, maybe you deserve to lose your ball or go into that stuff. And if you’re mad about it, you should go home.

In the end, the USGA removed chunks of the fescue and mowed it back on four holes. But the move looked panicky so close to the start of the major and that combined with player social media complaints to give us a big ol’ grass controversy that sucked up all the oxygen of the practice round days.

So be on the lookout for players trying to play out of that stuff and hollering about it when they do.

Air Phil 1

Unfortunately, it looks like Phil Mickelson is not going to make it to the U.S. Open. Phil said he needed a four-hour delay on Thursday in order to get from his daughter’s high school graduation to Wisconsin before his tee time. Thursday looks like the only definitively clear weather day, with a 0 percent chance of rain until late afternoon. So Phil will not even board his private jet to try and make the mad dash to Erin Hills, which is a real shame -- tracking Air Phil 1 all Thursday was going to be so much fun.

Here's how Phil is going to slide into Erin Hills next week. http://pic.twitter.com/rNOb1b5Hs9

— Kyle Porter (@KylePorterCBS) June 11, 2017

Phil’s unlikely arrival means this will be the first major without Mickelson or Tiger Woods since the 1994 Masters. We’ve accepted this “young” crop of superstars — Rory, Spieth, DJ, Day, Rickie, Hideki — as the changing of the guard awhile ago. But that’s a narrative you’re going to get this week with Tiger and Phil officially off the premises.

Pace and Space

The fescue may be a cause of what will become interminably long rounds. When players hit into it, it’s going to take time to find the ball or they will exhaust the allotted time they’re allowed to look before giving up and having to play another one. And if they do find it, they’re not going to advance it far and we’re going to be adding shots and adding time. This is also a course meant to be played in the wind, and if it’s up and blowing the way the USGA didn’t expect, then that’s going to add a ton of time too.

But that’s just a part of what will make these long rounds. A U.S. Open is always slow and deliberate -- it’s the “toughest test” for a reason and players always take an extra mental beat before playing a shot. This Erin Hills property, however, is going to make the physical challenge a demand too and probably have everyone moving a little slower.

Players on the ground are saying this may be the longest and most demanding walk they’ve had at a U.S. Open. Kevin Van Valkenburg of ESPN called the place “too big” on Wednesday.

My initial take on Erin Hills: Too much. Too big. 650 acres is an insane piece or property. Will be like walking 24 holes each round.

— Kevin Van Valkenburg (@KVanValkenburg) June 14, 2017

The biggest issue is the walk from green to tee, some of which are 200 yards. The course is extremely hilly and about an 8.5 to 9 mile walk -- an average pro round is usually in the 6 mile range. Justin Thomas measured that he took almost 20,000 steps during one of his practice rounds.

Now, you might scoff at theses millionaires having to walk a bit more and that’s fine. But play a U.S. Open at the same time in June heat and the 9-mile walk becomes a little different. And it’s going to slow things down — the USGA is allotting 4 hours and 52 minutes for threesomes the first two days. If that’s what they’re hoping for, expect rounds well in excess of five hours.

Rahmbo

A trendy pick to win this week is Jon Rahm. While he might not be the most mainstream name, it’s not exactly a longshot. The 22-year-old is likely the next superstar in golf and absolutely has a major in his future, and real soon. This time last year, he was winning low amateur honors at Oakmont. Now as a pro, he’s already worked his way into the top 10 in the world rankings, which is an astoundingly fast rise.

Rahm has the full 14-club game, but he’s been strongest tee-to-green this year. He’s second on Tour in strokes gained: tee-to-green, third in SG off-the-tee and second in SG total. Rahm is a world-class player and a big personality too. One of those facts you’ll hear every single broadcast to fill up the profile will be that the Spaniard learned English at Arizona State by listening to rap records.

So familiarize yourself with Jon Rahm. This venue sets up well for him and he’s a talent that will soon, if not already, be joining the cadre of DJ, Spieth, Rory, Day, and other more recognizable superstar names.

“Kettle Moraine”

The U.S. Open always bashes us over the head with some new word or term of art that we hear all week during the wall-to-wall coverage. Expect to hear a lot over these next four days about the Kettle Moraine, the geological name for this land formed by the collision of two glaciers. The “natural land movement” (another term you’re hearing a lot) is spectacular and should provide the players with lots of sloping and uneven lies, a different kind of test that maybe the modern player is not used to so much. The course architects hardly moved any dirt and relied on this natural topography. It’s visually stunning when a camera is able to capture the rolling terrain, which also apparently occurs within bunkers too.

So if you want to sound informed, or like an enormous dork, throw Kettle Moraine out there when watching with friends this week.

Is Rory ready?

This is Rory McIlroy’s best chance for a U.S. Open win since his 2011 runaway at Congressional. It’s all right there for him. It’s a long course, but wide enough to let him use the biggest weapon in his bag, the driver, as much as you’ll ever see at a U.S. Open. The rains that have pounded Erin Hills during practice days also play right into his hands. He admitted as much, saying he definitely wasn’t crying when he saw storms roll in on Monday. He’s also been adamant that he “loves” the course, which is usually half the battle at a U.S. Open, where players often psych themselves out of the tournament before they ever hit a competitive shot.

A long, soft course is where McIlroy thrives, hitting the high ball and making it stick right on top of the flag. Those were the exact conditions that led to his dominant 2011 U.S. Open win, which set records.

So he loves the course, the conditions are perfect, and the setup gives his biggest “skill,” as he will remind you is the word to describe his driving power, a huge advantage. What could go wrong? We’ve not seen much of Rory this year, and when we have, he’s been aggravating a rib injury that’s bothered him since January. He’s played just once since the Masters and in that event, The Players, he told us immediately he was having a back problem. Some argued he should have withdrawn but McIlroy played through all four rounds, got a scan, and then skipped every tournament between then and this week.

His former Ryder Cup captain and Irish friend, Paul McGinley, says he’s too rusty and not healthy enough to win this week. Rory insists there are no limitations on his swing. Given how the setup plays into his strengths, and the fact that we’re already without Phil and Tiger, here’s hoping Rory is full-go over four days at Erin Hills.

Rules drama

I want more rules drama. I need more rules drama.

The talking point coming into the championship was that the USGA needs a “clean week” after the mess of the prior two years. Chambers Bay had “broccoli” greens that they made almost unplayable and Oakmont’s final round became a circus when we didn’t know what Dustin Johnson’s actual score was and if he’d been assessed a penalty.

The USGA is the keeper of the rulebook in golf, and yet last summer they tripped over themselves multiple times in figuring out how to assess penalties in high profile moments. This year, they announced a change in how they set up their rules folks, with each group no longer getting a walking rules official for all 18 holes. Instead, an official is assigned a stationary spot on the course and responsible for a couple holes that he or she can hopefully master.

But that doesn’t mean there won’t be controversies or contentiousness. It’s never fun for the USGA or the players, but for everyone watching from afar, it’s always entertaining. Remember Twitter last year when DJ played the back nine not knowing his actual score? We need some rules drama.

A DJ Defense

Ben Hogan and Curtis Strange are the only players in history to go back-to-back at the U.S. Open. For many of the same reasons noted above with Rory, this course is a perfect setup for Dustin Johnson to join that exclusive club. And it’s not like he’s receded since he won at Oakmont a year ago -- he’s only gotten better. This will be his first major as world No. 1 after an unfortunate tumble at the Masters took him out of a tournament where he was the heavy favorite and gunning for his third straight win.

Going back-to-back is really hard, but DJ’s the favorite this week again for a reason and it would not be a surprise at all to see him holding the trophy again on Sunday.

The Players v. The USGA

No championship is more tense than the U.S. Open. The players simply don’t like the host organization and are now going on the record about it often. Just on Wednesday, Brendan Steele threw out this subtle jab to Golf Channel’s Ryan Lavner.

Not so at the U.S. Open, which is always rife with controversy and vitriol.

“And usually for good reason,” Brendan Steele said. “The USGA makes a lot of mistakes.”

During last year’s rules mess, Rory called the USGA “amateur hour,” Jordan Spieth said it was a joke, Rickie Fowler tagged them using words like “ridiculous” and “laughable.” That memorable screw-up just seemed to bring out what had been a quiet and seething player distaste for the USGA.

It’s a mix of factors — the tricks they’ve played with course setup, rules issues, perhaps money, as Geoff Shackelford noted on his podcast this week that players are mad not enough of the billion dollar deal between FOX and the USGA is coming their way.

At the start of the month, Adam Scott was happy to take a shot and we weren’t even at Erin Hills yet. “If their major pinnacle event for them requires courses to be the way they are then it doesn’t set a good example for every other bit of golf that they try to promote.”

This is a much more public spat now and one the USGA reportedly is trying to quell with better communication. But it’s juicy fun for us and absolutely something to watch for all week at Erin Hills. The USGA will take some body blows.

Tracer Time

The U.S. Open has become the Super Bowl of ProTracer, that shot tracking technology that everyone loves and has changed golf coverage. FOX’s Shane Bacon likened it to the first-down line in football. But the cost and nature of a golf broadcast spread out over 18 holes has made it hard to have ubiquitous tracer, which is what the people often want and demand.

FOX will have either ProTracer or their own tracking technology (the side-by-side screen with the live-arc of a shot from an overheard map of the hole) on all 18 holes. They also get tracer out there in the fairway for approach shots too.

"Shot of his life." #USOpen https://t.co/tuQqgun5d1

— U.S. Open (USGA) (@usopengolf) June 20, 2016

FOX is not out on the PGA Tour each week like -- this is their one big golf event and they pour everything they have into it.

The coverage was a mess in their first year at Chambers Bay, but the problems seemed correctable and and big pile of smaller issues (except for one big Shark). Oakmont was a massive improvement and this year should be even crisper. I can’t wait to watch hours and hours of it over the next four days.

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