#my mom tends to forget I have a job other than having my life revolve around taking care of her

[heartshattering]

Still like an hour until I can go sleep. My mom is getting transported to the hospital (Dad is accompanying her this time since he's off work so I'm staying and watching the house) but she's still being so demanding and distracting. Literally yelling like a child at both me and my dad. And finding random things to get mad over because she is just sitting around waiting to get picked up with nothing better to do in the meantime. Maybe it's just my bad quality sleep getting to me 'cause I haven't been sleeping 'naturally' but God she always gets so annoying before going to the hospital, she was like this the last time too. I'm just so tired and not feeling my best right now over a lot of things. The house needs to be empty so I can be able to go the fuck to sleep already and give my brain a break.

[coffeeleans]

July 29, 2020. 5:35 AM.

This is the first time I’m writing something or anything again and I haven’t slept a wink... I don’t know if any of this will make sense or what I’m even trying to write. Anyway, I take a deep breath while listening to Stray Kids’ Neverending Story and these thoughts came flooding in.

Neverending Story is like my comfort song for this year along with The Cab’s Angel with a Shotgun. I realized that a lot has happened these past few months and I know that there’s more that are yet to come. I thought about how January was a time of moving on, it was a month that I told myself I’ll walk my path, I’ll look for a job hence, my first job interview. Jea and I decided not to take it, believing that there’s an opportunity that’s better for us. Looking back now, I think I should have grabbed it even just as an experience. My virgo ex and I threw hateful words and exchanged resentment only to find out that we still love each other, that we still want to try again. At the end of that month, I gave her another “yes.”

On the month of February, I went to Seoul, South Korea and experienced my first winter. I remember how cold it was for my then skinny self, only weighing 38 kg. I remember taking banana milk for breakfast and how their non-spicy chicken’s still a tad bit spicy. I remember missing a video call with my then-girlfriend and being grumpy about it. I remember visiting several companies, waiting fruitlessly in front of SM Entertainment. I remember taking photos of this certain place that shines the brightest but still feeling lonely and empty. I remember the alternate extreme hot and cold of the shower. I remember smiling and laughing a lot there, I remember promising to myself that I will visit Everland again with the love of my life (or maybe with one of my best friends). It was also a month where my then-girlfriend proposed to me in an international roleplay agency. Before February ends, I met Kleist.

On March, things started to get fucked up. My then-girlfriend and I decided to call it off. We were suddenly a hopeless case. I spent nights crying alone, not being able to confide on anyone but Kleist. I remember cheering her on for a game that’s stressing her only to be forgotten when the event was over. A week after that, I started visiting Cubao Expo three to four times a week with Kleist, just drinking about two to three bottles of an over-priced Smirnoff. I remember getting home late. I remember random Mcdonald’s and Burger King orders with Jea and just snacking our lonely hearts away. I remember hugging Jea when she cried about Ichi leaving her just because I was back in her life (I still feel pretty bad about it). I remember Kleist crying during our first (and last) Karaoke Session with Kana. I remember Kana telling me I feel “warm.” Half-way before March ends, I decided to go on a journey back in Bataan, my healing place. There, I was met with a four-month long lockdown. At the end of March, I lost Kleist... she couldn’t accept a part of me that I also hate. I tried to apologize after a while but the damage’s done and it’s best for us to move forward. However, I’m still thankful that she was my saving grace on all those dark days.

April, the best month to visit Amsterdam for the prettiest tulips. At the very last day of it, I met Lucho. He was amazing, he made me feel all the things I have lost. He made me feel things I felt like I have long forgotten. He made me see that I can still be me and I’m still capable of feeling something. I was really glad and thankful. Our relationship lasted until half of June, I think? Then it became a push and pull relationship of wanting to hold on and letting go. But being in Bataan, I was safe. My heart could hurt but I have my saviors; Gizel, Gillian, Kenshin, and Gabby. Taking care of them and playing with them was my best relief (also drinking alcohol every two weeks). I’m thankful to my mom and dad who funded me for this healing trip/lockdown. Anyway, Lucho or Dani and I ended whatever we have before it started to bloom. Unfortunately, we’re not able to see whether we’ll bloom as pretty as the tulips. I had to block her after her birthday. Somewhere in between, I had to cut Kyla off. She was no longer good for my mental health and she’s doing more harm than good.

July 7, it was the night I step foot again on my own home. At first, it did felt strange with the new stuff, new setting, new everything... even with my siblings being extra affectionate and careful. With my aunts missing me and asking if I had been well. Pointing out that I got prettier with the extra weight. Getting back here, I decided to take another step and make a path for myself. I rearranged my room, cleaned it and put up new stuff, threw old ones, and donate old clothes. To this day, I’m maintaing a really close relationship with my friends; Gizel, Mariz, Jea, Keon, Yuki, Sie, Sam, Pau, Honey, Kazue, Mauie, Therese and more. I’ve met a lot of new people for this short time... I know what we have may also be short-lived. I know that the world’s constantly revolving and that, the people we are close with may not be here tomorrow. That that stranger who you thought will never touch your life will crash through that door and be persistent of not leaving.

Before, I thought that I couldn’t live without a significant other that I should mend. I thought it’s my duty to help people. I thought that if I see everyone happy, I would be too. While that could be true, I think I somehow forgot to tend to my own needs, I forgot to protect and take care of myself all this while that I became empty, detached, emotionless, and out of this world— I was lost. I was constantly drowning even if I tried to keep on swimming. I wasn’t anything but the hole in my chest. I couldn’t care less if I jump off from the roof of our house and kill myself.

But this rough patch, this deep and cold underwater setting... it made me see that there’s something worth living for. I had to let go of the people I never want to let go, I had to restart a relationship I just want to continue. But the world didn’t allow it and I resisted... I resisted so much and begged for the world until my knees were bleeding and was cut off. But one day, several hands have helped me stood up and became my own pair of legs. The relationships that I started to forget because of chasing the wrong relationships are the ones that saved me. Whenever I think about the people who are currently in my life, I feel this wave of warmth and contenment... I couldn’t ask for more. I don’t need a significant other, I just need myself and these people that I ‘am sure of. I think I can picture myself smiling genuinely again. I can’t be how I was, I can’t bring back the old me no matter how much I want to... but if I go on, if I keep on having the courage to take care of myself and these people, then all is well and all is worth it. Maybe I can be just a new me.

With the politics and pandemic completely fucking us up, I think it was also a time that I healed... even just a bit. All of these could be short-lived but these are the days I will always remember. I was able to love genuinely and pray for the people I love the most. My heart is so happy that I could die right now and not regret anything. It was a really rough run, my heart’s hurting for both the good and the bad but I will live on. If the Kei of months or years from now feels lost again, I hope she can look back to this and remember how warm she felt while writing (or typing) this. You were alive, Kei. You met people with good hearts and one day you will meet more. It’s okay to get tired once in a while but don’t forget these days, people, and moments that made you feel alive. You were alive. You burned. You were here. You could be again.

Amidst of all the rough voices, of all the nights I cried and prayed through the darkness and coldness... Han Jisung, you’re a voice that gave me hope. An existence that made me believe. A presence that encouraged me. One of the billions of people that reminds me how beautiful it is to be alive. You’re a kind of love that I will look back to and smile at.

Here’s to our story that won’t end.

The people that left, the people that stayed. The situations the broke me, the situations that fixed me. The people who made it dim and the people who brought light to it. The hands that chose to let go and the hands that chose to hold on. The days I laughed and the nights that I cried.

I was alive.

Farther than tomorrow, longer than forever... I love you.

PS. These are just highlights and ones I remember after staring at the ceiling, when my 4AM talks with Keon and Ace ended.

- 6:19 AM -

[awed-frog]

When you say romance should be 18 and over do you mean the brand of romance we know today (aka toxic) or romance as a whole? If we wrote healthy romance aimed at younger crowds or presented unhealthy behaviour as unhealthy behaviour in regular romance (for older crowds) would that be a good solution?

Well - I see three questions here, all of them incredibly complex and beyond interesting: should art be political and is censorship ever a good idea and also is the romance genre okay? The answer to all of them, in my opinion, is ‘no but’.

1) Should art be political?

The stupid thing is, art is inherently political, whether you want it to or not, but art that’s deliberately political tends to be awful, and that’s a universal truth both for left-wing stuff and for right-wing stuff. When you willingly create political stuff, what you’re crafting is propaganda, and proganda is generally sad and bad. I guess there is propaganda that’s also good art - Victor Hugo’s The Man Who Laughs comes to mind - but the problem is, not all of us are Victor Hugo. 

That said, since whatever we create is political (because man is a social animal) and will have some kind of moral message, yes - ideally we want more art with an ethically ‘good’ moral message than we want garbage, because art (and here I include everything: books, movies and so on) is perhaps the most effective and impactful mind-shaper ever. That’s why Disney is doing its very best to be a monopoly, after all. But: I don’t have a good solution for how to ensure art is nice. I think art is nice when artists are nice, and artists are nice when they grow up in good, healthy societies. So the more a society rots from the inside out, the more likely it is you’ll find art that’s also rotten. I mean, while romance as a genre was always a bit dodgy (see below), what that article was talking about - the rise of the possessive, violent boyfriend and domestic abuse as the great love story - is sort of a recent phenomenon, and goes hand in hand with the deterioration of women’s rights in (Western) society. 

(As an aside, I’m not sure I agree (young) women are necessarily misogynistic for reading crap like Fiftfy Shades: I think (young) women are exhausted. Fifty Shades is, more than anything, an ode to undeserved capitalism - the only kind that seems open as an option today. After all, we know trickle-down capitalism doesn’t work and most of us will toil and toil for very little; Christian Grey is the antidote to that, the guy who shows up, basically kidnaps you, and smothers you in a life of riches for which the only thing you must do in return is give up. Having someone else decide on your job, your car, your possessions and clothes, where you’ll live, what you’ll eat and when, whether you’ll take birth control (lol: obviously not), when you’ll see your friends and family plus when and how you’ll orgasm - what women tried to escape for generations is suddenly the dream for many of us - not because of any new political ideology, but because we’re beyond tired. Women, like men, are now crushed in a neverending cycle of bs, underpaid jobs, and are apparently fed up enough in taking responsibility for anything that not only romance and ‘superhuman’ characters are booming, but a very specific kind of subset of that: essentially, slave fics. 

Just give up your agency, and you’ll be taken care of and cherished - forever.

I understand a kink is not the same as your actual political opinion, but still - I’m not enthusiastic about this trend, and I’m even less enthusiastic when it gobbles up young women who haven’t had time to experience real life relationships.)

No, I think that in the end, the answer is - if you reverse the rotting of society, automatically - statistically - you’ll get healthier artists and a healthier audience. So, really, the fight is always the same: better paid jobs, better (and free) schools, more opportunities for continued education of any kind, more democracy and transparency, more green spaces and better living conditions.

2) Is censorship ever a good idea?

Sadly, no. You’d think the logical conclusion of what I just said would be, ‘In the meantime, let’s ban the most dangerous stuff’ or something, and while part of me is tempted to support that, censorship has a way of ending very badly no matter how good and noble your intentions are.

(Self-censorship should be more of a thing, though: not everything that goes through our minds deserves to be seen and shared.)

What sucks at the moment is that on the one hand, capitalism is operating its own censorship; and on the other, its desperate search for new markets has led to a disastrous disintegration of actual human interactions.

So, problem one is that we only publish and market what makes a lot of money, and while that’s normal, to an extent, the result today is that everything is ‘almost the same’ as the previous thing (think sequels, prequels, remakes, obnoxious book covers for books that are basically all the same). So if ‘asshole boyfriend who beats you up’ suddenly makes money, it becomes very hard to escape the trope, because what will be offered to you everywhere is exactly that. This was less of a thing back when our main sources of entertainment were shared (movie theaters, the one family TV, school libraries and so on); now, it’s an epidemic, and as we see with Youtube algorithms, a dangerous one, because this obsession with watching and rewatching ‘almost the same’ inevitably leads to more and more extreme stuff.

Meanwhile, problem two is that the more tailor-made our entertainment is, the less we connect to real people. I know I sound about 90 here, but when all family members are glued to a different screen - mom watching the 50th remake of Eat, Pray, Love, dad down the rabbithole of lizard conspiracy theories, big brother now exploring some milk&peanut butter weirdness on Youporn and younger sister 30 fics deep into Stucky high school AUs - what do they have in common? What do they talk about? What can they even learn from each other? Until recently, and for aeons, fiction was shared, and its primary goal was to form a connection between group members. Now, that’s gone. We destroyed it, without even realizing what we were doing, in the space of twenty years. And yeah - I know you can create new communities, but a) these communities are virtual (which means, for the most part: not real) and b) they tend to connect like with like, which is comforting, perhaps, but not very useful. The whole point here is that we need to learn how to feel empathy and trust for those who’re different, and build a community with them - instead, what the internet is doing is isolating us inside our little bubbles, so much so that any minor disagreement is now seen as good reason to break off contact.

Censorship, however, doesn’t solve any of this. For starters, we need more regulation on how big corporations can get, what social media companies can and can’t do and who can access what kind of material. And it’d be great if we could all unplug a little, but uh - fat chance of that.

3) Is the romance genre okay?

Again, just my opinion, but personally, I mistrust it. There are no romance books for men? Instead, books for men feature a Main Character doing stuff and improving himself while accidentally meeting a Sexy Lamp he can go home to at the end of the story. And, well, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but isn’t this a healthier way to look at life? While good relationships are very meaningful (or even the most meaningful) part of any human life, if your goal is to get them, they won’t grow right. You shouldn’t be hyperfocused on finding love; I think it’s much better to be like Main Character: you work on your drawing skills, try a new sport, read poetry, defeat evil Russians, thus developing inner happiness and self-confidence, thus leading you towards towards a partner who’ll fall in love with who you are - not a partner who was looking for some empty shell to fill with their own expectations and preferences.

And I know - romance books and movies are full of exciting non-romantic events and stuff - but still, the fact they’re classified and intended as romance does imply that finding a romantic partner is the ultimate goal. Which, I don’t know, I don’t think it’s healthy, and is a particularly inappropriate message for young women. After all, why is it okay that young men are encouraged to go on ghost hunts, study dinosaurs and save the world while young women are taught to wait around for a broken (possibly violent, but it’s not his fault) bad boy only they can fix? It’s messed up, is what it is, and I may be extreme here, but even the tamest, sweetest romance revolves around the same message: that you’re not complete on your own, and that you should focus on relationships as a way to become a better, happier human being. 

Now, as much as I love this quote -

“It is what you read when you don't have to that determines what you will be when you can't help it.” — Oscar Wilde

- obviously there’s no direct cause-and-effect here - you don’t read one book and become a mindless Stepford wife - so I’m not saying, ‘no one should read romance ever’. It’s just - as I said in that other post, we should all enjoy diverse stuff. Read your romance novels, but also read the classics, read some philosophy, a random poem, a badly-written thriller - read Stephen King, read how the OED was written, or a Wikipedia article on the French resistance - anything and everything. Because of capitalism, because of this push towards personalized entertainment, we’re being forced and pigeonholing ourselves in smaller and smaller cages, and the worst thing is - we’re comfortable inside them, because this is the awful truth: cages are comfortable, and that’s why we need to get out before we forget what cages are for.

[As a final point: you say ‘if we wrote’, does it mean you’re an aspiring writer? If so, you shouldn’t worry about any of this. You write what you want, you write the stories you want to read. Just remember to get out of your cage as well - experience, discover, grow, read, dare - and then put all that into your books. I’m sure they’ll be great, whatever your favourite genre.]

[aplaceforthesoul]

Anonymous submitted:

Hi 21/f (for tash pls)

I’ve messaged a few times and you guys have always been super helpful and I really appreciate all the help you have given me over the years.

Back in November of 2016 my gf and I broke up, we broke up because she had commitment issues and I was truly devastated. I cried for days and I’ve only just recently been able to get somewhat over her (I fully believe I was/am in love with her). When we broke up she had mentioned that we could always try to date again at some point in the future (as i write this i feel like i talked to you guys about this before so i apologize if you recall any of this and this is just a repeat, but i also have new stuff) and at some point last year i asked her out right if she ever saw us getting back together bc i didnt wanna hold out hope that we’d ever get back together if there wasnt a chance. She told me no she didnt see that happening and again i was truly devastated. Also when we broke up we said we’d still be friends bc we were really really close when we started dating, well thats not really the case? shes honestly been super distant and i know she has a life and it doesnt revolve around me but she tends to not answer me and give me one worded answers. I’ve tried talking to her about it before and voiced my concerns with her and she always just tells me shes super busy and she forgets to answer and i know that really does happen but sometimes it feels like its just all the time. I may just be overreacting to that part but its frustrating that i never seem to get any other answer out of her. Like there will be times that i feel super excited for something and shell just respond with something like “oh cool!” and then i feel dumb for trying to be so excited about it and then we dont talk for hours. the only other issue i have is she started dating someone just a few months after we broke up and didnt tell me which i can undertstand bc she knew how upset i was at our break up but just a month or so ago they broke up and now shes dating someone new again and she still didnt tell me and i dont understand why. i will admit im a little jealous at how shes dating someone new but im also really upset at the fact she didnt tell me about it again. I just miss her a lot and i wanna be her friend and be in her life but it seems like she doesnt want me in hers.

another issue im having is i really feel just alone, like i dont have anyone. i mean theres a couple people at work that i talk to a lot while im at work but we tend to not talk outside of work and ive tried innitiating conversations with them and they fall flat and they dont seem interested. i just feel like i dont have anyone who truly cares about me and ontop of both of these issues i feel like a complete failure. im not going to school and my mom has kinda been on my butt about it lately and ive been passed up 4 times for a promotion and everyone around me is trying to figure out why and even i cant figure out why. and my general manger wont tell me why he wont promote me and i just feel like a giant failure and that im not good enough for anything.

this was a fairly long submission and im sorry. thank u for taking the time to respond tho

it sounds a little like your ex girlfriend said to continue staying friend because she didn’t want to hurt you ): unfortunately though most break-ups aren’t mutual, and staying friends with an ex partner doesn’t work. 

all your feelings right now? they’re 100% valid!! like I’d feel shitty and upset if someone I thought wanted me in their life made me feel weird for getting excited over something, I’d feel upset if someone I thought wanted to be friends with me just wasn’t making any effort to show they cared. 

this isn’t going to be easy to read? but I feel like your ex said she wanted to be friends after the breakup because she didn’t want to hurt you (and not because she genuinely wanted to be friends), she’s now changed her mind and doesn’t know how to say that now. actions speak louder than words! ): and none of her actions show love or care or a desire to have you in her life. 

this isn’t a criticism at all, just an observation? but you talked about being lonely and feeling isolated and like a failure, it might be making you a little more sensitive to your ex girlfriend’s actions than you normally would be. like -- you feel lonely, you miss your ex, she acts in a way that makes you feel even more isolated and alone, it intensifies your desire to hang onto the ex and the negative cycle continues. 

my best advice? ditch the ex, let her go. I don’t think she’s deliberately trying to hurt you or be mean? but right now it’s not a healthy friendship to have. make it a goal to spread out your friendship groups a bit, make the most of opportunities to meet new people where you can. maybe use tinder to go on a few fun dates haha, download the hey!vina app if you want, maybe check out meetup.com and see if you can find a group of like-minded people? there’s an app that I use in london called fever that lets you know all about events and activities happening in your local area?! it works in a few other major international cities too -- if you don’t live in those cities then it might not be super helpful haha, but maybe your city has something similar? there’s also an app called ‘Wingit’ which operates in london, cities around europe and the US, it’s an app like fever but could be more useful if fever doesn’t work in your city? worth asking around! anything to get you mixing with new people while doing something fun at the same time (:

you’re not a complete failure, at all. promise <3 if you’ve directly asked your general manger about not being promoted and he won’t explain why? then maybe it’s time to look for a new job (: there’s not much point in staying in a workplace where you don’t feel valued or respected as a member of staff.

things aren’t going to magically improve overnight? but ditch the ex, work on branching out and meeting new people and making some new friends, make time for self care and looking after you. try to get straight direct answers from your manager about not being promoted, see what he says, ask what you can work on to improve, look at finding a new job if you just don’t feel valued or appreciated at work. good luck xxxx

- tash

[shaizstern]

Article from NYT: Avoid Burnout Before You’re Already Burned Out

You don’t have to be ready to throw in the towel to improve things at work. These small changes can go a long way.

Credit...Fran Caballero

By Elizabeth Grace Saunders

According to the World Health Organization, burnout is a workplace issue.

But just because burnout can happen at work or because of work, doesn’t mean how you use your time outside of work can’t help prevent it. As a time management coach, I’ve seen that at the core, burnout prevention is about living out what is true about your body, your personality and your reality. You don’t need a dream job. But in your overall life, you do need to find time to take care of your health, do things you find refreshing and have a sense of purpose. The closer you are to living your truth, the less likely you are to burnout.

I can’t guarantee that if you follow these simple strategies that you will never experience burnout. I can guarantee, however, that you’ll significantly reduce the likelihood of it, and that you’ll get back to work more quickly after taking a break if you reach a burnout state.

Your body

Your body is designed to repair and restore itself. So when you’re feeling the impact of burnout — ongoing exhaustion, detachment from your job and perhaps even weight gain and illness from stress — it’s a sign that the demands on your body exceed its ability to keep up. Giving your body what it needs is the foundation of burnout prevention. You can help reduce the energy depletion associated with burnout and facilitate restoration by prioritizing three universal core needs: sleeping, eating and moving.

Sleep serves many purposes, including regulating our mood, clearing waste from our brain and re-energizing our cells. That’s why not getting enough sleep is one of the main risk factors for developing burnout, and improving sleep quality can help individuals with even a clinical burnout problem recover enough to return to work.

First, you should know how much sleep you need. The National Sleep Foundation recommends between seven to nine hours of sleep for most adults, but that could mean as little as six hours to as much as 10 depending on your needs. The goal is to get to the point where you feel alert most of the day. And as a bonus, you’ll likely feel happier too, which can reduce your chance of the cynicism associated with burnout.

Getting more sleep is pretty basic math: You can either go to bed earlier, get up later or do both. If you tend to lose track of time, set an alarm to remind yourself to turn off electronic devices and wind down at least 30 minutes before your bed time. In that moment, you’ll likely feel tempted to stay up longer. One strategy to motivate yourself to get to bed is to remember just how bad it feels when you’re exhausted and then how good it feels when you’ve had enough rest.

What you put in your mouth also has an impact on your mood and energy. Avoid foods that make you feel tired or too full. Try eating lighter, healthier foods that increase your energy level. Similarly, eating smaller, more frequent meals can help maintain your high energy.

So if you find that you’re more negative about your job at certain times in the day, you may want to assess whether you need to eat more frequently. Before working with me, some of my coaching clients would forget to eat, and found that their energy level was dragging by mid-afternoon. For some of them, creating a routine around packing lunch the night before or simply setting a calendar reminder to get lunch midday really helped. When you’re honest about what fuel your body needs to feel happy and healthy, you help buffer against the potential for burnout.

Finally, taking time to move provides another opportunity for our bodies and minds to recalibrate. Even five minutes of outdoor exercise can have a meaningful psychological impact. And better yet, if you can do 20 to 30 minutes of exercise at a time, you can over all improve your mental health. For example, when something stressful happens to me, I’ll try to go on a walk or a run around the block as soon as possible to get the negative energy out of my body. This not only reduces the negative feelings but also calms my mind so I can focus for the rest of the day. Thinking through difficult situations is important but at a certain point, the only way to release the emotions is to physically let them go.

Your personality

In addition to living our truth about our health and our bodies, to prevent burnout we need to honor the truth around our personalities.

“Self-care is dependent on the individual. It is based on what helps them to feel more like they’re in their natural state, which is the thing, place or feeling that would happen if there were no pressure on them — the thing they would want to do,” said Robert L. Bogue, co-author of “Extinguish Burnout: A Practical Guide to Prevention and Recovery.”

“When you’re operating outside of your natural state, you are consuming energy,” he explained. “The more in alignment you become, the less you’re demanding of yourself and the more personal agency you build up.”

Put simply, you need to know what restores you and invest in those activities to prevent burnout. But what fulfills these needs for you may look different than what fulfills those needs for someone else. For example, someone who is highly extroverted may need to hang out with friends or family on a daily basis after work to buffer against burnout. Someone who is highly introverted, on the other hand, may require time alone to recharge. One introverted home-schooling mom I know starts and finishes each day with deep breathing and makes sure at least once a week to do something on her own, such as journaling, gardening, crafting or hiking.

Or the differences in what you need may vary based on your core motivations. For example, Dr. Steven Reiss, a research psychologist, conducted studies involving more than 6,000 people and found that 16 core desires can motivate our behavior: power, independence, curiosity, acceptance, order, saving, honor, idealism, social contact, family, status, vengeance, romance, eating, physical exercise and tranquillity. For instance, I really enjoy order so I might choose to take a night to tidy up and organize my home in order to recharge. If you have a very strong desire for curiosity, you might spend that same night learning a new skill or language, or going somewhere new to feel refreshed.

I’m not wrong, and you’re not wrong. We’re just different. As Mr. Bogue stated, the more you know what truly aligns with who you are and honor that need, the less drained you will feel and the less likely you will burnout.

Your reality

A third element of burnout prevention is to live the truth of your work situation reality — what you can actually change, and where you will need to find alternative sources to meet your needs. According to the “Areas of Worklife” model, workload is only one of the six contributors to burnout. Control, reward, fairness, community and values are the other five elements.

These other contributors revolve around feeling supported, appreciated and safe. Ideally, you can either shift your current work environment or find a new job where all of these areas meet up with your expectations. But in some cases, that’s not possible. In those circumstances, you have other options.

One alternative is to modify your expectations. For example, you may prefer going to lunch with colleagues, but maybe that’s not their preference. It may work better, instead, to cultivate community by stopping by their desk to chat for a few minutes, or organize after-work get-togethers if everyone agrees to come. Or you may prefer that your boss verbally affirms you every time you complete a large task. But maybe that’s not his style. You can learn to appreciate that he gives you good annual reviews and respects your opinion in meetings.

Another alternative is to stop expecting satisfaction in these areas within your job and, instead, seek opportunities outside of work that fulfill these core needs. For example, maybe you volunteer with an organization where you feel appreciated, find the activities intrinsically rewarding, have values alignment and a strong sense of community. Or maybe you invest time in your family or friends to cultivate a feeling of belonging, fulfillment and autonomy.

When you’re “filled up” by how you invest your time outside of work, and you feel supported by people who know and care about you, you have a buffer against the drain that may exist in the office.

You may not have the ability to change everything you don’t like about your job, but you do have the ability to improve how good you feel about yourself and life in general. By investing your time based on the truth of your body, personality and reality, you can reduce your risk of burnout. And if you already feel burnt out, you can recover faster.

[ecotone99]

[HR] The Final case of Angel King by Michael T. Knight

For those interested, you can read the story for free online on Dance of Death's website.

Michael Knight is a 20 year old living in Moore, Oklahoma. He lives with his mom, brother, and dog Emmett. He’s loved to create and write stories ever since he was in the third grade, but only in the last few years decided to pursue it as a career. Until his big break, he’s working at a pizza call center, and currently not in school.

Check him out on Reddit at u/MichaelKnightWriter

An ancient demonological tale states God created every creature on earth, except for the fly, which was a creation of Satan. I am inclined to believe this is true, for if what I witnessed that night was a creation of God he is no god I wish to follow. I will never forget the events which befell me and my friend. I think the guilt is the worst part. Every night I awake in a cold sweat, thankfully forgetting the nightmare that caused it, and whenever I hear the buzzing of a house fly, I am taken back to that day.

It happened on September the 14th, 1933. It was a rather slow day at our office. Outside, the gray clouds blocked out the sun over the city. I sat on the couch reserved for clients and sipped coffee, preparing myself for the long day ahead. Angel sat at his desk, taking advantage of the lull to work on his manuscript.

Angel tore a page from his typewriter and crumpled it into a ball, throwing it towards the trash bin and missing. His novel, a dark comedy in the vein of Stella Gibbons, took inspiration from occult practices, which he obsessed over. He had extensive knowledge on the occult, accumulated from years of research back when he studied at university. While his story's premise was original, I found his characters and scenarios cliched. He was much better at being a detective than an artist.

As Angel contemplated over his typewriter, the telephone rang, which jolted us both. Angel picked up the cup and held it to his ear. After a brief conversation, he hung up. He informed me a new client wanted to come and brief us on a missing person. This excited me at the time. With no cases to work on and a longing for new ones, I jumped at the opportunity to work. Angel didn't seem so excited, since he had less time to work on his novel. According to Angel, the client was a woman, and lived about a block away. She would show up at our office at any moment.

Not ten minutes later did the glass pane on our door shudder from a frantic knocking. I let the woman in and directed her to sit. She looked nervous. Her eyes darted around the room, never locking onto a single object, but always in motion. After she sat, Angel and I began the questioning.

She gave us her name, Camille Patterson, and said she worked as a seamstress ever since her husband had died. He took his own life after losing his job due to the Stock Market Crash. Earlier that morning, her eight year old son, Alfred Patterson, went missing. She had woken up to find the window to their first floor apartment opened, and Alfred nowhere to be seen. Camille didn't believe Alfred had ran away. Something in her gut screamed, “Abduction.” She went to the authorities first, but she knew they would only put her case in a pile with the others.

We continued to question her on other places Alfred might visit and took note of her answers. Angel assured her we would find Alfred and said it would be best for her to go home, rest, and call us if anything else came to mind. I showed her out the door and turned to Angel, already going over his notes. One question that stood out to me was when Alfred asked where Camille's husband was buried. She told him and he wrote it down. As we rode in the elevator, he explained to me his theory, which he had already developed in his head. Alfred snuck out to visit his father's grave, and was kidnapped there. Angel knew of an abandoned apartment complex across the way from said graveyard, and thought that was a likely candidate.

Angel also mentioned how Alfred's disappearance could be connected to the others that had happened in the weeks prior. The thought had occurred to me as well. Although those other disappearances were all adults, it wasn't too far fetched to assume we had a serial kidnapper on our hands.

Minutes later, we arrived at the graveyard, and moved through it to the apartment building on the other side. The building didn't look abandoned from the outside, although peering through the windows, a barren space of what used to be a lobby with faint outlines where furniture used to be stood before me. Stepping back to get a view of the top most floors, I froze in my tracks as my eyes met another pair gazing down at me. This pair of gray eyes belonged to a head containing long, unkempt locks of hair. I blinked, and when I opened my eyes again he disappeared.

After telling Angel, he suggested we try to make our way in. I went around and tried the front door, but it wouldn't budge, so Angel went back into the alley, got a brick and shattered a window. I frantically glanced around to make sure no one saw him, and then rebuked him as he climbed inside.

“Jacob, Alfred could be in there with a very dangerous man. I don't know about you, but I won't sit by and wait while he's in danger.”

And that was the problem with Angel. He tended to rush in and act without giving much thought to the consequences. I fear that is what spelled his doom in the end.

Reluctantly, I climbed in after him. I followed Angel through the ruined interior and up the stairs to where I saw the man. The apartment door opened inwards on creaky hinges. Some feeling of dread in my gut made me reach my hand out and grab Angel's arm, preventing him from entering. A strange vibe resonated with my primal instincts, and I refused to cross the threshold. Angel said he felt it too, but we had to see if Alfred was okay. Before I could stop him he already threw the door open, and once he glanced inside he froze in his tracks. My stomach sank before Angel uttered a curse in hushed breath.

When I finally walked over to join him, my eyes locked on to the shrine in the center of the room. An altar made of concrete bricks stood there with a leather sheet draped over it. On top lied a raccoon's corpse, gutted with a knife embedded in the carcass. While the brutal scene disturbed me, that wasn't what gave my friend pause. He stared at the wall directly to the right of the altar. A strange symbol not unlike a Star of David, but with some noticeable differences and liberties, took up nearly the entire wall. The star itself had nearly triple the points of an actual Star of David, and it was surrounded by Greek-like characters, with a four limbed stick figure in it's center.

Angel recognized the surrounding characters as a combination of several Canaanite languages, and the sigil in the center he knew from his studies into the occult, but didn't recall exactly what it meant. I shivered at the thought of some mad cult performing blasphemous rituals so close to our homes. I would've continued to dwell on it, but the slapping of rain against the window made me jump. The clouds had finally burst open and unleashed a torrent of water on the city. I snapped out of my trance and suggested we keep looking for the man. We had not seen him exit the building, so I assumed he was still hiding somewhere. I cursed myself for not bringing my revolver, but luckily Angel had his.

After searching the rest of the top floors, we back tracked to the lobby, and went to a previously unnoticed, barely open door. Angel took point and opened the door, which led to a set of concrete stairs leading into darkness. After descending the steps, the rain outside became muffled and I felt the cold basement air hit me like a brick wall. The basement looked even more ruined than the lobby. Rotting wood and decay added a stench of death to the scene. Furniture piles and cardboard boxes lied everywhere, and while we tried to traverse through the narrow pathway between the mountains, we had to do our fair share of climbing across overturned furniture.

Once we reached the other side of the basement, I stopped. A table leaned against the wall, the underside facing us, with the same symbol as above carved into it. I walked forward, distracted by the symbol, and tripped on some small object and went flying into the table. It cracked inwards creating a divot that I could barely see through. To my surprise, a tunnel opened up beyond the wooden barrier, about five or six meters long, and angled downwards towards an opening which leaked a weak light into it.

I told Angel and he got me to help him move the table out of the way. Normally I'd object to traipsing in like we did, but we trespassed, and the police wouldn't have supported us. So we agreed to go through ourselves, no matter how dangerous it was, and entered the chasm. Towards the end, enough light leaked through to see a two foot dip into a chamber, and we safely dropped into what was, to my surprise, an abandoned subway station. The cylindrical tunnel loomed around us, and some oil lamps hung on the walls, which produced the light I saw in the basement. To our left, the remains of a cylindrical train car, long out of order, blocked the way. The model dated back to the turn of the century. How long had this been here right under our noses? I looked at Angel to see his reaction, and his eyes were lit up.

“Underground caverns,” Angel said to himself, “I don't know why I hadn't thought of this sooner. This might just save my novel.”

I laughed despite the situation. Angel was the only person who would think of his book in a situation like this. He had spoken to me numerous time about how he wished to get out of the private eye business. His artwork made him exponentially happier. As he contemplated his story, I continued to look around. We could only go to the right, so Angel took point, aiming his revolver. Every now and then as we walked, more glyphs would appear, scratched into the curved walls. A wrongness filled the air which I detected much the same way someone would detect static electricity. I could tell Angel felt it as well.

A renewed feeling of dread swept through me as a brighter light appeared ahead of us. We inched closer, and found the light came from a train station. Another train car blocked the way. Or it would've if it didn't have it's back door open. The light came from somewhere beyond it, leaking through the windows and then the door way. When I went towards it, Angel put his hand in front of me. The extra pressure against my chest made me feel how fast and hard my heart was beating. Then, I heard it. Voices. A chorus of deep voices chanting in a language I didn't recognize, but I assumed it to be the same as the language written on the walls.

Angel and I crouched and crept up to the train car. We crawled in and went up to the side entrance, where we crouched beneath a window. The chanting continued just beyond the train car. Slowly, I peeked around the barrier, and took in the scene in a matter of seconds. The fetor of decaying flesh assaulted my senses, and I had to cover my mouth and pull my head back to keep from vomiting or screaming.

It was one side of a normal subway station, with the entry way closed and covered in that same dead language. The pillars, which contained braziers, also had the daemonic script, and the walls and even the c ceiling had it. There was also the same symbol on the floor, and an altar made of concrete bricks lied in it's center. A group of around ten men and women wearing dark robes surrounded the altar, with the man I saw in the window standing behind it, his hands raised in worship. He wore a peculiar black headdress, which Angel explained looked very similar to ancient Philistine head wear, like a cross between a fluted crown and a keffiyeh. The long fabric fell across the mans shoulders and back.

Upon the altar, a young boy which I immediately knew to be Alfred lied, naked and bounded at the wrists and ankles. He had a look of existential horror on his face, and I believe he was barely old enough to even comprehend what was happening to him. While that sight gave me feelings of anxiety and empathy, what made me retch was the pile of around four adult bodies on the left side of the station. Gaping holes were in their chests where their hearts should've been. I didn't know where the hearts went, although blood on the lips of some of the cultists allowed me to make my own inferences. I refused to dwell any longer on that aspect of the scene.

Angel and I didn't act for a few minutes, seeing as we were outnumbered. As we hid, the leader finally stopped chanting. I peeked around again, morbid curiosity outweighing my terror. Three cultists stepped forward and surrounded the altar. They produced knives from their robes, and I feared for the boys life. Instead of plunging them into Alfred, they took the knives and ran them across their own throats. Alfred screamed as the bodies collapsed. Once they hit the floor, a rumbling began beneath my feet. A mild earthquake had started, but it lasted only a few seconds. I wanted to believe the two events weren't connected, but the cultists dug their feet into the ground, as if wanting to feel as much of the quake as possible. The leader of this sick society inhaled, seeming to relish a sort of pleasure from the event.

“Brothers and sisters,” the leader began, “For thousands of years our god has lied dormant. Although many have attempted to praise him, none had the knowledge that we do today, and many misconceptions and lies have been brought forth. Lies such as our god is Satan or an agent for him. No. He was worshiped long before the concept of Satan, before the tower of Babel was erected, before any of the Abrahamic religions were a fleeting idea in the minds of blasphemers.”

He produced a knife from his robe and raised it above the boy. Angel aimed his revolver at the man, who didn't notice him, too engrossed in his ritual. I didn't want the boy to die, but I feared that somehow killing the priest wouldn't help anything, but actually make things inconceivably worse. The rumbling in the ground increased gradually, and a new wave of dread washed over me as the priest finished his last rite.

“We know our god is the true god of the Philistines! The Lord of the Flies!”

The back of the mans head burst outwards in a torrent of blood. The gunshot echoed throughout the claustrophobic chamber and my ears rang loud. The remaining cultists recoiled at the sound and backed away from the altar as Angel rushed out, aiming his gun at them to keep them back. I got out of the train to assist him in untying the boy, who had passed out. The cultists faces trembled, their expression frozen in terror. As I picked up the boys body, knowing they weren't afraid of us, I wondered what could've had them so aghast.

The rumbling I felt earlier increased in volume. Soon, I had to struggle to keep my balance, and some of the cultists fell over. A cracking sound resonated throughout the room. Barely audible, maddening voices whispered all around me. I didn't know if it was real or a trick of my mind at the time. Then, I looked to the other end of the station. My knees grew week and I collapsed at the impossible sight. A floating, gelatinous mass of flesh and blood began to spawn. It grew and pulsated, squelching and spewing out giblets of matter which smelled of rotting meat. I averted my eyes from the horror as a red light flashed. It pierced my eye lids with its crimson radiance. After it dissipated, silence overcame the room. A stench like a cross between fecal matter and stomach acid filled the area. A strange chittering noise began.

I slowly opened my eyes and looked to Angel, who stared in the direction of the noise, his mouth agape and his eyes transfixed on something. His eyes. Dear God his eyes were dead. That's the only way I can describe them. Staring at something and nothing all at once. Curiosity outweighed the dread I was feeling once again, and I stared, too, at the sight which I know stole a bit of my sanity.

I estimate the creature to be around twice the length of an elephant and about as tall, taking up nearly half of the station. If I described it simply it would not do it justice, but I could just as easily describe it as a monstrous fly. It's thorax angled upwards so that it's giant head and bulbous eyes stared down at us. I shudder to remember those damned eyes, so black it appeared to absorb any light which came near them. The beast had a swarm of millions of flies surrounding it, smaller versions of itself, from which emanated a maddening buzzing. It tilted its head at an angle, as if assessing us all. Judging us. That insult to creation was intelligent! The cultists all rushed past me and got on their knees, bowing to the beast, muttering prayers and rites in their language. The beast took it's clawed fore arms and dug into the wall. It hoisted itself onto the ceiling, where it hung directly above the worshipers. It's mandibles opened, and a proboscis slithered out.

After a moments pause, the beast sprayed a corrosive acid on to the worshipers. Their screams of agony as they dissolved freed me from my trance of horror. The mad worshipers, betrayed by their own god, had their skin melted off of their bones and on to the floor, a dreadful combination of dark red and tan colors. Their bodies molded together. Three arms merged into one body, reaching up at the sky.

It brought down its mouth onto the plash and began sponging up the remains. Seeing as it was distracted, I got up and hoisted Alfred over my shoulder and grabbed Angel by the forearm, pulling him towards the train car. The motion snapped him out of it and soon he began running by himself. We ran out the back of the train car and seemed to have a clear shot ahead of us. Then, a metal groaning began behind us. I turned my head out of instinct. A pulse of anxiety shot through my body as, impossibly, the beast's head squeezed through the back door of the train car. It's fore arms wiggled out, giving it more leverage to slither it's surprisingly malleable body through the entire car. The thing then chased us on four insectoid legs. Compressed by the narrow passageway, it still ever so slowly gained on us. The creature didn't use it's wings, for there wasn't enough room.

Not wanting to look anymore, I turned my head and focused on our goal. Flies began to swarm us, drowning my ears with the buzzing and obscuring my vision. They flew up my nose and into my ears, disorienting me. They crawled on my eyeballs, forcing me to close my eyes, but I pressed on. Angel tried to wave away the pests as he ran. The beasts foot steps thundered as it got closer. It's body scraped against the walls.

We finally reached the end of the tunnel. A minuscule wave of relief washed over me as the familiar sight of the entryway came into view. Angel and I both turned around and beheld the monster the cultists called Lord of the Flies. It was but a few meters away, and closing in fast. Angel drew his revolver and pushed me towards the exit.

“Take the kid and get out of here.”

His voice trembled. He and I both knew he wouldn't make it. I wish I could say I wanted to stay and help him; that I would've sacrificed my life in his stead, but that would be a lie. One look at the monstrosity and all courage within me vanished, like a physical thing the creature slaughtered.

I ran as fast as I could, without hesitation, and climbed up and in to the tunnel. About half way in, Angel fired his five remaining shots. The thing screamed. It rattled my brain and against my will I had to stop and grab my head. The migraine was nearly unbearable. Then, it stopped. Through the ringing in my ears I could hear the ominous chittering of that living blasphemy.

Angel's cry broke my heart. It was not only the cry of a man who knew he was about to die, but it was as if his sanity was crying out for euthanasia. With tears of fear and sadness I clambered out of the tunnel and into the basement. I set Alfred down and grabbed whatever furniture I could find and piled it into the tunnel, blocking it off. I wasn't sure if it would hold, but it was better than doing nothing.

Silence, and dare I say calm filled the room, except for the humming of flies which still surrounded me. I collapsed to my knees and screamed for the loss of my friend and the loss of part of myself that day. I screamed out of the guilt of abandoning Angel, even though I had no choice. I knew at the end of the day, even if I did, I would have ran anyway. My screams turned to sobs, and then to whines, until I had vented out what stress I could. A permanent hole in my sanity that I felt could never be filled again had appeared.

Of course I couldn't focus on that right away. I still had a job to do. I picked Alfred up and dropped him off at the front doors of a hospital. I then notified Camille over the phone that her child was safe and sound and gave her the hospital address.

There is an air conditioning unit in my apartment. I leave it on and it hums all day until it fades into the background and I can no longer hear it or notice it. This event has haunted me in a similar fashion. It's always in the background and always affecting my life, even if I don't notice it at the time, and I know I will never get rid of it. I don't just grieve for my sanity, I grieve for my friend Angel, who I still believe I betrayed. I vow not only to complete his novel for him, but to study the occult as he did and hopefully find an explanation, or perhaps even a way to defeat the abomination.

Because to my unimaginable horror, I believe it still remains in those tunnels, waiting to be unleashed on the unsuspecting world.

submitted by /u/Harshmellow_99 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2VKT929

[pantology]

The Cosmic Perspective

The Cosmic Perspective

By Neil deGrasse Tyson

Natural History Magazine

April 2007

The 100th essay in the “Universe” series

Embracing cosmic realities can give us a more enlightened view of human life.

Of all the sciences cultivated by mankind, Astronomy is acknowledged to be, and undoubtedly is, the most sublime, the most interesting, and the most useful. For, by knowledge derived from this science, not only the bulk of the Earth is discovered… but our very faculties are enlarged with the grandeur of the ideas it conveys, our minds exalted above [their] low contracted prejudices.

James Ferguson, Astronomy Explained Upon Sir Isaac Newton’s Principles, And Made Easy To Those Who Have Not Studied Mathematics (1757)

Long before anyone knew that the universe had a beginning, before we knew that the nearest large galaxy lies two and a half million light years from Earth, before we knew how stars work or whether atoms exist, James Ferguson’s enthusiastic introduction to his favorite science rang true. Yet his words, apart from their eighteenth-century flourish, could have been written yesterday.

But who gets to think that way? Who gets to celebrate this cosmic view of life? Not the migrant farmworker. Not the sweatshop worker. Certainly not the homeless person rummaging through the trash for food. You need the luxury of time not spent on mere survival. You need to live in a nation whose government values the search to understand humanity’s place in the universe. You need a society in which intellectual pursuit can take you to the frontiers of discovery, and in which news of your discoveries can be routinely disseminated. By those measures, most citizens of industrialized nations do quite well.

Yet the cosmic view comes with a hidden cost. When I travel thousands of miles to spend a few moments in the fast-moving shadow of the Moon during a total solar eclipse, sometimes I lose sight of Earth.

When I pause and reflect on our expanding universe, with its galaxies hurtling away from one another, embedded within the ever-stretching, four-dimensional fabric of space and time, sometimes I forget that uncounted people walk this Earth without food or shelter, and that children are disproportionately represented among them.

When I pore over the data that establish the mysterious presence of dark matter and dark energy throughout the universe, sometimes I forget that every day—every twenty-four-hour rotation of Earth—people kill and get killed in the name of someone else’s conception of God, and that some people who do not kill in the name of God kill in the name of their nation’s needs or wants.

When I track the orbits of asteroids, comets, and planets, each one a pirouetting dancer in a cosmic ballet choreographed by the forces of gravity, sometimes I forget that too many people act in wanton disregard for the delicate interplay of Earth’s atmosphere, oceans, and land, with consequences that our children and our children’s children will witness and pay for with their health and well-being.

And sometimes I forget that powerful people rarely do all they can to help those who cannot help themselves.

I occasionally forget those things because, however big the world is—in our hearts, our minds, and our outsize atlases—the universe is even bigger. A depressing thought to some, but a liberating thought to me.

Consider an adult who tends to the traumas of a child: a broken toy, a scraped knee, a schoolyard bully. Adults know that kids have no clue what constitutes a genuine problem, because inexperience greatly limits their childhood perspective.

As grown-ups, dare we admit to ourselves that we, too, have a collective immaturity of view? Dare we admit that our thoughts and behaviors spring from a belief that the world revolves around us? Apparently not. And the evidence abounds. Part the curtains of society’s racial, ethnic, religious, national, and cultural conflicts, and you find the human ego turning the knobs and pulling the levers.

Now imagine a world in which everyone, but especially people with power and influence, holds an expanded view of our place in the cosmos. With that perspective, our problems would shrink—or never arise at all—and we could celebrate our earthly differences while shunning the behavior of our predecessors who slaughtered each other because of them.

Back in February 2000, the newly rebuilt Hayden Planetarium featured a space show called Passport to the Universe, which took visitors on a virtual zoom from New York City to the edge of the cosmos. En route the audience saw Earth, then the solar system, then the 100 billion stars of the Milky Way galaxy shrink to barely visible dots on the planetarium dome.

Within a month of opening day, I received a letter from an Ivy League professor of psychology whose expertise was things that make people feel insignificant. I never knew one could specialize in such a field. The guy wanted to administer a before-and-after questionnaire to visitors, assessing the depth of their depression after viewing the show. Passport to the Universe, he wrote, elicited the most dramatic feelings of smallness he had ever experienced.

How could that be? Every time I see the space show (and others we’ve produced), I feel alive and spirited and connected. I also feel large, knowing that the goings-on within the three-pound human brain are what enabled us to figure out our place in the universe.

Allow me to suggest that it’s the professor, not I, who has misread nature. His ego was too big to begin with, inflated by delusions of significance and fed by cultural assumptions that human beings are more important than everything else in the universe.

In all fairness to the fellow, powerful forces in society leave most of us susceptible. As was I … until the day I learned in biology class that more bacteria live and work in one centimeter of my colon than the number of people who have ever existed in the world. That kind of information makes you think twice about who—or what—is actually in charge.

From that day on, I began to think of people not as the masters of space and time but as participants in a great cosmic chain of being, with a direct genetic link across species both living and extinct, extending back nearly 4 billion years to the earliest single-celled organisms on Earth.

I know what you’re thinking: we’re smarter than bacteria.

No doubt about it, we’re smarter than every other living creature that ever walked, crawled, or slithered on Earth. But how smart is that? We cook our food. We compose poetry and music. We do art and science. We’re good at math. Even if you’re bad at math, you’re probably much better at it than the smartest chimpanzee, whose genetic identity varies in only trifling ways from ours. Try as they might, primatologists will never get a chimpanzee to learn the multiplication table or do long division.

If small genetic differences between us and our fellow apes account for our vast difference in intelligence, maybe that difference in intelligence is not so vast after all.

Imagine a life-form whose brainpower is to ours as ours is to a chimpanzee’s. To such a species our highest mental achievements would be trivial. Their toddlers, instead of learning their ABCs on Sesame Street, would learn multivariable calculus on Boolean Boulevard. Our most complex theorems, our deepest philosophies, the cherished works of our most creative artists, would be projects their schoolkids bring home for Mom and Dad to display on the refrigerator door. These creatures would study Stephen Hawking (who occupies the same endowed professorship once held by Newton at the University of Cambridge) because he’s slightly more clever than other humans, owing to his ability to do theoretical astrophysics and other rudimentary calculations in his head.

If a huge genetic gap separated us from our closest relative in the animal kingdom, we could justifiably celebrate our brilliance. We might be entitled to walk around thinking we’re distant and distinct from our fellow creatures. But no such gap exists. Instead, we are one with the rest of nature, fitting neither above nor below, but within.

Need more ego softeners? Simple comparisons of quantity, size, and scale do the job well.

Take water. It’s simple, common, and vital. There are more molecules of water in an eight-ounce cup of the stuff than there are cups of water in all the world’s oceans. Every cup that passes through a single person and eventually rejoins the world’s water supply holds enough molecules to mix 1,500 of them into every other cup of water in the world. No way around it: some of the water you just drank passed through the kidneys of Socrates, Genghis Khan, and Joan of Arc.

How about air? Also vital. A single breathful draws in more air molecules than there are breathfuls of air in Earth’s entire atmosphere. That means some of the air you just breathed passed through the lungs of Napoleon, Beethoven, Lincoln, and Billy the Kid.

Time to get cosmic. There are more stars in the universe than grains of sand on any beach, more stars than seconds have passed since Earth formed, more stars than words and sounds ever uttered by all the humans who ever lived.

Want a sweeping view of the past? Our unfolding cosmic perspective takes you there. Light takes time to reach Earth’s observatories from the depths of space, and so you see objects and phenomena not as they are but as they once were. That means the universe acts like a giant time machine: the farther away you look, the further back in time you see—back almost to the beginning of time itself. Within that horizon of reckoning, cosmic evolution unfolds continuously, in full view.

Want to know what we’re made of? Again, the cosmic perspective offers a bigger answer than you might expect. The chemical elements of the universe are forged in the fires of high-mass stars that end their lives in stupendous explosions, enriching their host galaxies with the chemical arsenal of life as we know it. The result? The four most common chemically active elements in the universe—hydrogen, oxygen, carbon, and nitrogen—are the four most common elements of life on Earth. We are not simply in the universe. The universe is in us.

Yes, we are stardust. But we may not be of this Earth. Several separate lines of research, when considered together, have forced investigators to reassess who we think we are and where we think we came from.

First, computer simulations show that when a large asteroid strikes a planet, the surrounding areas can recoil from the impact energy, catapulting rocks into space. From there, they can travel to—and land on—other planetary surfaces. Second, microorganisms can be hardy. Some survive the extremes of temperature, pressure, and radiation inherent in space travel. If the rocky flotsam from an impact hails from a planet with life, microscopic fauna could have stowed away in the rocks’ nooks and crannies. Third, recent evidence suggests that shortly after the formation of our solar system, Mars was wet, and perhaps fertile, even before Earth was.

Those findings mean it’s conceivable that life began on Mars and later seeded life on Earth, a process known as panspermia. So all earthlings might—just might—be descendants of Martians.

Again and again across the centuries, cosmic discoveries have demoted our self-image. Earth was once assumed to be astronomically unique, until astronomers learned that Earth is just another planet orbiting the Sun. Then we presumed the Sun was unique, until we learned that the countless stars of the night sky are suns themselves. Then we presumed our galaxy, the Milky Way, was the entire known universe, until we established that the countless fuzzy things in the sky are other galaxies, dotting the landscape of our known universe.

Today, how easy it is to presume that one universe is all there is. Yet emerging theories of modern cosmology, as well as the continually reaffirmed improbability that anything is unique, require that we remain open to the latest assault on our plea for distinctiveness: multiple universes, otherwise known as the multiverse, in which ours is just one of countless bubbles bursting forth from the fabric of the cosmos.

The cosmic perspective flows from fundamental knowledge. But it’s more than just what you know. It’s also about having the wisdom and insight to apply that knowledge to assessing our place in the universe. And its attributes are clear:

The cosmic perspective comes from the frontiers of science, yet it’s not solely the province of the scientist. The cosmic perspective belongs to everyone.

The cosmic perspective is humble.

The cosmic perspective is spiritual—even redemptive—but not religious.

The cosmic perspective enables us to grasp, in the same thought, the large and the small.

The cosmic perspective opens our minds to extraordinary ideas but does not leave them so open that our brains spill out, making us susceptible to believing anything we’re told.

The cosmic perspective opens our eyes to the universe, not as a benevolent cradle designed to nurture life but as a cold, lonely, hazardous place.

The cosmic perspective shows Earth to be a mote, but a precious mote and, for the moment, the only home we have.

The cosmic perspective finds beauty in the images of planets, moons, stars, and nebulae but also celebrates the laws of physics that shape them.

The cosmic perspective enables us to see beyond our circumstances, allowing us to transcend the primal search for food, shelter, and sex.

The cosmic perspective reminds us that in space, where there is no air, a flag will not wave—an indication that perhaps flag waving and space exploration do not mix.

The cosmic perspective not only embraces our genetic kinship with all life on Earth but also values our chemical kinship with any yet-to-be discovered life in the universe, as well as our atomic kinship with the universe itself.

At least once a week, if not once a day, we might each ponder what cosmic truths lie undiscovered before us, perhaps awaiting the arrival of a clever thinker, an ingenious experiment, or an innovative space mission to reveal them. We might further ponder how those discoveries may one day transform life on Earth.

Absent such curiosity, we are no different from the provincial farmer who expresses no need to venture beyond the county line, because his forty acres meet all his needs. Yet if all our predecessors had felt that way, the farmer would instead be a cave dweller, chasing down his dinner with a stick and a rock.

During our brief stay on planet Earth, we owe ourselves and our descendants the opportunity to explore—in part because it’s fun to do. But there’s a far nobler reason. The day our knowledge of the cosmos ceases to expand, we risk regressing to the childish view that the universe figuratively and literally revolves around us. In that bleak world, arms-bearing, resource-hungry people and nations would be prone to act on their “low contracted prejudices.” And that would be the last gasp of human enlightenment—until the rise of a visionary new culture that could once again embrace the cosmic perspective. https://www.haydenplanetarium.org/tyson/essays/2007-04-the-cosmic-perspective.php

[ishomoogoo]

For His Amusement Ch2

chapter 2 here, other than swearing, there isn’t anything to get upset about.

Over the course of the next few months, it has come to my attention how the different genders fit into this society. From a combination of reading all of the old newspapers that the library has in my spare time, as well as from what I have observed myself, it seems there is quite the gender gap between the three. It is especially apparent where Omegas are concerned, but the Alphas stand out as well.

Alphas seem to be the preferred sex when it comes to leadership positions and tend to gravitate heavily towards the different forms of law enforcement or other combat prone jobs. They also seem to get promotions more often than Beta’s, which is not really a surprise considering their overall nature. That doesn’t really make me feel all that comfortable trusting my safety to a bunch of hormone fueled meatheads, not that law enforcement was all that great in my previous world; I did work the NOPD for a time.

Betas seem to be evenly dispersed across all fields of the various forms of employment, not all that striking considering they’re the “moderate” gender. It seems that Beta’s are more the support type, filling the roles that Alphas don’t want and the Omegas can’t take like maintenance, factory, or infrastructure jobs. They still take Alpha and Omega saturated jobs because they make up most of the population, but this is simply a generalization. There will always be exceptions to the norm and I assume things will change over time.

Omegas, however, seem to have the same problems that women have in my old world. They are the baby and house makers and are thought to be far too delicate or stupid to do anything else according to public opinion. In fact, until the Omega’s suffrage movement in 1945 and The Omega Equal Opportunity Act of ’85, Omegas had almost no rights to speak of. They were simply expected to, and to be perfectly honest forced, stay at home, get mated off, and spread their legs until they can’t pop out any more babies. Of course, just because legislation says Omegas can work wherever they want and have equal rights, doesn’t mean that they do. Especially poverty stricken and rural areas where bigotry and hatred is the norm; and it doesn’t help that scripture dictates that Omegas are responsible for the original sin. If the numerous gossip columns and the myriad of unapologetic men and women are anything to go on, Omegas should stick to professions dealing with kids or as care providers. They sure as hell should stay the fuck away from more “stressful” jobs like law enforcement, the medical field, or the military. Those are only a few examples but the popular opinion states that Omegas should know their place and stop rocking the boat.

I sigh as I open the trailer door, kick my shoes off, and head to my room; greeting my slightly drunk father along the way. At least I’m going to be a Beta, less hassle to worry about and I don’t feel very ambitious about my future anyway. I’ll just live my life as I always did, alone and as quietly as possible; well, if my empathy and near insane need to feel helpful lets me anyway. Knowing me, I’ll probably go for law enforcement again, for no other reason than the familiarity of it.

Granted, I don’t actually know for sure if I’m going to be a Beta, since it seems that until a person presents, it’s damn near impossible to tell. This is generally between the ages of 13 and 15 but there are outliers. The reason for this is because secondary traits, like knots and a male’s uterus, don’t develop fully until puberty. Once they do, their bodies starts secreting hormones and, in the case of Omegas, go into heat. Aside from that, things like facial hair or the rounding of the body that normally goes with puberty begins as well. I just figure that since my dad is a Beta, information I gleaned from his ID, I will be too. No point in asking about my Mom, Dad never talked about her even when directly asked in my past life, and it didn’t change here. All I got as a response was a grunt and a mumbled line about how it was “none of your business”. Needless to say, I dropped the subject after that and never brought it up again.

During my short time here, four kids in my age group have presented. There were two Betas, an Alpha, and an Omega. This gives me a pretty good idea on what people are supposed to smell like so I don’t seem like an idiot who can’t tell what gender everyone is later. Like the book said, Betas have a very neutral scent, only a little different from someone who hasn’t presented yet. They have just enough variation to differentiate them from one another. The only other word I could use to describe them is earthy, which is neutral in its own right.

Now, there is only one Alpha my age, but I have met a few adults and I can say with certainty that Alphas set my teeth on edge. It’s not just their smell, which tends to be spicier and headier than Betas and Omegas. No, what really gets me is their attitudes. It’s honestly amazing how the class clown from trailer 3 turned from an innocent kid looking for attention, to a posturing, arrogant blowhard. It’s not just him either. The other Alphas I’ve had the misfortune to meet act pretty much the same, demanding respect and obedience just because they have a knot. It makes me want to either punch them in the face or just leave the fucking room because it’s too much to deal with.

A girl in my class turned out to be an Omega and it seems that she is the only one in our small town. Her smell is rather sweet and kind of soothing, but irritating at the same time. She doesn’t annoy me in the same way as the Alpha’s, who make me feel nervous and twitchy, but instead defensive and wary. It’s rather hard to describe, but I feel almost like a dog whose territory has been invaded. It feels like if I don’t act appropriately, something will be taken from me.

It’s aggravating, but I also feel bad for her because of how meek and timid she became. That was another thing that changed about her. Now, from what I know of her, she was always shy around others; but after presenting she simply became submissive. There was no other way to describe it; one day she’s just having trouble talking to others, and the next she’s tilting her neck and adverting her eyes. She starts making weird cooing noises whenever someone looks at her wrong as well. This might be a bit of an exaggeration, but that’s pretty much what she does around an Alpha.

I was very surprised when a few days after she had to leave school because of a fever, which turned out to be a pre-heat, she returned acting completely different. The Alpha from trailer 3 immediately started pestering and harassing her, and after only a few days she stopped coming to school. I haven’t seen her in the last few weeks and can only assume she was pulled out and will likely never see her again since the teacher never acted concerned about it. The kid from trailer 3 was never reprimanded for his behavior towards the girl and simply stopped showing up around lunch and recess when she stopped coming to school.

Once in my room, I drop my bag down next to the worn out nightstand and take the plastic chair, shoving it under the knob since there is no lock for my door. I don’t really expect anyone to be barging in; dad’s already well on his way to falling asleep completely smashed. I suspect he’s close to, or has already lost his job. I just want to make sure I have some level of privacy while I think about something that I only realized in my second week after my “awakening”. I then go over and sit on my bed, staring out of the window, like so many times before.

Hannibal, what the fuck happened to him? I obviously died and somehow re-incarnated or something similar, but I don’t know what happened to him. We fell together so it’s safe to assume we died together at that time, unless he was way luckier than me. Did he wake up sometime in his past as well? Hell, would he even be in the same universe? Knowing my luck, who knows? I’m 13, almost 14, so he would be 24 or 25 now. Old enough to travel and attempt to locate me, but I don’t think I ever told him where I grew up. I just gave a vague story about following dad around the docks during our sessions and left it at that. Come to think of it, I think I know more about Hannibal’s past than he does mine.

That still doesn’t answer what happened to him, or whether or not I want to find out. The thought alone of seeing him again and seeing that he doesn’t even recognize me brings me to the brink of tears. I shudder a breath in and out and furiously rub at my prickling eyes. I can’t do it, I don’t want to start over again. I can’t handle going through all that again. Hell, I don’t even know if circumstances would allow that. After all, everything is such a huge unknown now. He may not have chosen to move to the states. He may not have even lost his family here.

I take a deep, almost steadying breath and shake my head. It doesn’t matter how much I think about it, he isn’t here and I have my own life to figure out. Besides, it’s probably for the best. I may never forget him, but my life certainly doesn’t have to revolve around him anymore. Maybe I was given another chance so I could finally have a normal life for once. I only slept with him the once after all; the rest of it was just us manipulating each other. That is hardly a healthy relationship by any standard. I flop over on my side and continue to think about my life, slipping into sleep just like that.

Dad did end up loosing his job and, almost a year later, he finds a job as a boat mechanic in New Orleans. So we move from a dumpy rusted out trailer in a weed-covered trailer park, to a small fourth floor apartment in some housing development in Algiers(1). Nothing too different from the first go round; but the building is a different one, and the move was a few months earlier than before. The only thing I can somewhat complain about is that I will be turning 15 near the end of September and I haven’t presented yet. I know everyone is different, but high school is going to be bad enough with my empathy and weird anti-social behavior. Add in being a late bloomer and I can pretty much guarantee that I’m going to have a rough time. I want to hurry up and become a Beta already since I apparently have to be one of the three. While I’m at it, I want to be an adult again too; all these hormones and mood swings are driving me crazy, again.

(1) i only did Wikipedia level of research for this chapter, so i apologize for any errors. Algiers is a section of New Orleans that is considered the projects and has a very high crime rate, i thought it was appropriate.

[awed-frog]

@ anon - thank you for sharing all that. I’m so sorry that happened to you. It sounds truly awful. To me, blocking (and/or ignoring) is the only way to manage anon hate - you never know who someone is and why they’re suddenly sending you shit, so publicly shaming them and inviting others to doxx them is a horrifyingly bad idea.

(What makes it even worse in your case is that you didn’t even send hate, so the blogger’s reaction was completely out of bounds.)

As for the racism part - I honestly don’t know. Did the blogger know where you are? If they did, it certainly sounds like they singled you out - but maybe they did it because they assumed that since you’re not American, you’d be easy prey, more isolated, less willing or able to fight back. You never know how people think. What I learned over the years is that objective reality is very rarely a thing, which means that - when it comes to stuff like this - the best way to go through life is going with the least harmful option. 

(For instance: ‘My friend was rude to me because she’s having a bad day’ and not ‘My friend was rude to me because she secretly hates me’, or ‘My professor ignored my emails because he was busy and forgot’ and not ‘My professor ignored my emails because my work is shit’.)

So, you know - personally, I try to avoid assuming the worst unless I absolutely have to, if only because it’s going to make me feel worse without affecting the other person at all? But it’s not always easy.

In this case, I’d say it’s more helpful if you think along the lines of ‘Blogger snapped for some reason, it was bad luck they snapped on me, especially because I didn’t do anything wrong’ rather than going down the rabbit hole of how open or implicit racism affects fandom experience? I mean - I’m not saying this is not a problem, that we shouldn’t talk about it or that you don’t have the right to be angry - it is and we should and you absolutely do - tbh, this person sounds like a dick - but as I said, right now that anger is going to affect you and make your situation worse without fixing anything, so is it really worth it?

Fandom can be a toxic environment, which is one of the reasons I sort of stepped away from it all. Here are a couple of suggestions I picked up over the years on how to deal with the worst of it:

Step away for a second. Give yourself three internet-free days to do what you love offline - spend time with friends, re-read a favourite book, discover a new movie, chat with your mom - whatever. This will help you to put things in context and reconnect with your ‘real life’.

Ask yourself: As awful as this was, how will I feel about it and how will it impact my life in three weeks? Three months? Three years? Chances are, not much, right? So is it really worth the heartache now?

Ask yourself: As awful as this was, has my ‘real life’ been affected by it? From what you said, you took some brave steps to protect yourself, so the answer here is likely negative. Remember: no matter what it felt like, what actually happened is that you’re part of a fandom numbering in the thousands, and out of those thousands, five or six people decided to harass you. I’m not saying this to excuse their behaviour (there’s no excuse for that) but to make you feel better. You met five idiots: there’s still thousands of people out there who’re likely nice and decent, and would probably be on your side if they knew what had happened.

If you feel like it, find those other people: make a new blog, contact old friends, ask for help finding lost fics or fanart, and remember to ignore and block bloggers and tags you don’t want to see or don’t agree with. Fandom is not politics. You don’t have to reach an agreement with everyone, you don’t owe anyone common ground. If you want to be happy in your own weird or popular corner while ignoring everything else that’s going on - that’s perfectly fine.

Which leads me to: people are going to be wrong on the internet, every day, all the time, and it’s not your job to convince them or fix them. I’ll admit I’m not that good at taking my own advice here, because I often get annoyed or outraged by what random (or, worse: known) bloggers say, but again - that annoyance, that outrage, that need to get in their inbox - if only to ask ‘please, help me understand why you think what you think’ - that can only hurt you and be a burden on you. Unless you have a very good reason to intervene, just leave it alone. I found that many people let go of their toxic or unreasonable opinions as they grow up, change, and experience more of life; and those who don’t tend to be unhappy, dissatisfied with their own lives - which is beyond sad when it’s people you care about, but not something you can change.

And: fiction matters a great deal, but at the end of the day, it’s fiction. If you find yourself obsessing over your favourite characters to the point where that’s all you do and focus on - to the point where you actively get angry at other people for not understanding those characters in the same way you do - then it’s probably a good idea to stop and breathe. A sneaky thing that happens with social media is that they make everything more extreme, and that’s potentially very dangerous. Like, without even noticing it, I got from ‘this show is really neat’ to my whole emotional and actual life revolving around that show and what people I’d never met said about it. That’s not healthy, and often indicates there’s something wrong in your life offline. So put yourself first - use fiction to make yourself feel better, not worse, and don’t forget to take care of your actual life so it keeps moving in the direction you want it to. 

Finally, some underhanded advice I was given when I was new on tumblr: if you fear someone’s mounting a vendetta against you, deflect their attention by giving them something else to be mad about. If you have access to a different computer (ideally at the house of some friend’s who’s not on tumblr, and therefore won’t be affected in any way), send this blogger a couple of asks about a completely different subject, so they can focus on being angry at someone who’s not you and hopefully forget what was going on.

Good luck and a big hug!