#they literally aired that on christmas eve. that’s just so insane to me why did they do that

[livvyofthelake]

need to make a christmas playlist (festive) and a christmas playlist (the horrors)

[yayninjabob]

Why don't you like the Rowdyruff boys?

Well for one, there is no escaping them in this fandom apparently even if I don't actively write about them or talk about them, now I'm just constantly asked why.  Seriously I get more Q's about them than about my actual fanfic that I work pretty hard on which suUUCKS.    It is pretty annoying, ngl.

I mean no one asks why no Amoeba Boys in Villain: Redux and they're literally in more episodes of the og show, and I most definitely considered trying to find a way to have the Amoeba Boys fit into the story WAY more than I gave the Rowdyruff Boys a second glance.

For the record: I don't dislike the Rowdyruff Boys.

What I dislike is the PpG fandom's obsession and distortion of them and how the spirit of the original series gets lost in the Rowdyruff shipping STORM that hasn't quit for years.  TBH I question sometimes whether some of these shippers have even SEEN the show.

The boys are 99.9% of the time just used as romantic props which... ugggghhhhh..  Look if it were less of a thing, I probably wouldn't give a shit.  Hell, being in this fandom off and on for as long as I have, of course even I wrote some RrBxPpG ship stuff but I can honestly say never again because I refuse to be a part of that problem lol.  Enemies to Lovers- hell yeah!  You kidding me?  I love that stuff!    But dude, the fandom has just been SO overboard on all the RrBxPpG stuff for SO long that I. Am. Tired. Of. Seeing. It.

The Rowdyruff Boy's debut episode is absolutely one of my favorite of the series.  Look, I grew up with this show as it aired and I remember when this episode premiered DUDE this one and Dynamo were like the most epic things ever- WHAT A COMMERCIAL BREAK BUT THE EPISODE ISNT OVER OMG THIS IS INSANE  AIRGHSAKSHFGHAKAHSKK!!?!! Got to school the next day like YO DID YOU SEE LAST NIGHT'S PPG???  Recess time we were all playing PpG vs RrB on the monkey bars and shit. Great times lol.  But the whole Rowdyruff revival?  Ehhh.... Did it have to happen?  Nah I don't think it needed to, and as a fan I wish it hadn't.

And in regards to Villain: Redux taking place after season 4, that more so comes from my own experience with the show than trying to "leave out" the Rowdyruff Boys.   Villain: Redux is like my love letter to the show I grew up with, and for me that's seasons 1-4 and the movie.

... OK I go off on a bit of a rant here so more under the cut if you care to hear me whine and complain about seasons 5-6 and the RrBs lol...

I was 7-8 when the Powerpuff Girls premiered on What a Cartoon! in 1995.  From the jump my sisters and I were fans of those shorts and even had the openings to their episodes memorized so if we tuned in and saw it wasn't the eps with the PpG in it, we'd usually go watch something else- but if it was OH BOY GET READY GUYS HERE WE GO.  My sisters and I absolutely lost our minds when we saw commercials advertising they were getting their own show.  I mean we loved super hero stuff and we were three sisters so you know- instant love there.  Anywho.  I stayed a fan watching every premiering episode and recording it on VHS to rewatch again and again and again later lol. Up until season 4, I had everything on tape and even when my sisters moved onto other stuff I stayed obsessed.  The movie came out when I was in middle school and the tv show was just repeats for the longest. I assumed the show had ended because I didn't see new stuff for a while and my parents were like "great can we cut down on our cable bill now?" Lol.

And yeah season 5&6 certainly get their critique from a lot of fans so I won't dive too deep into that stuff, but more than that because of the delay in those seasons release even myself- a super fan I'd say- had no idea those seasons were even airing until after they had been completed.  YEARS later... One Christmas Eve, I was at my grandparents and Twas a Fight Before Christmas came on and I was like "hold up... I have never seen this WHAT" ok and Princess is my fave so you can only imagine how psyched I was to go find these episodes I missed post-movie time.  And then when I got to those seasons... well, it definitely didn't quite feel like the show I had grown up with.  I got to the RrB eps and meh.  That was how I felt. Dude the one that pissed me off though was Nothin Special ghrhkasjhdha WHAT.  Course later I learned Craig McCracken was no longer involved with the show so FOR ME, I just don't treat those seasons the same as the previous seasons and the movie.  There's a lot of contradicting things that happen and so yeah.  I don't consider them as "canon" as the Craig McCracken stuff. Which ok technically they ARE.  They're episodes from the og show still but... I dunno.  I can't help but put them in their own category.  And I know a lot of other fans have expressed feeling the same way.

And dude when the 10 year special dropped by Craig McCracken and the Rowdyruffs were NOT in it when like EVERY other villain was- to me it was like confirmation that those characters should have never been brought back and I do NOT consider them main cast at all.  And you know what?? Dude outside of the internet based fandom, I do not think they were missed.  Because the PRIME of the Powerpuff Girls series was seasons 1-4- that's what most fans of my generation remember and love. THAT is the show I like to write fanfiction for and that's what Villain, VillainE and VillainR are all inspired by.

So yeah. Haha anywho what was I talking about?  Oh yeah.  Rowdyruff Boys.  So version 1.0 that exploded- they're A-OK in my book.  Seasons 5&6 I don't particularly like and so I don't particularly like the Ruffs 2.0. Don't hate em, don't even really dislike them- they're just... Irrelevant?  I dunno.  Why write about them when they're are so many KICK ASS villains on this show?  That's how I feel.   Give me more Mojo, give me more Him, more Gangrene Gang, and more Princess <3 YES please.

[johnshelbysbabygirll]

For the rest of this life - JOHN SHELBY X READER

Words: 1981

i written this a few weeks ago, but i didn’t wanted to post it cause i hate to think about John being dead...in the same time, i thought that maybe you would like it so...here we go.

Everything started a long time ago.

Your mother was a teacher in Small Heath and you and John met each other back then. You couldn't stand him, he was full of himself even as a kid and you hated him, so you always fought each other. You always ended up crying and with him apologizing to you.

When you grew up you went to school in Italy, but somehow you and John managed to wrote each other letters every now and then. He told you about the war, about his wife Martha and their children that he left back home, about Polly and his brothers, Ada and the little Finn. You told him about Italy, about new things you learnt at school everyday and how happy you are that you can do more than most of the girls do: get married and have kids. You knew you can do more than that. You were so scared when weeks used to pass by and his letter didn't came; you were scared for his life.

All this time John told you everything, but his business. Your family told you nothing at all and back then you were so blind.

In 1920 when you came back in Birmingham, you and John met each other and that was the night when you gave him your virginity. You didn't stop meting each other, but you were hiding from your families even if John told you about their alliance and how things are on the line between them. You weren't that sure, knowing how your brothers are, but you trusted John and you started to fall hard for him, even if you didn't wanted to; you couldn't help it. He was everything you wished for and you quickly realized that.

You remember the night he asked you to marry him.

"John?"

You received a letter from him that told you to be at the Garrison at 8 pm and there you are alone. You start to get scared, thinking that it's a trap from who knows what enemies, but when you enter the back room he was there. He is wearing a nice suite, his hair is perfect styled and his grin is on his lips as always. There are candles and flowers all over the room and you are confused, but you can feel happy tears in your eyes.

"What-What's this?"

"Me showin you how much I love and care bout you."

"John..." You start talking but you stop shocked when he is on one knee in front of you, pulling out from his pocket a velvet red beautiful box.

"Maybe our relationship it's not perfect and for others we will never be perfect for each other, but who the fuck cares? Not me. Cause I love you and I want you be my side forever. I swear I will protect you with my life...You helped me through my worst times and it's all on you cause I'm still 'ere today."

Tears are falling on your pink cheeks and you don't even try to stop 'em.

"I love you and no one...No one knows how much. [Y/N] Changretta...You wanna be my wife for the rest of this life?"

You smile through tears and you help John stand up to wrap your arms around his neck, looking right into his eyes as you answered.

"Yes, for the rest of this life...I wanna be your wife! Yes!"

You kiss each other, both of you a mess of smiles and tears and you hear loudly applause from the door. You turn around to see all his family, watching you smiling.

"[Y/N] Changretta it's dead. You are a fuckin Shelby now" Arthur speaks as he hug you and John and you all laugh with him.

"Welcome to the family. Don't fuck up our trust." Tommy is next and you can feel a threat in his voice, but you didn't mind. You will show them who you truly are and that blood don't really matter sometimes.

....and you became a Shelby when your family didn't even know about your relationship. They were too busy, but you knew that this happiness won't last. You felt the knife at the back of your head, but you kept going.

You had a wonderful little wedding in the gipsy style and you danced all night barefoot around the fire. You danced with Tommy, Arthur and Polly as well and everything was perfect, even without your family being there. The morning caught you and John between sweaty sheets, covering your naked bodies...

"You know I love you, right?" You whisper as you play with your fingertips on John's toned chest.

"Well, you married me. That should mean somethin' right?" He answers with a cocky tone and you laugh. When he laughs too, you can feel it in your entire body.

"Just answer it."

You carry on with it, wanting to hear it.

"I know you love me, [Y/N]. And you know that I love you."

But the secret that you became a Shelby didn't lasted too long after the wedding and you expected that.

You walk into your bedroom, still with a little smile on your face after the dinner you had with John. But something caught up your eyes.

You come closer to the bed and all the air stuck into your throat.

You can't breath as you see the black hand on your white sheets.

No words or explications.

Just a black hand and it was enough to know.

You don't even pack your things, you just run away far from that house, your family's house.

As you enter Polly's house, everyone is there cause they are having a family meeting and all their eyes are now on you. You are out of air and John quickly stand up to come to you; he was beyond concerned.

"They know."

And that's how the war started.

When John cut your brother, Angel, for Lizzie you were angry and jealous but you weren't hurt because of what he did. You knew your father won't let this go and that this was the end of the peace between the families. And the end of the peace between you and John.

Just a few days later, Grace died and she was killed for Angel and for the pubs Peaky Blinders took from them. Tommy was grieving and he didn't trusted you or anyone at all, beside Charlie. So John kept you away from it as much as he could, but it wasn't enough; he couldn't keep you locked until the danger it's gone. He was so protective and possessive that it drove you insane and you fought every night when he came home until the morning when he left again.

And days later, you found out that they killed your father. Tommy wanted to cut him, to kill him with tiny steps, but Arthur couldn't stand it and shot him in the head to end his pain. You hated your brothers, but you loved your parents in your kind of way. And you didn't wanted to, but you cried for a whole night and you were grieving. At this point you were literally down, knowing this wasn't the end. How much blood will be spilled?

You were at home with the kids most of the time and even if you loved them and they made you smile despite everything, John's absence was hurting you.

The Shelby family was falling part; everyone was on their way, but no one was safe and you all realized that weeks later when you received black hands on Christmas Eve. John hoped that the hand wasn't for you as well, that you are safe, but both of you knew better than this. You were a Changretta, you became a Shelby and it was a Vendetta going on. You all had a red target on your back, including you.

"Where do you think you're going?"

John is right at the door leaning on it as you grab your coat, but you stop at the middle of the action, slowly turning your head to him just like a robber would.

"I need some air."

"No, it's late. Go to sleep."

"Only if you come too" you whisper knowing too well that he try his best to stay awake and watch over the house and usually he just fall asleep on a chair.

He was unsure, but you pull him closer to you and you grab his face as you talk with a lower voice, looking right into his eyes.

"It's like a nightmare...Being without you. Come in our bedroom, please John."

You keep repeat it until he finally nod and you deep kiss each other, feeling like it was the first time in weeks.

And that was your mistake.

The next morning you woke up dizzy because of all the noises and Michael was there. You and John were confused and he tried to cover you up with the sheets.

"What's happenin?" You ask and you are already scared.

"Nothing, love. Dress up and wait here, okay? You heard me?"

You slowly nod while catching his fingers with yours; John quickly kiss your forehead and hand before reaching to the door with Michael. You watch him with teary eyes and you don't want to let go of his hand, but he's smiling at you.

"I love you, [Y/N]."

"I love you, John, but stay here, please. Don't leave me alone."

You want to get up, but you can't because Michael is here and you're not wearing anything else beside the sheets. So you just watch him walk out the door with Michael, feeling like he left for good. And you know for sure that he feel it too.

That's why you dress up in hurry and follow them outside. Michael looks panicked and is trying to convince John to leave, to gather the family together at Polly's.

"I agree with him." You talk and they both turn with their faces to you. John eyes grew wider and he runs a hand over his head, not knowing what to do.

"[Y/N], I told you to-..."

"Shut up and listen to me for once, John!" You scream in his face as you walk outside and you take a gasp of air, keeping your calm. "Please, baby...I beg you. Let's go to Polly's. I have a bad-..."

"John!" Michael screaming John's name it's the only thing you hear when you look over your shoulder and see a trailer filled with hay that pulled up outside your house. You frown when the hay suddenly disappeared and several men with guns appeared in it's place.

"[Y/N] come on!" You don't even hear Michael screaming at you and trying to move you, to get you back inside, but you don't wanna take any steps.

"Get her inside now!"

John pull his gun up, ready to fire back at them and all the noises are far away in your head as you only see John, as you only think about him. You grab his under shirt, trying to pull him inside with you and Michael, but you weren't fast enough. You don't even have the time to scream when pain spread across your stomach and chest from the bullets that are shattering you.

And John.

You take just one look at him and a tear drop on your cheek when you see his white under shirt being red now.

Michael can only watch in pure terror as you both fell at the ground next to each other, your bodies quickly covering in blood. You don't even feel all the pain anymore; probably it's too much that you are numb now. You look over at John, tears falling from your eyes because his are already closed.

"I've loved you...All my life." You whisper and you grab one of his fingers, closing your eyes and holding him for the last time and for the rest of the time.

[quirks-of-a-fangirl]

Another Quick Blurb

Here’s some more of Piper and Harry time! Please give me all the feedback! What else would you want to see?

Word Count: 3221

As the finishing bars of The Christmas Song floated through the air, Piper closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She hates this time of year. The whole world won’t let her forget that this month was supposed to be filled with happiness and family and cheer and love. Piper’s December was not filled with any of that. It was a time filled with triggers and anxiety and fights and loneliness. 

She rarely went home to visit her family. All that ever happened was hurt. They hurt her. She’d sometimes hurt them back. No one was happy when she was home so she cut down the visits to once a year- at Christmas. 

Harry has tried to convince her to just spend Christmas with his family. He would do the cleaning. His mom would do the cooking. His sister would do the presents. Piper could just do the drinking. But Piper knew she would never hear the end of it from her mom and sister if she didn’t go home for a bit. 

So home she went. She drove the few hours to see her family and it was fine for about 24 hours. Piper was shocked at who broke the peace this time, though. Her younger sister was playing her Christmas music at full volume and the song was one that brought all of the shit of Christmases past right to the surface. Piper could feel the anxiety attack coming.

“Can we just turn down the music? Or turn it off?” Piper turned away from her sister. Piper reached toward the volume control on the stereo. 

“God, why did you even come home if you were going to be such a killjoy?”

Piper’s head snapped around to look at what she expected to be her mom, but no. It was her sister saying those things to her.

“Everything has to be just like you want it, doesn’t Piper? You’re just like mom.”

Piper couldn’t talk as her sister just turned the music up, making it heard throughout the house. The tears welled up in Piper’s eyes and she turned the knob down. Her sister pushed her and turned the knob back up. 

“God, just go home.”

So Piper did. She hadn’t wanted to come in the first place- she was guilted into it, just like every other year. She silently grabbed her bag and started walking out the door. 

“You can’t even spend Christmas with us? You hate us that much?” Her mom’s voice hit her ears. Piper didn’t even bother stopping. She was too upset to be effective like her therapist taught her. Whatever Piper said would be twisted and turned around. She was starting to wish she had taken Harry’s offer. 

She closed the door behind her and got in her car. She pulled away from the driveway before she let the tears fall. She refused to let them see her crying again because of their words. They didn’t need more ammunition. She cried the rest of the way back to her apartment. 

Persephone, her little tortoiseshell kitten, came bounding over to her, the little bell on her collar tinkling. She made little squeaks to show her confusion. Mom had set out food for a few days and took her bag, which usually meant a few days of ruling the house for the small cat.

“Hi, little miss. I know I’m home early but I just missed you too much to stay away, Sweet Girl,” Piper scratched the cat’s belly as she flopped over at her mom’s feet. 

Piper set her bag down and picked up the cat to really give her some love. When she started wriggling in Piper’s arms, she put her down and went to change.

 Harry had left his forest green pullover at her place before they both left to visit family. She picked it up. It still smelled like him. She took off the nice outfit she had put on for the Christmas Eve festivities and pulled the oversized sweatshirt over her head. Pulling the sleeves over her hands and putting them up to her face, she inhaled deeply. Even from miles away, Harry was bringing her some comfort on this awful night.

She grabbed her blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her as she walked back to the couch. Persephone cuddled up right next to her as she turned on the shitty reality tv show she had been watching on Netflix. Piper just wanted to forget what happened and drown her sorrows in drag queen drama.

About 20 minutes into the episode, her phone began buzzing. At first, she ignored it. It was most likely her mom wanting to chew her out for leaving. It finally stilled. Then the phone buzzed again. It was Harry trying to FaceTime her. She slid the grey circle to the right, not even bothering to unwrap her head from the blankets she burrowed into earlier.

“Lovey! I proper miss ya, don’t I? Been chatting me mum’s ear off about it so I figured I better call ya instead!” Harry kept going, “She and Gem are making cookies and I snuck away to call. I can’t wait for you to try- wait. Are you on your couch?”

Harry’s mom and sister had come over from the UK to visit Harry. They were staying at a hotel near his tiny one-bedroom apartment near campus. That’s why he had wanted her over so badly, to just stay home this year.

“Yeah.”

“But I thought- shit.”

“Harry watch your language while your mother is here!” Anne called from the next room.

Harry rolled his eyes. Piper just stayed quiet. Harry knew Piper didn’t get along with her family, knew that she only went home once a year for a reason. It didn’t take much for him to connect the dots. 

“I’m coming over.”

“Harry, no. Your family is there to see you. I’m fine. Just go help with the cookies.” There was no way she was letting him come over and ruin his family time.

“We don’t need him messing up our cookies. Please let him over, just for our sakes!” Gemma’s face appeared on the screen. Harry looked at his sister horrified, then back at Piper.

“Even though that was mean, it doesn’t change the fact that I am still coming over.” And with that, the call ended. 

Chuckling, Piper shook her head. Anne was not going to let Harry out of her sight on Christmas Eve. They had come in from across the ocean. No way.

So when the door starting opening 10 minutes later, she was confused. Her head popped up over the back of her couch to look at the door and Harry busted out laughing. She was all wrapped and bundled in her blankets, much like a burrito, and just her eyes and nose were visible over the couch. 

“Anne wasn’t supposed to let you leave.”

“You’re practically her second daughter. No way in hell she wasn’t going to let me come see you.” He smirked at her, “Plus I’m an adult so I can do whatever I want.”

“You trying to tell me or yourself?”

“Heeeeeyyy!” Harry whined as he walked over to her nest on the couch. He picked up her legs so he could sit down, putting them over his lap when he settled. 

“What did your mom do this time?”

“It was my sister, actually. Told me I was just like mom,” Piper said quietly, looking at her twisting fingers.

“What the fuck,” Harry sat up from his lounged position, “That’s literally what you’ve been working on in therapy for years. You are the furthest thing from being your mom. She’s the one being like your mom!” His voice started to rise. Piper started to shrink. Harry checked himself when he saw this. “Sorry, lovey. I just can’t believe she would say that to you. No matter what happened.”

Piper smiled the beginning of a smile, her right cheek lifting with the corner of her mouth. Harry was so protective of her therapy work, of her. 

“Harry, it’s ok. I’m ok. I left before it got worse.”

“Allison is gonna be so proud. I’m proud.”

Piper’s cheeks got warm. They were definitely reddening. She’d never get used to the pride that her therapist and her best friend offered her consistently. So Piper just snuggled into Harry’s side as Harry’s tattooed arm pulled her closer. 

“Have you seen the space challenge in this season yet? The challenge twist was insane!”

And with that, they watched the drag queens as they battled it out. After an episode and a half, Piper turned the television off. 

“Hey! The next episode is the best one in the season,” Harry whined.

“Harry, you need to go spend time with your family. So get your cute ass up and leave.”

Harry just frowned at her as she got up from the couch. The blankets fell in a pile around her feet. His eyes widened as he took in her pant-less state. Her, Harry’s, sweatshirt rode up her thighs as she stretched. Harry looked away. Piper pulled the sweatshirt back down. 

“Sorry,” she murmured. Harry stayed quiet, still not looking at her. She figured he was annoyed with her wearing his sweatshirt so she hurried to change. “I’ll get this off so you can take it with you when you leave.” 

Piper rushed to her room, spooking the sleepy kitten on her bed. She found some jeans and a comfy shirt to throw on as Persephone got up and stretched her little legs and then resettled. 

Piper went back out, pullover in hand. Harry was still sitting on her couch, head in his hands. He looked up when she stopped in the doorway. 

“You’re gonna freeze, love. Put the pullover back on so we can go,” Harry told her as he stood.

“Go?”

“Yeah. Go. Back to my place.”

“Harry I’m not intruding on Christmas with your family.”

“Not intruding, babe. Never intruding,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around her and looking down at her with those green eyes.  And that’s how somehow she ended up with the sweatshirt on and back at Harry’s apartment, his mom and sister twittering around her. 

“Oh, you’re even prettier than Harry said!”

“Your necklace is just the cutest!”

“We have been dying to meet ya!”

“Come get some cookies!”

“Did ya eat yet? Harry get her a plate.”

Piper didn’t even have time to be overwhelmed with the women. They gave her food and drinks and hugs. They asked her how her masters was going, all about her work in the schools, how her tiny cat was doing. It was like catching up with her oldest friends. 

Harry had planted himself right next to her and refused to move all night. He constantly had a hand on her: an arm around her shoulder, a hand on her leg, fingers twisted with her own. Piper was used to the affection- Harry was always so clingy. But tonight it was more than the usual. She figured he was just happy his family was here and tipsy on his red wine.

Around 11, Anne and Gemma started saying their goodnights and gave hugs all around. 

“I’m making a full English tomorrow for breakfast so you better be here hungry,” Anne squeezed Piper tightly. 

“Mum’s gonna proper spoil ya tomorrow,” Gemma giggled in Piper’s ear. 

Anne whispered in Harry’s ear and his cheeks turned a dark pink before he kissed her cheek and ushered the women out the door. 

“What’d she say?” Piper asked him.

“Nothing,” Harry shook his head and chuckled. “Let’s get ready for bed.”

“Ok, let me grab my phone and we can leave.”

“What? No. You’re staying over.” 

“I’m not staying over when you’re family is getting here early. Especially on Christmas Eve.”

“It being Christmas Eve is all the more reason to stay.” He replied quickly, the smirk he wore turning it into a game.

“Your couch is covered in presents from your mom.”

“You’re taking the bed so that’s not an issue.” He smirked, thinking he was winning

“What about you?” This was Piper’s winning move. There was not enough room in this apartment for both of them.

“Well, I was taking the bed, too, actually.”

Oh. 

The butterflies erupted in her belly. He wanted to share a bed. With her. They had spent the night at each other’s places before, but always on the couch or the floor in front of the Netflix marathon they were in the middle of watching. This was so different. They would be so close, bodies almost touching, all night. There was no way Piper would get any sleep if he were that close. She stood there, guppying her mouth open and closed. The glint in Harry’s eye told her that this was the reaction he was going for. 

“Only if you’re ok with it, that is.”

“Yeah. No. Why wouldn’t I be fine with it? I’m totally fine with it.” She was rambling now. It was just making her butterflies worse.

Harry nodded his head once and started to lock up the front door. Piper took a deep breath. It was too shaky to bring her any comfort as Harry called over to tell her he was going back to his room to change. This did nothing to steady the shaky breaths Piper pulled into her lungs. She took one final breath and started back to the bedroom. With a small knock, Piper checked to see if Harry was decent. 

“Come in, lovey,” she heard through the door. So she opened the door to find Harry ready for bed. Her eyes scanned from his slightly messy curls down the inked skin of his toned torso all the way to the grey joggers resting low on his hips. He was so beautiful that Piper almost let out a sigh. 

“Looks like you’re overdressed. I thought you might want this so I pulled it out for you.” Harry pointed to the worn Rolling Stones t-shirt that Piper stole every time she could her hands on it. She smiled to herself as she picked up the shirt and held it gently in her hands. 

“I’ll- um, well, I’ll let you change real quick.” He hesitated and then walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Piper quickly switched clothing. Looking in the mirror hanging on Harry’s closet door, she tugged the bottom of the t-shirt down just a little more. It skimmed her thighs and the bottom of her panties were just peeking out. There was a small knock on the door before Harry stuck his head in and stopped. His eyes widened as he took in the girl standing in front of his mirror. He cleared his throat and Piper turned around, still tugging at the bottom of the borrowed shirt. 

“It’s a little short,” she said quietly.

“Mmm,” was all he did to acknowledge her statement. He just looked at Piper. 

“Well I’m getting kind of tired, so…”

This seemed to shake him awake, “Yeah, of course. I’ll get the lights.” Piper climbed into the right side of the bed while Harry switched off the overhead lights and plugged in the strand of fairy lights above the bed. He climbed in beside Piper and didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her. At first touch, Piper stiffened. Her skin tingled. But she relaxed into Harry’s touch when he placed a gentle kiss to her hair.

And that’s how they slept the whole night. With Harry’s arms around Piper and her cuddled into his chest. 

Piper woke up to the sound of soft laughter and the smell of breakfast cooking. Piper quickly pulled on a pair of boxers she found in Harry’s drawers and walked out to the kitchen to Anne cooking at the stove, Gemma rummaging in the fridge, and Harry standing by the toaster. 

Anne was the first to notice her, “Oh! Piper! Harry told me you’re a vegetarian. Gem is, too, so there are tons of things for you two to eat.” Piper smiled as she said her thanks. Harry looked over at her, face lighting up. He walked over to her and wrapped her in a hug. His tall frame towered over her as he whispered, “Ya look so cute in my clothes, lovey.”

Piper’s cheeks burned as she pulled away. She asked Anne for something to help with. She was tasked with cutting the bread for the toast that Harry was buttering. After their full English, the four started the present opening. Piper took over the job of photographer for the crew, capturing the reactions to each present and each sweet moment between the family members. She was shocked when the last two presents had her name on them. Harry handed them to her. One had her name printed in beautiful handwriting and the other had her name scrawled on it in Harry’s messy handwriting. Piper looked at the three people surrounding her, mouth agape. 

“We hoped we would get to see you while we were out here so we got you a gift. I hope you don’t mind,” Anne told her gently. Piper opened the gift from the women with shaking hands. The paper opened up to a deep red leather-bound journal with her name pressed into the bottom right corner in a swirling script. A long satin ribbon was sticking out of the book, marking the first page. Piper spent way too much of her free time journaling, already filling up 3 journals this year. This was a perfect addition to her collection. She thanked the women with tears in her eyes.

“Of course, sweet girl! You’ve brought so much happiness to Harry’s life, it’s the least we could do. Harry told us you always have a journal with you and go through them so quickly.”

“My turn now,” Harry nudged the next gift toward her. 

“I don’t have yours here,” Piper replied as she picked up the gift. 

“Doesn’t matter, love.” Piper pulled the paper away and she was met with a box to open. She looked over to Harry with a confused look and he just nodded at her to keep going. She took the top off and gasped. Sitting inside were tickets. Tickets to her favorite artist. Tickets in the front row. The tickets she had tried so hard to get when they went on sale but sold out before she could get any. She had saved up for months to get these tickets. Piper looked up at Harry. He was just smiling, dimples popping. She couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks.

“Did I mess up, lovey? These are the ones you wanted, right? I got two so I could go with you, if that’s ok,” Harry worried. 

Piper just nodded, trying to calm down her breathing. She threw her arms around his neck. He returned her hug, pulling her close and kissing her hair again. She drew away, wiping at her eyes. 

“Thank you all so much.”

The rest of the afternoon was filled with giggles as they all cleaned up the aftermath of the gift exchange. Piper couldn’t remember a Christmas that she felt this loved and this cared for. 

[papitocarlositothirst]

OK SO THIS IS A DAN SOFT ONE (i guess i’m kinda shocked lmao ngl) TRIGGER WARNINGS: CHEATING & DEATH

She was an average girl or may I say, an average 28 year old woman. He was a 30 year old man. A man that could have any other female but yet he stuck with her. Or she stuck with him? She had the chance to let go, but she didn’t. He believed him when he said he was sorry when in reality she could let go and find someone else. Someone new. Someone better. People would laugh at her though. She had the Australian F1 driver and she would want to let go?

“She must be insane if she let him go”

—that’s what her aunt said three years ago on Christmas dinner when she was helping her other aunt to clean the plates. Then her other aunt would say something like “If she thinks no one else is going to cheat on her then yes she is insane. He is the best she can ever have. No one will ever be able to provide her all the stuff he does. With all the money he gets, he can save his family, her, her family and he can even help us as well.”

This is how it was. Her family members would always see pounds pictured across his face. They even believed that she only wanted him for his money. And they were fine with it. They also were fine with the fact that he cheated on her. See, money in their lives were much more important than her happiness. She did go back to him though, a year later. Not because they told her to, or because she agreed with their opinion, but because she saw the regret in his eyes. She saw how sorry he was. She saw how he changed through a whole year they were separated.

The day she left him was Christmas eve. The end of the year was near and he wanted to be honest. He believed that she would forgive him. He didn’t think she would be okay with it, but that she would appreciate his honesty. Three weeks ago he visited Australia on a weekend getaway where he slept with one of his old school friends. He was drunk yes, but not drunk enough to not be able to control himself. He was driving her to the airport that day. She was going home for Christmas. She wanted to take the bus but him being the perfect boyfriend, he wouldn’t let her take an endless bus journey when she could be back home in a matter of a few hours. He felt the need to talk to her about his actions—it’s killing him.

He turned the volume down of the Christmas song that was playing. She stopped her singing and looked at him wondering why he would turn the volume down. He said he wanted to let her know about something before it was too late. She listened to him trying to figure out what it was that had to ruing their so movie-like journey. He said what it was. He said he was sorry. All she could say was “just drive”. She wanted to get to the airport as soon as possible. She was about to burst in tears and she fought it until the moment they got to the airport.

He made a move to hug her, if not kiss her, goodbye. She took a step back and shacked her head in disbelief, hot tears running down her face and an ironic smile placed on her face. What did he expect anyway from someone who just found out that her boyfriend of 10 years just cheated on her. She did remember his last words though—

“At least text me that you are safe back home.”

That was the last time they saw each other for a year. The next day, Christmas day, after she heard her aunts..they made her make her biggest decision. She disappeared. For a year, no one knew where she was and what she was doing. She only kept contact with her parents and a few of her friends, to let them know she is okay. Of course, they would all ask for information for where she was or even when she was coming back, but she would never say anything. Until next Christmas, when she went back home. At the airport? She met him. He was coming back to Monaco after a weekend in Australia again. It was strange, exactly a year ago it was the last time he saw her.

He did look for her. But how can you find someone who doesn’t want to be found? When he saw her again it felt like the universe was giving him another chance. Even if he still didn’t know that SHE would give him another chance. He asked how she was, she said she was fine. She looked different but so did he. He looked more mature, she looked more broken, more empty than even before. She smiled back at him though so he took the courage to ask her to meet him sometime so they can talk. He didn’t expect her to agree but to his surprise she did. And here they are, two years later they are still together. She moved in with him, he took care of her and he never ever laid his eyes on another woman. Everything was fine until the past few weeks. He seemed distant. He would come home more late than ever before. And without an explanation.

She wouldn’t say anything though. She was never the person who would complain. She kept everything to herself. When he would come home, he wouldn’t say much. He did talk to her, it’s not like he ignored her but it wasn’t the same as before. Not to mention the constant secret texting and email sending. She didn’t want to believe that he is cheating again but yet again he didn’t give her any option.

One day she came home from work, another day her boss had been rude to her, another day where he humiliated her in front of every other coworker. All she needed was her boyfriend’s comfort. She got home when he was on his phone, as soon as he noticed that he wasn’t alone anymore, he ended the call.

“How was your day?” he said and walked to the kitchen, no hugs, no kisses.

“As always.”

She said and followed him to make herself a tea. He said that he was glad. If only he knew what she meant with “as always” and was going on at her work place. She could have told him before but he never gave her the chance as he was barely around her the past few weeks.

He sat on a stool and she took a seat for herself in front of him. His eyes were locked on his phone typing as always. She didn’t want to believe that he would be such an ass to sit here, in front of her while texting someone else. She decided to talk about how her days at work have been lately.

“Hey, can we talk?” She looked at him and waited for his answer, he asked her to give him a minute, without even looking at her. Eyes still on the iphone screen.

Five minutes passed. Six. On the seventh, she got up, threw her tea cup in the sink – might have broken it as well – and made her way out of the kitchen.

“What was that for?”

“What was that for? Seriously I don’t even know, Daniel. The fact that for weeks now you barely talk to me? The fact that you come home as late as possible only for you to eat and if not play same stupid game you go straight to bed? Or maybe that you keep being on your phone talking to god knows who while I’m here literally begging for a word to come out of your mouth, even that would be “Shut up”.” She threw her hands up in the air while she felt her eyes watering up.

“It’s not what it looks like. I promise it’s not.” He said and walked close to her.

“Then what is it? I’m losing my mind! I’m losing my patience.”

“I can’t talk about it.” He can’t talk about it. The perfect answer to make her pick her jacket and make her way out.

“Babe don’t do that please I promise you it’s not what you think it its! Trust me. A few days and I can explain. Please.”

“Just leave me alone. I just want to be alone.”

She walked out of the door. He didn’t follow her. He knows better than that. She needed her time alone. Him following her would make things worse.

He didn’t follow her until he heard it.

The annoying sound of car brakes. He didn’t know what made him look out of the window but he did. And what he saw was enough for him to run as fast as possible. He wrapped his arms around her passed out body. He let pointless sounds leave his mouth. He was screaming. The driver had already called an ambulance but it seemed it was already too late. Her breathless body covered in blood was being shaken by her boyfriend, as if his screams and his arms shaking her, would bring her back to life. As if he could love her back to life. As if she was just playing a game trying to scare him off and she would soon open her eyes.

But she didn’t. You can’t love someone back to life. You can’t turn back time.

If he knew what was coming, he would have explained that exact moment she asked him. Because he was right. It’s not what she thought. It was far from what she thought.

But now she was gone. He lost her. She asked him to leave her alone, and it turns out he is the one left alone. What she never found out, was that all this time, he was planning his proposal along with a surprise wedding. If only he was more careful and if only she was more patient and if only she trusted him, she would have been here. She would have been here and married to him in three days.

But she was gone.

[jae-bummer]

The Naughty List

Request: 13 and 16 for the Christmas requests!! And could the idol please be Jay Park (or any other idol of your choice honestly. I just think it would be fun to see Jay in this kind of setting)? Hope you have fun writing out all your requests! Merry (early) Christmas!!

13) You and your idol spend Christmas Eve at the fair. 16) “I think Santa just made a pass at me”

Member: Jay Park x Reader Type: CHRISTMAS FLUFF

“It looks like a Christmas card,” you cooed, pressing your face against the frosty glass pane of the window. You spun around, attempting to keep the childlike joy that had begun bubbling within your chest from erupting. Searching the bedroom for any sign of your boyfriend, Jay, you let out a light chuckle as he finally shuffled out of the closet. 

“You know we don’t live anywhere near the North Pole,” you laughed, crossing your arms as you surveyed him. He was bundled in a fur-lined parka that extended well past his knees, and you had only ever seen the hat he was wearing in old, textbook photos of the Soviet Union. 

“I assume you are well aware by now,” he grumbled. “That I am less that ten percent body fat.” 

“And so?” you groaned, trying to keep from rolling your eyes. 

“And so, that means I have damn near nothing keeping me warm,” he muttered. He walked toward you, his stride similar to a penguin as he attempted to navigate the layers he had on. 

“And who’s fault is that?” you asked. “You shouldn’t be assaulting people’s eyes just because you can’t survive in a less than ideal climate.” 

“It’s called fashion,” he chuckled, wiggling his brows. “Look it up.” 

“Sometimes I honestly wonder which parts of you are artist and which parts are insane,” you muttered. “Also, I thought you lived in Seattle? Aren’t you used to weather like this?” 

“I will never be used to weather like this,” he pouted. “And I am not impressed by your lack of sympathy.” 

“Tell me all about your first world problems,” you hummed. “Please.” 

“Tell me all about how you wanted to go to this fair,” Jay mocked. “Please.” 

“Don’t think this is something you can leverage against me, Park Jaebum,” you hissed. “You secretly want to go to the Winter Fair just as much as I do. You just wouldn’t ever admit it.”

"Pfft," he scoffed, crossing his arms. "What a dumb ass idea. Seasonal fairs. With their stupid food that makes the air stank...and those little potato tornadoes that are all salty and stupid long...and the carousel with that long ass line...and don’t even get me started on Santa’s played out ass.”

“What did Santa do to you?” you laughed, pulling on your coat.

“Nothing!” he gasped. “Santa has not done a damn thing for me. That’s why he’s played out. He gets all of the credit for the hard work parents put it.”

“Jay,” you sighed. “Sweetheart, you don’t even have kids. Why are you so mad?”

“I’m not mad!” he gasped. “Just passionate about social issues.”

“Because this is a social issue,” you nodded. “Okay, well, we don’t have to go then.”

“...We don’t have to go where?” Jay said quietly, looking up with wide eyes.

“We don’t have to go to the Winter Fair,” you confirmed, beginning to tug off the jacket you had just donned.

“But like...” he trailed, kicking at an imaginary speck of dirt on the ground. “Like...who’s gunna feed the reindeers at the petting zoo?”

“I’m sure other people are going to go to the fair and feed them,” you laughed. “People who actually want to be there.”

“So...” he trailed, averting his eyes from you. “Like...what’s going to happen to that giant ass gingerbread house those nice, old ladies sell gingerbread men out of?”

“You know, life goes on in places you choose not to go to,” you grinned, hardly able to contain your glee. Sometimes being in a relationship with Jay was similar to dating a spoiled child. You knew he wanted to go to the Winter Fair even more than you did, but he would never openly admit his excitement. He didn’t make holidays into a big deal, but if you were to cut him open, he would be bleeding red and green tinsel.

“Damn, I’m not that conceited,” he muttered. “I just wanted to know if they’re still going to have hot cocoa...with the little, bitty marshmallows.”

“Alright, put on a more socially acceptable coat and we’ll go,” you hummed, tugging on your jacket again. “If you keep the pouting to a minimum, I may even buy you egg bread.”

“It’s snowing.”

“I’m well aware,” you chuckled, striding toward the entry of the fair.

“Good,” Jay hissed. “Cause it’s snowing.”

“Come here,” you sighed, halting your steps for a moment so he could catch up.

“What?” he grumbled, pausing as you did.

“Don’t be a dork,” you grinned, sliding your arm around his. His hands were stuffed deep within his pockets, wrapped around the small heat packs you had provided before you left the apartment.

“Not a dork,” he pouted. “I am in fact the opposite of a dork...I’m a...I’m a...”

Jay paused, both with his steps and words. You glanced over to him, searching his face for any cause of alarm. His eyes were focused and pupils shaking as he gazed up toward the lighted entry of the fair.

“You’re a...?” you trailed.

“Excited motherfucker, do you see this?” he said, his face still deadpanned. His eyes were more open than you had ever witnessed them to be. Slowly, a grin began to tug on the corners of his mouth until a full-fledged smile found it’s way onto is face.

“I see it,” you nodded, biting your lip. You were beyond amused.

“Well, come on!” he gasped, springing forward and tugging on your hand. Jerking forward with an impressive speed, you stumbled to remain on your feet as you followed the now ignited man.

“Hey!” you groaned, struggling to keep up. “The fair is still going to be there when we get to it. You can slow do-”

“Look at these lines, there’s no time to slow down!” he complained, navigating through the crowds of people with expert skill. He dodged toddlers and couples, side stepping and dancing his way from point to point.

“Where are we going exactly?” you complained, now your turn to be the difficult one.

“Well, first we’re going to get a potato tornado, and then we’re going to ride the carousel, and then we’re gunna take a cute as shit picture with Santa,” he said quickly, his eyes searching out the food vendor he was looking for.

“Not to be the one to rain on your parade-”

“Rain would turn to snow and it’s snowing already,” Jay grinned. “Don’t kill my vibe.”

“But your to-do list is literally comprised of all of the things you were just complaining about a half hour ago in the apartment,” you argued.

“People change,” he said quickly, finally navigating to the potato tornado stand.

“In an evening?” you clucked, finally pausing your rushed steps. You felt as if you had whiplash as Jay held your hand tightly within his.

“I adapt with immense speed, I know,” he chuckled. “Try to hide how impressed you are.”

“That is my life, you know,” you croaked. “Trying to hide exactly just how impressed I am with you.”

“Right?” he hummed, biting his lip before nuzzling into your neck. “How’d you get so lucky?”

“For your sake,” you sighed. “I honestly hope you’re being sarcastic.”

“Hey baby,” he continued. “We both know who the lucky one is here.”

He leaned backward and placed a gentle kiss on your temple. “Me.”

“I held my breath because I honestly wasn’t sure how you were going to finish that,” you grumbled, shaking your head.

“Oh, come on!” he groaned. “I’m not that self absorbed!”

“For my birthday, you got me one of your concert t-shirts,” you muttered. “With your face on it.”

“Heh, I did, didn’t I?” He chuckled. “I wanted you to rep the crew! The team! The squad!”

You rolled your eyes, only able to laugh at how obnoxious your boyfriend was.

“Plus I got you that apple watch you wanted!”

“And immediately set the background to be your face,” you hummed.

“And what a damn sexy background it was,” he winked.

You shifted through the night from one line to another, keeping each other entertained through people watching and snack eating. By the time you had managed to make it into the line to see Santa, you were full of just about every street food Seoul had to offer and probably had as impressive of a stomach as the man in the red suit, himself.

“Merry Christmas, jagi,” you whispered. “Aren’t you happy we ended up coming?”

“Eh, it wasn’t too bad,” Jay nodded, grinning to himself before glancing through his lashes at you. “It gave me an excuse to hang out with you.”

“You need an excuse?” you hummed, leaning into his body. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your hairline lightly.

“Nah, but it sounded good, didn’t it?” he chuckled.

“Are you going to admit that you actually were looking forward to tonight?” you asked.

“Fine,” he groaned. “It was nice, I guess.”

“And you looked forward to it,” you continued, leaning back to look him directly in the face.

“I guess,” he repeated.

You lifted your brows and pursed your lips, your expression unamused.

“Alright, alright,” he pouted. “I really did kind of get excited about tonight. Usually I just work on Christmas Eve...but-”

“Are you two ready to see Santa?!” a far too eager woman dressed as an elf shouted toward you.

“Damn,” Jay grumbled. “I guess we gotta be after that.”

You chuckled, tugging on his coat to move him forward. “Don't lie, this is the highlight of your night.”

“Oh yeah,” he sighed, following closely behind you. “My heart is growing three sizes as we speak.”

“You better behave in front of Santa,” you hissed, smacking him playfully as you finally entered the gazebo area where you were to meet Mr. Claus. “Or else you’ll end up on the naughty list.”

“I’ve checked it twice, and by the sounds of it, I’m most certain you are there,” Santa chuckled heartily. “You are one, naughty boy.”

“...I think Santa just made a pass at me,” Jay hissed.

“Quit it,” you croaked, clearing your throat so you could speak more loudly to Santa. “He’s definitely on the naughty list Santa. He needs to do better.”

“I’ll show you naughty,” Jay muttered.

You leveled him with a death glare before turning happily to Santa.

“And what do you want for Christmas this year?” Santa asked, ignoring the small exchange happening before him.

“Santa, for real,” Jay sighed, glancing toward him over his shoulder. “It’s Christmas Eve, don’t you have shit to do?”

You grit your teeth and tried to remain calm. “Jay.”

“No, that’s a great question!” Santa laughed with his trademark, “Ho, ho, ho” at the end. “Well, you see, Mrs. Claus is helping finish up some things at the North Pole, so I can leave here and begin my journey as soon as I’m done talking to the nice boys and girls!”

“Right,” Jay nodded. “Cause you’ll have more than enough time.”

“He will if he skips over your house,” you grumbled.

“What would you like for Christmas this year young man?” Santa asked again, smiling kindly at the sour Jay.

“Well,” Jay sighed, turning his pout into a small smirk. “I don’t think I need anything this year...I have all I could possibly want...”

You couldn’t help but smile as you looked over to him, his gaze fond as he searched your face.

“Haha nah, I’m messin’,” Jay laughed. “I wouldn’t hate the new iPhone, ya feel?”

“Jay,” you groaned.

“And what about you?” Santa asked, directing his attention at you. “What would you like this year?”

You glanced up at Jay, trying to decide if you were going to take the smartass route with your answer or something sweet.

“Well,” you hummed. “Since the man next to me is such an angel...I obviously don’t need one for the top of my tree...”

Jay groaned, accepting the small jab.

“But honestly,” you hummed, smiling up at  your boyfriend. “I have everything I want right here.”

A moment of silence passed as both Jay and Santa nodded, glancing at each other before Jay leaned over with a grin filling his face.

“Weak,” he chuckled. “Just get her an iPhone too, you know, to be safe.”

[margarethelstone]

She’s not my Soulmate  [chapter IV]

One, final part. Can also be find on fanfiction.net

"Ever since we met, we've both known it was not meant to be," he said slowly, carefully weighing each of his words. "Nothing more than a friendship, that is. We could be friends, sure. We could have great time together, sure. But that was all. We compared our symbols at the first day, and there was absolutely no way they would match – yours looks like a tattoo, while mine is almost like a natural birthmark; yours is an outline, when mine is a quote. The symbol you're wearing on your wrist is purely Nordic – and the line under my collarbone is written in old French. Our marks couldn't be any more different – honestly, we would be insane to think there might me some sort of a connection between us. But I'm afraid that the last thing I am right now is sane.

"We've been friends for more than eight years now, laughing together, complaining together, standing by each other's side. I have learnt to care for you, like I never cared for anybody else; still, I knew I would never be allowed to love you differently, than as my friend, because no matter how hard I would try, I couldn't change the world we live in.

"I wasn't as tough as I thought, though, and there came a moment, when I had to admit to myself that I broke the rules, and fell for you. That it was no longer platonic, or sibling-like love – but what was worse, that it was not just some stupid crush I could ignore. My feelings had grown, and the truth is, they still are. Every second makes me more aware of how much you mean to me. I'm sorry if it makes you feel uncomfortable; but after all these years, you deserve to know the truth."

Astrid bit her lower lip, and Hiccup saw her doing it. He couldn't tell what she thought about his speech, except that he was almost sure she did not like it. He sighed. Once more, the heart he had almost managed to mend was breaking, falling apart into hundreds and hundreds of pieces, too small to be hoped to ever be brought together again.

However, he had no choice now. If he had found the courage to begin his confession, he had to find the strength to finish it.

"I would never have thought I'd be bold enough to tell you all this. It was always simple, almost painfully so: you were meant for someone else, and someone else was meant for you. I didn't know who that guy would be, except that he was the luckiest man on earth, but since it was not me, there had to be a reason for it. I couldn't imagine being happy with anyone but you – but it made no difference as long as I remembered that you would not be happy with me.

"And that's how it had been until this morning, when I talked to my mum, and she told me some things about her and Dad. You know, for me, there's only one couple that are greater than your parents – my own. For twenty three years I was sure it was because they were lucky to be in love with their soulmate from the very start. But my parents are not soulmates, Astrid; not in the way we were taught to see it. If there's a chance we could be half as happy together as they are, we will be fools not to give it a try."

He finished, almost as surprised as the girl who stood in front of him. Ten minutes earlier he hadn't had a clue what to say, and now he was delivering some huge, smart, oh-look-how-good-with-the-words-I-am speech. He hadn't intended to do it; if anything, he'd been scared he would get stuck after the first few sentences, unable to make an articulated sound.

But he meant it; and he could only hope she would understand.

It took Astrid a while to think it all over, furrowing slightly as she thought about a proper answer. She raised her sight eventually, and whispered, "How long?"

Hiccup shook his head, "It's hard to tell, really. It was so slow, so smooth, it was already done when I realised what was going on."

"When did you realise it, then?"

He made some calculations, "Eight months ago. Christmas. Your parents were abroad, and you came to spend it with us… I glanced at you and knew that I wanted every holiday to look like that. With you as a part of my family. As my family."

Astrid gritted her teeth as she listened, and Hiccup wasn't sure if it was pain or anger he saw in her eyes. He inhaled deeply, determined to make her speak.

"Astrid, I understand you may not like this. I don't expect -"

"I called Eret," she blurted out.

Hiccup froze.

He was too late.

Astrid saw his terrified expression, yet decided not to comment. Instead, she inhaled deeply, just like he had a few moments earlier, and finally loosening her self-embrace, she began to tell her own little story, "I told you I didn't know what to tell him, and that was true. As soon as you left, I went to bed, only to spend the night thinking of what I should say, or how to do it – it wasn't easy, but those few hours were enough to figure it out. He texted me about half past seven this morning, and I called him back. We talked for like, ten or fifteen minutes. I told him I was sorry for my behaviour yesterday, and that I'd like to make it up to him; of course he said there's no need for that. Either way, we're good now."

She smiled mildly, and brushed her blonde bangs away from her forehead. Hiccup could swear he saw her blushing. He felt a twist in his stomach, certain of where Astrid was heading, mentally kicking himself for being vain enough to think, that she could ever have him. He was ridiculous; his declaration was ridiculous.

Why, why had she let him say all this?

"I thanked him for his attention -" she went on, blind to the suffering that reflected all across her best friend's face "- but I said I couldn't accept it. He had offered me his heart, and was almost ready to offer me his hand as well – the problem is, I would never be able to return those feelings. Not when my heart belongs to someone else."

She didn't realise how wet her eyes were, until one of the tears escaped them, and she had to wipe it with her hand. She laughed shortly, with this kind of laugh which only appears when you cry. All of this felt surreal, but she couldn't force herself to dislike it.

Hiccup's eyes were wide with shock.

"And who would that be?" was everything he managed to stammer.

"You, idiot."

They still were standing so far away from each other, and yet, it suddenly felt like if there was no distance between them at all. The icy walls were melting, the imaginary obstacles were crumbling down, and it just felt right.

Astrid covered her mouth with her trembling hands, however, the gaze she gave him was so fond, so enthusiastic, that Hiccup was sure his legs would give way. He was grinning like an idiot, and he was aware of that; he shook his head in disbelief.

"How long, Astrid?"

"Eight months. Christmas."

He was staring at her for a short while, before slapping his hand against his face, crying out "Screw you, destiny!" and dashing towards her at the top speed. Next moment she was in his arms, openly crying into his neck, holding to him for dear life, while he was asking himself how on earth could they have wasted so much time.

"Good God, Hiccup, we were such fools."

"This world is foolish."

"This world is mad."

Yet she laughed anyway, tightening her grip on him, as if she was afraid he would let her go if she hadn't held him strongly enough. He leaned down, and kissed the soft skin on her neck. Astrid relaxed onto him, and finally, finally they were at peace.

It took a while before either of them was able – or willing – to speak; again, it was Astrid who first decided to say anything.

"It will be hard, won't it?" she asked, the last tones of anxiety playing in her voice. "I mean, we're literally risking everything."

"Nothing that's worth anything is easy -" he mumbled, smiling, brushing his lips against her cheek, "- but all we need is a little more of time. For example, you may be sure I won't propose after a month."

"Would you do that if we were soulmates? Propose after a month?"

"I would have done it on the New Year's Eve."

He tickled her, and she giggled, her sonorous voice resonating in the air.

"But you can still call Eret if you want."

"What on -"

"You know, in case you were having second thoughts."

"Okay, now I positively hate you."

"Nah. You love me."

She didn't answer immediately, pushing away only as much to look him in the eyes. He was still smiling, returning the glare – however, she couldn't miss the occasional glances he was casting at her lips. She rolled her eyes, only to see him grin ever more. She moved her hand from his neck and dipped her fingers in his hair, while her other hand found its way to his jaw.

"I do. I never thought I'd say it out loud, but I do love you, Hiccup Haddock."

"And I love you back, Astrid."

He pulled her closer, and leaned in, curious if she would move; she didn't.

"You were right about your parents, Ast -" he whispered against her mouth, letting their breaths intermingle. "They didn't get along because the universe told them to; it was their own goodwill and determination. And we have so much more than that."

He didn't have a chance to say anything else, as Astrid stood on her tiptoes, pressing her lips against his, and to be fair, he was more than willing to respond. And they stood like that, two young people, in the middle of a large library, melting into one another in a perfect harmony.

Hiccup knew their journey to happiness wouldn't be the easiest one; but if he was to take it with Astrid Hofferson by his side, he knew it would be the greatest adventure that could have ever happened to him.

Because she was his soulmate.

[sleepykittypaws]

Write Before Christmas

Original Air Date: November 17, 2019 (Hallmark) Where to Watch?: Hallmark will replay it multiple times this season, and for every season in perpetuity.

Let me say up front that I am extremely appreciative of Hallmark trying something new with this movie which, even if it didn’t 100 percent work, really was a breath of fresh. My gut, though, also says the reason it didn’t work as well as it might have, likely has to do with Hallmark’s script tinkering to adhere to its inexorable formula.

When her boyfriend dumps her just before Christmas, Torrey DeVitto decides to take the Hallmark-brand Christmas cards she bought—so lovingly shot here, you’d think they were the director’s actual children, but, hey, when you’ve got a product to flog, might as well really go for it—to send her now ex and instead pass them along to five people that mean the most to her. These include a music teacher, her brother, the aunt who raised her, her BFF and a washed up pop star. While all the cards, mostly, set off their own storylines, I really wish we’d been able to follow them more, without quite so much focus on the main couple’s bland romance. 

The brother re-using the card to woo the model/Army mail clerk is…Odd. I mean, is this during the Depression? Can he not afford to buy her his own card? Sure, I know Hallmark’s card prices are insane (seriously, I just bought a plain birthday card for $5…I’m old and remember when they cost a $1), but a guy who crosses out stuff on a card and gives it to you, does not seem romantic, just super cheap. (Run, Beauty Queen/enlisted person! You can do so much better.)

Lolita Davidovich, as the aunt, has good chemistry with Grant Show, who she bonds with over a dog named Blitzen, but I have more than a few issues with the canine’s storyline. First off, someone just moved and gave up with their dog? Pets are family members, not furniture, you don’t just give them away when they no longer fit in. And, if you do, you’re an ass, and that should have been stipulated, and would have made Show’s character look even better (”I rescued him when his owners moved and abandoned him”), so I’m baffled why it wasn’t a plot point.

Second, he’s gonna to give him away by “placing an ad in the paper,” literally the worst way to adopt out a dog (no vetting, no way to trace, and a lot of shady people use those for nefarious purposes)? Hallmark, which is usually great about animal adoption, really dropped the ball here, and I guarantee anyone that works in animal rescue was cringing at the entire set-up, despite the dog’s (non-spoiler alert) happy ending.

The friend’s card “storyline” is just a long demo of these pop-up cards now for sale at your local Hallmark, and has just about zero other purpose to the plot. (That baby was super cute though.)

The washed up boy band thread was by far the most interesting, if also a little out there. First off, how did she have his home address, and should Jax take out a restraining order? Do I think one card would inspire him to reunite the group? No. But I really like the fact that there was never the cringe-y moment I held my breath about, where the pop star becomes Chad Michael Murray’s rival for DeVitto’s affections. In fact, though they (unknowingly) cross paths, they never met, or even attempt to, and I really liked that element.

The main story is the card that went to her music teacher, ends up in the hands of the teacher’s (you later find out, adopted) son, who is the aforementioned CMM. He gives DeVitto a cello, and she uses it to earn a fill-in spot on the orchestra. Auditions are, of course, on Christmas Eve, as these things in real life never would be, but I like that they didn’t make her an instant superstar. 

CMM also, literally, volunteers at an orphanage, which is helpfully located just next door to a high-end restaurant…As most of these sorts of things usually are. Again, this is played as if we’re all in a fantasy version of the 1930s, though it’s set in present day. Guessing they cut the scene where he rescues a kitten from a tree for time.

The leads don’t have a ton of chemistry, as CMM is much better at smarmy than sincere, but it was overall amiable and different enough to hold my interest. Though I wished it broke further from the Hallmark formula, I appreciate they allowed it to try new things at all, but even with so many storylines and only 86-minutes to tell them, it still seemed to drag in parts, which is why I ultimately can’t rate it higher.

Final Judgement: 2 Paws Up

[lovemenowmr]

Chapter twenty one

December was already here and I was so busy trying to find, Marco had been injured again after our little trip and he had missed a Europa League away match. That had also meant he was needy so I couldn't catch up so well with my projects and notes so I had last and this week’s work to make, I had also had to go do Sunday’s match at Signal Iduna Park and, since it was Marco’s comeback, it didn’t felt right not to go.

Borussia had won that match and there was another Bundesliga match but, as it was an away match, I didn’t feel obligated to go and could finish. I did watch it though, there were playing against Wolrsburg and Marco scored the first goal.

The next week it was already one of the last weeks I would spend here this year, which was kind of crazy. I hadn’t spend much time with my classmates this past moths, instead I would rather be with Marco or help Cathy to come up with her new youtube channel video. She was a little vain but I enjoyed her company so much, she was sadly leaving town next season since Matts was leaving the club to go to Bayern which – if you asked me – was a huge dick move. However Cathy seemed happy about it since they could be closer to their families and I understood how she felt.

We had decided to make Christmas shopping together since I hadn’t had time to buy anything, It was already Friday and I had bought loads of little things for my closest family and now we were looking for a specific kind of doll for Xiana, my niece. I had been talking with her yesterday in the middle time and she had told me he had asked Father Christmas for it but my brother couldn’t find it.

So here we were, on the third shopping mall and still without a present for Marco or Matts.

“Adi” Cathy said a little bit too loud “Is that the doll? I think it is”

“OMG” I said also loud “It is!! I can’t believe, I deserve “the best auntie” award”

We headed into the store and I finally bought the doll and text my brother a picture, which I captioned with a “I got it”.

“Okay, your niece is ready” Cathy said “Now I need to find a present for Matts and you for Marco”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it but I really don’t even know what to buy him, I mean, he has everything he wants already”

“I have the same problem with Matts” she said stressfully “And I also have to buy something for his mum, but she’s easy”

“I also wanted to buy something for Marco’s parents” I said suddenly realizing it “I’ve been at their house a lot for lunch and it feels right”

“Then we should hurry up” she said.

It took us a while but Cathy ended up buying an expensive watch for Matts and a dress for her mother – in – law and I bought a tray for Marco’s father. I had decided I would print out pictures of us and put then on a frame rather than buy something for him.

That’s what I did the next day and I also went to work, since I was making the hours I wouldn’t be able to do at Christmas. It ended up looking nice and I wrapped it up as well as the other presents. I put all my family’s presents on a box and took it to the post station, where I send it home since it was cheaper than carrying it on the plane.

It was match day on Sunday and Cathy picked me up and we headed to the stadium.  It was a good match and Borussia won 4 – 1, however Marco had a minor discomfort and was being checked up at the nursery when I left with Cathy, we had dinner together and I sent Marco a text asking how he was. He answered late at night and I didn’t  see it until the next day, he apparently had adductor problems again, which was heartbreaking to hear.

I had to go to class but I went to his house as soon as I finished, when I got there I saw Marco’s mother and sisters’ cars. As soon as I pulled of at the driveway Marco’s mother came to meet me.

“Sweetheart” she said “I haven’t seen you in while, how have you been?”

“Busy, what about you?”

“Great, babysitting a lot”

“Then you hadn’t been bored” I said laughing.

We entered into the living room and I saw all of Marco’s family there, Nico came to me running as soon as he saw me and gave me a huge hug, which melted my heart.

“Hi Nico” I said lovingly “I haven’t seen you in a while, how’s school did you learn a lot of things” he nodded while still in my arms and told me about what he did at school.

After a while he got down and went back to his toys, I said hello to everyone and sat next to Yvone, who was heavily pregnant by now. We talked a little about her and the little girl, who was going to be called Mia and was due to January,

I spent the whole afternoon with them, alternating between talking with them and playing to Nico, who seemed to want all my attention that day and got told off by his mother a few times. Apparently he was starting to feel a little jealous over his sister and was all needy, which I thought was so cute.

Thomas talked with me about Spanish football, because he had been watching it lately and since I had been informed by my brother I knew what was happening and we had a little debate over who was going to win La Liga. We also talked about Christmas presents but in a secretive way, since Nico was listening to us too. They were going to have lunch together the 25th and they would open their presents that morning while I was going to have diner with my family on Christmas Eve and open the presents that night.

They also invited me to have lunch the next Sunday with them, which I did. I spent the weekend with Marco, who was recovering and will be ready for the re start of Bundesliga after Christmas. We had a lovely lunch and we ended up having diner too since time flew by after we started talking.

We left their house at nine o’clock in the morning and as we were getting close to Marco’s house it started snowing, which made me so excited. I pulled off as soon as we entered the gates and told Marco to get the car at the garage. I ran towards the backyard, which was starting to get white already.

Marco came a while later, carrying two blankets and two mugs, he sat next to me at the garden’s couch and handed me a mug with hot chocolate, his was filled with a coffee.

“You’re insane” he said “You’re going to freeze out here”

“It has literally never snowed where I lived let me enjoy it” I said.

“Never?” he said.

“Nope, I live next to the see and it’s very difficult for it to snow, we had to travel to the mountains to see the snow when I was little”.

“Okay, but you can watch it inside too”

“Just let me stay here a little longer” I said looking up to him “Come sit with me”

He did as I said and we got comfortable under the blankets, my head resting on his chest. I listened to his heartbeat as I got intoxicated by his scent, the snow now covering the whole garden but I barely noticed it. I was looking up to him, his strong jawline was showing a little bit of stubble and I could appreciated it now he wasn’t wearing any scarfs. His cheeks were rosy because of the cold air and the tip of his cute nose was also red. His beautiful green eyes were visible through his lashes and they were looking at the end of the backyard. His hair was starting to get dump because of the snowflakes falling.

“The point of being here freezing is for you to enjoy snow” he said suddenly giving me a huge smile.

“MARCO” I said laughing as he carried me on his shoulder and spanked my butt.

“I’m not freezing for you liar” he said laughing as well “You’re getting wet and you’re going to be sick. I’m taking you to the shower” he carried me upstairs to the main bathroom.

As we got there we quickly stripped and got into the shower, letting the hot water run over our skin. I was still smiling like a fool and giggling a bit looking up to him, who was smiling wide as well. We stared at each other a little bit and he then grabbed my faced and got down to kiss me. I instantly got on my tiptoes so he could reach me and he smashed his lips onto mine with force, his tongue parting my lips away. As the floor was slippery I couldn’t spend much time on my tiptoes our kisses couldn’t last long, his hands grabbing my hips firmly so I wouldn’t fall.

“God, you need to grow a little” he said in between kisses, my hands now around his neck to give me balance.

“Hey” I said shoving him playfully “Maybe it’s you who need to shrink”

“Do I” he said while walking towards the end of the shower picking me up. “Are you sure you want me to shrink?” he asked while nibbling on my neck, “Not everything, hugh?” he said as he felt me yelp when I felt his hard – on pressing on my thigh.

“You’re getting out of topic” I said looking up to him while I tilted my neck to give him better access.

“I think you don’t really care” he said smiling against my skin.

Wednesday was already here and I felt both happy and sad. Happy because I would finally get to see my family and sad because I would have to leave Marco, which right now seemed like the most horrendous thing that could happen. We were going to spend a whole month without seeing each other, I was coming back after New Year’s day but he would be on Miami and he then had training camp away as Bundesliga didn’t start till the 28th of January.

It was very early in the morning and we had left to Dortmund’s airport half an hour ago so we were already there. Melanie has come whit us so Marco could go back home after I left. I had told him not to come but he was helpless and wanted to. We took a little longer because we had to pick her up at her house.

It was time for me to go and I didn’t want to say goodbye – that’s why I didn’t want Marco to come.

“Bye” I said looking to the ground as I got closer to the queue, feeling shy as I noticed people giving us looks. I soon felt a pair of strong arms enveloping me in a consuming hug, I hugged Marco back, feeling a few tears come to my eye and I rested my forehead at the crock of his neck as I was wearing heels. I loved to do so because I could smell his cologne and fell his heartbeat.

“I’ll miss you” he mumbled on my head while stroking my hair making me scoot closer to his body even though it was impossible to get closer.

“Me too” I said against his neck, only loud enough for me and him to hear and breathing into his neck one more time so it would stay all that time. We then pulled apart and looked at him to see a few tears in his eyes, which he blinked away,

“I love you” he whispered while he grabbed me by the face tilting my head until I meet his eyes, I answered the same way before he got down and pressed his lips onto mine in a frantic kiss, which would normally make me blush. “Remember to call me, okay?” he said as we pulled apart breathless. I just nod, still trembling for our kiss.

We pulled apart and I said goodbye to Melanie as well and wished her a merry Christmas after I grabbed my bags and started walking towards the line. I was soon into the gates and I looked back to see Marco and Melanie still standing there looking at me, I waved them goodbye and blew them a kiss after starting to walk up to my gate, which was still far away.

I was walking with a strong pace but that’s not what I was feeling inside, I felt uneasy and all the cells in my body were screaming to get back and be with Marco after that breathtaking kiss. I soon was sat at my seat, next to the window and an old white-haired man knowing, after for long hours and a brief stop at Munic I would be at Madrid and then I just had to wait for an hour till another plan would get me home.

M

I watched leave down the airport corridors, she was so perfect you could easily tell she was better than anyone around her. I could watch her all day, the way he walked so gracefully, the way she talked to everybody with so much respect and sweetness, she was just perfect.

I never had been so heartbroken in my life and this wasn’t even a full goodbye, she was okay, she still loved me even though I didn’t know why and she would be back but I couldn’t help to feel this ache which make my heart sting with misery as I saw her march down the airport.

I felt like a horrible person for wanting her to stay. She had just been away from his family for four months and it was so selfish for me to ask her to stay, that’s why I didn’t do it even though I was dying to. I love my little blonde so much I couldn’t even spend a week without her, let alone a month,

I had seen a few tears in her eyes as she had pulled away and I had been so painful to see, yet reassuring as to she didn’t want to leave me neither.

I had also seen a lot of people staring at us, but I couldn’t help but ignore them and center my attention into Adi, who was leaving me for a whole month. She was going to be having fun with her family and friends from home and I was so happy for her but I also felt unease as I had never been introduced to them nor did she talked to an extent about her family. However she did talked about her town, which she loved so much, that was because I was so lucky she wanted to stay with me.

“Marco, should we leave” Melanie said.

“Yep” I said with a broken voice, trying to stiff it afterwards.

“God, you’re so whipped” she laugh. “Never thought I’d seen the day”

I felt my cheecks blush and I shrugged my shoulders. She was so right even though I wouldn’t admit it to her.

[fuelgrannie]

Child of God

I have very controversial views of Jesus Christ, at least to Christians. I was raised in the Catholic faith and can thus attest to having played in the Jesus-as-God pool. I do believe Jesus existed and was an extraordinary bright, curious and loving mortal, but I do not believe he was a god nor in a god’s direct bloodline (because gods have no form, no blood, no sperm). But I do believe a higher force, God, exists.

I came to believe Jesus was mortal very early on in my life by a combo of logic and gut. This doesn’t mean I’m right. This just means I never bought into the idea that a couple thousand years ago a virgin gave birth to the lone valid god of all humankind. This belief in me has never wavered.

In my college Byzantine and Christian art history classes, I learned the Bible was edited in the 4th Century by the Council of Nicaea (a bunch of bishops and Roman Emperor Constantine at the latter’s lake house) so to exclude the years of Jesus’ life from age 7 to 32 when Jesus had traveled the world to learn about as many religions and forms of faith he could find and study. Decades of this trek, decades of this personality’s life and record of what he learned, were promptly and permanently erased from the primary tome of the Christian church.

By the fluke that I loved the teacher, I was in this particular art history class to learn potential confirmation of something I had long suspected: a more complete and full story of Jesus Christ, his travels and studies, perchance even his own attesting to his human mortality, may have been purposefully kept from public knowledge by the church itself.

The Council of Nicaea in AD 325 also decreed that the Bible universally refer to Jesus as the actual son of God, eliminating the concept and possibility that Jesus may have preached all humans were children of God, not just him. I’m not the only one to wonder or even suppose Jesus meant being a child of god was a universal concept, not just his sole status, so the Council of Nicaea deliberately set in stone for all forthcoming editions of the Bible that Jesus meant to refer to himself alone when referencing being a child of God; he more solidly and literally became the son of God.

It is not just my own supposition that Jesus never directly said, “I am the son of God and you are not.” He was known to have said that we were all God and that God was in all of us. Only an unresolved douchebag would land on this planet and say essentially, “I am better than you all, I am the son of an almighty power and you need to follow me,” yet that still happens from time to time when someone tries to pull off a second coming and pretends to be the reincarnation of Jesus Christ. These people are nothing unless, and until, they are believed (and then the trouble starts: “hey, is it me or does this Kool-Aid taste bitter?”), but, as of yet, none have proven to be Jesus, who has made only one earthly appearance so far. Still, what Jesus lectured, the word he tried to spread, was made foggy by the spreaders, the editors of his very lectures: it’s hard for me to trust what’s left. The Council of Nicaea had its own intentions: as previous empires declined in power, the rising popularity of this new Christian religion had become a critical tool for human leaders. Emperor Constantine recognized the power of unifying his people, perhaps with more than a whiff of fear, to keep his own flock in check.

There are very few versions of the Bible to be found that originated before the Council of Nicaea and they are certainly not in English, a language whose long, clumsy unearthing is centuries yet to come. No one talks about the Council of Nicaea anymore, but some people will tell you exactly who they think God is, as if they know. They’ll tell you Jesus Christ is the son of God. They’ll be sure they’re right. They’ll pray for your soul because they’re sure they’re right.

Glory

One night in the mid-1990s, I was up very late with the TV on, and instead of watching infomercials, I stumbled upon televangelist Jimmy Swaggart and thought, “okay, what the hell: let’s just see what this is all about.” Swaggart paraded on his stage, his face wet from tears and sweat. He yelled and sobbed “glory, glory, glory” over and over again. He said nothing else. People in his audience howled, throwing up their arms, crying, dancing, responding as if new words, different words were coming out of the mouth of the minister with the blow-dried hair in critical need of a decent trim.

“Glorrryyy, galloryyy, glORY, oh glorrryyyyy.” He cried looking at the ceiling.

“Say something,” I told my TV set.

“Ahhh, glorrrrryyyyy,” he stomped from one side of the stage to the other. He then held the microphone close to his mouth and stood still. The camera closed in, framing his face which glistened with tears, snot and dripping hair product. He raised his eyes again to the heavens, shaking his head, the mike capturing his raggy breath, the camera tight on his visage.

He inhaled. “Here we go,” I thought. Now he’s going to say something, I reckoned. You could hear the saliva in his mouth, the audience held its breath.  

He sucked in air, the microphone steady at his wet chin.

“Glory,” he whispered.

The crowd went even more insane.

I watched for 20 minutes. I wanted to give it a fair shot. The camera panned from sweating Jimmy, exhaling only the syllables “glore” and “ree,” to his hysterical constituents, who in turn shook their heads with an affected joy, smiling those creepy, religious know-it-all smiles that have never rung true to me. Nothing else was ever said other than that one word in as many ways as that word can be uttered. I finally turned the channel to Cher hawking shampoo. At least she talked. At least she was selling something you could actually buy.

Pliz Coiny

My sweet Brazilian neighbor Cecilia recently invited me to join her one weekend at a Baptist church service.  

“Awww hell to the no!” I thought as I tried to think of an excuse not to go but the truth always works best: “I don’t feel comfortable.” I said.

“Pliz, Coiny,” she pleaded “please Connie” pinched by her Portuguese. “Oi neffer ask anniting uff you. Pliz.”

I wasn’t thrilled with her logic. It’s true she never asked anything of me but then again she shouldn’t; I hadn’t of her, I don’t operate that way. Neighbors are not automatic friends to me: I’m a New Yorker after all. And now here she was asking me to join her at church, let alone a Baptist church, and she had somehow decided I owed her something because she had never asked me to do anything before.  

Given the choice, I would have rather cleaned her toilet with one single Q-Tip than haul myself to an hours-long non-English service (“dey haff interpritters,” she tried to sway me) at an outer-borough Baptist church. Baptists go crazy, don’t they? Crying in the aisles, yakking in tongues, yelling at the perceived devil? Did my neighbor expect that I would stagger out of a Queens storefront church at 6:00pm after having arrived at 11:00am, singing “Paaarrraise Jahesus!” and vowing to “spaaaarrread the WORD” to all non-believers?

I mean, I got stuff to do on a Sunday: I got to launder my unholy panties and stock up on ice cream and tortilla chips. I got DVRed episodes of The Real Housewives of Atlanta and Love & Hip Hop I got to catch up on. Sunday is for me, not Jesus.

“No, Cecilia.” I was firm, I was smiling: there were no hard feelings. I was not going.

“It do you good, Coiny. Pliz. Comm on.” Cecilia likely envisioned me burning in hell, innocent to the fact she’s arrived decades too late and with way too little ice.

“No, Cecilia,” I replied. “It’s not for me.”

HE HAS RISEN!!!!

Ten years ago, I worked at a Christian organization. My first week of work was a shock: I received emails that started with “Greetings in the Precious Blood and Name of Jesus Christ Our Lord and Savior!!” with signatures that screamed “Blessings in Christ!!!” and “He has RISEN!!!!” It was being shoved down my throat in capitalized words and ever-extending exclamation points. This was not my belief system and I resented seeing it so blatantly and that I felt unable to say anything about it because I suspected I would be perceived as offensive. And I did know no true ill was meant by these words so I learned to tolerate them even though they never became less jarring to me during the four years I worked there.

A Southern man called our office (the ecumenical agency of a major American Christian church) to complain that the Today Show had featured the Encyclopedia Britannica’s assertion on evolution. He sounded gay to me (a totally unfair assumption on my part but my gaydar is on point, sister, even over the phone) and he wanted me to do “something about” the fact that NBC may actually not believe that Adam and Eve are the ultimate foreparents.  

What shocked me even more was my kindness and tolerance of this man; I did not yap into the phone, “are you kidding me and when are you going to do yourself a favor and get out of that closet?” Instead, I told him I sympathized with his frustration, which is the truth: frustration is one of my favorite hobbies. Everything makes me kind of crazy, too and I’ve never been shy with my opinions, but my caller was absolutely beside himself with horror, he almost couldn’t be consoled.  

“They need to present both sides!” He squeaked in a lilt. “Doesn’t Al Roker beLIEVE?”

Apparently not. Maybe it’s out of Al’s hands even if he does.

I calmed down the Southern man and said I would follow up, which of course I never did. What could I say to NBC?  And why hadn’t this guy contacted them directly himself?  Did he know that only guffaws awaited him?

I emailed my gay friends immediately: “Wait ‘til you hear what I just went through!” I was living in a skit from The Kids in the Hall.  I was a fish out of water: all the elements felt false and I chose to play along just to stay neutral.

My first year at the Christian office, at their Christmas party, with home baked cookies and apple juice, the few other employees and I stood in a circle with our heads bowed while our boss led a prayer. I felt extremely self-conscious and didn’t mouth any words. I am not one to say anything “in his name;” after all, I hadn’t bowed my head to take two minutes to sing the praises of the New York Stock Exchange during previous parties at previous stints at financial service companies. I felt resentful this Jesus business was something in which I was literally being forced to participate. But I went along. How could I not?

Pussycats in Outer Space

I was five years old when a human boot first hit the moon’s surface on July 20, 1969 so I grew up grudgingly watching the plethora of space travel TV shows from the 1960s and 70s, the airways thick with the concept of this new frontier. The prospect of such a life, tooling around on a space ship with a bunch of people wearing the exact same upside-down-triangle uniform while exploring the dark unknown, was one of my first visions of hell. My autistic brother Christopher loved Star Trek and we watched it every day, I bored out of my mind yet totally anxious at the same time.  

Star Trek at least depicted willing participants in space travel. A horrific sub-genre grew from this theme: the unwilling, like in Lost in Space, a dreadful scenario built around the non-Swiss family Robinson, forever banished from planet Earth due to some spaceship mishap and doomed to an existence of trying to get back home while accompanied by a talking robot (clearly a costumed man resembling a large vacuum cleaner) and an obnoxious, fussy British guy. The latter two were almost like a couple, TV’s first inter-metal, intergalactic, gay marriage.

But the absolute worst for me by far was the animated series Josie and the Pussycats in Outer Space, a spinoff of the Archie comic books. Josie and the Pussycats were a musical group of beautiful girls, all small-waisted with turned up noses, who wore tight outfits, sang songs and played instruments, including an obligatory token African American girl who played the tambourine. These characters suffered a similar fate to the hapless Robinsons: the band accidently fell into a space vehicle which was then suddenly catapulted into deep space. The group proceeded to then float from planet to planet, back-dropped by paisleyed psychedelic purple swirls, running endlessly from kidnapping aliens who all (magically!) speak English. Josie and the Pussycats never make it back to Earth: every episode depicts another nightmare of being lost and being doomed, running and escaping. It was the ultimate exercise in frustration, almost pointless to watch. Gee, I wonder what will happen this week? Um, let’s see: they don’t make it home. No satisfaction, no variation, no happy ending: no ending at all. The same thing, the same existence of longing, loss: being trapped. 

Heaven

Every Sunday morning, my father hauled my four siblings and me five blocks south from our Fifth Avenue apartment to St. Thomas More, the Catholic church in which my parents were married, although my mother scandalously remained a Presbyterian. My mother was thus spared the pilgrimages down to the 89th Street red brick building where my dad assisted in services and sang in a loud voice. I paid no attention to any words spoken and instead spent my time people watching because people all performed when they were at church. I watched my father, too: at times he was called to the front, near the altar, to read from the Bible, he took it very seriously. I remain confused by my father’s blind allegiance to Catholicism; it was a faith that made not one milligram of sense to me at any time in my life. Even as a tiny child, I disagreed with the religion, especially appalled by the lack of romance allowed for its clergy.

“You mean they can’t get married? That’s ridiculous!” I announced at age three.

It all seemed so sad to me: nuns and priests couldn’t even kiss, couldn’t have kids or live together or make dinner together or wear normal clothes to not stick out. They were alone in a lonely life and I wanted to play matchmaker for them: it seemed so easy to just pair them all up, like by size or age maybe. But apparently the clergy had no use for base physical needs; they chose this life, this consequence, but to me they seemed trapped. Church was the last place I ever wanted to be, church was the last life I would ever want to live.

I deeply believe in something outside myself. But I don’t need to gather with other humans to express my respect and thankfulness for that something. I do that on my own, and not only by praying because, really, I am more of a thanker. I thank God constantly all through the day. I live like a queen in comparison to the vast majority of my fellow global peers, especially the female ones, and I never forget it, with every water faucet I turn, with every bite of Thai takeout I enjoy, with every precious second I get to spend by myself in the exact way I want. I don’t need church to remind me of what I have and how lucky I am; believing in and thanking God is me, church is not. Church is about the other people in the church.

I don’t know why religion segregates people; you’d think it would bring us all together but it’s just another thing by which we compete. I can’t begin to understand why we have spent centuries yelling at each other and killing each other because we think our version of God is the right one and that anyone who doesn’t think the exact same way that we do must experience our vengeance. None of us can ever prove we’re right and yet we are violent with fear to be proven wrong.

I look at our planet-mates: animals don’t need religion. They don’t gather at a certain place during regular time periods to ponder something outside of themselves. Their souls and brains are too busy making sure their bodies sustain. Religion has no place in any animal’s process of being alive and neither does God. The existence of God doesn’t affect their own existence or prove to them their presence on this planet: their very birth already did that. Instead of “I think therefore I am,” it’s “I’m alive therefore I am.” And unlike us, they don’t kill for God: they kill to eat. Or to not be killed, to just keep living. Somehow this is too simple for humans.

I also don’t believe God is a Christian.  

This concept makes some Christians absolutely crazy. I don’t believe a loving God (a male god) would plop his “son” (male child) on Earth (via untouched, virgin female flesh) and have that son represent only one religion. That’s favoritism, a very human tendency, and I do not believe God operates that way.

The old white guy who lives with his wife in the apartment upstairs from mine, rolls his eyes on occasion when he sees burqa-wearing Muslim women running after their kids on the sidewalk.

“I tell you,” he exhales, “I’ll never get used to it. They need to go back to their country.”

“They’re in their country, Monty,” I yap back. We both know he doesn’t mind finding no kindred in me when he gets into one of his rants. And I tolerate not one ounce of his crap.

“I know, I know. My wife says the same thing. You two are better than me.”

“Aww Mont, we’re not better,” I laugh, “she and I just look at it differently. Think about it: when you go to heaven, if there is such a place, do really you think it’s just Americans, just whites, just Christians who are allowed into heaven? Do you honestly think when you traipse through the Elysian Fields that you will be only surrounded by ‘your kind?’ Honestly?”  

(It’s not gonna be like Josie and the Pussycats in Outer Space: the folks you meet outside this stratosphere will not always know your native tongue.)

Monty’s eyes slant as he ponders this. “My wife says ‘angels come in all colors.’”

“Well, there you go,” I say.  

All colors, all languages.  Each child with their rightful place at the messy table, as it should be, amen. No “get out of my country:” instead “come sit next to me, I saved you a seat.”

Earth

The dirt of me has no god, the material of which I am made is leaderless, it is solely of this earth. I have not risen, I am not lost in outer space. I am selfish and arrogant about God: I expect Him to accept me, not the other way around. I taste Him in pork and chive dumplings in Flushing, Queens; I see Him inside the running sweat off a lover’s chest; I decide He loves me when I watch reality TV on the floor drinking lite beer out of the can with a pink bendy straw. I am the basest of humans. God is my ally, I honor Him by merely living, I pay no other respects, I am a rotten subject.

I assume I am loved by God but by no one else. I assume God loves us all. I assume organized religion is a joke and doesn’t really count, that it’s a human construct and no direct creation of God’s. I assume some humans wouldn’t mind killing me for such thinking, or at least feeling that I deserved a good yelling at.

It’s awful: I actually think I have all the answers for me in this area. I must be wrong: it just couldn’t be that easy.

All I have is the truth I know in my heart, it’s all I can go on, here on the grimy path: my church is portable with God existing inside and outside all bricks.

Glory, glory, glory and even some more glory.

[billydmacklin]

I Went Away.

A month ago, I took a trip. I’m super duper extra #blessed to come from a family who loves to travel. They aren’t really the types to voluntarily take a long road trip or bop somewhere for a weekend—they like a Big Trip. I grew up with stories like that one time, in 1984, when my grandparents took their three kids and spouses to still-Apartheid South Africa. My father fell extremely ill, so the rest of the family decided to go on safari and leave him and my mother back at the hotel—which sounds fine enough, except that the hotel was really a collection of tents outdoors. Evidently, the wild baboon population had learned to pillage the campsite for food as soon as the tourists left, and so, as the rest of the family watched giraffes graze on acacia trees and lions drink from the watering hole and the beauty of nature unfold before their eyes, my mother sat quivering back at camp, hoping to avoid being torn limb from limb by wild apes. My dad, useless and feverish inside the tent, missed the whole thing. This is just how the Kanters unwind as a group.

So several years ago, my dad got it in his mind that The Next Big Trip would be a relaxing little mid-winter jaunt down to the continent of Antarctica. You know the one, at the bottom of the planet? Where people do not generally go because it’s very hard to get to and very cold and there are no beaches? That’s the one. That’s where I went. It was fucking unreal.

In case you’re curious, here are the basic strokes: we all flew to Santiago, Chile, where we were for a couple of days. Then we flew to Ushuaia, Argentina, which is the southernmost city in the world, and then boarded a ship called Orion. The ship is basically a co-production of National Geographic and a tourism company called Linblad Expeditions, designed to hold about 100 passengers and 60 crew members. They call it an “expedition cruise,” which is essentially their way of describing a situation in which you’re exploring, kind of, while also being very comfortable and having all your needs constantly met. Once boarded and safety-briefed, you begin to sail—a term, I learned, that does not actually require the use of sails to be accurate. You sail for about two days, much of it through an area where the Atlantic and the Pacific collide to form a notoriously rough area of ocean called Drake Passage. A lot of people get seasick. I did not, because I’m better than everyone else.

Once near the Antarctic Peninsula, the waters calm and everything looks insane. Like, am-I-on-a-different-planet-level-insane. Cool blue water and icebergs and crisp allergen-free air and the occasional sea bird trailing the ship. This is where the expedition part of the cruise comes in, because weather changes rapidly and ice conditions are constantly in flux, so the captain and expedition leaders are constantly forming and re-forming an itinerary until the sail back to Ushuaia. While in/around the peninsula, they aim to get you off the boat twice a day for about 3 hours each time (these are the expeditions), and the rest of the time is taken up by eating, sleeping, attending lectures, enjoying the ship’s bar, and sailing to the next place. Sometimes you encounter whales along the way.

Truth be told, I almost never want to hear about other peoples vacations, and this is not a travel blog, so I feel inclined to stop talking about it now. I got to go do an amazing thing. I feel really lucky about it. I wasn’t allowed to touch the animals. I was allowed to touch the ice. I learned a lot, and I love my family.

Altogether, we were away for three weeks. Which went quickly, but still seemed like an insane amount of time to be, like, a grown-up but not responsible for anything. To detach from normal life and experience something so…unlike normal life. So even though it was more physically/mentally involved than, say, 3 weeks on a beach, it did give me some time to just…pause. And think. And take stock.

Get ready, I have a lot of feelings.

I am not a person who naturally does that. I’m more of a busy-body, going about life with an urgency and focus reserved only for whatever is calling out the loudest for attention. Of course, the quieter things don’t just disappear. More often, they fester and grow somewhere just outside my line of sight, lurking off in the periphery.

Maybe this is why taking breaks usually feels stressful for me: it means pausing whatever is currently holding my attention, stepping back, and surveying the bigger picture. It means looking at that stuff in the periphery. Confronting the stuff that’s been flying under the radar. To me, that’s fucking terrifying. Overwhelming. It makes me feel absolutely horrible.

I’m not actually convinced that it needs to be this way, or that it will be forever, but it has for a while. And I’m not just trying to whine—it’s just me, telling you, that I’m recognizing a problem, which in turn effects this blog, and I’m working on it. And maybe some of this rings true for you, too, and maybe we can work on it together.

A few weeks ago on December 31, I was scrolling through a few photos on my iPhone when that “On this Day” feature popped up. I tapped on “On This Day: December 31, 2016”—New Year’s Eve, exactly one year prior. I had taken exactly one photo, of my friend’s front door when we arrived for her New Year’s party. The wreath from Christmas was still hanging up between the panels, and underneath was a black bumper sticker with white text reading, simply, FUCK 2016. I remember walking up to that door, laughing a little, and thinking something along the lines of “amen to that.”

I also remember thinking the same thing about 2015. And maybe 2014, too, although some distance has made it more difficult to pinpoint exactly why. I know I felt that way about 2017, though—in a really big way—which quickly made me concerned that just maybe some of this feeling could be attributed to the common denominator of those years of my life: me.

Well, shit.

2017 was a rough ride. I am so not trying to play Misery Poker here. I’m well aware that there are enormous swaths of the population who have it a whole hell of a lot worse than I do. My life is actually pretty terrific, especially through the lens of blogs and instagrams and whatnot. So let’s dispense with that, for a sec.

I can take you through it, kind of. Donald Trump was sworn in as President of the United States. That sentence alone. What a thing to be playing out, like some sticky fog that’s in and around and over and under everything. It’s such a dark, horrible, oppressive, depressing and inescapable feeling/backdrop/preoccupation/threat. Many of you can probably relate. Some other stuff went awry, too. A big project I thought I’d be developing kind of vanished. Renovation plans I’d made for my house, derailed. Plans I’d made for bluestone cottage, still unfinished. A future opportunity that fell through at the eleventh hour. This other small job I ended up taking that turned unexpectedly large. A project we didn’t get to before the weather turned. The attempt to wean off my anti-depressants (why, Daniel, why?). I over-committed. I got distracted. My dog died. I messed up with my blog. I let people down. I still don’t have a kitchen. Anxiety won.

Avoidance and anxiety go hand in hand, I guess. At least for me they do. I’m attracted to motivational statements like “nothing will make you feel better except doing the work” because I know they’re true and I also know they are counter to how I act when I encounter anxiety. A lifetime of it (and several years of its sleepy, somehow even less fun companion, depression) taught me to avoid anxiety in order to make life more manageable. This is not unanimously a terrible strategy: if snakes make you anxious, avoiding snakes is not such a bad way to live? There are plenty of other valuable things you can spend your time dealing with than the thing that you don’t like. If you never hold a snake, does it really matter?

The strategy becomes intensely problematic when pretty much everything makes you anxious. Like little tiny things and also really big things. Hello, my name is Daniel Kanter. I have not been doing great, thank you for asking. I’m trying to be better.

Take, for instance: this past summer, I started working on a house for a couple of clients. I haven’t talked about it here. I wanted to, but client gigs are fast-paced and draining and don’t leave a lot of time for blogging—that is true. But that doesn’t mean there’s literally no time—I also wasn’t making it. After spending 8 hours a day working on a renovation, it’s difficult to then want to spend several more hours thinking about it, writing about it, editing photos of it…and so I didn’t. I didn’t write about anything else, either. For a few weeks this felt good.

Some handy self-deception quickly took hold. I wasn’t being a lousy blogger, I was just taking a step back from blogging. Because I’ve been blogging for 7+ years and I can take a few weeks if I want to. Nobody would notice, probably. The story I told myself was that I just wanted to focus on the work, without the distraction of a broader group actively commenting on something in progress. I told myself I didn’t want to be influenced by what I thought readers would want or expect to see (which is puzzling, because I don’t really think I am normally? this isn’t an actual concern of mine?) and just focus on doing right by the house and the clients. I told myself that blog readerships create a certain kind of pressure—whether the content-creator is aware of it or not—to keep doing the thing that’s gotten them recognition or did well on Pinterest or whatever in the past. This, I told myself, is why it can seem like a lot of bloggers show a stunning lack of diversity in their creative output, and I did not want to fall into that trap by prioritizing the constant need to be sharing whatever I was doing over just doing the best job I could at the thing that I was doing.

I’m not even saying that these thoughts/feelings/theories are incorrect. But I am recognizing them for what they mostly were: justifications. I was vastly underachieving at something that’s important to me, so I created noble-sounding reasons to avoid feeling that failure-anxiety. That doesn’t work for very long.

And so, the anxiety-avoidance cycle. It’s a self-sustaining system that never fails to compound. I didn’t just not blog. I pretty much pretended that I didn’t even have a blog. Like I didn’t even know what blogs were! I focused on “the work” (of playing contractor for a relatively short-term freelance project), and whenever I thought about writing a blog post, anxiety told me that I’d first have to sign into WordPress, and then I’d be confronted with the comments I’d missed—at this point, there might be somebody asking if I was OK, or dead, or stopped blogging entirely, or accusing me of only posting because of X, Y, or Z, or even just telling me they missed my posts—and any of those things would make me feel worse. So I didn’t look. Instagram became anxiety-provoking, too. Other blogs. E-mail. Texts.

It’s almost like the longer you avoid something, the scarier it becomes. FANCY THAT.

This anxiety-avoidance-anxiety loop told me that all of you must hate me. That I had been letting everyone down, and even if/when I did write a blog post, or even post a picture to instagram, it would be met with anger and resentment for having disappeared, or something. Or something—because as much as I can try to explain the specific fears behind anxiety, it’s never just one thing or one bad outcome. It’s all of them. And then, what do you even do? Like, I can’t not post for a few months and then just come back with some whatever post about whatevers-town. It should be awesome. Creating something that you feel confident will be universally viewed as awesome by a reader that already hates you is, you guessed it, anxiety-provoking primarily because it’s probably impossible. So I kept…not doing it. I actually waited until a blogger friend was in town, handed them my phone, rattled off my password, and asked them to moderate months of missed comments for me. I couldn’t face it. Having given it some thought, that’s…crazy. But it’s kind of how I’ve been about stuff.

When Linus died, I knew I had to tell you. It took me a few weeks. Part of that was because I was very sad, and grieving, and not really in the headspace to sit down and write a eulogy, but another part of it was the anxiety-avoidance thing. The loop that actually had me convinced that even on that post I was likely to receive a barrage of guilt and shame for being a shitty blogger, and I couldn’t deal with it on top of mourning my dead dog. Of course, you didn’t do that.

You never have. If legitimate fears need to be backed up by evidence or past experience, this fear is not legitimate. None of my fears about blogging—or most things that make me anxious, really—are all that legitimate. But that’s not how fears born of anxiety work. They’re not rational but they are persistent. They’re exhausting.

I hate this thing—this anxiety surrounding blogging and you. It’s not just a problem with blogging—it’s a problem in other areas of my life, too, in many cases for longer than this—but blogging? That’s new. I’ve always liked blogging I think because it felt separate from the anxieties of everyday life, like a relief from it, not an addition to it. So this thing where I can’t even sign into WordPress to check comments? It’s extremely unpleasant. And ultimately counter-productive, if the goal is to not feel like shit. Avoiding the thing that’s making me anxious is not helping. It’s making it worse.

In other words, I need to Stop That. Here and elsewhere in my life.

Reflecting on this past year, and the few preceding it, have me feeling a certain urgency to not feel this way in another 12 months. Also 9 months after that, when I’ll be 30. I don’t want to still be in this place, where anxiety still wins and everything feels like it has one or many loose ends to tie. So I’m, like, consciously trying to change my approach to things? I’m trying to take control of this situation. Make it better. It’s not just going to happen.

I want to get back to having fun—with life, with my house, with my work, and with this blog. I miss sharing. Not sharing doesn’t make me feel good; I know this now.

So since I’ve been home, I’ve been trying to get into some new shit. I started going to acupuncture. We’ll see. I made haircut appointments for myself every month for the next year. I did a huge purge of digital clutter and reclaimed 170 gigabytes of hard drive space and avoided the need for a new computer. I’ve been aggressively getting the house in order. I began posting to Instagram again. I started a book club where all we do is indulge our secret fascination with self-help books by reading self-help books (//hoping we get something out of it no lie). I’ve been cooking more of my own food (my makeshift situation would be funny if it hadn’t lasted so long and was therefore so embarrassing/upsetting) and trying to take better care of my body. I’ve been working on creating boundaries at work and trying really hard to stop comparing myself to the success of others. I’ve been making goals and outlining plans and trying to give myself some goddamn tools to succeed. And I’m writing this blog post, and that’s something.

So that’s where I’m at. They’re steps forward. I’m trying, and I’ll keep trying. It’s good to see you.

I hope your 2018 is off to a good start. I’m excited to make this one better.

I Went Away. published first on https://carpetgurus.tumblr.com/

[carygarman980]

I Went Away.

A month ago, I took a trip. I’m super duper extra #blessed to come from a family who loves to travel. They aren’t really the types to voluntarily take a long road trip or bop somewhere for a weekend—they like a Big Trip. I grew up with stories like that one time, in 1984, when my grandparents took their three kids and spouses to still-Apartheid South Africa. My father fell extremely ill, so the rest of the family decided to go on safari and leave him and my mother back at the hotel—which sounds fine enough, except that the hotel was really a collection of tents outdoors. Evidently, the wild baboon population had learned to pillage the campsite for food as soon as the tourists left, and so, as the rest of the family watched giraffes graze on acacia trees and lions drink from the watering hole and the beauty of nature unfold before their eyes, my mother sat quivering back at camp, hoping to avoid being torn limb from limb by wild apes. My dad, useless and feverish inside the tent, missed the whole thing. This is just how the Kanters unwind as a group.

So several years ago, my dad got it in his mind that The Next Big Trip would be a relaxing little mid-winter jaunt down to the continent of Antarctica. You know the one, at the bottom of the planet? Where people do not generally go because it’s very hard to get to and very cold and there are no beaches? That’s the one. That’s where I went. It was fucking unreal.

In case you’re curious, here are the basic strokes: we all flew to Santiago, Chile, where we were for a couple of days. Then we flew to Ushuaia, Argentina, which is the southernmost city in the world, and then boarded a ship called Orion. The ship is basically a co-production of National Geographic and a tourism company called Linblad Expeditions, designed to hold about 100 passengers and 60 crew members. They call it an “expedition cruise,” which is essentially their way of describing a situation in which you’re exploring, kind of, while also being very comfortable and having all your needs constantly met. Once boarded and safety-briefed, you begin to sail—a term, I learned, that does not actually require the use of sails to be accurate. You sail for about two days, much of it through an area where the Atlantic and the Pacific collide to form a notoriously rough area of ocean called Drake Passage. A lot of people get seasick. I did not, because I’m better than everyone else.

Once near the Antarctic Peninsula, the waters calm and everything looks insane. Like, am-I-on-a-different-planet-level-insane. Cool blue water and icebergs and crisp allergen-free air and the occasional sea bird trailing the ship. This is where the expedition part of the cruise comes in, because weather changes rapidly and ice conditions are constantly in flux, so the captain and expedition leaders are constantly forming and re-forming an itinerary until the sail back to Ushuaia. While in/around the peninsula, they aim to get you off the boat twice a day for about 3 hours each time (these are the expeditions), and the rest of the time is taken up by eating, sleeping, attending lectures, enjoying the ship’s bar, and sailing to the next place. Sometimes you encounter whales along the way.

Truth be told, I almost never want to hear about other peoples vacations, and this is not a travel blog, so I feel inclined to stop talking about it now. I got to go do an amazing thing. I feel really lucky about it. I wasn’t allowed to touch the animals. I was allowed to touch the ice. I learned a lot, and I love my family.

Altogether, we were away for three weeks. Which went quickly, but still seemed like an insane amount of time to be, like, a grown-up but not responsible for anything. To detach from normal life and experience something so…unlike normal life. So even though it was more physically/mentally involved than, say, 3 weeks on a beach, it did give me some time to just…pause. And think. And take stock.

Get ready, I have a lot of feelings.

I am not a person who naturally does that. I’m more of a busy-body, going about life with an urgency and focus reserved only for whatever is calling out the loudest for attention. Of course, the quieter things don’t just disappear. More often, they fester and grow somewhere just outside my line of sight, lurking off in the periphery.

Maybe this is why taking breaks usually feels stressful for me: it means pausing whatever is currently holding my attention, stepping back, and surveying the bigger picture. It means looking at that stuff in the periphery. Confronting the stuff that’s been flying under the radar. To me, that’s fucking terrifying. Overwhelming. It makes me feel absolutely horrible.

I’m not actually convinced that it needs to be this way, or that it will be forever, but it has for a while. And I’m not just trying to whine—it’s just me, telling you, that I’m recognizing a problem, which in turn effects this blog, and I’m working on it. And maybe some of this rings true for you, too, and maybe we can work on it together.

A few weeks ago on December 31, I was scrolling through a few photos on my iPhone when that “On this Day” feature popped up. I tapped on “On This Day: December 31, 2016”—New Year’s Eve, exactly one year prior. I had taken exactly one photo, of my friend’s front door when we arrived for her New Year’s party. The wreath from Christmas was still hanging up between the panels, and underneath was a black bumper sticker with white text reading, simply, FUCK 2016. I remember walking up to that door, laughing a little, and thinking something along the lines of “amen to that.”

I also remember thinking the same thing about 2015. And maybe 2014, too, although some distance has made it more difficult to pinpoint exactly why. I know I felt that way about 2017, though—in a really big way—which quickly made me concerned that just maybe some of this feeling could be attributed to the common denominator of those years of my life: me.

Well, shit.

2017 was a rough ride. I am so not trying to play Misery Poker here. I’m well aware that there are enormous swaths of the population who have it a whole hell of a lot worse than I do. My life is actually pretty terrific, especially through the lens of blogs and instagrams and whatnot. So let’s dispense with that, for a sec.

I can take you through it, kind of. Donald Trump was sworn in as President of the United States. That sentence alone. What a thing to be playing out, like some sticky fog that’s in and around and over and under everything. It’s such a dark, horrible, oppressive, depressing and inescapable feeling/backdrop/preoccupation/threat. Many of you can probably relate. Some other stuff went awry, too. A big project I thought I’d be developing kind of vanished. Renovation plans I’d made for my house, derailed. Plans I’d made for bluestone cottage, still unfinished. A future opportunity that fell through at the eleventh hour. This other small job I ended up taking that turned unexpectedly large. A project we didn’t get to before the weather turned. The attempt to wean off my anti-depressants (why, Daniel, why?). I over-committed. I got distracted. My dog died. I messed up with my blog. I let people down. I still don’t have a kitchen. Anxiety won.

Avoidance and anxiety go hand in hand, I guess. At least for me they do. I’m attracted to motivational statements like “nothing will make you feel better except doing the work” because I know they’re true and I also know they are counter to how I act when I encounter anxiety. A lifetime of it (and several years of its sleepy, somehow even less fun companion, depression) taught me to avoid anxiety in order to make life more manageable. This is not unanimously a terrible strategy: if snakes make you anxious, avoiding snakes is not such a bad way to live? There are plenty of other valuable things you can spend your time dealing with than the thing that you don’t like. If you never hold a snake, does it really matter?

The strategy becomes intensely problematic when pretty much everything makes you anxious. Like little tiny things and also really big things. Hello, my name is Daniel Kanter. I have not been doing great, thank you for asking. I’m trying to be better.

Take, for instance: this past summer, I started working on a house for a couple of clients. I haven’t talked about it here. I wanted to, but client gigs are fast-paced and draining and don’t leave a lot of time for blogging—that is true. But that doesn’t mean there’s literally no time—I also wasn’t making it. After spending 8 hours a day working on a renovation, it’s difficult to then want to spend several more hours thinking about it, writing about it, editing photos of it…and so I didn’t. I didn’t write about anything else, either. For a few weeks this felt good.

Some handy self-deception quickly took hold. I wasn’t being a lousy blogger, I was just taking a step back from blogging. Because I’ve been blogging for 7+ years and I can take a few weeks if I want to. Nobody would notice, probably. The story I told myself was that I just wanted to focus on the work, without the distraction of a broader group actively commenting on something in progress. I told myself I didn’t want to be influenced by what I thought readers would want or expect to see (which is puzzling, because I don’t really think I am normally? this isn’t an actual concern of mine?) and just focus on doing right by the house and the clients. I told myself that blog readerships create a certain kind of pressure—whether the content-creator is aware of it or not—to keep doing the thing that’s gotten them recognition or did well on Pinterest or whatever in the past. This, I told myself, is why it can seem like a lot of bloggers show a stunning lack of diversity in their creative output, and I did not want to fall into that trap by prioritizing the constant need to be sharing whatever I was doing over just doing the best job I could at the thing that I was doing.

I’m not even saying that these thoughts/feelings/theories are incorrect. But I am recognizing them for what they mostly were: justifications. I was vastly underachieving at something that’s important to me, so I created noble-sounding reasons to avoid feeling that failure-anxiety. That doesn’t work for very long.

And so, the anxiety-avoidance cycle. It’s a self-sustaining system that never fails to compound. I didn’t just not blog. I pretty much pretended that I didn’t even have a blog. Like I didn’t even know what blogs were! I focused on “the work” (of playing contractor for a relatively short-term freelance project), and whenever I thought about writing a blog post, anxiety told me that I’d first have to sign into WordPress, and then I’d be confronted with the comments I’d missed—at this point, there might be somebody asking if I was OK, or dead, or stopped blogging entirely, or accusing me of only posting because of X, Y, or Z, or even just telling me they missed my posts—and any of those things would make me feel worse. So I didn’t look. Instagram became anxiety-provoking, too. Other blogs. E-mail. Texts.

It’s almost like the longer you avoid something, the scarier it becomes. FANCY THAT.

This anxiety-avoidance-anxiety loop told me that all of you must hate me. That I had been letting everyone down, and even if/when I did write a blog post, or even post a picture to instagram, it would be met with anger and resentment for having disappeared, or something. Or something—because as much as I can try to explain the specific fears behind anxiety, it’s never just one thing or one bad outcome. It’s all of them. And then, what do you even do? Like, I can’t not post for a few months and then just come back with some whatever post about whatevers-town. It should be awesome. Creating something that you feel confident will be universally viewed as awesome by a reader that already hates you is, you guessed it, anxiety-provoking primarily because it’s probably impossible. So I kept…not doing it. I actually waited until a blogger friend was in town, handed them my phone, rattled off my password, and asked them to moderate months of missed comments for me. I couldn’t face it. Having given it some thought, that’s…crazy. But it’s kind of how I’ve been about stuff.

When Linus died, I knew I had to tell you. It took me a few weeks. Part of that was because I was very sad, and grieving, and not really in the headspace to sit down and write a eulogy, but another part of it was the anxiety-avoidance thing. The loop that actually had me convinced that even on that post I was likely to receive a barrage of guilt and shame for being a shitty blogger, and I couldn’t deal with it on top of mourning my dead dog. Of course, you didn’t do that.

You never have. If legitimate fears need to be backed up by evidence or past experience, this fear is not legitimate. None of my fears about blogging—or most things that make me anxious, really—are all that legitimate. But that’s not how fears born of anxiety work. They’re not rational but they are persistent. They’re exhausting.

I hate this thing—this anxiety surrounding blogging and you. It’s not just a problem with blogging—it’s a problem in other areas of my life, too, in many cases for longer than this—but blogging? That’s new. I’ve always liked blogging I think because it felt separate from the anxieties of everyday life, like a relief from it, not an addition to it. So this thing where I can’t even sign into WordPress to check comments? It’s extremely unpleasant. And ultimately counter-productive, if the goal is to not feel like shit. Avoiding the thing that’s making me anxious is not helping. It’s making it worse.

In other words, I need to Stop That. Here and elsewhere in my life.

Reflecting on this past year, and the few preceding it, have me feeling a certain urgency to not feel this way in another 12 months. Also 9 months after that, when I’ll be 30. I don’t want to still be in this place, where anxiety still wins and everything feels like it has one or many loose ends to tie. So I’m, like, consciously trying to change my approach to things? I’m trying to take control of this situation. Make it better. It’s not just going to happen.

I want to get back to having fun—with life, with my house, with my work, and with this blog. I miss sharing. Not sharing doesn’t make me feel good; I know this now.

So since I’ve been home, I’ve been trying to get into some new shit. I started going to acupuncture. We’ll see. I made haircut appointments for myself every month for the next year. I did a huge purge of digital clutter and reclaimed 170 gigabytes of hard drive space and avoided the need for a new computer. I’ve been aggressively getting the house in order. I began posting to Instagram again. I started a book club where all we do is indulge our secret fascination with self-help books by reading self-help books (//hoping we get something out of it no lie). I’ve been cooking more of my own food (my makeshift situation would be funny if it hadn’t lasted so long and was therefore so embarrassing/upsetting) and trying to take better care of my body. I’ve been working on creating boundaries at work and trying really hard to stop comparing myself to the success of others. I’ve been making goals and outlining plans and trying to give myself some goddamn tools to succeed. And I’m writing this blog post, and that’s something.

So that’s where I’m at. They’re steps forward. I’m trying, and I’ll keep trying. It’s good to see you.

I hope your 2018 is off to a good start. I’m excited to make this one better.

[dandelliongirl]

Family Christmas

And heaps of snow.

December has been a wild ride. After my JLPT exam I spent a few days celebrating Independence day with mum and relaxing. The last couple of weeks before submitting my thesis were super busy with proofreading and reformulating a lot of my text. It was a tight schedule but I got it all submitted on the 15th - albeit super hastily. I’ve been both relieved and stressed because I’m happy it’s out of my hands for now but I also fear the feedback I’m going to get. I just hope I won’t have to do anything drastic to it. I do aim for the highest possible grade because I got one from my BA thesis and I’ve kind of set up expectations from all the good feedback I’ve gotten during the process. I want it to be worth the effort and the hours spent.

Dance recital came and went. Did not screw up anything, although the sole of my pointe shoe did snap in the last official show on Sunday evening. We had one extra show on Monday and the stage was littered with torn newspaper where I had to do a bunch of really quick pique turns on the shoe with a broken sole. I’ve never feared pirouettes as much as I did then but somehow I managed and didn’t break anything. Basically all size 5½ shoes were out of stock so I’m going to get a text message to schedule a fitting sometime this or next week.

My ballet gals and I had a little pre-Christmas party where we planned a lot of fun variations for next spring. We’re hopefully doing a pas de quatre from The Awakening of Flora, and me and my friend are doing the pizzicato polka. It’s up to our teachers and rehearsal schedules at this point though. We kind of already ordered a test tutu though and we’re super excited. Fingers crossed it’ll work out.

Christmas week was busy with a thorough Christmas cleaning. I cleared our kitchen cupboards from random used batteries, empty bottles and computer parts, organized our tools and office supplies, organized our walk in closet and bedroom closet, did two loads of laundry, cleaned the toilet, washed the floors and aired out all rugs and textiles. It took me three days and was super exhausting but also cathargic. On the 21st me and my friend went to see Star Wars VIII The Last Jedi. I didn’t really like the movie because of all the death and destruction and dark themes although I can totally see why it has been highly acclaimed. It was objectively a good movie but I just wasn’t feeling inspired or happy after it, which totally has more to do with me being oversensitive rather than anything else. I’m used to playing Animal Crossing and avoiding the news, how do you expect me to see so much death, destruction and depression. The original trilogy is so much more playful and because of the physical effects and stage props and tin can droids it’s easy to see it’s a work of fiction. Modern movie tech makes everything hit too close to home I guess.

I’ve been playing literal hundreds of hours of Animal Crossing Pocket Camp this month. I’m level 37 right now and hunting down Fauna to add to my campsite. I just got Marshal invited yesterday and gosh I love him so much. What an ABSOLUTE cutie pie.♥ I just wish the campers would give out more cotton since all rustic, cute and natural themed items require cotton...

I spent 5 total days with mum and dad over the Christmas holidays. We spent Christmas eve traditionally watching TV, going to place candles for my grand aunts’ grave and memorial stone, going to the sauna and eating an amazing dinner prepared by dad. We had a starter of fish and salad, a main of beetroot casserole, pork with a cream and pepper sauce, sweet potato fries, caramellized red onion with carrots, and a desert of crème brûlée with a mulled wine topping. The only thing that broke tradition this year was coming to spend some time with the bunny and letting him roam free for a while.

I got some really cool gifts even though I wasn’t supposed to get anything besides the insanely nice and expensive Clavinova piano. Dad got me a rad shirt with a dabbing unicorn and some really nice bluetooth headphones. Mum got me all the things that I wished for: a book, a big light box with letters and symbols, and a glass drinking bottle. I went to feed my friend’s cat on Christmas day so she got me the Lottie and Kicks amiibos. (Gosh I hope they make Leif and Luna amiibos at some point, they’re some of my fave NPCs right alongside K.K. Slider, Digby, Celeste and Reese&Cyrus. So basically all AC characters are my favourites lol. My fave villagers are Julian, Flurry and Marshal.) Grandpa gave me an adorable indoor thermometer he’s carved and painted himself and grandmum sent me 50€. My guy’s family got me a soup bowl with choclates in it and his grandpa knit me some new wool socks. They also got the bunny some sawdust for his litter and a bag of grass hay.

On Christmas day me, mum and dad went skiing. It’s been snowing like crazy and everything is so beautiful. It’s supposed to rain for a couple of days so I hope it won’t all melt away though. Skiing was so hard but not as hard as I thought it might be. It’ll take a few tries to get back in shape but we did around 5km, which is really good for a first time. Today we went and practically dug our summer house from a pile of snow. We had a little campfire going and we roasted sausages and had coffee/tea over there. I’ve been dreaming about our summer house a lot lately, and in my dreams it has been threatened by a bear, a leopard and a nearby prison. I’m sure it’s something to do with feeling threatened since the summer house is my safe place. Anyway it was really nice to visit and everything looked so pretty covered knee deep in snow.

I miss my boyfriend so much. I found out that he had skyped with his parents on Christmas and so I confronted him about why he hasn’t told me that he has a working video call connection. He told me he forgot, which obviously indicated that either he was lying or he did not want to, which is why it did not cross his mind to talk to me at any point. Eventually I managed to dig out that he’s been really homesick and Christmas was really hard for him. He also said that he isn’t sure if calling me would make him even more homesick. He’s been concerned about how strongly I’ve reacted to his exchange year. I can’t help it that I feel a lot of things and I was genuinely depressed for a month after he left. And I can’t help it that I do miss him a lot. But there is nothing I could do about it right now so I’m managing. And I’m learning how to be alone and how to be left alone. And I’m learning to be stronger and less selfish. In any case it does make me feel a bit easier to know that he is missing home as well. I would want to know that I’m loved and missed as well though, and it does make me really sad to think that he doesn’t necessarily miss me at all or want me back. I don’t know. I just want to feel loved because right now it feels like a really one sided relationship, and I feel like a backup plan or a safety net he’d like to get rid of but is too afraid to rather than too in love to. If it makes any sense? In any case I’m eternally grateful for my friend who’s been spending time with me weekly, and who’s coming to spend New Years with me. A true friend is so needed right now. And a fluffy bunny.

I’m both excited and anxious for 2018. I’m happy to make some resolutions and reflect on a lot of things at the end of 2017. In the New Year I’m definitely going to continue working on doing as I damn well please instead of fitting my schedules to everybody elses. I’m also thinking of travelling and taking advantage of this stage in-between but I don’t know where to go because my guy hasn’t invited to visit him and I’d like to have some company wherever it is that I’d go to. At the same time I’m definitely anxious regarding the big life changes of graduation and job hunting and everything that comes with becoming an actual adult of sorts. I know life will take me where I need to be and I’m a smart and savvy lady with brains and a working etiquette any employer would be happy to have. Still, there’s no-one who wouldn’t feel nervous in my position.

A few more days of 2017 remain and I’m going to enjoy video games, good company and hopefully some more skiing and winter nature. I also need to get the rest of my resolutions in check. It looks like melting New Years tins is going to be difficult as the EU has banned most tins.. We need to come up with a back up plan if we can’t find any leftover packages.

30 more minutes until new ACPC campers. I’m tired but Fauna is almost on level 7 and I’ve almost got the stuff she needs to join my campsite. I’m going to stay up and see if she’s there.

[marysaldevar]

Late last year, myself and my two girlfriends decided to take on an impromptu Europe trip, as you do. With just 2 months of planning we managed to get ourselves on a plane on the 27th of December 2016 and would not touch Aussie soil for the next 5 weeks. It was without a doubt one of the most crazy things I’ve ever endeavoured to do and the best times of my life. With an insane itinerary, stressful transport timetables and multiple check ins and check outs, we traversed 6 countries and 11 cities to explore the world and ultimately find ourselves (so cheesy but true- soz not soz) Here are some of the highlights…

Germany

I think one of the best things about going when we did was the fact that it was the winter holidays. It means everything was beautiful, lighted and decorated. Also we got to see this massive real Christmas tree in the middle of the Marienplatz in Munich….

We were lucky enough to be able to visit the tallest snowy mountain in Germany, Zugspitze. Needless to say, we were not prepared for this winter wonderland and were on the brink of frostbite. However, the adrenalin filled bobsleds and a hearty German dinner afterwards sure did keep us warm!

We spent New Years in Berlin and it was a night I will never forget. The fireworks, the people, the friendship good times…..We were situated in the middle of a crossroads and so although we weren’t at the main fireworks display we didn’t care because there were literally fireworks going off all around us! (TBH not really safe practice.. umm quite dangerous actually..but good times nonetheless!)

We spent the next few days exploring the East Side Gallery and Checkpoint Charlie

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Amsterdam

Amsterdam was without a doubt one of my favourite cities. So beautiful, so picturesque, like out of a children’s book 🙂

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We rode along the canals at sunset…..

And visited ‘that famous sign’

Paris

Mmmmm Paris; cheese, wine and pastry…..

Oh and escargot. Yeah, I ate that and had no idea how to but was actually quite tasty!

The view from Sacré-Cœur was so amazing that the photos didn’t do it justice so here’s a pic of me standing outside it…

We also visited the Notre-Dame (and no we couldn’t find quasi-modo unfortunately)

The day we visited the Eiffel Tower was actually a slow day (yay! no lines!)

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We finished off our stay with a visit to the Arc de Triomph and a shopping day along the Champs-Élysées…

Our last dinner in Paris was one of (if not the) best meals of my life EVER. NO JOKE. I CAN’T. EVEN. DEAL

It was ravioli with tomato and this creamy foam that just melted in your mouth…and paired with the perfect white wine

Barcelona

Ok so bit of a deep and meaningful coming up (just FYI in case you want to opt out)

On the train trip to Barcelona my entire suitcase was stolen (sad times…. or was it?!?!….) Although it was a harsh lesson, it was probably one of the best things that could have happened to me on the trip. Looking back on it, there is something truly freeing about being little old me- literally just me- in the big world. At the end of the day, it’s just a whole lot of stuff. People, memories, experiences- these are the things which are irreplaceable and I wasn’t going to let a thief ruin my life journey. I mean, I was in freakin beautiful Barcelona gosh darn it!! My besties and I ate a lot of paella and sangria that night…

Of course when you’re in Barcelona you HAVE to visit all of the beautiful Gaudi buildings 🙂

Sagrada Família

Casa Batlló

And last but not least!

Park Güell

Madrid

It’s always hard to follow Barcelona, but Madrid was still a lovely city.

We took a lazy stroll down Buen Retiro Park and ate more paella and sangria (duh)

One night we watched a traditional flamenco performance with live musicians and got all dressed up fancy 🙂

London

We then flew across the water to London and after a treacherous train ride (like the human version of sardines), we arrived at our swanky apartment. The first night we had a chilled home cooked meal. Just look at who I got to eat with all the time! #babe

The next day we got all the sites ticked off our bucket list!

Of course we had to stop to make a few very important phone calls…

One of my fondest memories in London was being surprised by a bunch of very friendly squirrels. Some a bit too friendly as Lucy found out when one mistook her for a tree and decided to go for a run up her leg! haha They had a lot of swag…

We also got our nerd on at the Natural History Museum..

On one of the last days we had a very posh high tea (free flowing prosecco say what?!?)

and then and there decided we HAD to go see a musical because why not. So we frantically booked Phantom of the Opera. And after a few cocktails at The Shard we left terrifyingly late to get to the theatre. But alas, we only missed the intro. Phantom of the Opera got us feeling all kinds of emotions!

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Italy

Milan

Our first stop in Italy was Milan!

We stopped by the beautiful Milan Cathedral and gazed at all the super expensive fashions.

We spent a quiet afternoon walking around Leonardo’s Vineyard and learning all about the history of the house.

The inside of the house

Leonardo’s Vineyard 

Venice

One of (if not THE) best days of my life took place in Venice. Nothing in particular happened, it was simply a PERFECT day with my perfect date 🙂 (Lucy you know I love you girl!) From a romantic gondola ride

The best seafood (with the best view)

And wondering around the canals to find hidden shops and cranky old dogs (Lucy learnt this lesson the hard way haha)

To finish off with a beautiful meal and numerous glasses of spritz

One of the best things about Venice is you’re only one boat ride away from another island. Because of this we took a day trip to visit, Murano and Burano, islands known for amazing glass blowing. Needless to say we spent a lot of money here (no regrets- I mean look a them!)

We also had the best most authentic pasta in this tiny restaurant. If there’s one thing you take away from reading this post it’s that ALWAYS go far away from the tourist spots and if it looks a little run down and unpopular, GO IN. That restaurant has probably been in the family for generations and they’ll feed you like family

Florence

I had been to Florence before and it was one of my favourite cities. The second time round; STILL ONE OF MY ALL TIME FAVOURITE CITIES. 🙂

We were pleasantly surprised to find out that our air BnB had our very own private terrace which we made sure to make the most of. I mean just look at that view!

We visited my favourite building

The Duomo

And also the wonderful Uffizi Gallery

And had the cheesiest gnocchi ever…

Rome

Ahhhhh Rome   I mean our apartment was a 5 minute walk away from the Colosseum. I can’t really complain

The Roman Forum

The Pantheon

Trevi Fountain

Spanish Steps

The Vatican and Vatican Museums 

One of the highlights was getting to visit Pompeii for the second time and recreating this photo

The Tiber River at night was also to die for….

Coming home….

I was away 41 days and it’s fair to say that it was quite an adventure! From watching fireworks in Berlin on New Year’s Eve, seeing snow for the first time, bike riding in Amsterdam, gondola rides in Venice and visiting Pompeii for the second time as well as a few mishaps along the way; it was all a part of the tapestry of travel and life. All the while I had two of my best girlfriends by my side. Thank you Karla and Lucy for the DnMs, late night dinners, laughing till we couldn’t breathe and making the unbearable bearable. This trip has had many highs and lows and I couldn’t have done it without your friendship and humour (and photography skills) I love you ladies  My time in Europe was a roller coaster of emotions and I embraced it all in a way that brought out the best in me during the hardest times. I’ve seen sides of me and an inner strength that I didn’t know I had before. And for that I am truly grateful for the experience. But at the end of the day, I was so ready to come home to Sydney, Australia as Mary 2.0 

Europe 2016/17 Late last year, myself and my two girlfriends decided to take on an impromptu Europe trip, as you do.

[billydmacklin]

I Went Away.

A month ago, I took a trip. I’m super duper extra #blessed to come from a family who loves to travel. They aren’t really the types to voluntarily take a long road trip or bop somewhere for a weekend—they like a Big Trip. I grew up with stories like that one time, in 1984, when my grandparents took their three kids and spouses to still-Apartheid South Africa. My father fell extremely ill, so the rest of the family decided to go on safari and leave him and my mother back at the hotel—which sounds fine enough, except that the hotel was really a collection of tents outdoors. Evidently, the wild baboon population had learned to pillage the campsite for food as soon as the tourists left, and so, as the rest of the family watched giraffes graze on acacia trees and lions drink from the watering hole and the beauty of nature unfold before their eyes, my mother sat quivering back at camp, hoping to avoid being torn limb from limb by wild apes. My dad, useless and feverish inside the tent, missed the whole thing. This is just how the Kanters unwind as a group.

So several years ago, my dad got it in his mind that The Next Big Trip would be a relaxing little mid-winter jaunt down to the continent of Antarctica. You know the one, at the bottom of the planet? Where people do not generally go because it’s very hard to get to and very cold and there are no beaches? That’s the one. That’s where I went. It was fucking unreal.

In case you’re curious, here are the basic strokes: we all flew to Santiago, Chile, where we were for a couple of days. Then we flew to Ushuaia, Argentina, which is the southernmost city in the world, and then boarded a ship called Orion. The ship is basically a co-production of National Geographic and a tourism company called Linblad Expeditions, designed to hold about 100 passengers and 60 crew members. They call it an “expedition cruise,” which is essentially their way of describing a situation in which you’re exploring, kind of, while also being very comfortable and having all your needs constantly met. Once boarded and safety-briefed, you begin to sail—a term, I learned, that does not actually require the use of sails to be accurate. You sail for about two days, much of it through an area where the Atlantic and the Pacific collide to form a notoriously rough area of ocean called Drake Passage. A lot of people get seasick. I did not, because I’m better than everyone else.

Once near the Antarctic Peninsula, the waters calm and everything looks insane. Like, am-I-on-a-different-planet-level-insane. Cool blue water and icebergs and crisp allergen-free air and the occasional sea bird trailing the ship. This is where the expedition part of the cruise comes in, because weather changes rapidly and ice conditions are constantly in flux, so the captain and expedition leaders are constantly forming and re-forming an itinerary until the sail back to Ushuaia. While in/around the peninsula, they aim to get you off the boat twice a day for about 3 hours each time (these are the expeditions), and the rest of the time is taken up by eating, sleeping, attending lectures, enjoying the ship’s bar, and sailing to the next place. Sometimes you encounter whales along the way.

Truth be told, I almost never want to hear about other peoples vacations, and this is not a travel blog, so I feel inclined to stop talking about it now. I got to go do an amazing thing. I feel really lucky about it. I wasn’t allowed to touch the animals. I was allowed to touch the ice. I learned a lot, and I love my family.

Altogether, we were away for three weeks. Which went quickly, but still seemed like an insane amount of time to be, like, a grown-up but not responsible for anything. To detach from normal life and experience something so…unlike normal life. So even though it was more physically/mentally involved than, say, 3 weeks on a beach, it did give me some time to just…pause. And think. And take stock.

Get ready, I have a lot of feelings.

I am not a person who naturally does that. I’m more of a busy-body, going about life with an urgency and focus reserved only for whatever is calling out the loudest for attention. Of course, the quieter things don’t just disappear. More often, they fester and grow somewhere just outside my line of sight, lurking off in the periphery.

Maybe this is why taking breaks usually feels stressful for me: it means pausing whatever is currently holding my attention, stepping back, and surveying the bigger picture. It means looking at that stuff in the periphery. Confronting the stuff that’s been flying under the radar. To me, that’s fucking terrifying. Overwhelming. It makes me feel absolutely horrible.

I’m not actually convinced that it needs to be this way, or that it will be forever, but it has for a while. And I’m not just trying to whine—it’s just me, telling you, that I’m recognizing a problem, which in turn effects this blog, and I’m working on it. And maybe some of this rings true for you, too, and maybe we can work on it together.

A few weeks ago on December 31, I was scrolling through a few photos on my iPhone when that “On this Day” feature popped up. I tapped on “On This Day: December 31, 2016”—New Year’s Eve, exactly one year prior. I had taken exactly one photo, of my friend’s front door when we arrived for her New Year’s party. The wreath from Christmas was still hanging up between the panels, and underneath was a black bumper sticker with white text reading, simply, FUCK 2016. I remember walking up to that door, laughing a little, and thinking something along the lines of “amen to that.”

I also remember thinking the same thing about 2015. And maybe 2014, too, although some distance has made it more difficult to pinpoint exactly why. I know I felt that way about 2017, though—in a really big way—which quickly made me concerned that just maybe some of this feeling could be attributed to the common denominator of those years of my life: me.

Well, shit.

2017 was a rough ride. I am so not trying to play Misery Poker here. I’m well aware that there are enormous swaths of the population who have it a whole hell of a lot worse than I do. My life is actually pretty terrific, especially through the lens of blogs and instagrams and whatnot. So let’s dispense with that, for a sec.

I can take you through it, kind of. Donald Trump was sworn in as President of the United States. That sentence alone. What a thing to be playing out, like some sticky fog that’s in and around and over and under everything. It’s such a dark, horrible, oppressive, depressing and inescapable feeling/backdrop/preoccupation/threat. Many of you can probably relate. Some other stuff went awry, too. A big project I thought I’d be developing kind of vanished. Renovation plans I’d made for my house, derailed. Plans I’d made for bluestone cottage, still unfinished. A future opportunity that fell through at the eleventh hour. This other small job I ended up taking that turned unexpectedly large. A project we didn’t get to before the weather turned. The attempt to wean off my anti-depressants (why, Daniel, why?). I over-committed. I got distracted. My dog died. I messed up with my blog. I let people down. I still don’t have a kitchen. Anxiety won.

Avoidance and anxiety go hand in hand, I guess. At least for me they do. I’m attracted to motivational statements like “nothing will make you feel better except doing the work” because I know they’re true and I also know they are counter to how I act when I encounter anxiety. A lifetime of it (and several years of its sleepy, somehow even less fun companion, depression) taught me to avoid anxiety in order to make life more manageable. This is not unanimously a terrible strategy: if snakes make you anxious, avoiding snakes is not such a bad way to live? There are plenty of other valuable things you can spend your time dealing with than the thing that you don’t like. If you never hold a snake, does it really matter?

The strategy becomes intensely problematic when pretty much everything makes you anxious. Like little tiny things and also really big things. Hello, my name is Daniel Kanter. I have not been doing great, thank you for asking. I’m trying to be better.

Take, for instance: this past summer, I started working on a house for a couple of clients. I haven’t talked about it here. I wanted to, but client gigs are fast-paced and draining and don’t leave a lot of time for blogging—that is true. But that doesn’t mean there’s literally no time—I also wasn’t making it. After spending 8 hours a day working on a renovation, it’s difficult to then want to spend several more hours thinking about it, writing about it, editing photos of it…and so I didn’t. I didn’t write about anything else, either. For a few weeks this felt good.

Some handy self-deception quickly took hold. I wasn’t being a lousy blogger, I was just taking a step back from blogging. Because I’ve been blogging for 7+ years and I can take a few weeks if I want to. Nobody would notice, probably. The story I told myself was that I just wanted to focus on the work, without the distraction of a broader group actively commenting on something in progress. I told myself I didn’t want to be influenced by what I thought readers would want or expect to see (which is puzzling, because I don’t really think I am normally? this isn’t an actual concern of mine?) and just focus on doing right by the house and the clients. I told myself that blog readerships create a certain kind of pressure—whether the content-creator is aware of it or not—to keep doing the thing that’s gotten them recognition or did well on Pinterest or whatever in the past. This, I told myself, is why it can seem like a lot of bloggers show a stunning lack of diversity in their creative output, and I did not want to fall into that trap by prioritizing the constant need to be sharing whatever I was doing over just doing the best job I could at the thing that I was doing.

I’m not even saying that these thoughts/feelings/theories are incorrect. But I am recognizing them for what they mostly were: justifications. I was vastly underachieving at something that’s important to me, so I created noble-sounding reasons to avoid feeling that failure-anxiety. That doesn’t work for very long.

And so, the anxiety-avoidance cycle. It’s a self-sustaining system that never fails to compound. I didn’t just not blog. I pretty much pretended that I didn’t even have a blog. Like I didn’t even know what blogs were! I focused on “the work” (of playing contractor for a relatively short-term freelance project), and whenever I thought about writing a blog post, anxiety told me that I’d first have to sign into WordPress, and then I’d be confronted with the comments I’d missed—at this point, there might be somebody asking if I was OK, or dead, or stopped blogging entirely, or accusing me of only posting because of X, Y, or Z, or even just telling me they missed my posts—and any of those things would make me feel worse. So I didn’t look. Instagram became anxiety-provoking, too. Other blogs. E-mail. Texts.

It’s almost like the longer you avoid something, the scarier it becomes. FANCY THAT.

This anxiety-avoidance-anxiety loop told me that all of you must hate me. That I had been letting everyone down, and even if/when I did write a blog post, or even post a picture to instagram, it would be met with anger and resentment for having disappeared, or something. Or something—because as much as I can try to explain the specific fears behind anxiety, it’s never just one thing or one bad outcome. It’s all of them. And then, what do you even do? Like, I can’t not post for a few months and then just come back with some whatever post about whatevers-town. It should be awesome. Creating something that you feel confident will be universally viewed as awesome by a reader that already hates you is, you guessed it, anxiety-provoking primarily because it’s probably impossible. So I kept…not doing it. I actually waited until a blogger friend was in town, handed them my phone, rattled off my password, and asked them to moderate months of missed comments for me. I couldn’t face it. Having given it some thought, that’s…crazy. But it’s kind of how I’ve been about stuff.

When Linus died, I knew I had to tell you. It took me a few weeks. Part of that was because I was very sad, and grieving, and not really in the headspace to sit down and write a eulogy, but another part of it was the anxiety-avoidance thing. The loop that actually had me convinced that even on that post I was likely to receive a barrage of guilt and shame for being a shitty blogger, and I couldn’t deal with it on top of mourning my dead dog. Of course, you didn’t do that.

You never have. If legitimate fears need to be backed up by evidence or past experience, this fear is not legitimate. None of my fears about blogging—or most things that make me anxious, really—are all that legitimate. But that’s not how fears born of anxiety work. They’re not rational but they are persistent. They’re exhausting.

I hate this thing—this anxiety surrounding blogging and you. It’s not just a problem with blogging—it’s a problem in other areas of my life, too, in many cases for longer than this—but blogging? That’s new. I’ve always liked blogging I think because it felt separate from the anxieties of everyday life, like a relief from it, not an addition to it. So this thing where I can’t even sign into WordPress to check comments? It’s extremely unpleasant. And ultimately counter-productive, if the goal is to not feel like shit. Avoiding the thing that’s making me anxious is not helping. It’s making it worse.

In other words, I need to Stop That. Here and elsewhere in my life.

Reflecting on this past year, and the few preceding it, have me feeling a certain urgency to not feel this way in another 12 months. Also 9 months after that, when I’ll be 30. I don’t want to still be in this place, where anxiety still wins and everything feels like it has one or many loose ends to tie. So I’m, like, consciously trying to change my approach to things? I’m trying to take control of this situation. Make it better. It’s not just going to happen.

I want to get back to having fun—with life, with my house, with my work, and with this blog. I miss sharing. Not sharing doesn’t make me feel good; I know this now.

So since I’ve been home, I’ve been trying to get into some new shit. I started going to acupuncture. We’ll see. I made haircut appointments for myself every month for the next year. I did a huge purge of digital clutter and reclaimed 170 gigabytes of hard drive space and avoided the need for a new computer. I’ve been aggressively getting the house in order. I began posting to Instagram again. I started a book club where all we do is indulge our secret fascination with self-help books by reading self-help books (//hoping we get something out of it no lie). I’ve been cooking more of my own food (my makeshift situation would be funny if it hadn’t lasted so long and was therefore so embarrassing/upsetting) and trying to take better care of my body. I’ve been working on creating boundaries at work and trying really hard to stop comparing myself to the success of others. I’ve been making goals and outlining plans and trying to give myself some goddamn tools to succeed. And I’m writing this blog post, and that’s something.

So that’s where I’m at. They’re steps forward. I’m trying, and I’ll keep trying. It’s good to see you.

I hope your 2018 is off to a good start. I’m excited to make this one better.

I Went Away. published first on https://carpetgurus.tumblr.com/