#yanno due to the disabilities

[imthere4yuu]

Insomnia | in-ˈsäm-nē-ə | noun | difficulty falling asleep and/or staying asleep most days or every day;

prolonged and usually abnormal inability to obtain adequate sleep (x)

I have insomnia. I'm also otherwise disabled, and my body feels best after about 10 hours of sleep.

~If I take the regular/starting dose of my sleeping medication, I get to have 6 hours of sleep.

~If I take the next highest dosage, which is double the starting dosage, I sleep for 12 hours and cannot function on less.

So I tried 1.5 doses, because my medication comes in tablet form and so can be cut.

I'm still forced to sleep for 12 hours.

There is no feasibly consistent way to try taking 1 ¼ doses. So I either get to have not enough sleep or way too much. I am forced to sleep for HALF OF EVERY DAY or NEARLY HALF OF WHAT I NEED which is still better than the inconsistent maybe 3 hours (if that) I get on my own.

And I only got the help I needed for this insomnia THIS YEAR at AGE 25, although this is something I've struggled with SINCE EARLY CHILDHOOD. It runs in my family actually, but no one explained to me that it has such a simple definition!

Imagine working your 8 hour day, plus your half hour lunch and hour commute. Then add that 12 hours of sleep.

That would leave me 2.5 hours every workday to eat two more meals, do my chores, any grocery shopping or errands, social time, take care of any pets, nevermind if I wanted to try to have kids on that schedule!

This shit sucks.

shout out to everyone with a sleep disorder or condition that affects the quality and quantity of sleep. i think it's incredibly unfair to be denied even the comfort of rest

[three--rings]

So I went to my cousin's funeral today, which was fine. But it means I saw a bunch of family I haven't seen for a long time. People who pretty much know nothing about me other than "doesn't work due to back pain."

So I got to talk about my back for a couple hours, and listen to other people's opinions about how I shouldn't "just accept being in pain" and should do more in order to get back to work.

And it's just a reminder of like, how unacceptable my existence is to a lot of people. How tied the worth of a person is to their job and their paycheck and like, yanno, what if I'm okay? What if I'm perfectly happy living in the woods doing my little crafts and managing a house and stuff.

Like I know a lot of people would say I'm wasting my life and yet, what is life if not trying to enjoy it?

And like, you know the people I talked to today were perfectly nice, but this is why disabled people say we don't want your opinion about our medical conditions. Because like, I couldn't explain in the middle of a funeral exactly why surgery isn't a great option for my spine. But I've seen like 4 specialist, I promise they know more than random nonmedical person. And now I'm in like an existential funk where I feel like bad about not living up to my potential...again.

I think maybe I just got hit with some potent Chinese Mother Guilt. (This was the Chinese diaspora branch of my family.)

Anyway, I'm going to go play video games and waste my life.

[sonic-spirit]

Okay, let's fuckin gooooo!!!

I'm seeing if I can do a blog post every day to try and get myself through more of that wall of awful brain garbage that's been gumming things up inside me. I have a lot of topics I've been wanting to talk about, and stories I've been wanting to record, and, yanno. The only way out is through.

It was my first day off I haven't shared with one of my mates in awhile, so that ended up shaping how I approached the day. I started a bit of a decluttering project, since we do have a lot of stuff with no homes right now. I'm not willing to mess with my mates' stuff, but in the two years since moving all the way out here my hyper pared-down stuff has grown, and I was definitely due for some re-organizing and looking it all over for stuff I don't want or need anymore. A big part of the project today was breaking down the variety of little caches I'd developed in a few spots in the apartment and keeping like things together, especially toys and art supplies. I have some big traditional media projects I've been gearing up for, and the more ready things are to get started, the more convenient I make my setups to hit the ground running, the more likely I am to actually do them.

Talking about that stuff was supposed to help me ease into writing about one of the more emotionally charged things I've been meaning to write about, ^_^;; but if I segue into talking about Otherkin stuff from decluttering, the post's kinda gonna feel uneven to me. So, okay, let's talk about, as I have it in my notes:

The Time I Drove Across the Country 3 Times to Save My Life

I feel guilty about looking at it as anything but a tragedy, millions of people died, and who knows how many more were permanently disabled, and so many could have been okay if the people in power hadn't been so eager to throw them to the mercies of an uncaring disease. But, selfishly, COVID saved my life.

My mental health still isn't great. There are always ups and downs, and I've been under a lot of financial stress that's been causing me to spiral in a lot of other ways again. But before COVID it was so, so much worse. I wasn't still living with my abusive parents at the time, but I was working for them, and still beholden to them socially and financially. And I was...loosing resiliency. Going to cons and spending time with my friends wasn't...well, if wasn't enough to offset how the rest of it was wearing on me, dealing with my abusers, doing a job I hated and where I constantly felt like I was failing, and I was losing ground. I'd been suicidal for years and years, and I didn't think I had much fight left in me. I'd also been trying to escape, with interruptions to triage myself to keep functioning, for even longer. I was tired, and I was getting desperate.

COVID bought me more time.

Everything going into shutdown was bad. And let me be perfectly clear, shutting down was the right thing to happen, there were so, so many people who should not have died. But for the first time in ten years, I got some distance from my abusive parents. I didn't have to go into a job and see them all the time, I didn't have to go over to their house and play nice and cow-tow to them every week.

For the first time in so, so long, I got a reprieve.

It was still hard, I missed my friends, and the stress of living under the threat of a pandemic was huge. But I finally started to be able to put myself back together again. Just a little bit. And that made all the difference in the world.

And then, in the heart of all this uncertainty, one of my really, really good friends who I'd fallen out of contact with a few years prior reached out, and we reconnected. We talked, and talked, and one thing led to another, and eventually we started dating.

My parents had eroded most of the COVID protections at my job by this time, having us back working in the office, opening the office to the public, and things were quickly becoming untenable for me again. My friends, in person and long distance, did their best to help. As much as I would let them see how deeply I was struggling.

Then came the Thanksgiving trip.

I'd been very resistant to flying to Florida with my family in the Thanksgiving of a pandemic. But my mom had bartered with me. If I went on this trip, they wouldn't force me into going on the Christmas trip. -_- And how could I say no to a deal like that. Look, I didn't have many options, and again, I was beholden to them. I could only fight so hard. So, I went. And it was worse than I had even expected.

Never masking in a state with abysmal infection numbers, never taking advantage of outside seating at restaurants, eating out for every meal was bad enough. The endless refrain of Fox News and fascistic dogwhistles put me over the edge. I knew they wanted who I really was dead. But...living inside it...I was done. I needed to escape, by any means necessary. My friends were alarmed and rightly so. I redoubled my efforts to find another job as means of escape, and determined I would not do this ever again. I would give myself a deadline to get out.

When my relationship started with my mate, I changed my focus to jobs in the San Jose area. And in February, I finally had an opportunity. Two jobs wanted me to come in and interview, and I'd already blocked out a long weekend for that year's virtual FurSquared con. Instead, I loaded myself and my 16-year-old kidney diseased kitty, and everything I though I couldn't do without in case I decided to simply never come back, and drove the 3,000 miles from Illinois to California in 3 days.

It was ROUGH. I didn't give myself a very reasonable timeline to get there, and driving 10-hour or more days, going from cat-friendly hotel to cat-friendly hotel was A Lot. Giving Zi her subcutaneous fluids in hotel rooms was a wild experience. But eventually, we made it. I met up with my mate, changed clothes and ran out for an interview...^_^;; which I actually missed because I'd taken too long to get there. But spending the night with my mate and their partner, feeling safe with them...they offered to let me stay, and I tearfully admitted that I didn't want to leave.

I almost just stayed. I wanted to, badly. But I still had a house to get out from under, and I needed to go back and sell it. I went to the second interview, where neither of us impressed one another, and drove Zi and myself back, escape plan in gear.

My house was a horrifically cluttered mess when I called the realtor who'd helped me buy it and asked him to help me sell, but he was still generous when he came by to talk with me. The market was good, he told me, and places were getting sold even before they were properly listed. I signed the papers, and started getting to work on paring everything down and packing.

It quickly became clear that storage or moving things or Uhauls would be prohibitively expensive for me, easily over $1,000 for the cheapest options. Since I would be moving without a job set up, and without any form of income when I left, the only reasonable option was to only bring what I could fit in my car, and donate or sell the rest. It was hard, emotional work, and I had to make a lot of hard decisions (and a lot of use of Facebook Marketplace for the first time), but I made it happen, and by mid April, I finally left.

I had a celebratory going away party the night before leaving, where we drank and had fun, and enjoyed one another's company. And then my friends came and helped me with the last of the junk I hadn't managed to get through the next morning. They held me while I had a panic attack over telling my parents I was leaving, and helped me to be able to go.

In the end, the people who really knew me, who really loved me, saved me.

Finally, I headed out with Zi, deciding to drive...less stupid hours this time. I limited myself to 8 hour driving days, and just did a few more days. Memorably, one morning when I was trying to get us out the door and checked out, I couldn't find Zi. I searched that hotel room for my kitty for a good half hour before I finally found her--she'd somehow managed to open a drawer, climb inside, and shut herself in!

I'd expected to feel freed, relieved. I'd expected to feel a weight off myself immediately. But mostly, what I'd felt at first was numb grief. I was so tired. I was glad to be going, excited to be with people I loved. But I still felt bad. Everything they would have thought of the situation echoed in my mind, and it hurt. I knew I was right to go. I knew there was no way they'd ever stop hurting me. I knew I needed to get away. But their words, of how selfish I was, echoed inside me.

It's still hard sometimes. Abuse echoes still. But I'm so, so fucking relieved to be out. And so, so fucking grateful to be with my partners.

[hells-greatestdad]

Mun rl ramble on disability and jobs and going on disability vs finding a job that is good for my particular disability and is also something I can reasonably live on and be at least semi independent

.... it's hard when the vast majority of jobs in my area are the ones I specifically can't handle long term. (Ie customer service and retail.)

If I could find a customer service job without the store and physical location ambience overwhelming my senses? Then I can likely do customer service. Provided it's also a job where I won't be yelled at constantly... because I am in fact a very sensitive person. (So jobs involving customer service for say... medical stuff. That's out of the question. People, understandably, get up in arms over that. I've heard stories.)

Usually office stuff is good for autistic people. Medical coding has been suggested to me.

But it's also about what's actually available where I live, yanno??

If I can't find a reliable income due to a mix of my disability and limited scope of work, then maybe pursuing SSDI (disability income in the US) is my best option??

But it's also very very hard to get at all, and once you're on SSDI you're basically locked into a life of poverty

My dad lived on this when I was a kid and we struggled a lot. We were always getting food from food banks and stuff

I don't want that life.

But if it's the only way I can be sure I have a steady income....

[gncrevan]

i've blocked them and not gonna talk to them anymore but it's wild how some people compare their mental illness to physical disability when it is literally anything but the same. as a really mentally fucked up person, i know how bad mental illness is and believe me i suffer every day, but it's not the same as the genetic mutation waging war on my body. if you haven't experienced chronic pain and progredient loss of physical ability, maybe don't talk about it like you know shit.

[sweater-equestrian]

having... cat tree thoughts.

my dad is firmly only interested in having a declawed cat (sigh), so I plan to rescue an already declawed one rather than subject a cat to that (literally would rather not have a cat than declaw one, but an already declawed one needs a home just as bad as a non declawed one). Depending on how good the surgeon was, I may thus be dealing with an arthritic cat, but its generally assumed any declawed cat has some form of chronic pain, or at least, reduced mobility due to lack of toe tips.

I'm willing to make my own tree, as I'm starting to think thats the best answer for me. I want something that doesn't look butt ugly, allows the cat to perch in the sun + get high enough to feel safe, while still being easy enough to climb for a declawed cat- meaning: high traction ledges, longer / larger ledges as the cat may not be able to catch themselves and thus can't jump and turn as tightly (thus requiring more 'oops' room to slow down on + hit the breaks). I would also want the ledges to be close together / have ramps to levels that aren't, for higher mobility / ease, even as the cat ages. General cat tree features are also needed- a place for the cat to stretch up + "scratch", ideally removable or easily vacuumed carpet / grips, and sturdy construction.

I think the bottom left meets those needs the best- but is one of the pricier and least pretty option lol. To some degree- this is a choice I'm not able to make until I know who my future cat will be. All I really know atm is that I'm looking for a declawed cat, who's relatively outgoing / curious.

Sidebar: yes I finally decided on a cat vs a dog- I tend to be a dog person, but I think my disabilities make me better suited to be a cat owner in the future. While at my best, I could handle a border collie, I think that could become really difficult to handle during say, a psychotic episode where I'm agoraphobic and paranoid. Its easy for me to forget that when I'm yanno, not in an episode + able to do my daily walks and horse time. like... at least a cat is happy to stay inside the home all day.

as always, happy to receive thoughts from yall!!

[forestfairyunicorn]

Ask Back for the Fan Fiction Ask game: What inspired you ro write "Survive Another Day"?

Ohhh, this is a pretty big answer ;)

I think it started when I watched season 3 of She-ra and the Princesses of Power, and after being convinced of Entrapdak, I joined my first Discord group for a fandom. And I met a lot of cool people, specifically @thewitchoftherock and @b-dazzled, who created their versions of post season 3 fanfics, on AO3. B_Dazzled's "I'll be Your Lab Partner, if you be my life partner" introduced the idea of Prime having children, including her version of Prince Zed (based off of the 80s show's version of Zed) I would say that the period between Season 3 and 4 was a boom of Entrapdak art and such, and come Oct 2019, I made a fanOC named back then as the Violent Gremlin. An offspring of Horde Prime who acts as his executioner, displaying the might of the Galactic Horde.

I can't really remember exactly when I made the desision to make a fanfic, but I kept creating different scenes with all these characters (Keen followed after the creation of Violence, and also a clone named Delta), and I get inspired by different content (specifically "Sonnie's Edge" from Netflix's Love Death + Robots, Ava's Demon (webcomic), Little Nightmares (game), Starport by George R. R. Martin (graphic novel), Wakfu (Netflix), moments from Fate Zero, RWBY, Daughter of the Lilies (webcomic), and a remix of a fanOC of The Spectacular Spider-man).

I had the idea that  these three kids found the transmission and then decided to explore for themselves (and their goal of defeating Prime) and then many, many things happened that involved more fanOCs, more fan lore, and getting inspired by different fan content and the increasing desire to make more OCs who are based off of me (such as Princess Corva of Pandemonia), a family member of Entrapta called Aunt Quib.

Then season 4 came along, and I realized that I wanted Entrapdak to happen much sooner, and then it started to get serious. I had the outline created before the season dropped, which is mostly a scenarios listing. Certain scenes I want to write, how the sequences will play out. I still have the online doc called "Misadventures of Zed, Violence, and Keen."

Highlights include:

Opening: spaceship falling into Etheria's orbit. Zed, Violence, a clone ('ghost', Horde Delta) and Keen are on it, and they land in the Crimson Waste.

According to Zed's intel (really a group chat of his friends of First Ones descendants, including Adam), the coordinates revealed an old First Ones project that Adam's family want to reverse the damages, amid political powers.

Problem: no outside connection aka Wifi's down.

There would have been an Overseer who helps the group, and also, manipulated events so that Hordak would go to Beast Island, and possibly created chaos. (this is now scrapped as it would’ve been too much like Deus ex Machina, but the possibility is there)

The group goes to the outpost, where they stand out and Violence makes quick work of destruction and establishes herself as the Strongest. They meet Huntara, who tells them of the Horde and the Rebellion. Zed is scared, but curious over Hordak.“The one that got away Father talked about.”

Zed gives Huntara a handshake, which allows him to see through Huntara’s memories of the Horde, the Crimson Waste, and of the Rebellion. Huntara sees Zed’s memories, and after the ordeal, is shaken. In a private booth, Zed talks with Huntara and learns about the Horde and the Rebellion.

Huntara pays for their meal, and after the trio left, Huntara tells the waitress her thoughts. “Those three are going to spell chaos for all of Etheria, for the good and bad.” The waitress said that Violence dumped an entire bottle of extremely spicy sauce on her meal and ate it all without trouble.

The group is torn over going to Bright Moon (Zed wants to learn more about magic *he can do healing and raw light manipulation* while Keen wants to go where the tech is for science, and “don’t you want to help our brother?! The one who saved us?!”) Before making a decision, they got what they needed from the ship. Keen switches backpacks, making last minute instructions to the ship.

Catra would've controlled the Horde, officially, and then a new ally arrived and caused havoc, trapping Catra.

Zed and Keen brought Hordak up to speed about Prime. (“Yeah, he’s a bit pissed you’re alive. He’ll be even more pissed when he finds out that you’re, yanno, a person.”)

The planet is dying, due to the Heart absorbing more and more magic, and in response, more and more shadows are taking over. The choice: Activate the Heart to get Etheria out of Despondos and in the pathway of Prime, or let the planet die a slow and painful death.

There would have been an appearance of King Randor (or a godly figure), and he would have mentioned how Hordak looked familiar: “There was a young boy, in our youth with the man you know as Horde Prime. I almost forgotten his name, but it was Hec-Tor Kur.” And this name triggered a memory overload that rendered Hordak unconscious, and then the Best Friend Squad (Adora, Glimmer, Bow, Catra; people who have interacted with Hordak and Prime) underwent a journey into his mind. Inception Style.

As you can see, a lot of things are Very Ambitious.

And I officially started writing the early chapters and various scenes of Survive Another Day, on March 19, 2020. And kinda flying by the seat of my pants, because when writing, new inspirations happen and apparently, scenarios get expanded on and chapters are becoming longer.

I made a buffer before the final season dropped, and I’m now even more determined to continue my fic, because I wanted to focus on character interactions, lore, and it’s more of a Wish Fulfillment because while the show is good in terms of emotional things, it was lackluster in disability rep and in resolutions. And Launch. May that episode rot

Fun thing: I did NOT plan to have the Horde Trio play a larger part in my fic when I was doing the outlines several months ago, but when I was writing that chapter, things happened and now I have a focus on character interactions and delving more into the Etherian history and why and how the Horde gained power. Bascially, a Wish Fulfillment of how I wanted Season 5 to really address.

I had the help of @thewitchoftherock for feedback, beta-reading, moments of character RP, and help. Sidenote, read her spacebat space soap opera called Synth. It’s so good X3.

Hope that answers your question! I gotta say, it’s wonderful to go down this memory lane, and to reconnect with a love of fan-writing, and to be a part of a creative group that encourages this!

[tell-me-when-ur-ready]

This Thing Called Love (part three)

Summary: When Shawn meets dancer Kellie in Toronto, he falls for her—hard. But Kellie has an invisible disability and thinks it’s impossible that someone could really love her the way she is.

Author’s note: I have multiple chronic illnesses that are similar to Kellie’s, but I don’t have the same exact health conditions she does. I’ve done lots of research, but I apologize if I get anything wrong!

Warnings: tiny bit of language

Word count: 1,600

Shawn’s texts didn’t stop when Kellie went home to Atlanta, a second-place win under her belt. A week after she’d gotten settled back in the small apartment she shared with two roommates, both dance majors at a local university, he texted her again.

It was early in the morning, 8 AM, but Kellie could already tell she wouldn’t be getting out of bed that day. The remnants of a migraine plus three days of barely eating anything due to nausea had her down for the count, in bed with Netflix and her roommate’s cat.

When her phone dinged, she expected it to be her boss; outside of teaching dance, Kellie nannied for a family with two kids, and she’d just texted the mom to tell her she couldn’t make it today. I’m not feeling well, Kellie had said—an understatement, considering she could barely stand the light from her computer screen and she was so weak she didn’t know if she could walk to the kitchen and make herself food.

But the display said Shawn Mendes (something that would’ve made Kellie pinch herself, if she’d had the energy—she would definitely win a game of “who’s the most famous person in your phone”). Swiping the screen revealed the full text, which was just three words: Check your email.

Curious, Kellie opened her email and waited for it to load. At the top of her inbox was an official invitation to be part of Shawn’s music video for his new song. She scrolled slowly through the email; it detailed payment, location, timeframe, costume, the vision for the choreography, and everything else she needed to know. With every word, Kellie felt herself getting more excited. This was what she’d always wanted, what she desperately needed—a chance to prove herself, to become a professional dancer and begin earning real money doing what she loved.

 And then she shook herself back into reality. She was disabled. She had complications from Celiac disease. She had chronic migraines. This was the third day in a row she’d spent right here, in bed, not feeling well enough to do literally anything else. How did she think she could commit to filming a whole freaking music video—something where she had to show up in top form, ready to dance for hours under someone else’s schedule and direction? Her body didn’t work that way; Kellie needed to make her own schedule, to go at her own pace, to be free to rest when her body needed to rest. And up until now, she’d been fortunate to find jobs that were willing to accommodate her disability.

 But the real world didn’t work that way.

 Kellie locked her phone and slid back under the covers.

 ***

 Kellie didn’t tell anyone about Shawn until well over a week after she got home. When she’d arrived back in Atlanta, her roommates and friends had asked her how the dance competition was and what she did in Toronto, and she’d said she won second place in her division (dancing to Shawn’s song, not that that was relevant) and explored the city’s coffee shops when she was feeling well enough. Which was all true. She’d just omitted one tiny, enormous detail. Kellie didn’t really know why she hadn’t told anyone about Shawn; she’d half expected paparazzi photos to appear the next morning and do the job for her. But they didn’t, and then she was busy navigating her feelings—not that she had feelings, because it was just a professional relationship, or it was until he’d started texting her so often—and somehow she’d just never gotten around to it.

 But now she needed advice. And now, her roommates were going to kill her.

 The following Monday morning, finally recovered from her latest migraine and feeling decent, Kellie was in the apartment kitchen making a smoothie to take to work. It was early June now and today was the kickoff for weeks of summer dance camp at the studio where she worked, six hours a day of more or less just babysitting a dozen eight-year-olds in tutus.

 Her roommates Mackenzie and Shelby walked into the kitchen at the same time, Mackenzie dressed for a summer dance intensive and Shelby on her way to work at the local Gap.

 “I have something to tell you,” Kellie said, shutting off the blender and turning to face them before she lost her nerve.

 Mackenzie’s eyes immediately opened wide. “Oh my God. You’re moving out. You got a new diagnosis. You’re pregnant?!”

 “Pretty sure you have to actually look at a boy to get pregnant,” Shelby said, and Kellie snapped a dishtowel at her.

 “Stop it. This is serious; I need advice. But first, you have to promise not to tell anyone. Okay?”

  “Oka-a-ay,” Mackenzie said, wrinkling her forehead. “Are you sure you’re not pregnant?”

 Kellie ignored her and plowed ahead. “Okay, so when I was in Toronto, well, I didn’t tell you everything that actually happened there. I have an opportunity to be in a music video, but I’m not sure if I should do it.”

 “But that’s so cool!” Shelby exclaimed. “That’s what you’ve been wanting! A chance to dance professionally. I mean, if it’s for a real singer and not just some low-budget thing?”

 “It is,” Kellie said. She knew what Shelby meant; she’d definitely gotten lots of offers in the past to dance in a music video being produced in someone’s garage. It would be great “exposure,” she’d been told. Maybe, but exposure didn’t pay her rent or her medical bills.

 Mackenzie leaned on her elbows on the island. “So, why would you not do it then?”

 “You know,” Kellie said, slumping back against the counter. “My health. Sometimes I just don’t know if being a professional dancer is actually a reality for me. I can’t sign a contract saying I’ll dance and then not show up the day of the shoot because I’m in bed with a migraine.”

 “Would you have to fly to Toronto to do it?” Mackenzie asked, and Kellie nodded. Travel—long restless days with lots of noise and people and unfamiliar food—made her health problems flare up.

 Shelby had been quietly moving around the kitchen as they spoke, putting a bagel in the toaster oven, taking it out, buttering it with a knife.

 “I think you should try,” she said finally. “I mean, yes, your health will probably be an issue. But it’s probably always going to be an issue, yanno? So why wait? Just explain things to them and maybe they’ll work with you.”

 Kellie shrugged, fidgeting with the frayed edge of the dishtowel in her hand.

 “Is the singer anybody I would have heard of?” Shelby asked casually, and Kellie cringed. This was the part where they were going to kill her.

 “Um… yeah,” Kellie said, and Shelby raised her eyebrows, waiting. “Um—it’s Shawn Mendes.”

 There was a loud bang as Mackenzie slapped both palms on the island. “Shawn freaking Mendes?” she shrieked. “No way! You got invited to be in his music video? That’s amazing! Did someone on his team see your In My Blood dance at the competition? That’s how they found you?”

 Kellie let out a whoosh of breath. “Um, actually, I ran into him. And he just asked me. And then, he kept texting me… and we went to lunch… and a couple of days ago he sent me the official email about the video.”

 “HOLD up,” Mackenzie practically shouted. “You went to LUNCH? With SHAWN MENDES?! SHAWN FUCKING MENDES? Have you SEEN his Calvin Klein ad?”

 Shelby was giggling, seeming much more unbothered about Kellie’s revelation. “Only you, Kellie, would go to Toronto and go out to dinner with Shawn Mendes,” she said.

 “What’s that supposed to mean?” Kellie said, as Mackenzie continued her conniptions. “My life is boring. I don’t know why he asked me to lunch, and I wasn’t even going to go, but I did. I don’t know why I went or—”

 “I’ll show you why,” Mackenzie shouted from the other side of the kitchen. Kellie tuned her out.

 “So,” she said to Shelby. “You think I should try?”

 Shelby took the dishtowel from Kellie’s hands and held it up. The edge she’d been fiddling with was completely frayed now, hanging down in strings.

 “Yes. I think you should,” she said firmly. “And I think you should stop worrying so much.”

 Mackenzie was crossing the kitchen in purposeful strides, shoving her phone in Kellie’s face. “THAT’S why,” she shouted, and Kellie raised her eyebrows at the image of Shawn in his Calvins, abs on full view with that one little curl hanging over his forehead, practically smoldering at the camera.

 “Okay, okay,” Kellie said, pushing the phone away. “I know what he looks like. After all—” She paused, unable to resist a little teasing. “I went to lunch with him,” she finished with a smirk.

 Mackenzie threw up her hands. “Ho-ly crap, we are living in the future. What did you guys even talk about? Was it literally just the two of you? Where did you eat? Did he pay?”

 “Hey,” Shelby said suddenly, “we’re running late. We have to go. But tonight you’re going to tell us every word he said!”

 “Can I have his phone number?” Mackenzie cried, but then Shelby was shoving her out the door and they were gone.

 Laughing to herself, Kellie leaned back against the counter and picked up her phone, opening her email inbox. And then she opened the email from Shawn’s team and hit “reply.”

Taglist: @rosiemercy @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 

[babywarg]

accepting anon asks for a limited time only

i’m turning on my anon asks until 12:00 AM tuesday, July 16, my timezone. after that, you can still send me asks at any time, but not anonymously. i may also disable anon asks sooner than this if i get overwhelmed.

after i finish my fill for my ironstrange bingo “Water” square, i want to work on more drpepperony ficlets. so...

please send me drpepperony prompts 💗

due to RL busy-ness, i can’t promise i’ll work on your prompt, or that i will do a good job with it, or that it’ll get written quickly. but i can promise you my gratitude for helping kick my OT3 inclinations into higher gear 💗

(and yanno, you can send me other asks, too. random stuff, like how you like your coffee, how the weather is where you are, how you plan to solve climate change, etc. go nuts 💗)

[assimblyrequired]

not to be ~*political*~ but

having the provincial disability income decoupled from the cost of living is really screwing me right now

grumpy rant below

i want to move, i need to move—as it is, i cannot leave my apartment without someone to help me down and carry my walker—but two people on fixed in come means none of the newly-available apartments are practically feasible, not if we want to ever be able to more away from renting and build our own damn equity we’re currently spending all but ~300$ of our income every month, and the rent increase between our current suite and one on the ground floor in another building within our complex so that i can, yanno, leave the house for a walk if i want, is 275$ add to that lovely situation that Mew is slowly losing the physical ability to do what little part-time work he does, and suddenly we’re looking at an income loss of >1k/month—meaning that we could be unable to pay rent

we’re not big frivolous spenders, hell, the largest of our expenses after rent is food; i have to eat GF and we’re trying to avoid me putting on any more weight, in an attempt to keep my (limited) mobility, so there’s as much fresh stuff as we can manage—and that my body will let me cook. yes, we have massive ‘fuck off’ custom gaming rigs, but that’s honestly a sanity thing (being trapped in a <2000sqft apartment for months is stressful, okay?), plus Mew built his years ago (before we lived together years ago) and the only upgrades to hardware came about due to an insurance payout after a bad power outage a couple years back. my ‘good’ monitor is his old one, and it flirts with dying every once in a while.

sitting down and looking at the numbers...i’ll just leave this with the name of our household cash flow database that he built earlier this evening. it sums it up nicely

[shits-and-glitters]

Women’s march

Yanno I realized a lot of people have no fucking idea what the women’s marches that have happened the past 2 years stand for. They’re for less regression due to “our” current political leaders inability to let us have change. It’s to take out the man who thinks the nukes he has access to are equivalent to a dick measuring contest. They’re to get equality for EVERYONE.

Yes they’re a feminist march but true feminism is EQUALITY FOR ALL. Not “women are the boss”. Feminists want equality for WOMEN, MEN, THE DISABLED, LGBTQ+, and EVERYONE. It’s a march against political idiocy. It’s a march for EVERYONE AND ANYONE. Men, women, people, anyone affected by anything unfair.

•Credit to the creator of the comic/photo•

[red-headed-flower-child]

A little thing about Ma that I didn’t wanna share but seeing that no one will see this:

*I wrote this on a different platform and when I tried to share it in it’s original version, it didn’t work, so I’m sorry if it looks weird or whatever*

SO it took many years for me to come to the conclusion that my mom is a BADASS. My mom, Traci is like this mixture between a warped war hero and a kitten stuck in a tree, and she has every reason to be so. Traci has her own style, its charismatic and bombastic and hysterical, at least to me it is because it combines with her emotions which are everywhere as shes the biggest worry wart I’ve ever met. I remember the time I told my parents that I was gonna go to New York City for the 1st time when I was 17 to which my mom promptly responded “okay that’s fine, but you’regonnagetkidnappedandsoldintothesextradeindustry”.

She worries so much because she’s been stuck in a bed for about 7 years now due to her regressive/remittive form of Multiple Sclerosis. I can’t even fathom the pain and work she goes through just to be a person, but I do know that she doesn’t do it for herself. She’s made it painfully clear that her life goes on for us, my father, me, and our dog Zooey who has the biggest head I’ve ever seen and I just wanna *smush it just smush that face so bad ugh*.

So Traci is living, but she’s doing it her way and to me, that is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. My mom listens only when she wants to and will take crap from no one. Its great. Currently, my mom is bossing around the aids and nurses that come into our house to help her write her own book and make her own kombucha, or if you don’t speak hipster, fermented tea. It’s like beer without the benefits but that’s what Traci wants, that’s what she gets god dammit.

But I think that’s fair, I’ve learned to think like my mom over the years so I can follow her logic which is dizzying, but I get it. She’s earned the right to be like this yanno? In her eyes, she honestly believes that she would benefit the world better if she was not alive, but since she is alive she’s gonna do it her way. And it’s my favorite compromise in the history of the world because I have my mom. Sure she couldn’t be around for certain things in my life like certain achievements or what parents usually attend, but damn if it didn’t make the times she could show up that much better.

Flashback to second grade; bring

your

mom

to

lunch

day. I knew that this was probably the first and last time she would be able to do something like this, even at 6 years old, so I’m stoked because my mom with her fancy wheelchair™ will be here and I get to show her off to my class, more specifically the fact that her wheelchair could honk at things™. So lunchtime rolls around and I’m at the front of the line, probably too excited. We get to the lobby to pick up our moms and I notice mine isn’t there, I ask a monitor and she said “oh she’s probably just running late, sweetie”. So I sit in the cafeteria, hungry because my mom is supposed to bring the lunch, looking out the window like you would in a movie. Now I should explain, we used to live very close to my school, five streets down to be exact, but the connecting road was a busy road, a road not fit for motorized wheelchairs(!!!)

But sure enough I can see my mom’s black spec of her wheelchair moseying on down the road, holding up traffic as she went like 15mph in a 40 and I still believe that that was the coolest thing I have ever seen in my life. Plus once she got in the cafeteria I proved to my friends just how cool that honk button™ was.

Or like at my high school graduation, at this point in her life it was much more challenging to get out of bed and I wasn’t sure if she could make it, but she did and my school orchestrated it that I would walk past her (!!!) as we approached the stage. So I walk past her, we lock eyes, and both immediately start sobbing, it was great and indescribable.

A lot of people assume that disabled people are wise or special or something™, but Traci is just a 40 something year old sarcastic asshole who I love more than anything. But above anything else I’m really just super grateful that she chooses life for us. I see how demanding this disease is and the toll it takes on her, our family, and the relationships we make, but I wouldn’t trade that LADY for anything and she knows it. She has made a compromise with life that she knows doesn’t benefit her but insists on it for the sanity of her loved ones. She;s a boss a$$ bitch who I am forever in debt to and proud to been a daughter of. Mom, this one goes not to you, but to us and the weird ass relationship we have and cherish. The incoherent babblings, the laughs we share over how the dog would sound if she had a voice and the dumb videos I show you are a few of my favorite moments that I hold higher than the millions of other moments I have tucked in my little brain. Love you MAMA

[three--rings]

So Mr. Rings is home from the hospital after a month, and damn, is it hard to be physically disabled caring for someone who is extremely physically disabled.  He’s in a wheelchair and can’t use one arm so he’s very limited in what he can do.  And there’s a LOT to do around here with the move from the hospital.  It’s...hard.

Also we...have no money, and no income.  So...that’s fun.  His bosses gave us a last paycheck and said there wouldn’t be any more till he comes back to work but that check bounced.  Which is...great... 

So we’re kinda dependent on donations from other people right now?  And there’s a $600 insurance premium due at the end of the month, which we really need to pay because, yanno, he’s broken to pieces and needs follow-up care.  So...what I’m saying is, if you can spare something I’d appreciate it.  Here’s my Ko-fi  (I’m still paranoid enough about linking my RL identity to my fandom self that I won’t post other options.)

If things ever slow down I’ll look into doing commissions, both writing and as a seamstress, but right now I’m providing 24 hour care that until yesterday was done by a whole hospital team and...yeah...I don’t have time.

On the plus side, having my husband literally at my mercy means I FINALLY convinced him to watch an episode of Critical Role, so we got through the first ep of Campaign 2 today.  I think he enjoyed it more than he let on.  He said that watching this was going to ruin me for any DM ever because no one would ever be as good as “that guy.”  

Remind me at some point I have Deep Thoughts about Life and facing these kinds of Big Life Challenges, but I need time to write them up.

[sonic-spirit]

Lazy

I had surgery June 1! Specifically, I had a revision from my top surgery back in 2017--removing a bit of loose skin from the front of my incisions that's been bothering me all this time...^_^;; Please bear with me if I'm a bit scattered, I'm not on The Good Drugs anymore (just some anti-inflammatories), but I am having a decent amount of exhaustion and accompanying brain fog! I also had a therapy session this week, and yanno, it got me thinking:

MAYBE I'M NOT THAT LAZY AFTER ALL

Okay, so, hopefully that reads as sorta a joke. Like, the concept of "being lazy" had been weaponized against me constantly for the entirety of my formative years. "Why didn't you do that? You must be lazy." "If you'd just done the extra work...! You are so lazy." "Why do I have to tell you that again, you are so lazy." Quite frankly, I'm to the point where I don't accept "laziness" as a concept, and using "lazy" to describe what you've surmised as someone's issue is, to me, "lazy". Be it real exhaustion, lack of interest, disability, lack of understanding of what's required, need for support with what's required, or any of a myriad of other things, there's always a better explanation than "lazy", and I'd rather we ditch the idea of "lazy" as a concept.

...but that doesn't mean it's still not my own personal cudgel against myself. Didn't clean the litterbox? LAZY. Three weeks in and I haven't been able to put away my laundry? LAZY. My car is dirty? LAZY. It's so elegantly precise at skipping right over the why and directly into the blame. Super great tool for abusing someone.

So, let's tell some stories! All about times I was (maybe not actually) lazy!

That One Time I Was Lazy at a Horse Show

I grew up around horses. I absolutely fucking adore horses. Horse people though…I’ve had some rough experiences with them. That didn’t mean I didn’t want the connection and friendships that the Saddle Club, Pony Pals, and Pony Tails promised me. I think most of us horse crazy kids seemed to have grown up on those books, and we all were looking for those close friendships. Buuut I was still an outsider, and I think the girls at the barn I grew up in cast me more as a “Veronica” than a “Stevie”, “Carole”, or “Lisa” in their thoughts. They obviously thought I wasn’t up to snuff, and didn’t work hard enough. I wasn’t there as much as the other barn rats (a title to be earned and worn with pride), and wasn’t allowed to apply for the miserly $2.50 paying “job” (minimum wage in that time and place was $5.50 an hour) the girls had with the barn–prepping lesson horses and doing odds and ends for the owners as needed…so for years, the barn was a pretty lonely place for me. It was great to be with the horses, but…they’re pretty quiet conversationalists.

So when I changed my major from Art to Equine Science two years into college, I knew the sort of personalities I might be dealing with, and I was determined to try and make friends. I also had my parents’ advice ringing in my ears, “Join in! Be a part of something! Join a club, that’s how you meet people!” So I did. Due to graduation cycles, a lot of the club members had apparently freshly graduated from the school, especially since the horse clubs were populated exclusively by the small Equine Science major. The one active horse club focused on competing in the show circuit, so I joined it. I was a bit worried going in, the temporarily defunct clubs were more my flavor of horsemanship than a club that focused on showing, but I was up for whatever new experience I could get. Or so I thought.

The first event the club did was for us to host a show–not on-campus, but at a local private show barn that was really the heart of the club. The seasoned club members (about 5 upperclassmen making up the club’s President, VP, that sort of thing) boarded their horses there, rode under the instructor, and showed with her barn’s show team. The rest of the club was made up of the current crop of Equine Science majors from my own class of about 20. It became extremely obvious that the campus show team was little more than an extension of this barn’s, and didn’t have the faculty to make a college show team happen. Which meant that none of us without horses of our own or funds to share-board and hire trailers to haul horses would have an opportunity to participate either–the bylaws of the club even required us to take lessons at the private show barn, for the same going rate as any other student—despite the Equine Science program including riding lessons through the university. I’d been hoping that involvement with a campus club would help to bridge some of the gap to competing through use of the school’s lesson horses and transport, but that obviously wasn’t going to happen.

I was quickly becoming disillusioned by the whole thing, but hey, our first event? I could at least see that through. Maybe I’d get to know some of these girls, make some friends. I’d heard enough stories about the tight bonds formed in traveling together for team events, and I wanted some of that in my life. I’d always been one of the outside people in those bond-building events before, but maybe it could be different here, doing this. Maybe.

The week leading up to the show, we were all assigned stalls to keep clean. Which was a bit weird, given that this was a running lesson and show barn with, presumably, staff who mucked out stalls. But I wasn’t averse to the work, so fine, I would look after my horse’s stall. I understood why they’d want us to spot clean throughout the day of the show itself, it was cleaning the stalls the whole week leading up to the show that confused me.

Shows are a lot of work, and they wanted the facilities looking their best. They intended us to clean and repaint all the jump standards and rails, especially since this was the first show of the season, which, again, made sense. But then we were also told to scrub all the walls of the barn.

I’m sorry, what? That was such utter exploitative bullshit I could barely process it, most of us had absolutely no attachment to this barn, let alone stake or membership within it. Requiring their sudden pool of free labor to do something that shitty, extraneous, and tedious set me right off. Especially on top of our already grueling requirements with the Equine Science major at our school, doing the backbreaking labor we were barely getting class credit for. I showed up and put some time in with the scrub brush, but I also happened to get sick that week, and between sneezing, coughing, and just generally feeling like shit, I didn’t put much time or effort into the project.

Finally, the show weekend rolled around. We met in a parking lot on campus at about 5 AM to be carpooled to the barn on the pretense that there wouldn’t be enough parking for all attendees. Which was true enough, but it wasn’t the most pressing reason for them to eliminate our freedom of movement. But whatever, we’ll get to that. We had an introductory huddle, did the morning round of chores, and then dug in to whatever needed doing for the show.

I actually really like staffing events, I’ve since staffed several fur cons in registration and con suite spaces, and can confirm I love working on teams with friends and traveling to events, but there’s a difference between staffing an event where you’re a valued member of the team with a pre-agreed Job To Do and undirected labor expected to Just Find Something. After an initial stint of being at a loss for what to do, and being unwelcome on the tasks I tried to join on, I took it on myself to water and re-water the horses.

It was a hot day, upwards of 90 degrees, and the barn had a ton of horses with apparently no turn out space. Which, quite frankly is a HUGE pet peeve of mine. Living full-time in stalls is TERRIBLE for horses, it severely damages their mental AND physical health, you can’t just hotbox them together in barns like that, they REQUIRE you have the acreage for proper turnout. I know it’s expensive. Horses are expensive. But if you purport to care about their quality of life, and literally every horse person does… you need to actually fucking meet their needs. They’re social animals, and, at rest, have been shown to just wander 10 miles a day for funzies. Isolation in a 10x10 box stall, or even a foaling stall with maybe an hour or two of turnout or exercise a day, will NEVER be enough. Add to that how unyielding the heat feels in a barn on a hot day with no air movement (and usually any fans are focused on the aisles or broken), and you get a pretty oppressive environment. I know it’s normal, but normal doesn’t mean “good”.

So I took it on myself to start a cycle of unspooling the hose, watering all the horses, respooling the hose, checking the stall I was responsible for, and then doing it all again, because by the time I came back around to each horse, they needed more water. I worked like this for several hours before I finally tried to take a break for lunch around 1 or 2. “Tried” because not two minutes after I’d fixed myself a sandwich and sat down, one of the upperclassmen burst into the “break area” to chew everyone there out for being unconscionably lazy, and how dare we not be working. Yeah, I was pretty pissed.

The day wore on in a blur, until the show day was over, and it was time to get the place ready for the next day of showing. At about 10 PM, we were all dead on our feet, the horses were fed, and we were set to clean our assigned stalls one last time. And of course, before we could get started, the barn owner had to get out a shot about how it was a good thing we didn’t have access to our cars, since we all would have abandoned them, leaving them high and dry if we could have.

As I numbly fumed and cleaned my stall, the girl cleaning the stall next to me finally cracked. And I got to listen in on everything. She was one of the more liked underclassmen, a girl who worked hard and fit in better than I ever could. The seasoned club members and President noticed her crying, and asked her about it. Naturally, she was heartbroken about the comments implying that she would have left, that she would have abandoned them. And they were quick to console her. The instructor hadn’t meant her, but all these other girls, they would have left in a heartbeat. They knew she was one of the good ones!

My stomach turned to lead, and I cleaned powered by sheer, pissed off anger. Of course they were just reinforcing the bullshit. Of course they were still saying we were all piss, and that no one cared, and that we were all lazy sacks of shit. It didn’t have to be about reality, it had to do with control. And they were going to leverage what little crumbs of acceptance they could to make us fall in line, and use us as weapons against one another.

After we reconvened after the stall cleaning, they finally, finally deigned to give even a little bit of recognition for the long, hard day we’d all put in. They even, to my actual shock, singled me out as doing well with watering the horses all day.

I couldn’t keep the Piss Off off my face, losing me all the social currency I might’ve scraped together with all that hard work. I was done. I’d decided that after this event, this show, I was done with the club. I’d even started teetering on whether I’d show up the next day.

I didn’t. Show up that is. They drove us, at long last, back to our parking lot, and rage flared in me again, as I staggered to my car and contemplated the fact that I still had to drive across campus to get home and settle in enough through my seething rage to get some amount of sleep, all to do it all again at 5 AM the next morning. I looked at my car’s dash, the amber “11:45” staring balefully back, and realized how little sleep I would be getting for a club I was absolutely done with…and I decided no. No, I absolutely was not doing this again. I’d had every intention of seeing it through, but it Just. Wasn’t. Worth It.

So instead I had a lazy, nerdy day with some of my friends from the campus’s DnD club instead.

And that’s the story of how I was a horrible, lazy, ungrateful worker at a horse show.

[tvitr]

Some ideas I had

Hey so yanno that movie I'm totally obsessed with even though it's riddled with more problems than I am? I wanna toss a few coins into the well of "how could it have been improved?" I mean. Besides adding more Odette. Easy: set it over the course of a few years rather than a few weeks. It's so simple I don't know why nobody went with it in the first place! Think about it: she starts off as a total beginner 11 year old and we see her learn. And grow. And train. And struggle as she finds out ballet isn't as easy as she thought and there are times where she wants to give up but she refuses because Godammit this is what she wants more than anything else in life. And the movie ends with her at 16 performing in her first major role on stage. Wouldn't that have felt so much better than her struggling for like two seconds, mastering it in a day, barely training, being irresponsible and getting her disabled guardian evicted from her house (still not over that) and STILL being handed the role at the last second because her rival wasn't what the show needed? Plus setting it over the course of a few years means she won't suddenly be a master of pointework, which let's be honest, is one of the biggest sins in the film. ... Maybe an ending where her ankles snap mid-performance due to her not being ready for pointe could be included here. I mean if they were worried about an older Félicie not being relatable enough then... well most Disney Princesses are old enough to get fuckin' married so that argument is moot. Another idea would be to change the ending only, ie, have Félicie NOT get the role and have it go to one of the other girls. Preferably Nora because one, Camille getting the role is almost as predictable as Félicie getting it and two, she was awesome. And think about how they could've ended it like sure she didn't get the lead role but she still got to perform at some point and even better? She has a family. Or at least, she has Odette. And Mérante too because if I'm writing this story then you bet they'll be fully hooked up by the end. And the last idea is obvious. Delete Rudy and replace him with more Odette because her and Félicie needed more scenes together. This has been another episode of "Ellie is way too obssessed with kids movies" I hope you enjoyed :^)

[bigtimebellydance]

I’m pretty sure I’ve already posted this SOMEWHERE back in the way-backs when I first discovered it, buuut since I can’t find that original post to repost, I guess we’ll just have a li’l do-over here.  Given Mariah Carey’s recent issues on live NYE coverage, it seems a pertinent subject.  (Regardless of where you stand on what happened w/Mariah that night.)

If you’ve ever performed on stage, you KNOW how all kiiiiiiinds of things can go kerflooey at any possible moment when it’s your turn to shine.  Tech difficulties like music & lighting can go up in flames (sometimes literally), you might get funky stages, sticky stages, uneven/lumpy/grass “stages,” audience.. interruptions/”participation,” environmental/atmospheric interference (especially if you’re outdoors), etc. all regardless of what type of on-stage artform you practice.  Most performers seasoned & new recognize that those factors and LOTS more can contribute to a WILDLY varying experience, both for the audience and the performer, making every time you get on stage a unique & heart-pounding adventure.  And on top of allll that, no matter how many times one may perform a song/piece, by the very nature of live performance (voice conditions, sound conditions, personal health, energy levels, mood/emotion of the performer, etc.), EVERY individual performance is different.  

So when those of us who’ve been onstage see a train-wreck like what happened on NYE, it’s a multi-layered experience.  We take in the show as both a fellow entertainer, and as an audience-member.  (And hopefully, we’re ALL rooting for the best outcome & the performer’s success, regardless of which side of the “fence” we may happen to be leaning toward at the time.  After all, this ain’t “Showgirls” or “Jackass.”)  When people go to a show, no one -wants- to see a performer fail.  Folks don’t go to a venue or turn on the telly to watch an entertainer wiff it onstage unless they’re watching something like SNL where that’s the whole POINT of the act, yanno?  (Which is also a great comfort to those of us who struggle w/stagefright.  It’s a important thing to remember; that the audience WANTS us to do well.  They came to see a great show.  They WANT us to succeed.  That’s why they’re THERE.  That’s why they paid their money.)  And that’s why the people BEHIND the show put soooo much work into it.  That’s why the organizer MADE the show- to succeed.  That’s why the stage manager and the lighting guys, the tech crew and props masters (if there are such folks in a show), are THERE to make it frickin’ AMAZING for the audience.  Alllll the focus put on a show is created to SUCCEED, so EVERYONE can have a GREAT show, from the audience to the performers to the people behind the scenes.  The audience wants a great show that makes them happy and uplifted and fulfilled, and the creators & participants want something rockin’ to put on their résumés.  It’s the nature of the beast. 

So.. what do we do when something goes wrong..?  How do we handle it when there’s a wardrobe malfunction, a tech snafu, a forgotten word or a missed step..?  Or a FEW?  Or, Heavens forbid, everything grinds to a hault..? 

Walp.. first let me say that there’s a reason why the phrase “the show must go on” exists.  People have paid their money.  Performers are dressed and made up and ready to go.  The lighting, music n’ tech guys have showed up and everybody’s there to give a thousand percent.  ..And when things fail, THAT’S when you give a thousand and TWENTY percent.  Moments where things hiccup or falter are the times when your mettle as a performer, your real heart & soul are tested n’ shown.  Both reflected back at yourself, as well as to your fellow performers, to your behind-the-scenes crew, as well as to your audience.  And if all goes well, the audience will never know you flubbed a word, or missed a shimmy, or botched a verse, or turned the wrong way, or missed your line, etc.  Because you didn’t let your “woops” show- or stop you if it did. :)  That’s what alllll that practicing and rehearsing is for- to account for allll possible variables- and to be prepared -just- in case the unthinkable happens.  It’s so you are READY, NO MATTER WHAT.  

But of course, we’re all human, and NO act is 100% bulletproof.  Practicing may be armour, but sledgehammers and wrecking balls still happen. ;)  Performer or tech engineer, stage manager or guy whose phone goes off in an intense onstage moment, we all make mistakes.  We all have bad days and moments where we wanna rage at the world or kick things (including ourselves).  We all have days where we don’t have the energy or our hearts aren’t in it.  Or we’re sick.  Or we’re grieving.  Or.. etc.  It happens.  Even in the most ideal of situations and w/the most practice, sometimes flubs happen.  So.. back to that “what do we do when..?”  Basically, we take a deeeeep breath, learn to slow things down in our heads for a moment, learn how to improvise.. how to smile when we feel like crying, running or freezing up.. and we roll with it.  (But if you don’t know how to do those things just yet, that’s okay.  Those are skills that will come with time and experience, and having just about everything go wrong in every possible scenario while you’re getting that experience. ;)  With each new obstacle a performer is faced with, they learn different ways to surmount it.  That’s how they eventually overcome it.  Dance around it.  It’s how you learn.  And how you get better. :)

My first time performing on grass outside MESSED ME UP SO MUCH I can’t even.  As a li’l half-blind girl, I never went outside to play much because thanks to my depth perception & nearsightedness, I was always falling into holes, tripping over roots, walking into brambles, getting slapped in the face by branches, and I hated that shite.  To this day, I still don’t much enjoy being outdoors- unless it’s on flat/paved ground or by the ocean (which is.. again- kinda flat ground ;)).  So when I first danced under a tree in the grass, while I LOVED the magic of the moment, the tree, the light, the air.. the music and the audience.. as I danced I must confess that yours truly struggled w/every rock & rut my bare feet encountered.  Every dent in the earth, mud patch, tree root.. OMG.  And TURNING ON GRASS??  DEWD.  TURNING ON GRASS.  ..I -still- marvel at how in gourd’s name you can SPIN on freaking GRASS. O.o  ...  

But ya know what..?  Even through my struggles, and even though I -hated- it before, during and after (you should’ve heard how I criticized myself to my fellow performers after I was done, another foul move which is SO NOT kosher dancer etiquette), I still got through it.  It wasn’t easy, but I muddled through, and the ultimate result was the audience seemed to enjoy it, I had a decent performance overall (even with my private, silent struggles regarding the terrain), and nobody (I hope/pray) knew I was basically shrieking “EEK,” “OMG OMG OMG” or “OH SH**!!” inside, every time my foot fell down on something that wasn’t flat, soft dirt.  (No lie, I spent at LEAST 50-75% of that performance internally just dead CERTAIN I was about to faceplant in the grass w/a twisted or broken ankle- at any given second...)

Yet from that experience, I got a little better at learning how to dance on grass.  At dealing w/uneven surfaces beneath my dancing feet.  At NOT showing the uncertainty and terror in my eyes, on my face or in my movements as I performed- or even took/left the stage.  ..So when I did it again the next year, in the same site- I was more prepared.  Better equipped to handle the ruts and the little dirt divots, and that whole lack of spin-ability thing.  I was less “OMGOMGOMGIHATETHISWHYDIDIDOTHISWHATAMIDOINGHOLYSHIIIITE!!!” and more “it’s gonna be okay.  It ain’t easy, I’m kinda skurred, but I CAN DO THIS.”

And that’s just one mild, teeny example.  (Not to mention from one girl who, due to vision impairment/a disability, has certain, very specific concerns, issues n’ needs that don’t necessarily affect other dancers w/different situations/abilities.)  Regardless of discipline or performer, there are some bigtime horror stories about how things have gone wrong during perfectly “normal,” SUPER seasoned, experienced as CRAP performers’ attempts at putting on a show. -Like the ones we see every day.  

Want more from my playbook..?  Here are a few examples:

When I was in Germany w/our high school chorus, I sprained my hand while trying to keep myself upright as I slipped down the last few stairs of this MARVELOUS cathedral, as we entered from the balcony for our performance.  The tears came n’ went as I sang through the concert, holding my hand behind the person in front of me, and when it was all over, my German host family took me to the hospital n’ got me treated. (SHOUT OUT TO MAREN & FAMILY, IF YOU CAN READ THIS!! ♥♥♥)

My chorus teacher tells of a previous choir he directed that performed on a stage w/old globe lights that hung from the ceiling, just above the stage.  -And how in mid-performance, one spontaneously let go and FELL to the ground, crashing to smithereens RIGHT in front of a singer in the front row.  -Who promptly fainted, got carried offstage while the choir continued to sing, -and the performance went on.

And what bellydancer who’s performed with a veil or a sword hasn’t had a prop go awry at one time or another..?  Swords keep spinning or overbalance and fall off, veils catch headpieces or hair n’ fall forward, leaving their dancers blinded and faceless.  Veils get tangled or flung or won’t do their “tricks” at the WORST possible time.. and I’m not even gonna GO into wardrobe malfunctions like bras n’ skirts falling off! *lol*  Plus there’s DJs playing the wrong music, music that won’t start or stops in the middle of your dance (had some of those latter things happen m’self- at times in the same show).  People slip, people trip, knees and heels get caught in skirts.. jewelry n’ belts catch on.. everything...  Ahh.. such possibility for “adventure!” ;D

These are just a few illustrations of how things can go kerschplut in the middle of a show.  But that’s okay!!  Good teachers, and LOTS of experience help prepare you for the snafus!  (I hope early dancers don’t see this and go “aww HELL NO- NEVERMIND THIS NONSENSE!!” -and stop dancing/striving/performing, w/the fear that it’s all bad.  ‘Cause it’s SOOO NOT!  These are dangers that ANY performer will deal with- just in different mediums- over a huuuuge span of performances- the vast majority of which go pretty darned right! ^_^)   No matter the artform, there are LOTS of artful ways of overcoming ”oops” moments. ^_^ The point is, how you deal with the glitches is important.  As a performer, ya just.. kinda hafta learn how to gracefully handle the oopses- and roll with them- like this EPIC footage shows of Unmata doing. :)  Their music wouldn’t play during their show at Jamballah NW, and.. they still danced.  (And EPICLY at that! XD)  -Plus what’s better, their AUDIENCE ended up becoming their rhythm section- out of sheer appreciation and admiration for Unmata’s amazing skill and showmanship!!  (’Cause we all know it took GUTS and STYLE IN MASSES to KEEP GOING!! XD)

So how do you cope when the fit hits the shan..?  Well.. you’ve got a few options to keep a “woops” from stopping you in your tracks.  :)

You can play it off (ohohohoh, I MEANT to do that!)

laugh at it/make fun of it, (hey Mr. Sword, you were supposed to stay ON my head!  Now GET back over here you naughty critter!!)

Address it (woops, I goofed!) and keep dancing,

NOT address it n’ recover/recoup as smoothly n’ deftly as possible (I.e. make like a cat n’ pretend nobody saw that- while you do your best to ENSURE that no one does.)  Just keep rolling n’ stealthily cover the Woops up,

go with something COMPLETELY new by improv’ing like a CHAMP, (accidentally spin into your troupemate, fake a moment of a tete-a-tete style standoff until y’all can resume)

treat it as a trial for a new moment to incorporate into the act (oh wait, this 3/4 shimmy works better at that moment w/the music anyway- YAY!)

get the audience in on it (um.. HELLO STRANGER whom I just draped my ENTIRE veil over in the front row!  Thanks for holding that for me! *shimmy shimmy*) 

Etc. :)

And heck, if you have to, you can even stop n’ start again if something really, reeeeallllly goes awry.  (I’ve seen it done on a few bellydance stages m’self, and when I was a kid and doing my first big performance, I did that once too.  I fluffed up a line, started my song at the wrong place, broke into tears & ran off stage.  ..But after a minute, got back up there- having told the MC through tearstained eyes n’ gritted teeth “NO, I WANNA TRY IT AGAIN.” 'cause I REFUSED to not do my performance n’ let that horrid mess be how I let things end.  -Yes.. I was stubborn.. even at around 6. ;))  But I would only recommend this as your LAST possible recourse.  ‘Cause this option does kiiinda stop the show.. and there’s not always an opportunity to get a reboot.  Still, it does take courage!

No matter HOW you do it though, the point is; be a good sport, be humble, and KEEP GOING, ‘cause the show REALLY Must Go ON.  (Besides, most folks weren’t THERE at your rehearsals anyway, right..?  So if you miss a step or flub a word, unless it’s the National Anthem, how do they know your “oops” wasn’t an intentional part of the show..??  The only way they might know you’ve messed up is if you SHOW them by freezing, freaking out, etc.  So ROLL with it, ‘cause they may never know! ;D)

As performers, we hafta remember that Ish* Happens, and that it’s not the end of the world if it does.  (After all, NO ONE is ever totally, 100% perfect.  NO performance is perfect.  ‘Cause again, ALL.  ‘OOMAN.  Our meatsack bodies have limits unfortunately, and sometimes that’s hard for our limitless brainsacks to wrap our minds around.)  -And we artists really CAN be our own worst critics!!  Sure, that moment might SUCK, but even if we’ve flubbed it, we CAN still be okay. ‘Cause there WILL be other shows, and like we said at the beginning of this ramble; the audience, the production co, EVERYONE WANTS us to succeed! ^_^  The important thing is to RECOVER.  (And do so w/as much grace and finesse as possible. ;))  After all, people have come to see us put on a show, and THAT’S what we’re there to do. :)

Either way, no matter how big or small the flub, I guarantee you that your audience (not to mention your fellow performers, stage crew- & yourSelf, down the line) will appreciate you and your craft, tenacity n’ heart LOTS more if you KEEP GOING with your show if you goof/things go pear-shaped.  ‘Cause it takes GUTS to perform, and it takes even MORE guts to keep going when things go wrong.  -And most folks can appreciate that.  No doubt, it’s easier to stop, cry, freeze like a deer in headlights, or turn around and stomp off stage.  (All of which are commonly a part of the learning process, so if you’re a student and have done these things, NO WORRIES.  PLEASE DON”T GIVE UP.  Just get back up there and KEEP PERFORMING.)  But it’s tougher to KEEP GOING.  -And people recognize that.  A -true- BADASS will get back up on that “horse” and RIIIDE it through the storm, with gusto! ^_^  ..So do your thang, and everyone will appreciate that even when things DIDN’T work, even when you slipped and got yer dress all torn, YOU still shined.  They’ll remember that YOU didn’t let even the WORST stop you.  And that takes some SERIOUSLY quick wit, bravery, and cojones!!  (Or ovaries, or.. whatever you prefer. :))  

Sparkling is never easy.  But sparkling while pewp is actively raining down n’ you’re totally slipping in it is the mark of a professional. ;)  It shows everyone that no matter what, you can comport yourself with perseverance, class, poise, grace, humbleness, skill and strength of character- which is what will keep everyone cheering.. even after the music has long stopped. ♥♥♥

♥