#if I could go back 10 years into my past and write myself a letter I wouldn't tell her to change anything | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sirfrogsworth · 7 months

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Last week was crazy.

I honestly can't believe all of it happened in the span of a week. Well, I guess it was more like 10 days. But it was another... Alot.

It all started when I got my disability denial letter. I couldn't wait until I got into the house so I opened the envelope as I walked back from the mailbox. Once I saw the bad part I had an instant panic attack in my driveway.

I ran inside...

Okay, that isn't true.

I walked very quickly inside...

Nope, still not true.

Okay, I walked at my personal top speed which is probably still slow for most people... but the point I'm trying to make is that I was attempting to hurry despite only saving myself about 3 seconds of travel time.

But the hurrying made me feel better, okay?

Out of breath from my geriatric-style powerwalking, I called my lawyer's office immediately. And... he is on vacation. Won't be back until the next Thursday. I spent the entire weekend going through every panic state a body can feel. I go from angry to depressed to anxious to panicked to angry (again) to scared to more scared to extra more scared. Visions of homelessness danced in my head.

I can't sleep for over a day because my brain won't shut off. Finally my body gives out and I fall asleep on the couch watching random YouTube videos. But falling asleep on the couch is bad because I'm not hooked up to my CPAP machine. Then I finally do hook up my CPAP and my damned mask breaks. Thankfully it has happened before and I have a cool hot glue and duct tape solution. But it is hard to manage hot glue and tape when you haven't slept in days and your eyes will barely stay open. So a few burned fingers later, I am sleeping comfortably in my janky duct tape-laden CPAP mask.

Monday rolls around and I decide to go into problem solving mode. Problem solving is my superpower, so I was going to lean into that in an effort to reduce my anxiety. The denial letter said they had no records from before I was 22, so I put on my detective hat and began the hunt to prove I was sick before 2004. My aunt helped me dig through my mom's document drawer. I distinctly remember an essay I wrote to the disability people back when I first got sick. It was part of the paperwork they had me submit. It was a first hand account of my symptoms back in 2001. It also had an essay from my dad talking about how sick I was. I felt like if I could find that, the records surrounding it would all be related and from the same time period.

We go through the entire drawer and only find a few things that might be helpful. Then I realized my mom had a *second* drawer full of documents and my aunt was blocking it. So we start going through that and find a folder labeled "Ben's Disability Stuff." I would have never kept any of that stuff but my mom kept *everything* and it was all in chronological order.

She is still looking out for me.

And she may have kept me from being homeless.

We find the essay and records of my ECT treatments and the names of doctors and all kinds of evidence of my medical woes before 2004. And even if they won't accept it as direct evidence, I can use these documents to show doctors I was their patient. And my primary care doctor said he would be willing to talk to those past doctors to help me convince them to write a letter on my behalf. All they really have to say is they treated me for severe depression and fatigue. And because my mom kept a list of my prescriptions and my ECT treatments, I'm hoping that will be enough to convince them even if they don't remember treating me.

Wednesday I had my monthly checkup. And I got to peek at my main doctor's records from before 2004. It's all handwritten notes and a little hard to read (bad doctor handwriting is the most accurate stereotype in existence). But it clearly says I had depression and was undergoing ECT treatments. It even mentions one of the doctors I want to write me a letter. It's not a lot, but it is first hand, direct medical evidence from that time period. I think it will be very compelling to whoever reviews my case.

I also talked to the nurses/assistants in the office about copying my entire chart, and I thought we were on the same page, but as you will see later... we were not on the same page.

I exit the building and remember how far away I had parked. And once again I forgot to use my cane—even though I keep a spare in the car. The main lot was full and the disabled parking was occupied, so I had to park in the secondary lot. My legs were holding up so far, but it was already a lot of walking for me. Very slow walking.

His office is in the same complex as the hospital. Which is my next stop. It's the same hospital that I have been going to all of my life. And the hospital where both of my parents died.

But I need vintage medical records and that is where they keep them.

Or so I thought.

I drive from the medical office parking lot to the hospital parking lot and only the spots farthest away are empty. And because of goddamn global warming, it is 90 fucking degrees in late September. I park, lock my car, grab my man purse, and start hoofing it to the hospital entrance. I'm so nervous about getting these records that I forgot my damn cane again.

My thoughts are basically, "What if they only keep 7 years of records like everyone else? What if the records from Christian Northwest aren't kept with the records from Christian Northeast? (Christian NW doesn't exist anymore.) What if they won't send them to my lawyer? What if it costs a thousand bucks? What if, what if, what if..."

I get to the front desk and ask the lady where the records department is. She gives me directions that my brain is only capable of half paying attention to. Then I realized I left the records release form from my lawyer in the car. So I walk another half mile in the heat to my car without my cane. And initially, my thought was, "Well, at least I can grab my cane once I get the form." But by the time I got to my car my thought was, "AHHHHHHHHH THAT WAS A LONG FUCKING WALK. KILL ME!"

And so I forgot my cane.

Again.

I get back to the lobby and wave at the lady who gave me directions. I pretend like I remembered and confidently walk in the direction I recall her pointing to. I found the elevator. Thankfully this particular elevator only goes two places. Which seems like a waste of an elevator, but... whatever. I get off on the second floor and am met with a big sign with all the departments and little arrows next to them.

(I'm sure you knew what I was talking about but I'm trying to break up this wall of text with images because I am a professional blogger person.)

I see "Medical Records" and a leftward arrow. I used my keen detective skills to surmise I should probably veer left.

I find myself at the beginning of the world's longest hallway.

Without my cane.

And it is flooded with sterile florescent light and the walls are adorned with the world's most inoffensive art.

Here is a painting of a plant. Here is a painting of a bird. Here is a painting of a bird sitting on a plant. Wait, is that a... WATERFALL??

Suddenly Indiana Jones' voice shouts in my thoughts...

So, if you had to guess, do you think the records department was...

A.) near the beginning of the hallway? B.) in the middle of the hallway? C.) beyond the world's longest hallway in the world's second longest hallway?

As I enter the world's second longest hallway, I notice the art is repeating itself. I've seen that bird sitting on a plant before. I worried I was going in circles, but it turns out they probably just bought the inoffensive art in bulk and weren't concerned about repeats. I get about halfway down the second longest hallway and see a big sign sticking out... "MEDICAL RECORDS."

Note to God: The real world needs a fast travel mode.

I was a big sweaty mess and my legs were like jello. I lumber through the door and find a young woman scrolling through her phone and probably wishing she was anywhere else. She was behind a huge partition with a plexiglass divider—probably still there from COVID days.

I mean, it's still COVID days. But no one is acting like it so I am just pretending it is all over like everyone else seems to.

She notices an out-of-breath Hagrid towering over her and apathetically inquires, "Can I help you?"

I hold up a finger as I try to gain my composure and figure out exactly what I want to say. I usually rehearse this kind of thing beforehand but with all of the anxious thoughts spiraling through my brain, I totally forgot to do that.

"I need to ask questions about records." "What kind of questions?" "Well, how long are the records?" "I'm sorry?" "What year do they start?" "What year do you need?"

I'm suddenly realizing why I rehearse these things. So I take a moment and breathe deeply. I form the proper question in my mind.

"How far back do you keep medical records?" "30 years."

I shoot my hands up like I just scored a touchdown and say, "OH THANK GOD."

She is very confused.

"30 years, oh my god. 30 years just saved my life."

She is still very confused.

"And do you have records from Christian Northwest?" "Yes, we have everything from all Christian hospitals."

I try to give her a brief explanation of my situation and she cuts me off. "Fill out this form."

I look at the clipboard and it is a release form.

Do you remember way back when I walked an extra mile to and from the car to get a release form that my lawyer prepared? Well, turns out they have their own version of that and I walked all that way for nothing.

I finish the form and hand it to the bored, indifferent front desk lady. She tells me someone will be out in a moment. So I sit in the uncomfortable waiting chairs and try to rest a bit. A much tinier young woman walks to the front desk partition thingie and calls out my name. But due to her diminutive stature, she is completely obscured by a pillar and I have no idea where the voice is coming from. We do this little awkward dance on either side of the pillar, attempting to see each other, and finally we both end up on the same side. She starts looking over my form and seemed a little annoyed that I left a section blank. I wasn't sure what kind of records I needed and there was no box that said "everything everywhere all at once."

What I really wanted was any document with my name on it from the beginning of time.

But I was worried about asking for too much labor from this person so I started negotiating for some reason.

I was like, "Well, like, I really need like anything you have from before like 2004. And then maybe, like, some general records after 2004. Like, the pre-2004 records are super important. But, like, I also need to show I was sick all my adult life. So if there are like, summary records? Or, like, something?"

I couldn't stop saying like. I was turning into a Kardashian. Again, some rehearsal was probably warranted.

"I just don't want to be a burden and make you dig up all of my records. I mostly need my ECT records from 2001."

"What is ECT?"

"Shock therapy. It's for depression. I just need to show I was really sick before the age of 22."

"And who is this guy on the form?"

*ramble mode engaged*

"Oh, that is my disability attorney. You see, I'm trying to get a special kind of disability, but I need to prove I was sick before the age of 22. So anything like that before 2004 would be very helpful. But like, if you have less detailed records after 2004 that is good too. Because I may need to prove I've been sick my entire adult life."

*continued rambling until I notice she stopped paying attention*

She did not need to know all of this. And I was not answering the questions she needed answered. I was nervous and babbling and oversharing and I couldn't snap out of it. And I was really concerned if I asked for too much, she was going to be upset. But then she told me all of the records were in a warehouse and she would not actually be finding them for me. She just places an "order" for them. So this weird negotiation thing I was doing to keep her from being annoyed at me was pointless.

And I also realized... this is super important.

I yell at myself, "Ask for everything, stupid! Quit trying to get halfassed records because you're worried about inconveniencing someone."

Finally I just say, "I want every medical record you have from before I was 22 until now."

And she was like, "Sure."

Well... that was easy.

I thanked the tiny lady and the bored lady and exited back into the second longest hallway. My adrenaline was surging. I kept yelling, "30 YEARS!!" in my brain. I had to tell someone this amazing news. I had to tell them right that second or I might burst. So I grab my phone from my man purse and dial Katrina.

The thing is, I only call Katrina when something really bad happens. People don't make phone calls anymore. People text! So when she picked up the phone she answered with a very worried tone. As if somehow a third parent of mine died or something.

"THIRTY YEARS!!!!" "WHAT IS HAPPENING??" "They keep records for 30 years!" "OHHHHHHHHHH!!! That's amazing!"

She probably didn't hop for joy in real life, but in my mind I like to pretend she did. I start explaining everything that just happened and how they most likely have my ECT records and then I realize I am in the middle of the world's second longest hallway and I don't remember which direction leads back to the world's longest hallway. And because I am having unusual and extraordinarily good luck, a medical worker was walking by right at that moment.

"Which way back to the elevator?" "This way!" "Oh great! Thank you!" "Or that way. There are two elevators."

There is that normal luck I recognize.

I can feel the universe realigning itself. But that is okay, because...

THIRTY YEARS, BABY!

I talk to Katrina as I traverse the two longest hallways. Thankfully I was going in the correct direction and found the proper elevator. After a nice chat about various things including problematic 80s movies, we hung up and I decided to treat myself to a hospital cafeteria chicken quesadilla. They are surprisingly delicious and I ate them every single day while my dad was in hospice. Those quesadillas were a single bright spot during one of the hardest times of my life.

So I walk up to the grillmaster and look at the menu.

"Wait, where is the quesadilla?" "We stopped making those two weeks ago."

Universal realignment completed. Luck has returned to its original state.

A male nurse in front of me commiserated. "Yeah, man. I miss them too."

I walked back out to my car both happy and depressed. An odd combination of conflicted feelings. But my day was not over yet. I needed vaccines and groceries. Naturally, I went to the grocery store with the CVS. I got my dad his last booster there, so I was confident they could take care of me. I grab a shopping cart and pick up a few things on the way to the pharmacy. I get in line at the little vaccine check-in spot. The woman in front of me is getting her booster as well. Otherwise, the pharmacy is empty and the three employees are just scrolling through their phones.

After the previous booster seeker was taken care of, I tell the woman I need a booster and a flu vaccine.

"I can give the flu shot now and set an appointment for the booster." "You never required an appointment before." "We just started a few weeks ago." "Can I make an appointment for, like, now?" "No, sorry." "Do you have the booster in stock?" "Yes." "Do you have someone here qualified to give the booster?" "Yes." "Do you have any other appointments right now?" "No."

I tried very hard to keep my composure and remain polite.

"I am disabled. It is very hard for me to get out of the house. Returning another day would be very difficult. Can you please make an exception?"

"I can get you in tomorrow."

I probably should have asked for a manager at this point. But I had no energy for confrontation. She started preparing for me to get the flu shot, but I told her I was going somewhere else. My happy news was quickly being soured by weird rules that made no sense.

But I did see a cool robot.

I got my groceries and loaded them into my car. Some were frozen items so I made sure to turn the A/C on full blast. I called another pharmacy. It was the one run by the Jamaican family who came out to the house to give my parents boosters during the height of COVID. I asked if they could do walk-in vaccinations without an appointment. And in that beautiful accent, they replied, "Sure, come on by. We'll take care of you."

Their shop is in Ferguson. Which I'm sure the news has convinced people is a constant warzone or something. But the main street, West Florrisant, is actually really neat in spots. A lot of small businesses catering to the Black community. There was a soul food place and an African hair braiding place and a Taco Bell. Okay, it wasn't all Black-themed shops, but the pharmacy was directly next to the "Wumzy African Attire" tailoring shop that was combined with the party planning store.

And in the back was an African beauty supply depot.

Three shops in one! Just a very efficient use of space.

And looking through the window of the tailoring shop was like a feast of colors for the eyes. I don't know how they get fabric so bright and colorful. Really beautiful patterns too. I tried not to look like a creep while staring inside so I just walked reeeeeally slow toward the pharmacy entrance.

I just wish people knew that side of Ferguson. It's a beautiful community that was really dragged through the mud by the national media.

I digress.

I walked into the pharmacy and it was long and skinny. They had a few shelves with over-the-counter health products. But the main area was pretty empty. I guess they want to make sure they can accommodate long lines without people having to wait outside. But their working area seemed really cramped. There were some awards on the wall and news articles. Apparently, they are very involved with vaccinating the local refugee community. Something you won't see at pointless appointment-having CVS. I just felt like I was in the right place even if my frozen items were thawing and my legs were buckling from constantly forgetting my cane in the car.

The shop was run by the pharmacist and matriarch. Her son took my information. He looked about 18 and was a bit shy—but very kind and helpful. He directed me to this little partition they set up for vaccinations and they had a liquor bottle full of hand sanitizer. The label had a big "DO NOT DRINK" warning. I found a picture of the exact one on Google.

I washed my hands and rolled up my sleeve. The pharmacist greeted me with my shots prepared. Some people have a sort of magic touch when it comes to giving shots. I'm not sure if it is a special technique or just lots of experience, but aside from a little pressure, I didn't even feel the needles going in. And my arm was only mildly sore despite the double shots.

I really wanted to thank her for sending someone to vaccinate my parents when no one else would. But I was really tired and chickened out. So I just thanked her and drove home.

I unloaded my groceries and collapsed on the couch. I could barely move at that point. Everything hurt.

But... 30 years.

I was feeling good the next day despite everything. My body hurt, but my brain was contented from my success. But there was more to do and everything was trending downhill. I called those doctors mentioned in my personal medical records. I knew it was a long shot, but I asked if they kept records from 2001. They did not. However, I thought the psychiatrist who did my ECT was dead. And it turns out he is just old-as-heck and still practicing. So even though he doesn't have records and probably doesn't remember me, I am hopeful he will write me a letter.

My other psychiatrist from back then is also still practicing. No records there either.

So far my phone anxiety wasn't getting the better of me. But I still had more calls to make and I could feel my brain starting to get melty.

My pocket knife doesn't open correctly and I couldn't get anyone to email me back from SpyderCo. So I called their office in Colorado and tried to get someone to talk to me. I got bounced to three different people and finally a guy told me that model is just hard to open. So that was pointless.

Melt. Melt. Melt.

And finally, I had to call the dreaded CPAP supply place.

It did not go well. At all.

You can read more about it at that link, but the short version is I got angrily sighed at for asking reasonable questions about what the hell "chart notes" are. And the lady refused to answer those questions for no reason I can fathom. She eventually brought me to tears and got angry at me for doing so. And it turned out the call was pointless as well.

Oh, and my lawyer was sick. Remember him? Vacation guy? Who skipped town at the exact moment I got my disability denial letter? Yeah, I had been waiting for 7 grueling, anxiety-filled days to speak with him and he gets sick the day he returns.

Brain is melty goo.

Hey, Universe! I think you are overcorrecting with that luck realignment. I appreciate the 30 years of records thing, but can you let me enjoy it a little?

Friday arrives and I still have calls to make. The CPAP lady really messed up my brain and so just dialing the numbers was freaking me out. But I decided to start with the worst first. I called the CPAP lady and she finally had her precious "chart notes" and put my order through. She was cheerful and helpful and I was confused but thankful.

I thought maybe things were looking up in my phone call adventures.

My next call was to my primary care doctor's office.

One thing you need to know about my doctor is he is a bit of a... hot mess. A very smart, capable doctor. He knows his stuff. I suspect he has an eidetic memory due to his instant recall of medication names and doses and things that happened 8 years ago and detailed descriptions of medical conditions he only heard about in school 40 years ago. Aside from that, he is kind and compassionate and he has my back no matter what.

But he is technologically stuck in the 80s. His personal life is a roller coaster of drama. He once hired his girlfriend of 2 months to work at the office and his regular staff secretly whispered "She's so awful" behind his back. (They broke up soon after.) He is disorganized and constantly running late. And he takes on tons of frustrating patients because they have nowhere else to go. I admire him for treating so many poor elderly folks without any family to take care of them, but you can tell it is extremely challenging at times and a lot of that labor is delegated to his staff.

His office manager is probably the only person on the planet who can tolerate him being a hot mess.

Unfortunately, she is also a hot mess in completely different ways.

She tries to speedrun through everything. It's probably because she has a million things to do and is trying to fit 12 hours of work into an 8 hour workday. I try to be sympathetic and understanding of that. But one of her methods for speeding things along is attempting to use her psychic powers. You will start telling her what you need and she will do this thing where she cuts you off and tries to predict said need.

"I need a prescription for..." "Your thyroid meds are due, right? I'll send it over to the pharmacy." "...insulin. But I have a question about..." "So thyroid and insulin? No problem. I'll send it over." "...increasing my dosage." "Wait, what's yer question, hon?" "Was it 50 units..." "No, it's says 100. Okay? I'll send it over. Take care." "...twice per day or 100 units once in the morning?"

Often her predictions are so bad that it actually takes a lot more time to correct her than it would if she had just let you finish speaking. And this is especially problematic for me because I rehearse everything I need to say and she constantly interrupts and so I have to end up improvising new things to say that I never accounted for. And I'm already anxious and not thinking clearly so I do a poor job of explaining my needs and it just ends up in disaster.

So I have a complicated situation. I need my entire written chart copied and sent to my lawyer. I know it is a lot of work for the office staff. They probably have to copy several hundred pages. But this is probably the most important evidence in my disability case. And my lawyer has already volunteered to pay the several hundred dollars it will cost. It's worth it because if my case goes well, I could get years of back pay.

I call and get the young woman whom I really like on his staff. She is very quiet and unassuming but secretly the star of the office. Like a ninja of competence. If you really need something done properly without mistakes, she is the best one to go to. But her job does not include handling the records, so she transfers me to the office nurse. The office nurse does not process new information well. You often have to explain things several times. And if she gives up trying to understand, she hands you off to the office manager.

The Final Boss, if you will. I was really hoping I could avoid that.

"Okay, so my lawyer needs all of my written records..."

"He needs to fax a form saying what he needs, okay honey?"

"He already faxed a release form asking for records and I brought in a new copy yesterday with all of his mailing information..."

"He didn't fax anything. He needs to tell us what he needs. I'm not seeing any form. Just tell him to call me."

"He is out sick today and he already faxed the form and I brought a second one just in case. I signed it and dated it and I watched Competence Ninja put it in my chart. It asks for everything..."

"Okay, I see it here. This doesn't look right. He needs to tell us what he needs us to send him."

"It says in the letter, 'to release any medical information, including medical records, written letters, treatment reports, testing results, or similar information.' Should it say something different?"

"I've been doing this 20 years and I've never seen anything like this. He needs to be more specific. I ain't sending him all that, hon."

"So, this is for my disability case. I already talked to the nurse about this. And I know it is a lot, but the doctor's records are the only direct evidence that I've been sick since 2001."

"So you just need something from 2001? Okay, the lawyer needs to fax something saying that."

"I need the entire handwritten chart copied and sent to the lawyer. We need a full record of my illness because..."

"This is ridiculous. You're lawyer is fucking lazy. I've never seen anything like this. And I'm worried he is not going to represent your interests."

"This is not a normal disability claim. If you'd allow me to explain I think you'd understand why I need..."

"Disability should already have all this. We shouldn't need to send this. This is fucking ridiculous and you need a new lawyer. You're going to lose your case with his lazy ass."

"This isn't normal disability. I need to prove that I've been sick for a long time and..."

"This is going to cost a fortune, you know? We charge 50 cents per page. You're going to be out hundreds of dollars."

"Okay, but I will be out thousands of dollars if I don't get this copied."

"Fuck it. I am going to copy this ONCE. No more after this. UNDERSTOOD?"

And... she hung up on me.

My heart was beating out of my chest with panic and my eyes were blurry with tears. And in that moment, I thought I had done something wrong. My doctor gave me his personal mobile number so I call him up with tears apparent in my voice. I explain what just happened and that I was really sorry and that I didn't mean to upset her. He told me she is "just like that sometimes" and I shouldn't take it to heart. They have a very serious deadline for something due that day and she was very upset and I was collateral damage. I asked him to apologize for me and he said there was no need. He said we'd work it all out on Monday when this deadline wasn't stressing everyone out.

It wasn't until I calmed down a bit that I realized I did absolutely nothing wrong. That she was just being a big jerk and taking her other problems out on me. And I was probably the one deserving of an apology. I also remembered this is not the first time she has blown up at me. She was the one who tried to make me get a ventilator instead of a proper CPAP machine years ago. She said, "My mom has one and it works fine." And I was like, "So if I travel I'm supposed to take 12 pounds of medical equipment instead of a 1 pound device that fits neatly into a backpack?"

I get why my doctor made excuses for her. She works very hard and puts up with him. He'd never be able to find anyone that would last a week doing that job. And I have a feeling he probably defended me after I called. I played what he said back in my brain and noticed a frustrated tone. Despite what he said, it seems clear he was pissed.

I can make amends and figure things out with her. That isn't an issue. But I am worried that between her and CPAP lady, all of the progress I've made trying to reduce my telephobia was erased. I really was getting better calling people. I used to need Katrina hanging out on Skype while I called anyone as moral support. And while it still helps, I've gotten a lot better at calling strangers on my own. But now, I'm not so sure.

I might ask if there is an office email address I can use from now on. If I can write out what I need there is no way to get interrupted. I can be clear and detailed and use my writing skills to communicate way better than my phone skills.

I don't know.

It was just a crappy way to end a stressful, exhausting week.

But it wasn't the end!

Friday evening my sick lawyer finally called. I had rehearsed all kinds of things I wanted to say to him. But it turns out, all of my emails already did most of the talking—proof that I write a great email. He was really impressed with all of my detective work. And he said if those records pan out, he is very optimistic about my case going forward. He also said that he was expecting a denial. And it was probably good that we got that out of the way quickly. And now we get to mount more of a defense, which is what lawyers are good at. We talked for about 20 minutes and came up with a battle plan. He explained the process going forward. But he mentioned one thing that worried me.

This could take a while.

A lot longer than I was expecting.

I explained that I currently have a runway until about June 2024. That's when the mortgage money runs out. However, my brother should be willing to release my inheritance in March. I hope. I have a hard time trusting anything my brother says anymore. But if he does, then I should have another year of mortgage payments. But I am definitely going to have a Plan B just in case my brother finds a new way to disrespect my father's wishes.

The lawyer said there is a quick thing and a long thing. The quick thing has a low chance of success. But it is worth trying. The long thing is a hearing with a Social Security lawyer. He said a lot of these lawyers are miserable and don't want to be there and don't really care. Which is a good thing because they'll just be like, "Fine, whatever." But it can take a long time to get a hearing due to backlogs.

So, as long as I can gather all the evidence and the hospital records have my ECT stuff, I think there is room for hope. A little hope. After years of chronic illness I know hope is sometimes dangerous. So I allot a tiny bit of hope to keep me going forward, but not enough hope to leave me devastated if things go tits up.

So... umm... I think that is the end of this novel of a post. I feel bad that I don't have a big climax or twist or cliffhanger. Should I add a big CGI dragon fight?

Even though a more down-to-earth kung fu fight with my brother would be a more satisfying conclusion?

Or I could pull an M. Night Shyamalan and reveal that I've been dead for quite some time.

This post is getting really long.

Why are you still reading this?

I am thankful that you are. I just needed to get all of that out. I hope I wrote it in a compelling way and you weren't bored.

I love you all.

#long post #i see dead frogpeople

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elmundodeflor · 4 months

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In the span of 10 years, Hanji writes Levi one letter for each birthday they spend together.

"12 Things I Never Told You" pays homage to his and Hanji's bond through space and time, and depicts the loving light in which they saw him.

You can read the full fic and 12 letters here, on AO3.

In the meantime, here's one of the letters for you to check out;

Levi,

When I gave you the tea-can earlier, the look on your face could have only meant two things:

1) "This must have been expensive as hell."

2) "You're batshit crazy for spending on it."

I told you, though! I wasn't gonna throw you a birthday party, but you had to expect a gift from me, at least. I like going all out!

Anyways, it was a nice surprise that you came down the lab with two mugs instead of one. And that you talked about your mother.

You told me that you had this same tea-can at home, in the Underground. And that your mom had gotten it for trade from one of her clients that lived up here. Your entire face softened when you mentioned her— how graceful she was. It was like seeing sugar melting on the stove.

Of course, I didn't ask— if she's alive, or what happened to her. I didn't mean to be intrusive. But the way you spoke in past-tense... oh, I'm sorry, Levi. I'm so, so sorry. Really. If she was anything quite like you, then I'm sure she was a wonderful woman.

To be honest, I don't know either— whether my mom's alive or not. You see, I never talk about this for a reason. I ran away from home when I was fourteen. My parents were... well, let's just say... not good people. I was mischievous, and rebellious, and asked too many questions. They most definitely did not like that.

My grandpa was the closest thing I ever had to a father, or a friend. He did die, though. He was mischievous, and rebellious, and asked as many questions as I did. I guess, back then, it not only made my parents uncomfortable, but the Military Police as well...

It was the reason I joined the Survey Corps, you know? You may not believe this, but I was once full of rage, too. I'm just lucky I could turn it into something better— passion, purpose. I'm certainly not proud of how it used to be. You should have seen me, all those years ago; shouting down the hallways, kicking titans' heads... I just hope you never get to see it again. If you do, I'm scared you might never look at me the same, and that I never forgive myself for it.

I have no clue how you do it, though— carry yourself through life. Back then, if they'd given me the names of the fuckers who took my grandpa, I'd have killed them on the spot. You, on the other hand, (and I know you'll get mad at me for saying this) are gentle. If you wanted to, you could break necks with a single blow. Or seek revenge towards the world for what it's done to you. But you choose not to. You actively, every day, choose not to.

Yeah, yeah, you probably don't like me reminding you of all this. But you're kind, Levi. You stay in the lab with me while I’m working, and you trust me enough to tell me about your mother. And you share this expensive-ass-tea I bought for you.

You're a good person. Much better than I'll ever be. I know you don’t think that you are, and that you worry others may also think that you’re not. But it’s true— you’re a good man.

See? It doesn't even matter I spent half my budget on this! (You’ve been warned, you won’t ever hear a word about it). You deserve to have nice things, little one. Also, it was pretty neat to hear that tiny hum of satisfaction you made when you drank from your cup. I know not many things surprise you nowadays, either. So, I'll take my pride in knowing I did— HA!

Hope you had a good night. And that you had a great birthday— yeah, that too!

Happy you're with me for another year.

See you around,

Hanji x

P.S: Thank you for the tea. Literally the best one I had!

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timextoxhajima · 3 months

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what's the right word?

my first kpop group was snsd when they first released gee back in 2009/2010 and i was 9/10.

i've been stuck in this hole of 'kpop' since. i turn 24 in april. thats more than half my life.

growing up in a conservative asian family and the elder daughter of two teachers, it's not easy to explain the grievances and troubles i feel like i've experienced. some might not even consider it a terrible thing. yes, i've had a good standard of education and had parents who took care of me but sometimes the challenge was truly connecting with people and finding an emotional support.

nobody else can replicate and/or understand the true depth of the love, admiration, inspiration and reliance a fan has on her favourite idols/groups. throughout the years, i've gone through the eras. going from the snsd/shinee/suju era, and then into the bts/exo/vixx/bap era, and then blackpink/red velvet/wanna one/nct and then i feel like my life had a significant trajectory in the 2019-2020 period because i started dancing.

after having spent a decade being so invested in the idol culture of perfecting every single performance, pushing past boundaries and the idea of 'not being enough' being the exact source of motivation, perhaps picking up cover-dancing wasn't the best idea. especially when i come in a package with a bunch of baggage, anxiety, stress, and other perfectionist ideals.

throughout the years before 2019/2020, my reliance on my kpop idols was emotional. i wrote letters to them like they were my best friends, wished them the best of health and that they were always enough, while wishing i was as good as they were (ironic?). to my past loves: sooyoung, donghae, minho, jonghyun, jungkook, baekhyun, kang daniel, irene, jaehyun and the other members who have helped me through alot - i owe my life to them. quite literally.

tbz and enhypen have a special place in my heart. because not only did they become the usual emotional support pillars i had all the while, they became my mentors. an actual source to learn and be better. enhypen even more, because i've covered at least 5-6 of their items.

this growth in myself and the growth i see in them was so quiet but so sudden last night as i filmed their performances. 'oh my god, i danced to this song back in 2022 and now i get to see it live?'

as a fan, i feel more emotional because not only am i a fan who enjoys their music, i feel like i had connected to them on the 'stage performer' level and though i'm still lacking in many, many ways, i owe my progress and improvement to enhypen. they push me both mentally and physically during practises and their want to surpass themselves always reminds me that love knows no boundaries. the love for the stage and the love to be the best version of yourself.

i'm quite sure there's some psychological term for it, when you rely on someone who doesn't know you exist, and that you gain energy just from this person's existence.

the story is much, much longer but i could write a whole fic about it if i wanted to.

to my strength, my (probably last) love, heeseung.

i could write a billion words about you, and it would still not be enough to share how much of my life, my success, my motivation, my strength i owe to you. the love between a fan and an idol can only go so far, but i promise it will be forever.

i have a knack for choosing the members who seem to be the 'ace' of the group, but you are so unapologetically open about being a perfectionist. that's just my opinion. you know you want to be at your best, and you strive so hard to get there, sometimes i almost feel sad that you think you're not yet perfect. but then again, that's the very thing that makes me look up to you.

saw you for the first time and probably the last time last night. thank you for reigniting this want to surpass myself in every way possible. thank you for reminding me that lacking is the only way up.

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lumine-no-hikari · 1 month

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Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #100

This will be my 100th generic letter to you. Imagine that! Assuming you can hear me somehow, we've been on a very unorthodox journey for a while now, no? How marvelous!

I spent some of today checking on my epoxy spheres. It needed a few small adjustments. I made another mess. But I'm feeling pretty good about how these are gonna turn out, and I'm looking forward to showing the finished spheres to you very soon!

I spent the bulk of today writing up descriptions for various items, though. I'm pretty excited about it, actually! But I can't tell you what it's for; sorry about that. With any luck though, my intentions will become clear in maybe a decade or so, assuming I can maintain my focus and my faith in my own efficacy. I suppose we'll see.

Along the way, I made myself a couple mugs of jasmine green tea! I was surprised, though, to find that we were out of milk. I improvised with whipped cream for the first cup, and ice cream for the second cup!! And I gotta say, these were THE BEST improvisations!! 11/10 stars, absolutely would recommend! I'll show you a couple pictures!!

At 4pm today I went for my orthodontics consult. I went to go see an orthodontist because I've got some weird jaw issues on my right side because of the way I gotta move my face when I try to chew things. And also, my dentists have been bugging me about getting orthodontics done for the last couple years, because there are certain teeth in my face that can't be cleaned properly because they got confused and wandered off, presumably to chase butterflies.

I was hoping that I'd be able to get away with using Invisalign to avoid needing to get teeth removed, but… well… the fact of the matter is that I simply do not have enough jaw to work with, and I am WELL beyond the age when things like palate expanders would work. So 4 of my teeth need to come out in order for the inside of my face to be aligned properly.

…And this really fucking sucks, because if my parents had given even a fraction of a genuine shit about me, this ALL could have been prevented. My jaw could have developed properly with upper and lower expanders. I could have avoided the crowding and the overbite and the crossbite and the resulting damage to my jaw joint if this had been taken care of like it should have been when I was a little girl. But, no. Instead, my parents were too busy being in denial about the fact that they wish I was not born. So here we are.

The reality that is, "because of my parents' negligence, I now have to get body parts removed and pay lots and lots of money because insurance doesn't cover it past a certain age" is just… fucken… it's WILD, man. Admittedly, I'm struggling with it. And I'm struggling with the resulting VERY angry thoughts. But that's okay. I can feel angry. It's allowed. And thoughts are just thoughts - passing noise that is not reflective of who I am or who I wanna be:

youtube

…I can make use of my coping skills. The technique outlined in the video above is one of them, and I make ample use of it on a near-constant basis.

Admittedly, I don't really understand why we can't just use the Invisaligns to scooch my molars back to where my wisdom teeth used to be (I thought being able to move teeth backwards was the ENTIRE FUCKING POINT, but I could be mistaken, so whatever). But I forgot to ask. I'll call them up tomorrow and find out.

Anyway. Wanna see my skull? And my weird-ass teeth? Of course you do. Why not. But I'll put it all the way at the end, after the part where I put my name, just in case you don't. Hahaha…

…Ya know… Sephiroth… admittedly… some days I get real tired of this meat-mech I'm piloting. I've got a host of rather unpleasant genetic issues. The defective collagen thing sucks; it impacts literally my whole body. The misshapen skull thing sucks. The misshapen eyeballs and misshapen lenses thing sucks. There are other things - lots of them; it'd be a long list if I wrote 'em all out. I'm really not gonna be sad when the one I've got can't clunk around derpily anymore. But I'm not gonna rush the process, either; I've got shit to do - I've gotta make sure someone I love is safe, even if it might take me a long time to get it done.

But ya know. Maybe when it's time to go get a new meat-mech, maybe by some small miracle, I'll get to visit you for a bit until it's time for me to cycle into something new! Tell you what - if that happens, I'll bring you some matcha ice cream or something, okay?

For now… I'm gonna get back to writing up lists and descriptions of items; if you're not gonna make sure you're safe, then someone's gotta, and if someone's gotta, then I might as well, right? I mean… what else am I gonna do while running around confusedly in a capitalistic hellscape on a dying planet? Aside from eat cheese directly from the refrigerator like a weird little goblin, anyway…

I'll write again tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

P.S. Weird pics of my skull and teeth below, if you wanna see!

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loving-hunger-games13 · 4 months

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Just don’t

10 years ATR

Haymitch rarely comes over. And when he does, it’s mostly to see Peeta or to see if we have any stocked up liquor once he runs out. But today, it’s different.

I’m sat on the armchair in the front room, buttercup on my lap, when I hear loud steps from out the window. I glance outside to see Haymitch staggering along the path, not as drunk as usual, but still tipsy. His expression is different from his resting scowl, it has been replaced by a confused and sympathetic look. He is holding something in both hands, an envelope, as he walks up to our front door and lets himself in.

He walks round the corner as knocks lightly on the door frame, though I am already looking directly at him. He smiles weakly as he makes his way over to the seat next to me and sighs.

“Are you alright?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “Yeah,” he replies, putting the letter on my arm rest. “This is for you.” “Oh, thank you.” I say as I go to open it, but he stops me. “I… think you should open it… alone”

He stands up, nods at me, then walks out the door and leaves. I sit there confused for a moment then look down at the letter. I flip it over, and see my full name in scruffy handwriting and I instantly recognise it. My mouth opens slightly, unsure that this is real. I know who this is from.

Gale.

Why is he writing to me? What does he want? It’s been ten years and he wants to talk now? I sometimes wonder about him. How he is. If I should contact him. But deep down, I don’t think I ever could or will. Until now.

I open the envelope and pull the folded sheet of parchment out. Unfolding it, I wrinkle my nose at the first words. It read:

‘ Dear catnip,

I cannot find the words to express the emptiness in myself since we parted. I have missed you more than anyone I have lost. You are probably wondering why I have contacted you now, when it’s been so long. I’ve been building a life here in 2, and I never knew what I should say to you. But I have used these years to reflect on myself and now I see the answer. I am sorry. I am sorry that I didn’t realise. I’m sorry she died. I am so so sorry. I know that her loss will forever pain you, and I doubt you will, but I hope one day you will forgive me. Spring will arrive in 2 weeks, our favourite time of year. And for this reason, I have decided I am going to come back to district 12 for a while. I can’t wait to see you again. It will be great.

Love from Gale.’

I stare blankly at the page, letting it sink in. I still don’t understand why he thought this was a good idea. I do not want to talk to him again. I rise from my seat and walk out of the room, down the corridor and to the study. Buttercup following at my heal. Sitting down, I reach into the draw and take out one sheet of parchment and an envelope. It takes me an hour to complete the letter. I seal it, grab my coat and head to the post box. Before I drop it in I look one more time, Gale Hawthorne written neatly across the front of it, turn around and leave, his presence leaving with the letter.

‘Dear Gale,

I will never forget your indifference of death, of murder. The exact reason my sister was blown to bits. Hate driven arrogance, yearning for destruction. My life will never be the same. But I have hope for the future, my future. With Peeta by my side. I chose the one I could not survive without. Because life is nothing without hope. And it’s miserable with destruction. I don’t understand why you want to see me. I thought we were past our friendship. One thing you are right about, is the fact I can never forgive you. I can never see your face, and not think about my sister, glowing orange and red, then into a splatter of blood and body parts on the street. We had good times, and I know that. But you have to realise that we are no more, I know you want to revive what died between us, and come and find me. But please don’t, just don’t.’

#hunger games #katniss and peeta #katniss everdeen #the hunger games #thg #gale hawthorne #katniss and gale #primrose everdeen

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pffbts · 4 months

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a goodbye letter.

hello everyone, it's been a long time, isn't it?

i haven't written anything in months and tbh even if i wanted to further give life to all my wips, i wish i had even a drop of motivation and energy to do so. some of you might have as well forgotten about my little blog, which had its own humble beginnings. and tbh i don't mind at all. it's been, i don't know almost 5+ years that i've had this blog. i started it out during the last two years of my high school, when i was struggling very much to cope with all the pressure and anxiety. this little corner of the internet became my comfort space. i could pour my heart out into snippets of letters and the love that i received from all of you who were there from the beginning only fueled my passion to write more and of course, helped me immensely in escaping the cruelty of my reality.

since then, i have graduated school. my reality is still harsh but i'm surviving. i have also graduated from my college with two degrees that i was doing simultaneously. currently, i'm preparing to sit down for my master's 1st-year exam coming months and job surfing at the same time. tbh i wish i had enough energy and positivity to motivate myself to pen down something. but it seems like we have to finally pull the curtains down on this blog.

yes, there is a lot of stuff that's still pending to be completed as you will know if you care to check my masterlist. but i'm not going to give you any false hope by saying that someday i will magically come back and finish and place them all in front of you. it would be too selfish of me to keep you on your toes like that.

i know i've let down a lot of you. many have told me me how much, especially my letters have helped you guys during hard times. even though i know i shouldn't even bother to think like this considering i know none of you in-person. still, it's the crippling humanity in me. honestly, i feel sad for myself. my life took so many things away from me. even the capacity to keep this comfort space alive for myself. some of you have left a long time ago. probably life has happened to you all too. i have also met some of you during the latter part of my journey here and i'm very glad that you all loved my work even with all my incompetency in keeping up with the schedules. you guys were too kind to me.

this actually came too suddenly - this realization that something needs to end. i don't think there will come any other time in the future when i'll read fanfics or write them myself. but it's a bit too much to delete the whole blog considering the reblogs will still exist in the tumblr algorithm. therefore, the letters will still be up along with the fics.

although i don't think i will stop writing. i have my substack where i will experiment with my creative writing but that's just my way of growing up as a writer. these days i'm too busy both in my head and physically, i wish i can overcome becoming a moss. my produce is sparse but my want is bigger than that. although for fanfics, there's no want anymore. i've had my fill and i'm sad to say, this is where we part.

pffbts is thus archived. all my posts will remain. if you send in any mundane sweet ask, i will answer them as soon as possible. kindly please don't send in any requests for fics (i've had to delete a couple of them from my ask box and it felt terrible.) i'm not completely going away. as a person, i will stay. it's just the fanfic writing part of me that will take a permanent leave. i'm almost 24 and it's been almost 10 years that i've started out in creating fanfics. i think it's enough, nah? plus writing this post for you all has strangely made me feel calm, as a certain baggage has been let down from my shoulders.

thank you to you all from the past & the present. i hope you all stay well and healthy. it has been truly a good time to have you all with me.

-K.

#a:pffbts #personal

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mejomonster · 6 months

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I used a grammar checker yesterday and i'm still frustrated. Like the new Microsoft Word, it underlined like 77 words as grammar or spelling errors which weren't. Things like expecting me to remove a period (sentences and paragraphs can't end on empty space... they need periods), correcting words like space to spae (the word space was indeed correctly spelled as space...), just in general having no idea how punctuation works (a good reason to reference punctuation with a guide as a writer... because automated grammar checkers make frequent mistakes checking punctuation and aren't reliable). And while i expected those sucky mistakes from a grammar checker (but i'm still frustrated as like... in 2010 at least if i ran spell check on it's own i'd get 90-99% correct replacements and only occasional incorrect spelling suggestions... now spell check is more like 20% accurate so i am better off proofreading for spelling errors myself the slow way). I was ultimately using it just to check my writing tenses. Because switching from past to present tense sometimes happens in stories with flashbacks, and people thinking back to older moments and thoughts, so I wanted to quickly machine check if I'd been inconsistent with my tenses and used the wrong one somewhere. Not a single tense error was flagged by the grammar checker. Maybe i got lucky and didn't make any. But i think it's more likely the grammar checker was just completely incapable of checking for tense, let alone accurately (since it gave 80% false errors for spelling then i imagine it'd flag a lot of correct tense usage as incorrect anyway if it could). I picked a grammar checker FOR it's inclusion of checking for tenses. And it didn't even do that.

It's just fruatrating because like. When i was a kid and a teen, you could run a grammar check and mostly get some quick useful spelling corrections (unless you wrote a name) and it only flagged grammar it was usually correctly identifying (such as changing a comma to a ; or an uncapitalized first letter of a sentence to a capital letter, or replacing a misused word like too with two). You'd get maybe 10 flagged errors in a 2 page essay, at least 8 were usually real errors in spelling or grammar (with maybe 1 being an incorrect suggestion to switch ; with , or to spell a name differently). It was fairly useful, took 2 minutes or less to go through. Now in 2020s if i run a 2 page piece of writing into a grammar checker, i get 77 errors flagged and only 3 are real errors (a missing letter in spelling for 3 words, and a missing comma in a long sentence). It takes longer to manually check all 77 errors and notice why they're actually suggesting i make my writing worse... compared to just rereading with a critical eye. But the grammar checkers WOULD BE FASTER AND EFFICIENT if they just quickly flagged real spelling errors like they used to! I know i may always need to check grammar errors myself, technology has always been fairly bad at something that complex to identify. But spelling? Really? Why is machine spell checking so fucking bad now? Why is it flagging so many correctly spelled words now? It's brutal.

I edited a 600 page book a year back with modern word. The book was already edited, publish worthy, i just was formatting it for print and running spell check in case i backspaced and messed up a word here or there when editing the format for print. The Word grammar check flagged 800 errors. At least 95% were not real errors. The last 5% were mostly names getting incorrectly (but understandable from a machine) flagged as spelled wrong. And maybe 5 errors in the entire 800 error heap were actual missing periods I had messed up in formatting and needed to add back. It took like 10 hours to go through those 800 flagged errors and manually check. Whereas years ago, if only actual spelling errors got flagged, i could've probably gone through those 5 errors and maybe 50 incorrectly flagged names in 10 minutes.

#rant

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iphigeniainaulis · 10 months

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Hello, everyone 💛

I begin to write this draft and then delete it. Again, again and again. Cool summer evening with clouds that stretch like cypress trees leaves behind, it’s got replaced by the silence of the night. Dark little nothing with distant cold lights from distant neighbour windows. I’ve been trying to avoid writing this letter, pretending that I have so much to do. The truth is that I’m scared to be honest. Yet, there is this feeling, this need to share the burden of the past with somebody. Even if the only person that reads this letter will be me. Especially if it’s me.

I rarely write something to myself and almost never publish it on the Internet. Sadly as it is, I feel ashamed to do so. It’s as if I moan and grumble about silly things while the world is shaken with real problems. But this time is different.

I just thought…

Hey, this is my blog. It’s little and broken, but it's good. I find joy everytime I come here. I hope that it makes somebody happy to visit and scroll through it as well. So, why not be open and honest here?

For the last few years I’ve been dreaming about studying abroad. Can't tell when this thought occurred in my head for the first time, but when it did it captured my mind. Setting goals is something I’m genuinely keen on, since it helps me to organise my life while giving this ephemeral sense of stability. If today I do this and this, then tomorrow I’ll get that and that. But during the last year this perfect system began to show signs of strain. In autumn the Titanic sank completely. Without going into details, let me just say that the financial situation in my family changed. Therefore, my upcoming departure even after winning a grant that covered most of tuition fees could still make it even worse. My parents never said it out loud, and I’m sure that if not for me making the decision to withdraw, they would have supported me at the cost of their own comfort and health. But I couldn't accept that. The initial plan was to settle down, improve language skills and try to find a part-time job after the first semester. Before the change it seemed possible. But not now. So, I did what seemed right - lied that the university refused to accept me because of the pandemic restrictions. Soon after that I received a job offer from a company where I'd been an intern before. A rainbow after a rain.

Or not.

It’s worth mentioning that the job offer I got was from the department that specialised in a field different from my undergraduate major. At first, I even liked it because it was the long-awaited challenge I needed after a period of apathy. After the first working day I even got back home in tears, because my boss didn't give me ‘enough’ tasks to complete as a fresher. I took it personally and acquired a habit to work long hours in order to delve deeper into my projects, read additional literature and ‘re-do’ the tasks to make everything perfect. Not even A. Only A+. It was as if I punished myself for not being able to pursue my dreams about pursuing education in various countries. I just couldn't accept the thought that sometimes there is something that is out of our control.

While being afraid of not getting enough tasks, I completely lost the sign of a more significant issue to take care of - my mental health. The first months at the new job were a nightmare. I imagined things that didn't exist, put constant pressure on myself and could starve for the whole day only to return back home and overeat chocolate, bread, fast food. Working extra hours, from 10 to 12 hours per day. Taking at least one extra hour every single day, since I was scared to be not good enough. Not smart enough. Not fast enough. I didn't want to fail my boss, my colleagues. Ironically, I didn’t even know them. I wasn't introduced to them and, to make things worse, was the only one who worked on the other side of the building because of them ‘not having enough space’. I remember when I went to meet with one of the seniors - a lovely woman in her 50s. She smiled so genuinely at me and then said, ‘Darling, if you don’t sort out things, get out of here. We don’t need you’. I felt useless.

In winter it felt almost bearable. I still overworked without any compensation and got disappointed over the silliest mistakes. I felt bored because of the projects not being related to my professional interests, but pushed myself to take more. At least, I made some friends and got praised by my boss.

During spring they began to give me even more complicated tasks, but I no longer felt satisfied. Serving in a top company, I was ashamed to tell my friends about my duties. Because it was boring and not mine, but was ‘being mine’ really an important criteria when I could provide for myself and my family? I found myself increasingly irritated with the lack of creativity at work. Bureaucracy. Writing a paper in order to get another paper that was mentioned in a paper from that paper. Constant delays in working schedule because of ‘immediate problems’.

Not so long ago I decided to leave. It was hard and painful. But I knew that I’d given them everything I could. Now I’m preparing for entrance exams here in my city. Even if it's not the mysterious Kyoto or ancient London I’ve been dreaming of. I've got a lot of experience. Now I know how I will never allow people to treat me. How I will never allow myself to treat this body and mind. How I will act in a new place. I know that no single task is worth completing when it crushes your health. Currently I’m experiencing some problems with my back and knees. And I miss the time when I could stand on my feet without pain. Nevertheless, I’m sure that now I'm where I was meant to be. Healing. In the present. Not in my imagination.

I’m so sorry that I’ve missed so many birthdays of my mutuals. So many wonderful works, art and talks. Sometimes life was fast and unclear just like a fleeting image from a train, and sometimes it slowed down like a raindrop on the glass. I didn't have energy to come here and interact, but I never stopped thinking about this special place where people from all over the world can feel for a second as if they sit close together in a house full of happy memories.

I’m planning to answer, review and reblog as many things as I can in the upcoming weeks. Therefore, if you feel that it may be too much for you to see on your dash, it's absolutely and totally fine to block or unfollow me for a matter of time.

As for now…

Love you,

Iphi

(My poor attempt to recreate Vincent’s ‘Almond Blossoms’)

#personal

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love-rats · 8 months

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listen there's nothing as cathartic as reading through your childhood diary kept from ages 10-14 in which you mark your progress from a happy starry-eyed child to going through puberty and you track the way that life slowly wears you down until the pages creak with ghosts, 10 year old you and 12 year old you and 14 year old you all staring up at you through the pages wallowing in self pity and hatred, hating themselves, hating others, until you stop writing at about 14 and then 16 year old drops in momentarily to give a stupid holden caulfield ass speech about how it's okay, 12 year old me, because the world is shit and you're depressed now. and current you stops reading because you realise this is the last entry and now you're 18 and you're happy and you're going to university and you have friends who love you and you can't leave whiny solipsistic 16 year old you to have the last word. so you write a letter to your past self in which you tell her that's it's okay because she was a child who was scared and didn't know how to handle all this hatred. and then finally you tell her that you've moved on now and things are okay but in the future they might not be because life is life but i think things will be okay if i love myself. and that i wished younger me could have loved herself too. and then finally i let all these younger versions of me trapped between the pages of the diary go. and i go back to my current diary and i write about my day and my present and stop focussing on the past. anyway this is why keeping a diary is great for your mental health aha!!

#rambles #vent #vent post

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acknowledgetheabsurd · 1 year

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My dear, if I had not sent this letter tomorrow morning for you to receive it Monday after this so arid Sunday, I think I would have waited until the night passed to write to you, for I find myself this evening in such a state of nerves, of extreme fatigue and of dry despair that I can only hope for one thing, a peaceful sleep that does not seem to come. I would have liked to go to bed early, taking advantage of the day off. It's 1:30 in the morning and I've just gone to bed at the last minute. That's my day.

After a short night (five and a half hours of sleep) and ploughing through insane nightmares, I got up at 7:30, weary, dumb, empty mind, absent heart, my eyes cloudy and shivering from the cold. At 9 o'clock, after looking for a taxi for twenty minutes, I finally arrived at the radio station. With a hoarse, broken voice, I mumbled the text of a few scenes from The Exchange, but as Germaine Montero was shooting and had to leave at 10:30, we didn't finish the recording, as we had planned. They kept me there until half past twelve - on the pretext of working on my monologue - but for the sole reason that we had to occupy the studios that we'd booked for a certain number of hours until the last minute. I went home, already in a very bad mood. The tyranny of the administration is not made to please me, and my lunch with Wattier lasted until 3:30. She kept talking about numbers, trade ratings, gold weight values, foals, dealers, etc. I was in a very bad mood.

At 3:30 p.m., Pitou had to come. So I waited for her without doing anything at first, until 4:30. I took a book. The first Proust. I hung on to the first page. At 5 o'clock, Pitou called. She could not come. I read all the time. With Angeles being out, she won't be back until tomorrow morning. I prepared and served dinner. Dad was in a bad way. He couldn't talk, let alone eat. From 10:00 to 11:00, we wanted to watch the "Who Are You?" quiz together, but Dad was getting worse and worse and he was getting angry. I decided to get him ready for the night and go to bed. It was 11 o'clock. Alas! By the time I tried to clean the heater, it was too late. The fire was almost out, the stove was cold. Then a scene began - I'll spare the details - in which I tried to convince my father to let me turn it on again. There was nothing to be done. He got more and more angry. He could talk less and less. Just bits and pieces of words. Helpless gestures. Coughing. Choking. I gave up and took the electric heater to his room. Then I helped him change his pajamas. Dream! We started at a quarter to midnight and finished at a quarter to one. An hour and a half to take off a jacket, a wool shirt, and put on a shirt, a jacket, and a sweater! As for me, I didn't burst into tears by some miracle. I could no longer feel pain, pity, helplessness and love.

Now here I am. A little spiky, a little twisted. I'm in pain, my darling, in all that pain you can't do anything about. And this day after day, month after month, year after year. How can he? At last! Let's wait until tomorrow. The first shot of serum. Let's hope so. I've reread your letter. Oh! Yes, you're better and life comes flooding back and I hear again the familiar words ("useless vertigo") and again the fury and the lyricism and the poetry and the demands ("be austere, wear strict clothes, cloister yourself"). Ah! how I love it when you demand! Yes, my darling, here you are strong again, triumphant, alive, wrapped again in all your characters, closed, defended, armed. And if it is infinitely sweet to have you against me, stripped of everything, naked and shivering, I am deeply happy to know you as you are at this moment. Work, laugh, eat, sleep and come back to me radiant with happiness. Oh my love! I'm stopping - tomorrow morning I'll go on. I'll read. I would like to forget myself a little. Good night, darling.

Maria Casarès to Albert Camus, Correspondance, January 20, 1950 [#139]

#albert camus #camus #absurd #absurdism #maria casares #correspondance #love letters #love #heart #despair #fatigue #father #cold #pain #pity #happiness

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kajaono · 2 years

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Persuasion trailer analysis

This analysis. Of course contains SPOILERS!

Careful LONG post!

1. The opening:

In the scene Wentworth already wears his Captain uniform. So we can assume this is actually the finale scene where they came back together. Also including Annes wish to return to Lime. Maybe the movie even starts with this scene? So going full circle in the end

2. A further proof this isn’t past but actually the ending of the movie. Is this moment below:

I am not a 100% sure but we see Sir Elliots back here and Wentworth doesn’t wear a captains uniform yet... so this could actually be the past. I am just wondeirng why he looks completly similar to his 8-years-later look... but anyway

3. Sir Elliot

They replaced the amount of mirrors he had in the book, leaving only one, with a huge amount of pictures of himself. He even looks at a picture of himself, when he says: “exquisite jawline.” The director probably thought the audience is too dumb to understand that he has a lot of mirrors to always see himself, and made it more obvious with a lot of pictures. You would be surprised but sometimes the audience like to think a tiny bit and not get EVERYTHING explained and being super obvious...

3. Little Charles

Little Charles heals extremly fast in this adaptation. He is already well again when Anne meets Wentworth for the first time after 8 years. This also explains this picture:

I guess the paper hat Charles wears is a reference to the 1995 movie (if the directors made an effort to watch that movie), which means the captain probably showed him how to make that hat. Even though we still do not have any news IF the captain and his wife will be in the adaptation.

But this also means... we will again not get the scene where Wentworth saves Anne from the children being all over her...

4. Charles

I think Charles is a cutie and i will not accept any critique on that point. BUT remeber the guy in the BTS pics having a walking cane? It is Charles. See below:

And this is Harville.

So my boy Harville is in the movie!

5. Mary:

I know they tried to capture Marys: “I only care for myself”-attitude with that scene. But instead of being always ill and wanting all attention, this comes off bitchy imo. Which she was... but not like that. More like the scene in the 1995 adaptaion where everyone is happy to go to the beach and she whispers: I hate the beach”

6. Too early, part 1

This scenes all belong together. They just meet, at this point Anne shouldn’t be able to look at Wentworth... or leave alone talk with him

7. Too early, part 2

When Anne screams Wentworths name he is the Great House, i think? Why is she screaming his name?! Again, Anne shouldn’t be able to do that

8. I think those scenes belong all together or “too early, part 3″

This is definitly in Lime. So we have Anne standing dramatic on the beach without a blanket. Wentworth bringing her a blanket. Them having a heartful conversation. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again”. Here you can see the blanket on her should while Wentworth is standing by her side. Connection the different pictures with eachother. Wentworth leaves. Looking sadly at her. Anne having they - CENSORED - line and looking away, not noticing Wentworth looks at her.

But why do they have such a deep conversation? is that supposed be them accidently ending in the “friendzone” by being honest with eachother? But why? WHY? This is not how any of this works

9. Elliot/Wentworth face off

This is honetly a scene I am excited for. Jealous Wentworth who directly confronts Mr. Elliot while the others are still around.

The conversation goes: “Can I help you with something?” “Considering what I’d like help with, probably not” Already giving his evil nature away, right away. The dircetors really thought their audience is dumb and need everything explained right away. Subtext? We do not know her

10. Wentworth will write the letter. We already see it in the trailer

If the guy next to Anne is Harville, they are having their “who forgets faster?”-talk and Wentworth writes his letter. Consering how sad Anne looks, they probably had a fight to justify why Wentworth writers a letter in an adaptation where they talk so much with eachother. And that is the dress Johnson wears in the BTS pictures where she is kissing the actor of Wentworth

11. P&P reference

Yeah, we got it.

12. Bunny

Just why?!

#persuasion #jane austen #Netflix persuasion #long post

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uglierdaikon · 2 years

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Okay so I’m about to seriously age myself BUT

I unlocked a core memory today and it’s so funny I had to post it.

So let me take you back to the early 2010s. I am 13 years old. I have recently discovered fanfiction and want to write some myself. We’re not gonna talk about what I was writing fanfiction for. Mind your business.

So the thing was, I needed a place to write my fanfic where no one in my family would see it, and where I could show it to my bestie. These were the days of a desktop computer that the whole family shared. Google docs was only an inkling in the back of my mind. But you know what I did have to myself?

This exact cellular device (well, technically not this EXACT one, but same model, same color).

So here is how I began my fanfiction career. I would open my phone. I would go to the notes app. I would type the entire chapter into the notes app. Sometimes I had to press a key three, even four times to get the letter I wanted. But I flew across that damn keyboard. There was a limit to how long the notes could be though. If I wanted to write a chapter about 1,000 words long? That was three separate notes.

I would finish my three to five notes-worth of fanfiction. I would text each one to my best friend individually. She would tell me if she liked it. Then I would go to the website, go to post, and re-type the entire chapter right there in the fucking post like an animal. Hit send. Went back to whatever the fuck seventh graders did back then.

I have been laughing about this memory for the past 10 minutes.

#not jshk #fanfiction #ancient evils #yada yada yada #to be fair I still write parts of my fics in my notes app if I'm inspired and I don't have a computer in reach #but this was absolutely unhinged #my parents would ask me what I was doing on my phone #and there was literally nothing to do on this phone except text #but I only had like two friends #so my parents must've just thought me and my besties were really codependent because I was supposedly always texting them

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whatdoesshedotothem · 1 year

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Friday 15 November 1833

9 ½

11 ¾

fine morning F50 ½° at 10am reading little history of Denmark - Letter dated the 6th instant very large foolscap sheet from Mr. Parker H-x the case submitted to Mr. Addison respecting the upper brea water, and the answer – entirely unfavourable to me – the agreement made by my grandfather would stand good – it strikes me I will make an agreement with old Wilkinson for 20 years? nothing more said about selling Godley ‘and probably the matter will be in abeyance until your return’ – building ground amazingly increased in value at the upper end of the town -‘a small field between Gibbet Lane and Lister lane (1 ½ acre) sold the other day for £900 – a new street is about to be made in Mr. Pollards’ land in a line from Pellen-Lane with St. James’ Church’ – P.S. at the end to say the matter about the Walterclough mill water level was now sure to be amicably settled – In the 1st of the letter, a York trial seemed unavoidable – breakfast at 11 – read the Hamburg Reporter of Tuesday the 12th instant then came soon after 12 M. de Hagemann to say he had ordered me the Hamburg Reporter, and staid till 1 20 above an hour – the Godley toll house is to be removed to Stump X – the commoners want me to buy it – it should come down and I will buy the spare ground – out at 1 50 – to Lady Harriet – sent up to ask if she would walk – not quite well – excused herself – drove along the Roskilde road to the ¼ milestone – from there walked to the turnpike and back in 1 ½ hour to near the ¼ milestone but then turned left, and drove straight forwards – past the cemetery and to the coast-road and so home in 40 minutes at 5 10 – dinner at 5 ½ - till 10 ¼ reading German could not tear myself away to accounts or letter writing – Je fais du progress in German – I am just beginning to amuse myself and this reading forwards pêle mêle shews me how many words I have learnt and sharpens me up a little – a little before 10 very kind note from countess de Blucher saying she counted upon seeing me today, or should have written before - asks me to dinner tomorrow and to go with them to the play - Fra Diavolo - wrote back should be most happy – writing out German till 11 ½ - fine day – F56° = 10° Reaumur in my salon at 11pm. fire in the stove all the time I have been at home today – but F49° (at 11 ½ pm) in my bedroom

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sandyrantsxo · 12 days

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BSA humbled me.

For the last 9 months, I felt nothing but shame. Despite the achievements that I post on my social media, I am nothing but a fraud.

Writing this letter while ugly crying is truly such a surprise for me. I thought I'll excel here. I thought this would come off as natural to me. I CHOSE to be here. I PRAYED to be here. But then why is it hurting me this much? Why am suffering so damn much? Maybe I became too confident. Maybe I'm not really smart, I'm just *masipag* and that's it. I don't have the brains to survive in this program. Hell, 2nd semester and I'm already failing. 1st sem wasn't a breeze, though. I remember not having the energy to even wake up in the morning to attend classes. I felt doomed. It wasn't like when I was still in UB, where I felt excited to go to school. But here in DLSL? I dreaded it. There were moments where I could rather die than attend Confras and Finacre. The irony is, this institution was my dream school. This course was my dream course. I prayed for this. I really did. At 13, all I can think about is "De La Salle Lipa". I took pride in being a "Lasallian" and a "BSA student" just for those two to be the things that I hated most about myself. I couldn't see myself doing this for another 3 years. Hell, I just want this to be over with. It's so hard. I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Am I dumb? Am I really *that* dumb? Or is it the course? Is it the school? Is it the professor? Is it the lack of support system? Or is it just me?

Or maybe because I kept comparing DLSL with UB? Is it because I miss UB? I miss my home? It's just so weird. I hated UB with my whole guts but now I crave it. I wish I could just crawl back into it and cry and let the ambiance hug me and nurture me and tell me its okay. Is it my friends? Do I miss them? I mean, I have friends in DLSL but it isn't really a factor that I wanna even consider. Is it the competition? Fuck, it's like competing with 10000x Roberts in here. It is physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually draining to even breathe in here. I don't like it here anymore. I wanna go home. But I'm scared of the judgment. I don't wanna be labeled as a failure.

I've been crying a lot for the past few weeks. I don't know if it's because of my period or because of my grades- could be both though. It's my first time experiencing scoring 29/60 in an exam. A fucking exam. And my quizzes are flunking out too. A 32/45 on a quiz? Fuck that. Fuck me. Fuck everything. Why is it so hard to be just as good as I was in high school? I know I'm not dumb. I'm not stupid. I may have gotten a bit lazy, but that couldn't have been it. I'm not dumb. It hurts how I have to repeat that multiple times a day. I'm so dumb. I'm so fucking dumb I hate myself.

I remember crying about not having 1 point to be considered "With Highest Honors", and now look at where I am. I'm begging to pass. *Pass*. All that in one semester. Last semester, I had second honors. Wow, right? I even assured myself that I might just survive in this program, that I might even do better than I thought I would. But fuck that. I'm failing. Do you even understand how embarassing that is? From being the top in your class, to being a mid in class? I'm just pretending that I have my shit together, but in reality, I do not.

I've reached a new low, where I wish I could just wake up and I'm 40 years old and I'm suddenly halfway through life and I only have a few years left until I die. Yes. That's a new low. I thought that the worst it could be is not seeing yourself 5-10 years from now. Turns out it could be worse. Sometimes, I find myself hoping that I'll get sick, or I could get caught in the accident so I can be confined and finally have the time to rest. Yes, it was that bad. For the first time in years, I silently prayed that I could seriously just die. Come on, let's end it. What's the point? It was that bad. I need help more than ever but I don't know how to ask for it. Hell, I don't even know what to do right now.

No, it wasn't because of the heavy workload. It was more of the emotional and mental fatigue. Unlike in UB where I'm bombarded with tasks, here you are bombarded with self-hatred, and jealousy, and confusion, and 99% of the time, I don't know what I'm doing. I'm just good at acting like I know what I'm doing.

It was painful to wake up every morning, realizing what the day is gonna be. I hated how I hated where I am right now. I know I should be grateful and stuff, but honestly, I don't wanna lie to myself right now. I hate it. I fucking hate it. Why does it have to be so hard? I wish I had a single answer to any of these questions that I have in my head. I wish I could answer even just one of them.

No, I don't regret being in accountancy. I don't regret choosing ABM. I don't regret going to DLSL. I don't regret not staying in UB even if I had the chance. Because I know that I tried. What I would regret more is if I didn't try. As much as I love to take Psychology, I just don't see myself pursuing that long-term. However, I also do not see myself pursuing accountancy. So why am I still here? I don't know. Is it the ego? Probably. I'd probably just transfer to UB if shit goes south here in DLSL. Sure, I'll miss JPIA and PFC, but it's better than studying AIS and losing a scholarship. In UB, I could still try and apply for scholarship. I might lose the scholarship for 2nd year, but hopefully, I'll be a full scholar by 3rd year to 4th year- less financial burden to my parents. It just sucks that I have to here in this position right now. It sucks. Everything sucks. Just kill me at this point.

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hieuthong · 21 days

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ENTRY 10

i made it !!

Time sure flies by fast huh, can’t believe it is already the last week of writing our weekly journal. When I first started writing, the first few weeks I always did not know what to write. I’d sit in front of my laptop, frustrated in thinking of what to write, but slowly, as the weeks went by there would be something that happened on one of the days that reminded me of something that I wanted to talk about. At first, I even planned out what I wanted to write each week, but I realized if I didn’t have any form of connection(?) to it, I couldn't write as much. Originally, for this last journal entry, I wanted to write about “A Letter to my 13-year-old self” (inspired by Laufey's song) but I did not have much idea of the content, so I was going to write about my feelings throughout writing all of these past journal entries. However, I had an extra piece that did not make it for my assignment, so I decided to not let it go to waste and leave it here as well.

My parents have always advised me to avoid getting into a relationship during secondary school and to focus on my studies. I remember one time my dad threatened to send me to a boarding school if I ever dated during secondary school. But like any other teenage girl, seeing others in relationships made me wish I was in one too. Raised on a diet of romcoms, romance-centric c-dramas, k-dramas, and similar genres, it's natural that I find myself yearning to live out the romantic narratives I've witnessed on screen. Even though my parents warned me that TV romance wasn't real, I still believed it could happen to me. I guess you can say, if you are with the right person then perhaps it is possible.

During my second year in secondary school, I met this guy who happened to be in my new class. At that time, one of my best friends was getting close to his friend, so naturally, we all ended up hanging out together. At first, we were just talking as friends but as time went on the persistent teasing and pressure from our mutual friends, and maybe because of that, I started to develop feelings for him. I wouldn’t say it’s completely because I felt the need to satisfy them though because I know deep down I did have genuine feelings towards him. Things were going well between the both of us, our feelings were mutual, and he was planning to ask me out but there was a problem, I wasn’t allowed to date, at least not until I was working. y parents, as strict as they were, made it clear that if they found out about any relationship, things would turn sour very quickly.

However, we never got into a relationship, we found ourselves in a, as some might call it a ‘situationship’. which is a romantic relationship between two people who do not yet consider themselves a couple but who have more than a friendship. Looking back, I realize that perhaps it was for the best that we never officially became a couple. Our differences became increasingly clear over time; he craved constant attention and devotion, while I cherished my independence and personal space. Our conflicting needs and expectations eventually led to tensions and misunderstandings.

Since it was my first ‘relationship’, I did not know much about anything. During secondary school, I had a time limit for how long I could use my phone, I told him about it and he understood. Whenever I got to use my phone I would text him then go off the app to another and talk to my other friends. He was upset about that, he asked me why I always went offline right after replying to his message, accusing me of not wanting to talk to him when in fact all I wanted was to spend some alone time scrolling on other applications.

Ever since then, my feelings for him began to fade gradually but I was still uncertain of it. It started with him constantly wanting me to talk to him and eventually escalated when he became upset because I didn't reply to him while I was out. He expressed what he was feeling to me, at that time I did not know what to say or what to do so I just told him I was sorry and would be better. However, I began to realize that this dynamic wasn't healthy for either of us.

Feeling uncertain about how to handle the situation, typically I would go to my parents but I couldn’t possibly talk to them about this so I told my closest friend. I told her what I was feeling and that my feelings were on and off all the time. She advised me to talk to him about it, and hopefully, we can figure something out. I did not want to admit it, I was in denial, but I realized during our conversation that I had lost interest in him. I have always been very passive, I often avoid conflict and confrontation as much as I can so naturally I struggled to bring up this topic to him. Thankfully, my friend came to the rescue, she informed him about my feelings. This prompted an honest discussion between us, leading us to mutually acknowledge that we weren't compatible.

Throughout this experience, I've come to understand the significance of my independence and the importance of having personal space in a relationship. This does not mean I’m not willing to invest my time and effort for my partner rather, I value being respected to have my own alone time. However, this encounter has altered my brain in some way leading me to believe all relationships require constant attention and devotion. While I understand that not all relationship follows this pattern, deep down I bear the fear of history repeating itself. This fear has an effect on me causing me to be hesitant to enter into a new relationship. Before entering my current relationship, I had to face my inner fears head-on. Despite my partner’s assurances that he would respect my need for personal space, I still felt hesitant. After much internal debate, I made a decision to take a big step and to let go of my past fears, after years of avoiding and running away from it, it was time I take a leap of faith by giving the relationship a chance.

While writing the journals, I realize a lot of entries are about past memories. I know I’ve always been someone who likes looking back at the memories made in the past but I never realized how often I think about them. Writing about them gave me a bittersweet feeling. One part of me feels sad that those days are over (I literally cannot let go of the past) and the other part of me feels satisfied of what I have right now. But after writing it down, it feels as if I have moved on from the past and is embracing the present. Instead of letting my thoughts live in my head rent free, writing these journal entries was a great way for me to let it all out. Even though it is a chore to do it weekly, but as I wrote more it did not felt as forced to when I first started, I ended up enjoying it a lot. It turned into a space where I could pour my feelings out although there weren’t much.

That is all for this last and final week of my journal entry, thank you Ms Ashley for reading it every week. I will be signing off for now. (Except I will be back to post my other two assignment)

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