Cass: you really think this is a good thing? *Points at her OWN face*
Like. Cass…. Your self hatred is showing
Cass: you really think this is a good thing? *Points at her OWN face*
Like. Cass…. Your self hatred is showing
Always thinking about the conversation between Cass and Eugene in the jail cell and how when she says “I don’t think I want to talk about this with you” what she’s really saying is “I’m not about to delve into my most deeply held personal traumas in the first ever meaningful conversation we have had with each other.” Eugene does not like, realize it carries that weight for her—neither do we, as the audience, although we can probably guess since we see her expression. Eugene is working off the assumption, maybe because she said she doesn’t remember her parents, that her feelings must be similar to his—the idea of his parents being just kind of a nice fantasy he held onto through a bad childhood—but then when she shuts him down his response is to call her soulless. I’m VERY sad about this lmao. But it’s such a good establishing character moment for both of them
-October 22nd, Journal Entry 39-
The first thing I did today was go back home to make some more invisibility potions, since I ran out yesterday, and didn’t go make any more.
Invisibility potions are really cheap if you have a master level farmer, so take note of that if you’re part of a private SMP server.
3 Invisibility potions only require 3 bottles, a nether wart, a golden carrot, and a fermented spider eye, but I like to add redstone dust to mine.
caught the bus to buy vodka with a birthday voucher. met two raging alcoholics on the bus back. offered one a mask, laughed at their eavesdropped conversation, one began to ask me my opinion on what he was talking about. said if you’re gonna be something, be good at it. the other with the white beard said his grandma told him the same: “if you’re gonna be an arsehole, be a proper arsehole” & “if you’re gonna be an alcoholic, at least be good at it”. he showed me his saké bottle and i noted the alcohol percentage. offered me a swig and told me it would burn. i took it, and it did. burned with an aftertaste, but it felt like communion. acceptance into a place i never slotted into before now, despite the convos in 7-11 at 2am or the offer for a ride by strangers in a packed car after i let them borrow a lighter after dark. i hit the alert and got off at the next stop, and the saké holder told me i had a good attitude–“he’s a good one, this one,”–and shook my hand twice before i fist-bumped his older friend and exited the bus. throat still burning, vodka in a paper bag, hanging from a satchel on my shoulder.
new day. new beginning.
san kaya mapapadpad ‘to? hahaha.
I’m wishing for everyone’s safety especially during this pandemic. One day, we will be able to hang out again. By the beach, or the street, with our friends or with our family. Wag lang tayong mawalan ng pag-asa. We may not be on the same boat during this pandemic, but I’m praying for everyone’s safety. Kapit lang.
Yakap para sa lahat. Let’s survive this one. At pagdating ng panahon, ikekwento natin sa susunod nating henerasyon jung pa’no natin nalampasan ang pandemang ito.
I have been having nightmares every single night and I wake up feel untested and exhausted and sad or scared or anxious. I always sleep better next to daddy and I cant wait to be in his arms again
Today I have felt more stable than I have in a while.
Daily I feel more and more sensitive to all of my triggers and like I’m suffering from pretty difficult adrenal fatigue. Every day I feel very tired and it’s difficult to push myself to do activities, but I keep pushing myself forward.
I know life will not always be like this. I am safe in Colorado, I am safely living within a 14-min drive to my safe-friend. I am 24+ hours away from my abusive, toxic family. I am safe, I am okay. All I need to do is allow this healing process to continue forth and trust that it is leading me to better horizons.
A lesson I have learned lately is about detaching from one’s problems or triggers. While this is easier said than accomplished, it has been a useful skill for me.
Basically, any time I become triggered, I do my best not to attach to any stories related to the trigger. If I am at the supermarket and begin feeling overwhelmed, instead of generating a story of “I’m so weak and pathetic, why can’t I grocery shop without becoming triggered? Why can’t I be normal? I hate myself so much”, I instead take a step back from the emotion/feeling/experience, accept that I’m feeling overwhelmed and take small steps to move forward through the discomfort until the trigger dissipates.
By doing this, I find I’m much better able to tolerate the discomfort because I’m not adding any more layers of emotions on top. It’s already difficult enough to process feeling overwhelmed, it’s even more difficult if I’m generating anger and frustration and hatred towards myself for feeling the normal-human emotion of anxiety or fear.
I’m trying to treat myself with more love and compassion lately. I don’t deserve to treat myself with abusive thoughts or feelings or actions the way my childhood abusers have. I deserve better.
I want to know when you stopped loving me.
I want to know when I stopped being the last one you thought about at night.
when did it stop hurting to see me hug someone else?
when did you stop trying to get closer to me.
i want to know when you forgot how I smell, the colour of my eyes, the shape of my shoulders in the afternoon light.
when did you stop crying over me?
when could you think about me without that feeling in your chest?
you know the one.
like your heart is being squeezed of the blood that pumps it.
I want to know how long you hoped I’d change my mind.
how long were you so fucking desperate for my touch?
when could you drink without thinking of me?
when did I become just your friend?
when did you notice her?
when did she replace me?
did she ever? or is she just filling my seat in your car?
when you kiss her, do you think of me?
remember me. fucking remember me.
- g. borne
-October 20th, Journal Entry 38-
I just want to finish this guardian farm.
Since the guardians are grouping together more, now that there aren’t as many places for them to spawn, I think it may be worth it to go back home and make some more invisibility potions, and start using those again.
I also drank a fire resistance potion so I could use the bottle for an invisibility potion.
I made 9 invisibility potions, and by the time I had done that, my fire resistance had worn off.
*thinks about cass*
-October 20th, Mini Journal Entry 37.1-
I’m starting early today so I can get more work done on the guardian farm.
Also, I realize that I haven’t been doing much else recently, that’s because I just want to get this done as soon as possible, so I can finish the roof of my trading plaza.
Nothing really interesting happened, but I’m now halfway done with draining the outside of the monument.
I will have to take down the monument at some point, but that will be after I’m done draining the outside of it.
-End Mini Journal Entry 37.1-
She feels some kind of excitement once on board of the train because right then she embraces the main character that she is. She likes being there because she has space to exist and fill: she’s far away from rush house, she’s lost in the music blasting from her headphones and that’s just fine.
She probably enjoys her escapade because absolutely no one is aware of it. This is some footage which will never see the light—no pair of curious eyes will come across it and hold any judgemen against it.
When she hops on the train, she feels at peace again.
They have the wedding out in the woods somewhere. It’s not a legal marriage because legally Rapunzel is married to Eugene, and as much as she’s already turned the kingdom on its head she worries that gay polyamory is still a little too out there for Corona to process.
Cass was really hesitant about it for a long time. The idea of marriage is traumatic for her for a lot of reasons. She said no the first time, but told Rapunzel to ask again. Rapunzel does so, multiple times over several years they are together. She likes to joke she is keeping a scrapbook of failed proposals (she actually is.)
Finally, Cass proposes to her. She says yes.
Eugene is there, of course. So are Lance and Varian. Max, Fidella, Owl, and Pascal are as well. Kiera and Catalina throw rose petals. Cass braids Fidella’s mane full of flowers.
They don’t invite their parents. They feel bad about it, but they agree it would complicate things in a way that would upset everyone.
Rapunzel wears a pale pink dress she made herself, with a matching hand-knit lace shawl she’s been working on for months. She’s grown her hair out by this point and styles it in an elegant updo full of wildflowers. She makes a matching flower crown for Cass, whose hair is cropped close above her ears.
Cass wears a silk doublet with a matching cape with Rapunzel’s embroidery along the hem. She’s had it for several years, and it’s the only sort of formal thing she owns, since she refuses to wear dresses anymore.
Quirin officiates. This is Varian’s idea, since he has conducted many weddings for the citizens of Old Corona, and he’s good at keeping his mouth shut. Not that this matters that much anyway, because people have been talking for years, but still.
They exchange vows. Cass cries, but Eugene very graciously promised beforehand NOT to make fun of her. Lance also cries. Like, full on blubbering. No one promised not to make fun of him, but they abstain anyway. It’s kind of a whole moment.
When they kiss, it is quiet. There’s no royal fanfare—only the soft sounds of the woods and Lance’s weeping. It’s perfect.
They ride back home together on Fidella’s back.
Cass will eventually take off her ring and put it on a chain around her neck—it’s more secure that way, and more subtle—but for now she admires it where it is. She wants at least a few handmaidens to see it and start rumors, after all.
Thinkin about cassraps wedding
-October 19th, Journal Entry 37-
Before I start, I’d like to list a few things that happened last night, after I ended the last journal entry.
My hoe was running low on durability, so I went to make a new one, but the old portal in the nether now connects to the monument portal, so I had to sail back to the shipwreck.
I got killed by guardians again.
My stuff was within the monument border, but was easy to collect.
Old portal in the nether now connects back where it should for some reason.
And also this guy showed up.
Now, on to what I did today.
I find it natural to start this journal, A Dog Basking In The Sun, basking in the sun myself. I sit, almost entirely engulfed by the concrete visage of a boat house, in a cheap beach chair. Although comfortable enough, the old sun worn plastic creaks as I shift my weight. Its 3pm, the sun sits sloppily to the west, it projects the final golden rays of a bygone summer. They bounce and cascade across the azure mirror of the lake. I’m reminded of a trip I took earlier this month into the lake’s deep water aquatic zone. Aboard a flimsy orange boat, mottled with pale white patches from leaks past, I made my way across the lake hoping that the past wouldn’t turn to the present. After about ten minutes of rowing I came across a patch of emergent plant life, cattails and pickerel weeds. The tops of the pickerels were a bright purple, conical in their shape, and comprised of small segmented flowers. They looked like the purple lilacs that dotted the meadows back home. The bright color of the flowers served to attracted pollinators, to my observation mostly insects. The busyness of all the small insects buzzing around from flower to flower reminded me of a city, the pickerels and cattails edifices among a strange skyline. I began to wonder how the lives of these insects inside of their “city” would compare to the lives of people living in ours. I compared their pressures to ours. The pressures of their existence are simple, yet absolutely vital. Cut down to the rawest portions of life. Pollinate, eat, procreate, die. In contrast, our pressures are complex, nuanced, yet messy, diluted, and lacking the immense importance that make them worth the effort. Those insects floating from pickerel to pickerel, though simple and cognitively stunted, I imagined them happy. The people mulling about back on the shore, I wasn’t quite sure.
Dotted along the water’s surface was an abundance of white water lilies, with intermittent yellow spatterdock. Between the pads, which flourished with micro-ecosystems, were strange light green bulbs. Lilies yet to bloom. This peaked my interest as, I embarrassingly admit, at this point I’ve never seen a water lily in person. Luckily it only took about another minute of rowing to find another patch, this time in full bloom. The petals were pristine, a searing white that contrasted against the muddy greens and browns of the lake. The symmetrical radiating petals reminded me of the flower of the lotus plant. A prominent symbol in buddhist philosophy which emanates an aura of steady tranquility. In turn this reminded me of a fellow I met on an excursion in Thailand. He would recount how his village, which also floated on water, was home to a buddhist temple. The monks of this temple would often perform acts of immense patience and stalwart tranquility. As if, intentionally or not, to emulate the lotus. So I found it fit, in front of this mindfully constructed facsimile, to take a moment of my own. To emulate an act of silence. To sit and not think at all.