#not pictured getting kicked out of the store and having to pay for the soiled swimsuit

[odddaze]

Now look what you’ve done!

#still getting used to drawing him #my drawings always look inconsistent haha #i like to buy/wear swimsuits but i have nobody to go swimming with :c #yes they're in a store #not pictured getting kicked out of the store and having to pay for the soiled swimsuit #your boyfriend #y/n #yb #peter #your boyfriend game #no minors please #mb ill draw them at the beach next #that or pissed off yb #my art #oddart

[officialwittek]

pt. 2

*gif is not mine* 

word count: 1,987 

“SAGE” a voice yells, my eyes shoot open and I fall out of the bed, David laughs loudly holding his vlog camera

“Fuck you” I groan, standing up I notice I was changed and all my makeup was taken off

“Wow I was so productive even while drunk, I even took my makeup off bitches” I say, collecting my things off the floor and plugging my phone into the charger

“Nah, it was Jeff. You passed out after taking shots with Zane and Ilya. So he carried you into Natalie’s room and took care of you before he left” David explained, tucking his camera under his arm

“Oh nice, where’s Natalie?” I ask, putting on some shorts and walking to the kitchen with David

“She went to get coffee for everyone” He says, I laugh quietly seeing all of our friends passed out on the floor or the couch

“I guess I’ll make breakfast. Then I’ll help clean after we eat” I say, David nods and follows me to the kitchen

I grab some eggs, bacon, and pancake mix and start making breakfast for everyone. I notice Jeff and Todd aren’t here and assume they went to work out so I make extra food just in case they come by after. I shoot Jeff a text and ask him but I just get left on read. Weird. I pout a little and David suddenly takes my phone.

“Why did Jeff leave you on read?” He asks, I shrug and David takes out his own phone and texts him and of course gets an immediate response

“Interesting, whatever. I ain’t tripping ‘bout no hoe” I say, spooning the scrambled eggs into a big bowl

After I finished making breakfast, Natalie walks in with the coffee, Todd helping her carry everything. Our friends wake up one by one and join us in the kitchen

“Sage, baby marry me” Zane says, I laugh and take everyones empty plates and put them in the dishwasher

“Baby.. you couldn’t pay me enough money” I reply, our group laughing even harder

I wash the dishes while Matt helps me put them away. He also offers to help me clean the rest of the house. I take the soiled couch blankets and throw them in the wash while Matt takes the trash out. I grab the empty beer cans, solo cups, and hard liquor bottles and take them to the recycling and trash. After about an hour we had David’s house looking as nice as possible. I say bye to David and Natalie before Matt and I head our separate ways for the afternoon.

I finally get home and take a shower. Cleaning David’s house had me in the mood to be productive and Carly was probably with Erin I open our curtains and play some music over the speakers. Quietly singing to myself I take my laundry and start separating the loads before throwing the first one in. I walk to the kitchen and start cleaning out our fridge. Expired foods, old take out, nasty old fruits and veggies. After that I compile a grocery list and send a quick text to Carly to see if she needs anything, she sends me a handful of items and tells me to let her know how much she should PayPal me. I wash the dishes and put everything in their respected cabinets. After a few hours of cleaning and washing laundry, I get dressed to run errands.

I choose some brown patchwork jeans, a white tank top, a chocolate brown oversized zip up jacket with my white Air Force ones. I throw my hair in a ponytail and text Jeff.

Sage: Hi bub, ik you left me on read, but do you want to run errands with me?

Jeff: nah i’m good.

I sigh in annoyance and shove my phone in my purse. I grab my keys and walk down to the parking lot. I get a text from Corinna and Natalie asking if they can tag along with me since they’re bored and I agree, the three of us meeting at David’s house. After they pile into my Honda Civic and we go to the grocery store.

“So.. what’s got you all annoyed?” Corinna asks, I realize my eyebrows have been furrowed the whole time

“Jeff keeps leaving me on read or he’s being dry. Even at breakfast he didn’t even acknowledge me. I mean what the fuck. I would never ever do that to him. The fuck is his problem” I whine, grabbing a carton of oat milk

“Well you did kiss him last night and you haven’t said anything” Nat points out, my eyes widen and my jaws go slack, the two girls giggle at my expression  

“I k-kissed him? I mean shit go me, but now I feel like an asshole” I ask, turning to them and I sigh

“I’m never drinking again” I reply, making them laugh. After a bit more shopping we all go to pay for our stuff.

We stop by my apartment and they help me put the groceries away. We all go back to Dave’s house and hang out for a bit. I start editing some pictures I took for my instagram. While editing Todd, Jeff, Zane, Carly, and Erin walk in. They all come up to me and give me a hug, well except a certain someone. I’ll admit I feel like an asshole about not saying anything but I didn’t know it pissed him off that much. I text and ask if we can talk in the studio and he leaves me on read right in front of my eyes.

I roll my eyes and just sit at the kitchen island alone. Mindlessly scrolling through my phone as I hear some people approaching me. I turn and see Mariah, Carly, and Erin. They immediately knew something was up, my eyebrows were furrowed so we walk outside to my car.

“It’s fucking Jeff. So Nat and Corinna told me what happened last night and I obviously felt bad. So I texted Jeff about five minutes and asked him if we could talk in the podcast studio for a bit and he left me on read. He probably hates me now. He’s been ignoring me all day” I cry, Mariah rubs my shoulder to help console me

“I’m not going out with you guys tonight. I think I’m just going to stay home” I say, the three of them nod

“Well then all the girls are coming over tonight. I hate seeing princess peach being sad” Mariah says, princess peach is her nickname for me since I love anything to do with peaches and everyone treats me like a princess since I’m the youngest member

“Finee, bring wine and I’ll make pasta” I say, finally letting a small smile appear as we head back to the house

“Where the fuck did you guys go?” Heath asks, wrapping his arms around Mariah as I pretend to throw up

“We went to make out real quick” I retort, walking over to collect my things

“Nat, Corinna let’s go babes” I call, they excitedly grab their things and we hop in Nat’s Mercedes

“Oh c’mon guys” Todd says, but Carly promptly stops the rest from coming

“No we’re having a girl’s night. Sage isn’t feeling well, no boys allowed. Especially Jeff” she says, mumbling the last part so only the girls could hear and we let out giggles

“Fuck men” I yell, closing Nat’s door as we head to my place with Carly

Nat drops us off while her, Mariah, and Corinna get some alcohol. I grab the ingredients from the pantry and fridge. I decide to make a simple pasta with garlic, cherry tomatoes and basil. While I was cooking the other girls come back and we all gather in the kitchen. Talking about everything and anything, Nat starts snapping pictures on a disposable camera. After a few minutes the food was ready and we all gathered in our living room to watch some movies. After some bickering we all decide on Always Be My Maybe.

“T-that was so good” I cry, heavy tears streaming down my face, I look and see them all with tears in their eyes

“I hate being single” I whine, grabbing a pillow and crying into it and the others start laughing at me

“Sure sure” Corinna says, taking all of our plates to the sink. After countless bottles of wine we started dipping into the vodka. Natalie decides to stay sober for tonight  since she’ll probably have to take everyone else home

“Wait hold on David’s calling” Natalie says, I turn the music down and sit there nursing my vodka bottle and another bottle of sparkling pink lemonade

“Yea I’m not sure Sage is in any shape to go anywhere” She comments with a laugh, watching Corinna take the bottle and pour more vodka in my mouth

“Uhm I don’t know, let me talk to her” Nat says, her smile falling as she covers the mic with her hand

“Is it cool if the boys come here? They’re tired of staying at David’s and he needs drunk Sage content” She asks, I look at the rest of the girls and sigh

“I guess” I reply, Natalie purses her lips before replying

“No, we said it was girl’s night. You can get drunk Sage content any day of the week” She says, soon there’s some jiggling by our door as Natalie and Carly quickly run to the door and lock the door with the latch above the handle

“David get the fuck out of here” Natalie yells, stopping them from kicking our door down

“It’s ok I guess, just let them in” I reply, getting off the floor and unlocking it, quickly  walking to my balcony and Erin locks the door behind me, knowing I should have some alone time

I play some music on my phone and just sip the vodka in my hand. I take a hit from my puff bar, just enjoying the cool breeze on my skin. I let some tears fall down, thoughts invade my head. Maybe Jeff is just over how clingy I am? Is he tired of being friends with me? I sigh and sink deeper into my chair. I jump when I hear a knock, I quickly wipe the tears off my face and turn. I’m greeted by that dumb face and nod.

“Hey” I said, taking a hit of my puff, watching the vapor disappear as Jeff take a seat next to me

“Hi..” he replies softly, I can feel him burning holes in the side of my head

“Carly said I should probably come talk to you” he continued, I roll my eyes and collect my things

“Thing is, I don’t really want to talk to you anymore ok? This is me, leaving your dumbass on read in real life” I slur, putting my phone in my pants as I reach the door he grabs my wrist

“Please, I know you’re mad and I don’t really know why” Jeff replies, I scoff and set my things back down

“You ignore me all day, LEAVE ME ON READ WHILE I’M TEN FUCKING FEET BEHIND YOU, over a fucking drunk kiss for the vlog. Why would I be mad? You asshole” I yell, finally getting someone to open the door and I storm back in, sitting in the kitchen with the girls

“I DOn’T ReaLlY kNoW WhY You’Re MAd. The fucking NERVE of him” I rant, Nat pats my back as the girls and I talk on the kitchen floor

After another hour everyone leaves and I get ready for bed. Sure, I could’ve actually talked to him and I really was until he asked why I’m mad. I mean what the fuck? Whatever, I set my alarm and slip off into a peaceful sleep.

#vlog squad imagine #vlog sqaud #jeff wittek #jeff wittek imagine

[sirjustice216-blog]

People should be buried that way not the closing on top as slab as seen in Africa, encouraging exhumation as the mansions knows how to make it that u can lift it with hand operated mini-folk lift esp when wanting to eat that corpse or when the casket of high price to resell. The above ought to be done then concrete added onto to seal it even more tight only leaving like 30 cm to the ground 4 placing soil 4 leveling that when people exhumes can be seen as opposed to the African way which if u raise such, the grown ups don't listen to ya and sees ya as rude. In fact when people has known that the dead can walk after receiving formalin injection it can eradicate caskets, just normal walking to the grave as in the burial just seat with u, then the above picture his casket down maybe placed soft pillows to make funeral and burials much cheaper than the usually expected. the grave can be up to between 15-20 ft to facilitate the security feature as above.

Dont touche people with the gadgets u make, making many to join crime to afford such, rather hide it from people, as open ya store where u invite those with money to buy the same products where people are discouraged to get to peoples houses to see the same to give them the same instincts above which are disturbing in nature like with the New Japanese, Chinese Stereos in the link below as in the movie below as well

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/WLS-PROFESSIONAL-PORTABLE-PA-2-1CH_60399699356.html?spm=a2700.details.deiletai6.12.3d4a28d7HKgsyQ            

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/New-private-Portable-8-Inch-Multifunction_62336695683.html?spm=a2700.details.deiletai6.1.3d4a28d7HKgsyQ

https://www.google.com/search?q=cradle+to+grave+movie+dmx&client=firefox-b-d&tbm=isch&source=iu&ictx=1&fir=uR_rZm_dUcVtYM%253A%252CSdymAcoZU0B3hM%252C%252Fm%252F03q4qb&vet=1&usg=AI4_-kSTumREWEvRsbYwW6BpfW4TCnRFjQ&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjs6I-G99_pAhWIzYUKHZBGB-wQ_B0wGXoECBEQAw#imgrc=uR_rZm_dUcVtYM:

Islam use the same above to guard their graves without coffins dude

Signs of defeat yet instead of arresting impersonating Dignitaries they r playing dice, promoting rudeness in society as their land spacious so many African tribes try to portray the character of rudeness and theft as Russians do in movies and when solving conflict with other nations. Many like Kamba blooded who love good things and even masai wanna be there or go there, so think if they do the same above can be tolerated or their kids in times futurity. Such ways they use to fish in E-african lake as described below and on the other hand want to discourage people that using drone mounted with alternator generator though cheap same can be done to ya rather use jets which are expensive to create that fear as buying much jets rather adds much chank of cash to their economy more than the cheap sold drones. Shivering dude, so got to be prudent and decisive in ya ways

https://ednews.net/en/news/world/430535-russian-fighter-jet-shot-down-two-additional-us-drones-near-khmeimim-air-base-in-syria?fbclid=IwAR0EoETEYC0PSyo0r73STHXk-PYK2TxNzhkLLXBnIOyWRX3JJQoyxfahLoU#.XtIDJS_4s5o.facebook

The above drones described even ferry food stuffs between nations and even cash crops like coffee, cocoa and tea, so if ya agenda was to get to those nations and do the same think twice, u r hampered and advised early to desist lest u r marooned or blocked.

Machine parts and material goods got spirit in them, like if u see a shoe or a machine, then u see that some1 who gave that some1 making the same the idea maybe gotten from the cyber or hacked in books or the original owner gave it to him, or the shoes or machine was made by the owner and that’s how stolen warranties or patents are known and can get u to hell and in-case of disputes to as 1 has taken ya idea, for lie or truth, people are send to view the products and tell the above b4 u r compensated or arrested as a thief. Stop dude taking other innovations as lands ya to hell fire and even if u kill 1 out of such, the gadget, kinda, got not wanting to see it twice spirit dude. We can such people who investigates detectives bro!!!!

If u wanna go to the USA, get there bro, don't force me with what u like or thinking it must be that way, with me i have taken a twist to get to other nations which aint that rich like balkanized nations, what matters is that u r living not must be in expensive luxuries.

Chinese and many African or Asia nations thought 4 u take make original machines parts like of USA u got to live in that nation, so they wanted to drive Negros out of it, so they block the above with them and them proceed to live their hoping to come with the same which aint the case as now seen in tumblr sirjustice202 a/c, how many nations have come up with gadgets like phones, Tv, internet, pay Tv and airplanes without living in the USA. So they USA thing is erased out of mind, so stay where u r dude and the corpse eating thing believed to aid in making the same above as well eliminated as the above named nations who have made gadgets have made much more durable machine parts yet they don't partake such corpse, so its a big lie and a hoax to be left all alone. Even in the bush like u can pray gadgets are made dude.

Minaj 2 years down the line we are still 2gether or moving on, Kebi was heard in MN state telling Minaj as retiring to bed time. “Which defecating container did u use, the red or blue 1, i used the blue 1, is it half full, minaj responding nah, what about the other 1, same as Minaj says, kebi in 2 weeks time will discard the same to the open sewer. Did u wipe ya ass good, minaj, yes, in-fact i took the like many face towel u hang on the wall, immersed in hot water squeezed to wipe it more clean. Good Girl and that's why i like ya.Girl don't look 4 good life as u witness, life still moves on dude, lets sleep girl awaiting 4 our tomorrow“

Now the above made in Kenya vending machines can eliminate the every hour monitored u shopping in supermarkets, shops and even pubs b4 being followed placing ya life in danger.

https://www.facebook.com/Vending-Machines-Kenya-192530854829719/

These stereos got spirit as many want not many to buy until some people loose hope and other stop to hustle together as thats what can make them happy in life, Lord place me in furnace then, cause me am not ready to be another Moses, appear and talk to ya people, spare me that or destroy me completely never to seen again, i dont want longevity,life bores me quick what about longevity as in the link below,untill people want them not, things people ought to buy, u friend of white people to create jealousy as u wanna show them u r ready to protect their gadgets but now every nation makes the same, so u r from every tribe

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/DVD-player-Micro-mini-hifi-component_62321654611.html?spm=a2700.details.deiletai6.3.ef845599uVdAQz%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/NEW-ARRIVAL-PROFESSIONAL-PA-2-0CH_60400837366.html?spm=a2700.details.deiletai6.12.74056068le17fR

https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=3023899924392685&set=pcb.3216383081920688

Self Running Alternator Generator in the below link dude

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_d320uOmlMs

Kebi Investigating people who came to ya to eat like they eat, like not much food not knowing u did not take super or breakfast as they did and not to mention, its organized, in that even fresh food parts placed in garbage and as they collect in the morning give to their own to breed the character above as they eat less while still energetic as opposed to ya and even some cereals b4 they cook as distributed by the garbage van the trade in and most even artificial made food b4 being cooked like beans or green-grams. The vendor was away, kebi ordered 40 bob Githeri with hot tea while that fellow named above order 4 10 bob both, saying with signs kebi eats much, which he has refuted saying what u got in store or come with to want people to follow ya ways? Nothing dude, but looking keenly its pure hunger, so kebi got furious and kicked his plate of Githeri till all scattered on the ground while his 40 bob Githeri, he turned the plate to spill just in a head while they fight b4 kebi leaves him alone. When kebi left, critics had it and know the above character of theirs, the man scooped the 40 bob Githeri plus some of his and took as well kebi left tea and ate all. Friends what do this entail, they want u to cook to eat many people that they r still jew, if the negro come by will overpower them in the election and overrule them so they want the vice versa once they have known the making machines technology which they will sell to many nations not yet knowing the same to claim the old slogan the jew will rise which aint wise as in tumblr a/c sirjustice202, those nations they plan to sell to have all learnt the same. So high population and with poverty, so want u to cook to feed their kids and u tell them am not kikuyu get to ya tribe and organize such with them as well as people with not straight earlobe, collect all such people and form groups to help ya, don’t rush to straight ear lobed people 4 the same. Get it straight dude.

The zones which are fish prone in East African lakes should be monitored using drones to avoid illegal indiscriminate fishing as described below using wi-fi drones as in the link below. Many can be placed at like 1000 meter squire, mfalme wa yawhodi to bring out reality and eliminate unhealthy and unscrupulous business deals which are against the poor and pro the rich 4 those tactics not to be know to length their lifespan.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7i7pwO0whMw

The China speakers with lights glittering on them, can have switches to put them on and off if u like. Lets just say any Radio speaker with lights dude, Manufacturers get this straight dude as customer needs demands.

I don’t orchestrate poor marriages, rather stay alone than to bring suffering kids to take ya to hell. The question that day will be who convinced ya with marriage to give birth to the above, get him/her out of his comfort zone and hurl him into fire and leave the above cheated person. I tell you friends, not 1 of these stones will be left UN-turned as all the beans will be spilled as their will be weeping and gnashing of teeth b4 being released as its not blasphemy not 4given if u repent not. Must test the fire 4 every meg sin, not that its either inferno or not case. Friends Rich-man and Lazarus parable to change ya mind and leave ya wicked ways. Many will say they aint my kids, artificial insemination was done which i knew later after doing DNA to be left alone and the wife gets into the inferno. W omen stop Mr Hindu and many White-men deludes ya,i f u know not dude.

Never say i wanted good life or my ways with women were alarming, so did the same with me to avert the whole case, friends, i have been through a lot and kinda, has distorted my mind to leave me alone. Now i don’t want the above, as i want to be all alone and even if i can be with a kid, i don’t want the same or now am prudent with big cash, i don’t want the same but just leave me alone.

Now i used Chrome and they have shifted like my 4 a/c but to my benefit, so they ascertain and know how i said well i wright characters more than 30 i have guessed to leave me alone when i used other browsers which they cant shift. Dude a blessing in disguise.

Canadians are Negros, while Benin people got kamba blood while Most Germans got Benin blood as well as Tanzania fellows, so Canada too big they want to go their reason 4 claiming the above and even with luo who got kamba blood. Kamba blooded almost always wanting the good side of life, very very bad character in deed. If u think of getting to Canada, kinda, u see an ignited fire like forest fire as well as u think of marrying a kamba blooded people. Dude take ya to hell and they deleted the bible and they want the same teaching other friends clans like the Hindu bro. U aint jew or Egyptian, the 2 r as described in tumblr a/c sirjustice202 and more. Sit down and let them spill the beams dude. They play insane to get by as be acquitted from hell inferno as in the link bellow, the ignition of a fire

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dj-E-YnyLK4

Nyako molo ma-humphry eteni dwalo cha, be osemiye, gimolo omuodo asking Eunice while delanu crops in to say, poko-omiye/golone, gimolo ochamao, tabia mabaya shana kwa wasichana. Patiana hiyo kittu, haraka magadalio

Click the link below 4 more, women telling the likes of Kebi on 1 hand but on the other hand as many now whats simple life as show in the photo below to eliminate the lifestyle shown in the song link below

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Id5XOZf6txg

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vh2I2HabjEM

[rksora]

                                           ❤  ◞  HI EVERYONE !   ❤  ◞  

i dropped a notice on twitter days ago but i’m happy to finally bring in a new character! this is my lil’ jiwon and she’s absolutely harmless if a little more than the usual pessimistic but that doesn’t mean she’s a soil sport (even though she can be), she’s tries her absolute and i mean really hard to not be ( but if you start throwing the word love in her direction, she’s going to spout some very debbie downer preachin’ realism on your ass )

i’d love to get some plots going as well as random starters! so please reply with your favorite  or now playing song and i’ll whip some up for you. or if you like this post, i’ll come to you! ( after i answer messages of course which as everyone knows takes me 32492341 years ) 

also, below the cut are some facts about lil’ miss rain and no shine as well as tiny plots that can be nitpicked from those tidbits ❤ 

                             ❤  ◞  ALL ABOUT PARK JIWON !   ❤  ◞  

❤  ◞  park jiwon ⇢ nineteen ‘99 ⇢ pisces

❤  ◞  she’s a child born out of wedlock, her dad knocked her mom up and didn’t take responsibility. her mom remarried and she has a half brother ⇢ if anyone has a deadbeat dad who could have cheated on their mom with jiwon’s mom, please !!!!! COME AT ME !!! THIS WOULD BE AMAZING !!!! give jiwon some half siblings like fuck Ruin her Life ⇢ childhood friends who know her as the girl always saying “i’ll tell my dad on you!!!” ⇢ got picked on at the beginning of her life because she only had her mom and it was obvious her Dad wasn’t in the picture (lasted until she was seven because her mom remarried and her New Dad was actually super sweet and doting but jiwon didn’t care because it wasn’t her Real dad) ⇢ she had a rocky childhood because of her own making, her family did everything they could to fill the hole in her heart but jiwon is stubborn and she wants what she can’t have

❤  ◞  she has major daddy issues, so let’s not talk about that -- even jiwon doesn’t talk about it ⇢ she’s probably told like two people, ( preferably best friends )

❤  ◞  she works full time ( probably more than she should ) at this thrift shop in hongdae ⇢ she’s pass along her discount bc that’s what friends are for ⇢ there’s also a dog named mayo that sleeps in a basket at the counter. he’s not sick, he’s just lazy.  ⇢ she’s practically a Golden employee aside from her spontaneous kpop karaoke sessions that go on via the intercom, some customers have complained but others fill her tip jar ⇢ she can’t really sing, she’s more like saying everything in a higher pitch than her regular speaking voice but girl can spit a rhyme -- watch her mimic the smtm rappers, she can do it ⇢ “they love me!” ⇢ “no -- they’re paying you to stop for the love of god.”

❤  ◞  she’s actually really into fashion but she’s literally a cross between dressing so eccentrically or horrendously, that’s what happens when you work at a thrift shop and on top of it get a 30% discount ⇢ she could have been a fashion ig personality but her ig is p much full of indie-esque film caps ⇢ “how does this one sound -- ‘they’ll never catch me ... i’m fucking innocent.’” ⇢ “how you think owen wilson looked hot in that movie, i’ll never understand.” ⇢ “it’s the nose.” ⇢ “jiwon -- it’s never the nose.”

❤  ◞  she’s also a 365 daily vlogger; she’s not famous but you’ve probably seen her around talking to the camera as if anyone actually cared ⇢ youtube channel: @jiwonahhh ⇢ catch her at your work place, at her work place, yabbering on! ⇢ maybe she was spending a little too long loitering and you had to kick her out ⇢ if you’re a friend, you’ve definitely been shown on her channel whether through an actual thorough video or a 1sec frame ⇢ “jiwon, please put the camera down.” ⇢ “but the light is so nice right now!” ⇢ “what the fuck -- you don’t know jack shit about lighting, stop.”

❤  ◞  she actually has a dull outlook on life, didn’t really have a lot of aspirations; when asked what she wanted to do after high school she literally said, “stay alive.” (so maybe she’s like 2% optimistic and 98% full of survival instinct) ⇢ high school friends, wanted! (i don’t have a high school that she could have attended planned so we can plot for that) ⇢ she’s actually really Sad but she’s also really good at hiding it and can honestly make you think wtf is this girl have an unlimited supply of endorphins ⇢ correction: she has 20% of endorphins, the other 80% is Sad and Pain and Why Am I Not Good Enough

❤  ◞  when you first meet her she seems like a ray of sunshine, always talking, suggesting things to do ( most so she can film and put it on her channel and seem like she’s doing something with her life ) ⇢ catch her off guard and watch her fall into misery.

❤  ◞  she’s a debbie downer when you get close to her and can get real emo when you start talking about issues ⇢ ie. family, love, future, dreams ( pretty much anything off the surface and deep ) ⇢ default answer, “bro, it’s not that deep.”

❤  ◞  she actually wanted to go to college but she has like zero dinero so that was out of the question ⇢ if she actually got to go she would have wanted to be in one of the art majors like film, art history, or something like music theory ⇢ but she likes hanging out at campuses bc Aesthetic and because it makes her feel like Someone, did i mention she’s a Fake

❤  ◞  in high school she was part of the dance club  ⇢ she does dance covers in her spare time now and posts it on her not Popular youtube channel ⇢ high school fact: she was nicknamed ‘dimples’ because *surprise* she has very deep dimples

❤  ◞  she’s at the movies literally every weekend, whether it’s for some indie film, mainstream superhero movie or dramatic korean romcom ⇢ “you, again? don’t you have a life?” ⇢ “why do i need a life, the one’s in the movies are so much more interesting.”

❤  ◞  she can be found at the conveince store near her apartment late at night eating midnight snacks (her favorite these days due to the god-awful heat: ice pops) ⇢ have yet to decide on a district to put the girl in so please anyone who needs a roommate! ⇢ or if you’re in need of a neighbor, jiwon isn’t a bad one! ⇢ neighbor and roommate plots galore !!!

❤  ◞  in her spare time ( if she’s not vlogging, going to the movies, or sulking at convenience stores ), she’s volunteering at the animal shelters ⇢ is that friend who preaches ‘adopt, don’t shop!’ ⇢ is also that friend that stops at the front of a pet shop and makes happy faces at the pets

❤  ◞  she tried to go Vegan but the bulgogi too Bomb ⇢ she also saw these leather boots at the thrift shop and going Vegan was Out of the Question ⇢ “it’s hard to be fashionable and animal friendly, i want to be both!” ⇢ “you’re hardly fashionable to begin with --” ⇢ “(insert gasp) i’ll pretend me and my vintage gucci didn’t hear that.”

#❥ ┊ tying red strings . #this was long and i really don't expect you to read all of it but you all get a mod-approved pink star from me if you do #i'm still trying to follow everyone zzzz we are a Lot of people and we could build an Army

[plantanarchy]

Plant Care 101: The Basics

It’s kind of hard to give a super basic guide to plant care because plants are super diverse and have varying care requirements BUT there are some things that every plant needs and that you can apply pretty broadly to caring for plants. This is going to be focused on container plants and houseplants more than plants in the ground/garden because that’s a whole other can of worms, but yeah, anyway, here’s some quick tips for beginner plant ownership.

1. LIGHTING - Think about where you’re actually going to put your plants

... before you get them (ideally). All plants need light. No plant will live in a windowless bathroom or basement (I mean unless you have grow lights BUT that’s another story). Very few plants will survive in a dark, dim corner.

Figure out which direction your house faces! Different plants do best in different light exposures.  Afternoon sun (west) is hotter than morning sun (east) and can dehydrate plants faster or cause sunburn. Southern exposures get the most direct sun, and northern exposures get mostly indirect sun or no sun. And obstacles like trees or awnings will potentially block light as well.

Full sun is considered 6+ hours of direct sun, part sun is 2-4 hours of direct sun, and shade is less than two hours of direct sun. Keep in mind the sun intensity will vary depending on your location and the time of year.

A lot of houseplants prefer “bright, indirect light”. In a window that gets hot, direct sunlight like a south or west window, this could mean putting up a sheer curtain or keeping the plants farther away from the window. East windows generally get bright indirect light all year and north windows may not be bright enough for most except the lowest light plants.

Get plants to suit your space! Do some research! If you have trouble identifying the plants that you already have, try google image searching using various details about it. Sometimes that works.

2. POTS AND SOIL - Think about your plant’s house

Your plant’s house is its pot. When you bring it home from the store or nursery, it’s a good idea to replant it. The soil that’s best for keeping the plant alive in the store is usually different than the soil that’s best for it in your house. Especially if you’re getting your plants from stores like Home Depot, Lowes, Wal-mart, etc (it’s gross). Taking a look at a plant’s roots is important! A lot can hide under the surface of the soil...

I can’t really recommend a specific soil brand because everything varies regionally and every plant is going to have different soil needs, so really this is just trial and error. Try out different soils! Experiment with perlite which will make your soil looser and drain better. For succulents, I use a mix of topsoil (not potting soil), sand, and perlite.

You generally want your generic potting soil to A) absorb some moisture but B) drain well. Which may seem contradictory, but it isn’t, I promise.

As for your pot..... DRAINAGE HOLES ARE A MUST. If your pot doesn’t drain, you can put your plant in a plastic insert and remove that to water it, you can attempt to add your own drainage holes, or you can doom your plant to slow and inevitable death. If your pot does have drainage holes, test it first to see if it actually drains.

Increase the size of your plant’s pot only a few inches at a time. Tiny plants in giant pots aren’t ideal, mainly because the soil dries down inconsistently. The soil around the edges may be dry but soil at the roots may still be wet. Also, don’t plant your plants too low! The soil should stop about an inch or so below the top of the pot. Planting too low can cause issues with air circulation to the stem/soil which can cause rot issues. (tbh I’ll probably make a specific post about repotting plants because there are a lot of things to know and a lot of tips and tricks)

As for the type of pot, that’s up to you. Plain terracotta pots are helpful for plants that like to dry down between waterings because they wick moisture from the soil...  not as ideal for plants that love lots of water. Also, there’s no shame in plain, plastic pots. None.

3. WATERING - please don’t drown your thirsty boys

This one’s the hardest to do an overview of because different plants and even the same plants in different locations have vastly different watering needs.

Plants (usually) only take up water when the photosynthesize. Less light = less photosynthesizing = less water taken up. Cloudy day? Less water taken up. In the greenhouse, we generally don’t water on cloudy days because the plants don’t take up as much water and because water sitting on the leaves/soil doesn’t evaporate as quickly potentially leading to rot issues.

You can usually visually tell if the soil is dry. To be more sure that the soil is really dry, poke your finger in about an inch. To be more, more sure, you can wiggle a wooden chopstick in the soil and if it comes out dry, the soil is dry. Some plants prefer to dry down almost completely before watering again, some prefer about 30-50%, some like to stay moist but not drowning.

If your plant appears to be wilting, check the soil. If it’s wet, it may be overwatered or sick. Don’t water for a bit and check the stem/roots for rot. If it’s dry, it’s likely underwatered. Very dry soil can take a few repeat waterings to actually absorb moisture again.

It is better to water deeply infrequently than to water in small amounts more frequently. Your goal when watering is to dump in enough water that it flows vigorously out of the drainage holes. When I first started watering plants I thought it was way too much but seriously, dump that water in there. No trickles allowed.

4. PLANT ISSUES - wtf is wrong with my plant

You’re going to run into plant issues when keeping plants, that’s just how it is. Diseases, bugs, rot, etc.

There are WAY too many issues to get into in a basic post like this, but in general.... pay attention to your plant! Look at the undersides of the leaves and leaf tips and the stem. Take lots of pictures! Touch your plant and the soil! Keep an eye out for changes.

If your plant does develop what you think is an issue, google is your friend. I’ve googled so much of the stuff I know about plants, even when I’m working with very experienced growers. Google is good. Don’t rely solely on one source of info.

And if your plant unfortunately kicks the bucket? No, you don’t have a black thumb. There is no such thing. That’s especially a time to google the shit out of that plant and re-evaluate your growing conditions. I’ve killed LOADS of plants and that was usually because I put a plant in a less than ideal location and then didn’t give it the right care. Or because of bad luck.

There is NO SUCH THING as a black thumb.

I think that’s about it really for the basics. There’s also stuff like pH and humidity and temperature, etc etc to consider but that’s way too much to get into in just one post. Hopefully this makes some kind of sense and isn’t just a wall of text? And is helpful? If you have any other questions, feel free to message me if you’d like. Or add onto this post with other tips if you have them.

#plantblr #plant care #houseplants #gardeners on tumblr #gardening #succulents

[marvel-lucy]

The Fall, chapter 7

I kinda feel I shouldn’t be writing this but I’ve started now, plus it’s barely MCU and just miserable.  I’m sorry. :/

Complete story Masterlist is here

While Bucky had been plant shopping, she’d been busy too. She hadn’t drunk in two days now and her mind was clear. This meant the grief cut sharper than normal, no blurring to take the edges off the pain, but she could also see for a moment what she’d let herself become.  She ate breakfast, at a normal time, and went shopping, averting her eyes from the sight of whiskey and vodka, although she craved the numbness they would bring.  She walked through the world with gritted teeth, determined to cope, to survive, just for one day at a time, but felt fragile and raw.

Nonetheless, the thoughts of the kindness of a stranger buoyed her up. It had been a long time since she’d had a conversation, or someone had shown her a friendly thought.  Since she’d moved away, she’d lost touch with all her friends… she paused in the street as she thought that, wondering if she’d ever even remembered to tell her friends where she was moving. Perhaps they hadn’t all abandoned her. She’d changed her number, never answered emails, because it was too painful to hear ‘how are you?’ and sense their pity, see their unbroken lives. The loneliness was partly of her making, but she had wanted it, couldn’t watch someone else’s child grow up as hers never would; see husbands kiss their wives as she’d never feel again.  She deserved to be alone, for surviving.

But for today, she wanted to get through the day. She found she went an hour without thinking about them and was then hit by a hot stab of guilt in her gut that she had forgotten them, but she hadn’t. The grief was just a little less angry today perhaps, less like an exposed nerve and more like a bruise, hurting when touched but otherwise just marking her.  She cried at a little to find that she was recovering. Perhaps the alcohol had hidden it from her, that time was healing her. She wasn’t sure she liked it.

Getting through the day sober was a challenge.  She finished cleaning, emptied out the fridge, tidied. She stood and stared at herself in the mirror for a while, and wondered where she’d gone, because she didn’t recognise herself any more.  As the day drew on, and the light started to fade, she felt herself stretching thinner and thinner, wished she had bought just one bottle of something to drink, just one to take the edge off, but she couldn’t face going out again in the growing dark.

Her hands shook as she went into the kitchen to get some water, thirsty again, her body enjoying the respite from toxins.  She reached for her glass then noticed how smeared it looked, so opened the cupboard to find another.  Most were now in the dishwasher, which was running.  She pushed her hand to the back of the cupboard and felt it close around something unfamiliar.  Pulling it back out, she realised she was clutching one of her son’s plastic cups. It was bright red, and she saw little tooth marks around the edge where he’d chewed it.  She put it down fast as if it was hot, then picked it up again, clutching it to her with both hands.  Her eyes filled with tears.  How could she have thought she was OK, when he wasn’t here?

She made her way back into the living room, planning to just get out, to get something to drink, to be away, anywhere but here, clutching the cup to herself.  The buzzer, next to her ear as she leant against the wall to pull shoes on, sounded loud and irritating and she slammed the release button uncaring, just to make it stop.  Then there was a knock and she opened the door to tell whoever it was to go away, but it was Bucky, and she couldn’t hold back the flood any more.

One-handed, Bucky managed to direct them both inside, kicking the door shut behind them with his foot.  He managed to put down the bag containing the plant on a shelf, watching it wobble slightly then settle, then led her over to the couch.  She hadn’t lifted her head from his shoulder yet, and he could feel shudders wracking her body.  He sat down, pulling her down next to him, wrapping his free arm around her to stroke her hair. He didn’t speak, knew there was no point in platitudes and that sometimes just being there was all you could offer.  He looked down, noticed she was clutching something to her chest, a child’s cup.  He didn’t know her story, but the tragedy wasn’t hard to piece together.

Eventually she cried herself out, the sobs turning into quieter weeping and then into stillness, as she held herself rigid, feeling embarrassed and awkward.  For all that he wanted to take away anyone’s pain, there was a part of him that was ashamed to admit how much he’d enjoyed the experience of holding someone again, of being the strong one, not the broken one.  He felt her pull away slightly, and his side felt cold and his arms empty.

She sat back, keeping her eyes on her hands as they lay upturned in her lap, turning the little cup around in her fingers.  He stood up, pressed a hand on her shoulder, and went into the kitchen.  She heard a cupboard open, then the dishwasher; the tap running.  Then footsteps walked back through the room towards the door at the back, but she was too tired to wonder where he was going.  Some more faint noises, and he came back. She saw a glass of water appear on the table in front of her, then the couch moved as he sat back down beside her.

‘Hey,’ he said, his voice unbearably soft.  She looked up, and almost cried again to see his eyes. ‘Can I…?’ He gestured with his hand, holding something, and she couldn’t understand what he was asking, until she felt his metal hand gently hold her chin, and then a warm cloth tenderly wiping the tears and salt from her sore skin. She shuddered and new tears sprang to her eyes at the unexpected kindness, and he dabbed them away.

‘Just making more work for me now,’ he smiled, gingerly, and she let out a small tired laugh, squeezing her eyes closed as the last of the tears fell.  He let go of her face, held out the glass to her as she opened her eyes. She transferred the plastic cup into one hand, took the glass and drank down the water, before he took it from her and went to refill it.  She felt embarrassed now, to have been so weak.

He brought her more water and she sipped at it, not meeting his eyes.  He sat next to her, not touching, but close enough to feel warm, and he started to speak.

‘I brought you a plant.  I know you said you liked growing things, thought you might like this.  I don’t know the first thing about gardening, had to ask for help in the store.  Should have seen me, grown man, and I was afraid to talk to this little old lady about plants! Steve thought it was hilarious, the jerk.  Think I’m out of practice of the niceties of life though, I spend too long in my head and expect everyone to see me as this dark, murderous criminal.  Most people are too busy just worrying about themselves. Was pretty sure this lady had no clue who I was, she was chatting away about soil conditions and light levels, all I could say was I wanted something green, anyway, she helped me choose this plant, said it’s called a Peace Lily, thought that seemed kinda nice all things considered.’ He could feel her body relaxing as he talked, had wanted to just soothe over things, so she didn’t feel any pressure to open up or to apologise, or to do anything other than breathe for now.

‘Anyway, was just about to go and pay, thanked her for her help, and she put her hand on my arm – my metal one.  I had my sleeve down and my glove on, but I guess she knew.  Anyway, she looked at me, must have been in her 80s, probably her family owned the store since before she was born.  Looked me straight in the eye and said ‘you know Sergeant, my brother was a POW in the war. He came home a different man, but we never thought of him as a bad one.  He’d suffered, never did talk about it, not Arthur, but we loved him even so.  He let that suffering define him, but we never did. Don’t let yours define you.’  Then she just gave me a little pat, told me not to water the plant too often, and to come back if I needed some advice.’

She looked up at him now. Her face was blotchy and swollen, lips red from being bitten.  He hadn’t felt so protective for a long time.  He gave her a half-smile.

‘So, don’t water the plant too much, and if you need advice on how to make it grow – or it seems, on anything else – ask for Doris.’

He felt a thrill of delight when her face broke into a smile.  He stood up, and fetched the plant down, taking the pot out of the bag and handing it to her.  She took it, set it down on the coffee table in front of her, turning it, and rubbing the soil between her fingers to check for moisture.  She hadn’t had anything to care for, another living thing to nurture, for a long time.  A plant, she thought, perhaps she could deal with.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice still thick with tears, ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise, no need at all. That’s what friends are for.’  The words were out of his mouth before he’d realised and they both went quiet for a second. Bucky had never dared to suggest he was someone’s friend – other than Steve’s – for a long time, not imagining anyone would be other than disgusted by him.  And it was a long time for her since she’d had anyone that close to her, had let anyone in.  She rested her hand on his arm for a second.

‘Then just thank you.’

She stood up after that, carefully set the plastic cup down next to the plant, then bustled around the kitchen making coffee, needing to regain some sense of normality and control after her outburst. She came back into the living room, handed Bucky his mug and sat down, reaching out to run one finger over the tooth marks in the cup again, then she started to talk.

‘This was my son’s, he was four. I used to always tell him not to bite his cups but he’d always do it anyway.’ Her eyes were unfocussed, picturing the past.  She took a mouthful of coffee and continued.  ‘He was called Max. Never slept as a baby, thought I’d lose my mind if I didn’t get five minutes rest sometimes, always had way too much energy. His Dad was a vet – the animal kind, not the soldier kind - we’d been together couple of years when Max came along. Max had just started school, and so we were fitting in a trip one weekend, taking the dog out for a run on the beach, get away from the city for a bit, eat some ice cream although it wasn’t really warm enough.’

She went quiet, lost in her thoughts and he saw her eyes fill with tears. Unthinking, he reached out and held her hand, reminding her he was there.  She squeezed his fingers, took a deep breath in and continued.

‘We had an argument that day. One of those hissed quiet arguments when Max wasn’t in the room, then pretending everything was fine because we’d promised him a day out. He was a loving Dad, he adored Max, he was just a really crap husband. Turned out he was fooling around with someone, threw it in my face in the end, rubbed it in that she was more ‘exciting’ than me.  We argued all day, every time Max was running down the beach with the dog, then al smiles when he came back.  

I fell asleep in the car on the way back, we were both seething. I’d said some pretty nasty things too, he was probably distracted.  Then a truck, on the other side of the highway… one of its tires blew out, driver couldn’t stop, smashed into the car, the side where they both were.’

She didn’t try to stop the tears now, wiping her eyes and nose on the back of her hand, her chin and lips trembling. She’d never told anyone the whole story.

‘Police said it was an accident, it wasn’t the truck driver’s fault, or the tire company, or the road, or anything. Just one of those things. But if we hadn’t argued, maybe he’d have been less distracted, and could have seen it coming, could have reacted faster or something, you know?’

Now she looked at him.  He shook his head.

‘Or maybe he couldn’t. Maybe it was just a horrible accident that nothing and nobody could prevent, and it’s unfair and you have every right to be angry and furious with the world. But no reason to blame yourself for it. Maybe grieving is enough pain, without adding in blame?’

She grimaced, she’d heard it all before, but how could she not feel guilty when she was alive and they weren’t.

‘I need a drink,’ she said instead.

‘It’s not really my place to say so, but I think that’s the last thing you need.’

She looked up at that, angry, and saw his face was apologetic, ready for her to lash out, but suddenly she deflated, all the anger gone.

‘You’re right, I don’t need one, but god I want one. I want to get drunk and stop feeling.’

‘You think you’ve got it bad? I haven’t been able to get drunk since 1944.’

He said it with such a straight face that all she could do was stare for a moment, then his face cracked into a sheepish smile and she couldn’t resist. Her emotions bubbled over and where a moment ago she’d shaken with sobs, now her body shook with laughter, verging on hysteria. They were still holding hands.

@melconnor2007 @emilyevanston @kittyslove @badassbaker @phoenix21love @lbouvet @bellenuit45 @prplprincez @gingerrootknits @pineapplebooboo @feelmyroarrrr @avengerofyourheart @eyeofdionysus @hellomissmabel @learisa @mitra-k-w @imhereforbvcky @shaddixlife @iwillbeinmynest @amrita31199 @whatsbetterthanfantasy @pixierox101 @sony-undead18

#bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x ofc #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst #angst fic

[7r0773r]

The Summer Book by Tove Jansson, translated by Thomas Teal

THE ROBE

Sophia’s father had a special bathrobe that he loved. It reached all the way to his feet and was made of very thick, stiff flannel that salt water, soil, and time had rendered even stiffer. The robe was probably German, originally, and had once been green. On its front, it still bore the remains of an intricate system of laces, along with a couple of large dark amber buttons. Thrown wide open, the robe was as broad as a tent. 

In the beginning, when Papa was a young man, he used to sit out on the point in his bathrobe whenever it stormed and watch the waves. Later, it was nice to put on when he wanted to work or get warm, or simply hide. 

The robe had survived various threats to its existence. There was the time some well-meaning relatives came out and, as a surprise, gave the island a good cleaning. They threw out a lot of things the family wanted, but, worst of all, they carried the bathrobe down to the water and let it float away. They claimed later that it smelled. Of course it smelled—that was part of its charm. Smell is important. It reminds a person of all the things he’s been through; it is a sheath of memories and security. The robe smelled of good things too—of smoke and the sea—but maybe they never noticed that. In any case, the robe came back. The wind blew, shifted, and reversed, the waves beat against the island, and one fine day they brought it home. After that, it smelled of seaweed, and Papa wore virtually nothing else that whole summer. Then there was the spring when they discovered a family of mice had been living in the robe. The collar was edged with a soft, downy material that the mice had nibbled off and used for bedclothes, along with some finely chewed handkerchiefs. And then one time Papa slept too close to the fire and the robe was scorched. 

When Papa got a little older, he put the bathrobe up in the attic. He would go up there to think sometimes, and the others always took it for granted that he did his thinking in the robe. It lay under one of the little attic windows, long and dark and mysterious. 

Sophia went through a rebellious phase one cold, rainy summer when being unhappy outdoors was a lot of trouble. So she would go up in the attic to be alone. She would sit in a cardboard box and stare at the robe, and she would say dreadful, crushing things, and it was hard for the robe to talk back. 

In between times, she played cards with her grandmother. They both cheated shamelessly, and their card-playing afternoons always ended in a quarrel. This had never happened before. Grandmother tried to recall her own rebellious periods in order to try and understand, but all she could remember was an unusually well-behaved little girl. Wise as she was, she realized that people can postpone their rebellious phases until they’re eighty-five years old, and she decided to keep an eye on herself. It rained constantly, and Papa worked from morning to night with his back to the room. They never knew if he was listening to them or not. 

“Jesus,” Sophia said. “There you sit with the King and you don’t say anything!” 

“Don’t take the name of the Lord in vain,” Grandmother said. 

“I didn't say ‘God,’ I said ‘Jesus.’”

“He’s just as important as God is.” 

“He isn't either!” 

“Of course he is!” 

Sophia threw her cards on the floor and yelled, “I don't care about His old family! I hate families!” She clambered up the attic stairs and slammed the trapdoor behind her. 

The attic was so low that there was only room to crawl. And if you didn’t crawl carefully, you would hit your head on the rafters. It was also very crowded—just one narrow path through all the things being kept and saved and forgotten, all the things that had always been there and that not even the well-meaning relatives had found. The path led from the south window to the north window, and the roof between the rafters was painted blue. Sophia had no flashlight, and it was dark. The path was an endless, empty street in the moonlight between shaggy houses. At the end of the street was the window with its moon-white sky, and beneath the window lay the robe, a pile of stiff folds, coal-black in its own shadow. Sophia had slammed the trapdoor with such a bang that she couldn't retreat. And so she crept over and sat down in her cardboard box. The bathrobe lay with one sleeve thrown forward across its gaping neck. She stared at it, and as she stared the sleeve rose just a trifle, and a tiny movement crept in under the robe and down toward the foot end. The folds altered imperceptibly, and the robe was still again. But she had seen it. There, inside the robe, there was something alive—or else the whole robe was alive. Sophia resorted to the simplest means of flight available in cases of great dis-tress: she fell asleep. She was still asleep when they put her to bed, but in the morning she knew that there was danger in the robe. No one else must know. She kept the amazing truth to herself, and for several days she was almost elated. The rain had stopped. She drew pictures with shaggy shadows and made the moon very tiny, forgotten in a huge dark sky. She showed these pictures to no one. The danger dwelt in a fold deep down inside. It moved about at times and then crept back. When frightened, it showed its teeth, and it was far more dangerous than death. 

Every day when the sun went down, Sophia would climb up the ladder, poke her nose through the trapdoor, and peer into the attic. She could see one little corner of the bathrobe if she craned her neck. “What are you doing?” Grandmother asked. 

“None of your business, nosey!” Sophia whined in her most irritating voice. 

“Close the trapdoor. There's a draft,” Grandmother said. “Go do something outside.” She turned toward the wall and went on with her book. They had both become impossible and couldn’t get along at all. They quarreled the wrong way. The days were cloudy, with rising winds, and Papa just sat at his desk and worked. 

Sophia thought about the bathrobe more and more. The thing living in it was as quick as lightning but could lie in wait for days without moving. It could make itself thin and slide through a crack in the door, and then roll itself up again and crawl under the bed like a shadow. It didn’t eat and never slept and hated everyone, most of all its own family. Sophia didn't eat either, that is, nothing but sandwiches. 

It may not really have been her fault, but one day they ran out of bread and butter, and Papa took the boat in to the store to get supplies. He put the water jug in the boat, and the cans for kerosene and gasoline, and he took the shopping list from the wall and left. There was a southwest wind when he set out, and in a couple of hours it had risen so that the waves were riding right across the point. Grandmother tried to get the weather report on the radio, but she couldn’t find the right button. She couldn’t keep from going back to the north window every few minutes to look for him, and she didn’t understand a word she read.

Sophia went down to the shore, and came back and sat down at the table. “And all you can do is just read,” she said. She raised her voice and screamed, “You just read and read and read!” Then she threw herself down on the table and wept. 

Grandmother sat up and said, “He’ll make it all right.” She was feeling a little ill and felt for the Lupatro behind he curtain. Sophia went on crying, but she kept an eye on Grandmother under her arm. “I don't feel good either,” she screamed, and jumped up and vomited on the rug. Then she was quiet and pale and sat down on the bed. 

“Lie down,” Grandmother said, and she lay down. They both lay down and listened to the wind outside as it attacked in short, violent bursts. 

“Once you get to the village,” Grandmother said, “it always takes a long time at the store. There’s always a line, and no one’s in a hurry. And then the boy has to go down to the dock and fill you up with gasoline and kerosene. And you have to go pick up the mail, and sort through it to find what’s for you. And if there’s a money order you have to go in and get it stamped, and that means a cup of coffee. And then he has to pay the bills. It can take a long time.” 

“Go on,” Sophia said. 

“Well, then he has to take everything down to the boat,” Grandmother said. “He has to pack it all in and cover it so it won’t get wet. And on the way down he remembers to pick some flowers, and give some bread to the horse. And the bread's way down at the bottom of a bag somewhere ...”

“I shouldn’t have eaten so many sandwiches!” Sophia wailed and started to cry again. “I'm cold!” 

Grandmother tried to cover her with a blanket, but the child kicked it off and flailed her legs and screamed that she hated all of them. 

‘Quiet!’ Grandmother yelled. ‘Quiet down! Or I'll throw up on you.’ Sophia stopped screaming immediately. There was a moment’s silence, and then she said, “I want the bathrobe.” 

“But it’s up in the attic,” Grandmother said. 

“I want it,” her grandchild said. 

And so Grandmother climbed the attic ladder. It went fine. She crawled over to the window for the robe and dragged it back to the trapdoor. Then she dropped it down into the room and sat and rested for a while, dangling her feet over the edge. She hadn’t been up there for a very long time, and she read the labels on the boxes. String. Tackle. Bottles. All kinds of things. Rags and old trousers. She had printed the labels herself. They had painted the ceiling blue, but they hadn't put enough glue in the paint; it was flaking. 

“What are you doing?” Sophia yelled. “Don't you feel good?” 

“Yes,” Grandmother answered through the trap. “I feel better.” She lowered one leg very cautiously and found the step. Then she turned slowly over on her stomach and brought down the other leg. 

“Take it easy!” Sophia called from down below. She saw Grandmother’s stiff old legs move from one step to the next and finally reach the floor. Grandmother picked up the robe and came over to the bed. 

“You have to shake it first,” Sophia said. “And make it come out.”

Grandmother didn’t understand, but she shook the robe. It came slinking out one sleeve and disappeared under the door. The robe smelled the same as before. It was very heavy, and became a warm, dark cave. Sophia fell asleep right away, and Grandmother sat down in the north window to wait. It was blowing hard, and the sun was setting. She was far-sighted and saw the boat half an hour before it reached the island—a moustache of white foam that would appear at irregular intervals and sometimes vanish entirely. 

When the boat reached the shelter of the island, she lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. A few minutes later, Sophia's father came into the room. He was wet through. He put down the bags and lit his pipe. Then he took the lamp and went out to fill it with kerosene. (pp. 100-08)

#thomas teal #book quotes

[jonathanalumbaugh]

Weekly Digest

Dec 16, 2017, 3rd issue.

A roundup of stuff I consumed this week. Published weekly(ish).

Read

Whoever your graphic design portfolio site is aimed at, you have to remember that people’s time and attention is limited. Employers, to take one example, may look at dozens of portfolios in the space of 10 minutes. So you only have a few seconds to really grab their attention and enthuse them.

—8 great graphic design portfolio sites for 2018

Paying for more than 3,500 daily drinks for six years, it turns out, is expensive. The NIH would need more funding—and soon, a team stepped up to the plate. The Foundation of the NIH, a little-known 20-year-old non-profit that calls on donors to support NIH science, was talking to alcohol corporations. By the fall of 2014, the study was relying on the industry for “separate contributions to the Foundation of the NIH beyond what the NIAAA could afford,” as Mukamal put it in an e-mail to a prospective collaborator. Later that year, Congress encouraged the NIH to sponsor the study, but lawmakers didn’t provide any money. Five corporations—Anheuser-Busch InBev, Diageo, Pernod Ricard, Heineken, and Carlsberg—have since provided a total of $67 million. The foundation is seeking another $23 million, according to its director of development, Julie Wolf-Rodda.

—A MASSIVE HEALTH STUDY ON BOOZE, BROUGHT TO YOU BY BIG ALCOHOL

When Starbucks (SBUX) announced that it was closing its Teavana tea line and wanted to shutter all of its stores, mall operator Simon Property Group (SPG) countered with a lawsuit. Simon cited in part the effect the store closures might have on other mall tenants.

Earlier this month, a judge upheld Simons' suit, ordering Teavana to keep 77 of its stores open.

—America's malls are rotting away

The Dots claims to have a quarter of a million members and current clients include Google, Burberry, Sony Pictures, Viacom, M&C Saatchi, Warner Music, Tate, Discovery Networks and VICE amongst others.

—Aiming to be the LinkedIn for creatives, The Dots raises £4m

The Cboe's bitcoin futures fell 10 percent Wednesday, triggering a two-minute trading halt early Wednesday afternoon.

—Bitcoin futures briefly halted after plunging 10%

Through a very clever scheme, the people behind Tether can continue to send Bitcoin into the stratosphere until it reaches a not-yet-known breaking point. 

—Bitcoin Only Has One Way To Go If This Is True

—Bitcoin Price Dilemma: Bull and Bear Paths in Play

—Botera – Free Font

"He is being a huge assh*le and avoiding you so it literally forces you to be the one to break up with him because he's too much of a coward to do it himself. GOD, I HATE GUYS."

—"Breakup Ghosting" Is the Most Cowardly Way to End a Relationship

—Britain rejected the EU, and the EU is loving its new life

“Although the science is still evolving, there are concerns among some public health professionals and members of the public regarding long-term, high use exposure to the energy emitted by cellphones,” Dr. Karen Smith, CDPH Director and State Public Health Officer, said in a statement.

—California Warns People to Limit Exposure to Cellphones

There is a way CSS can get its hands on data in HTML, so long as that data is within an attribute on that HTML element. 

—The CSS attr() function got nothin’ on custom properties

“The recent coverage of AI as a single, unified power is a predictable upshot of a self-aggrandizing Silicon Valley culture that believes it can summon a Godhead,” says Thomas Arnold 

—Former Google and Uber engineer is developing an AI 'god'

Here are two facts: 1) Throughout the tail end of Matt Lauer’s tenure at NBC’s Today, ABC’s Good Morning America beat it in the ratings, and 2) In the two weeks since Lauer was kicked to the curb for sexual misconduct and replaced by Hoda Kotb, Today’s viewership has surpassed GMA’s by a considerable margin.

Here are two opinions: 1) No one ever really liked Matt Lauer, but tolerated him as you would a friend you’ve known for 20 years but have nothing in common with anymore, 2) Hota Kotb makes everything better.

—A Funny Thing Is Happening to Today Now That Matt Lauer Is Gone: Its Ratings Are Going Up

The game challenges you to build an empire that stands the test of time, taking your civilization from the Stone Age to the Information Age as you wage war, conduct diplomacy, advance your culture, and go head-to-head with history’s greatest leaders.

—Get the newest game in 'Sid Meier’s Civilization' series for 50% off

Amazingly, despite the mind control and hypnosis, the girl resisted being totally drawn into her father’s “cult of three.” But she suffered from self-loathing and took to self-harm as a coping mechanism.

—Girl’s father tortured her for a decade to make her ‘superhuman’

The most searched for dog breed was the golden retriever.

—Google's top searches for 2017: Matt Lauer, Hurricane Irma and more

"A few months ago, I started collecting stories from people about their real experiences with loneliness. I started small, asking my immediate network to share with their friends/family, and was flooded with submissions from people of all ages and walks of life.

"The Loneliness Project is an interactive web archive I created to present and give these stories a home online. I believe in design as a tool to elevate others' voices. Stories have tremendous power to spark empathy, and I believe that the relationship between design and emotion only strengthens this power.

—Graphic designer tackles issue of wide-spread loneliness in moving campaign

While the Windows 10 OpenSSH software is currently in Beta, it still works really well. Especially the client as you no longer need to use a 3rd party SSH client such as Putty when you wish to connect to a SSH server.

—Here's How to Enable the Built-In Windows 10 OpenSSH Client

In America we have settled on patterns of land use that might as well have been designed to prevent spontaneous encounters, the kind out of which rich social ties are built. 

—How our housing choices make adult friendships more difficult

Today was "Break the Internet" day, in which many websites altered their appearance and urged visitors to contact members of Congress about the pending repeal (see the gallery above for examples from Reddit, Kickstarter, GitHub, Mozilla, and others).

—How Reddit and others “broke the Internet” to support net neutrality today

“He’s the Usain Bolt of business for Jamaica,” Richards said. “For each Jamaican immigrant, Lowell Hawthorne is me, he’s you. He was the soul of Jamaica, the son of our soil, and all of our struggles were identified with him.”

—How the Jamaican patty king made it to the top — before ending it all

—How to break a CAPTCHA system in 15 minutes with Machine Learning

After the trap has snapped shut, the plant turns it into an external stomach, sealing the trap so no air gets in or out. Glands produce enzymes that digest the insect, first the exoskeleton made of chitin, then the nitrogen-rich blood, which is called hemolyph.

The digestion takes several days depending on the size of the insect, and then the leaf re-opens. By that time, the insect is a "shadow skeleton" that is easily blown away by the wind.

—How the Venus Flytrap Kills and Digests Its Prey

Back at The Shed, Phoebe has arrived. She's an intuitive waitress who can really get across the nuances of our menu, like how – by serving pudding in mugs – we're aiming to replicate the experience of what it's like to eat pudding out of a mug. 

—I Made My Shed the Top Rated Restaurant On TripAdvisor

In order to create a candlestick chart, you must have a data set that contains open, high, low and closevalues for each time period you want to display. The hollow or filled portion of the candlestick is called “the body” (also referred to as “the real body”). The long thin lines above and below the body represent the high/low range and are called “shadows” (also referred to as “wicks” and “tails”). The high is marked by the top of the upper shadow and the low by the bottom of the lower shadow.

—Introduction to Candlesticks

The object in question is ‘Oumuamua, an asteroid from another star system currently zipping past Jupiter at about 196,000 miles per hour, too fast to be trapped by the sun’s gravitational pull. First discovered in mid-October by astronomers at the Pan-STARRS project at the University of Hawaii, the 800-meter-long, 80-meter-wide, cigar-shaped rock is, technically speaking, weird as hell—and that’s precisely why some scientists think it’s not a natural object.

—Is This Cigar-Shaped Asteroid Watching Us?

I tried out LinkedIn Career Advice and Bumble Bizz over the course of a work week and compared them in terms of how easy they are to use and the kind of people they introduce you to.

—I tried LinkedIn's career advice app vs. dating app Bumble's version and discovered major flaws with both

“The Bitcoin dream is all but dead,” I wrote.

—I Was Wrong About Bitcoin. Here’s Why.

—Jessen's Orthogonal Icosahedron

In the study, depressed patients who got an infusion of ketamine reported rapid relief from suicidal thoughts—many as soon as a few hours after receiving the drug.

—Ketamine Relieved Suicidal Thoughts Within Hours in Hospital Study

We are trying to create an Open Source Website that searches through an open database of Interactive Maps focused on learning in a linear way. It leverages all of world’s knowledge in a unique way. It takes the Wikipedia model of curating knowledge but applies it to curating links in a meaningful and visual way.

—Learn Anything White Paper

"It was a very new word [in 1841]," Sokolowski said. "[Noah Webster’s] definition is not the definition that you and I would understand today. His definition was, 'The qualities of females,' so basically feminism to Noah Webster meant femaleness. We do see evidence that the word was used in the 19th century in a medical sense, for the physical characteristics of a developing teenager, before it was used as a political term, if you will."

—Merriam-Webster's word of the year for 2017: 'Feminism'

The Wall Street Journal issued a new note on its style blog earlier this week, suggesting the publication not write about millennials with such disdain.

"What we usually mean is young people, so we probably should just say that," the new WSJ note reads. "Many of the habits and attributes of millennials are common for people in their 20s, with or without a snotty term."

—'Millennials': Be Careful How We Use This Label

As of writing, the CoinDesk's Bitcoin Price Index (BPI) is at $16,743 levels. The world's largest cryptocurrency by market capitalization has appreciated 0.72 percent in the last 24 hours, going by CoinMarketCap data.

—No Stopping? After New High, Bitcoin Price Eyes $20k

People who tested as being more conscientious but less open were more sensitive to typos, while those with less agreeable personalities got more upset by grammatical errors.

"Perhaps because less agreeable people are less tolerant of deviations from convention," the researchers wrote.

Interestingly, how neurotic someone was didn't affect how they interpreted mistakes.

—People Who Constantly Point Out Grammar Mistakes Are Pretty Much Jerks, Scientists Find

Hydrogen particles are made up of an electron and a proton. Exciton particles, then, are made up of an electron that’s escaped and the negative space it left behind when it did so. The hole actually acts like a particle, attracting the escaped electron and bonding with it; they orbit each other the same way an electron and a proton would.

—PHYSICS BREAKTHROUGH: NEW FORM OF MATTER, EXCITONIUM, FINALLY PROVED TO EXIST AFTER 50-YEAR SEARCH 

For reasons that people are now trying to determine, this weekend the internet turned its collective gaze to a short story called “Cat Person.”

Response to the story has varied from praise for its relatability to flat dismissal to jokes about how everyone is talking about a—Who’da thunk it?—short story of all things.

—The reaction to “Cat Person” shows how the internet can even ruin fiction

—Regular Icosahedron

—Repeal Day Poster – Summit Brewing Co.

[Dr. Simon Bramhall of the UK] pleaded guilty to charges that he etched his initials, “SB,” onto the livers of two transplant patients with an argon beam in 2013. Bramhall admitted the assaults in a hearing in Birmingham crown court on Wednesday, according to several news outlets.

—SB WUZ HERE: Surgeon pleads guilty to burning initials into patients’ organs

I get what you’re doing. Really, I do. You’re trying to shit on people’s musical tastes to either appear more well-versed in music than them or you just want to see the shocked look on people’s faces as you besmirch their favorite band. And listen, I don’t blame you for either. They’re both fun activities that I partake in on the reg. If you name me a band you like, I will find a hundred different ways to judge you on your taste. If the band happens to feature a white guy with dreads, make it three hundred. But The Beatles, dude? The fucking Beatles? You are really scraping the barrel if you are knocking people for liking The Beatles, you moron. 

—Shut Your Dumb, Stupid Mouth about the Beatles Being Overrated

—Sonakinatography I Movement #III for Multi-Media

The font the menu is written in can convey similar messages; for instance an italic typeface conveys a perception of quality. But using elaborate fonts that are hard to read could also have another effect – it could alter how the food itself tastes.

A study conducted by researchers in Switzerland found that a wine labelled with a difficult-to-read script was liked more by drinkers than the same wine carrying a simpler typeface. Spence’s own research has also found that consumers often associate rounder typefaces with sweeter tastes, while angular fonts tend to convey a salty, sour or bitter experience.

—The secret tricks hidden inside restaurant menus

On Allison Benedikt, Lorin Stein, and the perils of extracting universal principles from fairytale endings...

“My career, at the time, was in his hands,” Allison Benedikt wrote at Slate this week, about the beginning of her relationship with John Cook, her husband of 14 years. They were colleagues at a magazine when they first kissed, and he was her senior. That kiss took place “on the steps of the West 4th subway station,” Benedikt writes, and Cook did it “without first getting [her] consent.” The piece is an intervention into the conversation on office sexual harassment, with Benedikt fearing “the consequences of overcorrection” on this issue.

—So You Married Your Flirty Boss

“We encourage the use of Teslas for commercial purposes and we’ll work proactively with these customers to find charging solutions that work best for them,” the statement said.

—Tesla Tells New Taxi, Uber Drivers Not to Use Its Superchargers

The deep web refers to anything you can’t access in a search engine, either because it’s protected behind a password or because it’s buried deep within a regular website. The dark web is a subsection of the deep web that you can only access with a special browser like Tor to mask your IP address.

—Things You Can Do on the Dark Web That Aren't Illegal 

—This Graphic Explains Just How Crazy The Cryptocurrency Bubble Is

One such study published in the journal Neuroimage and highlighted on PsyBlog actually found that some forms of daydreaming cause measurable changes in the brain. This suggests that, done right, daydreaming actually requires attention and control.

—This Is the Correct Way to Daydream, According to a Harvard Psychiatrist

"VR can be stored in the brain's memory center in ways that are strikingly similar to real-world physical experiences," said Stanford's Bailenson, author of the forthcoming book "Experience on Demand," about his two decades of research on the psychological effects of virtual reality. "When VR is done well, the brain believes it is real."

—The very real health dangers of virtual reality

Respect for children means respect for the adults that they will one day become; it means helping them to the knowledge, skills, and social graces that they will need if they are to be respected in that wider world where they will be on their own and no longer protected. For the teacher, respect for children means giving them whatever one has by way of knowledge, teaching them to distinguish real knowledge from mere opinion, and introducing them to the subjects that make the mind adaptable to the unforeseen.

—The Virtue of Irrelevance

—You Will Lose Your Job to a Robot—and Sooner Than You Think 

Watched

—Jessen's Orthogonal Icosahedron

#weekly #digest

[samwritesstories-blog]

2052

2051 was a year of stagnation. Ever-present in the air of 2051 was the stale promise of change and growth that had lingered on politicians’ lips before slipping off into the inert atmosphere: only to float foolishly in front of all of us who had fought for the progression of this decrepit earth. Everywhere I turned in 2051, I was taunted by that floating broken promise.

2052, though, will be a year of growth. If not by their hands, then by mine.

In the bright light of the incoming day, I laid quietly on my back as the warm earth embraced me with her body. The sun-heated ground felt alive and humble beneath my form, silently easing my thoughts. The simplicity of her warm presence comforted me as January First washed over the room. If change would arrive in the coming days, it needed to be for her, so that she could grow and inspire once again. The atrocities committed against her were so great that I could hardly remember what she looked and felt like before pollution had infested her pores, leaving her crippled and parched. But there were still fragments of my memories left that I could piece together into something like a craving or a desire within me—a desire to restore the Earth to her former glory.

Like the dry soil beneath my body, I had an overwhelming thirst. But unlike the soil, I was not incapacitated by immobility. I had the power and the will to alter the current human outlook, and to alter the state of the planet. I think, therefore I am. I do, therefore I matter. I have been immobile for far too long.

I took a breath, inhaled the processed air. The hum of the air filter joined my thoughts, echoing in my brain as I willed my body to rise.

“It is in your best interest to stand up,” my mind told my body over the incessant hum. My body disagreed. The two of them had never gotten along. But dehydration was creeping its way down the back of my throat, and even my body knew it needed its daily dose of hydro.

Walking to the bathroom, I allowed myself a cynical chuckle at the thought that every home in The State still had such a name for this spacewhen, in fact, baths had not existed for at least a decade. They had decayed with other relics of the past such as fresh air and hope. The present existed as a time of air filters and dread.

And hydro. Always hydro. Lifeless hydro.

I gazed at my counter-top, filled with meticulously stacked vials of translucent liquid, each one labeled with a date and topped with a little green piece of plastic. I picked up the one labeled “01.01.2052,” spun it in my hand for a second, let the cloudy substance inside twist about. I imagined it becoming as dizzy as I myself felt holding this stufffor the thousandth time. It twirled around, trying to catch the sun like water used to, trying to reflect the sun’s rays into tiny droplets of light in the way that beads of water once had. But it couldn’t. It just spun.

Then my mind remindedmy body about the foul dehydrationin my throat, my body let out a dry cough, and I opened the medicine cabinet to reveal a syringe, waiting patiently to be filled, readied the night before. Gripping it tightly with practiced disdain, I removed the green plastic from the vial and inserted the syringe, drawing out today’s worth of hydro with perfected precision.

Once it had been injected into my bloodstream,I felt the cooling hydration snake its way through my veins, awakening my limbs, my chest, my throat. But it didn’t hydrate my soul. Water had done that.Water had washed over my fears and worries; quenched my anxiety. Hydro left me with an inexplicable emptiness, as if my entire self could not come to terms with its false sense of normalcy and its chemical nature. This was the picture of 2052: inorganic, robotic; keeping us alive, but just for the sake of living. Everything worked to keep our bodies ticking, but not our souls, not our minds. As though our vitality was associated only with our fleshy exteriors and what they could accomplish for The State. The world was sick, its people were suffering, and no one even knew but me. But that was more than I could think about at the present, as I was running three minutes behind schedule and needed to get to work at the factory.

* * * * * * *

“We’re in for it today. I can feel it. I tell you, today’s not going to be like yesterday.”

“Today’s never like yesterday, Raquel. That’s the beauty of a new day, it’s always changing.”

“Today’s different, though. I’ve got this feeling in my gut, the world’s got a surprise for us.”

“Tick off, folk. You’re freaking me out.”

“Just trying to warn you. Maybe it’ll be something good, you know? A real clean surprise.”

I tried my hardest not to eavesdrop on two of my coworkers as we stood in line to scan our fingerprints, clock in, and begin the day’s work at the hydro factory. But I couldn’t help feeling like Raquel was right. Her head was held high as she spoke her prophecy, entirely certain of its truth, unshaken by her friend’s disbelief. The words were real to her as soon as they slipped from her lips, and that sort of certainty was not lost on me. I was moved by it, even if her friend was not.

I never did catch her name, Raquel’s friend. A year working together at this factory, and I still only knew her as the Woman with the Long Braid, a perfect braid of dark hair cascading down her back every day. I suppose from then on I would know her as the Woman with the Long Braid Who Didn’t Think the World Could Surprise Us Today.

“Well, if that’s true, there’s nothing we can do about it,” the woman said, with an air of disbelief. “We still have to work just the same.” Ah, what a philosophical stance! How stoic she must be in all of her actions. Moving with nature, never missing a beat. I imagined that she was not careful or calculating, not paranoid or obsessed with outcomes. She simply took the world as it came and proceeded accordingly. Each situation was only as negative as her attitude towards it, only as positive as she willed it to be. If there was indeed a surprise in our collective future, the Woman with the Long Braid would reason through it, dispel the negative; continue with the natural rhythm of her life.

Of course, I did not really know the Woman with the Long Braid, nor did I ever exchange words with her, but it seemed the sort of thing she would do. To “go with the flow,” as they say. To “work just the same.”

To Raquel’s credit, the day did seem to hold a strange energy. The sun burned hotter on our backs than it had since November, dousing us and the pavement in a warm January glow. It stung our skin, but willed us more than ever to quickly clock in to work and begin our shifts within the protected walls of the hydro factory, safe from the unending heat.

As the sun began to heat our backs with heightened intensity, the line jutted forward with a sudden increase in velocity, and I found myself at the clock-in station a few minutes earlier than anticipated. This shook me for a second, as I could not remember the last time I had arrived to work before 8:56. For the past 379 days, I would clock in between precisely 8:56 and 8:59 a.m., to ensure that I would have virtually no time between arriving at work and actually beginning my shift. Minimize downtime at the factory, maximize efficiency. Besides, I didn’t want to spend any more time at this place than I was paid to.

But just then I found myself facing the clock-in station at 8:52, frozen for a second as I adjusted myself to the change. Rewired my brain, set my internal clock back four minutes. The sun hastened me: “hurry up, Andrew, relieve yourself of my stinging heat,” it whispered to me with its rays.

“Hurry up, Andrew. Come on, folk,” came a voice from behind me.

I pressed my thumb to the scanning pad, allowing the flash of red light to assess my identity, validate my existence. “Andrew Aedus, 17924,” the robotic voice issued forth, ushering me forward.I gave myself a mental kick as I realized that I could have caught the name of the Woman with the Long Braid if I had only taken a moment away from my thoughts to listen to the announcement of the scanner. But that was in the past, and her braid was already disappearing behind the factory doors. There’s no reason to dwell on past mistakes other than to prevent future shortcomings, so I quickly followed suit, disappearing from the outside world for the next nine hours. I wondered if the sun would miss me.

As soon as I entered the factory doors, I knew something was wrong. The heat had followed us inside, the air filters unable to keep up with the demands of the strangely sweltering January morning. Technicians were hard at work with various tools, evidently attempting to combat the situation. The atmosphere inside was almost as sticky as it was beyond the walls, and the voices of both the technicians and my fellow ground workers carried the heavy tone of annoyance.

“You’d think with what little they pay us, they could use the savings to keep this damn place cool,” a worker to my left complained.

“I just hope none of the machines get overheated again,” another worker added. “Last time that happened, my shifts got cut for a week. And there’s no telling if my landlord’ll be as nice about late rent the second time around.” A wave of empathy washed over me and I found myself desperately hoping the same.

Suddenly, the loudspeaker crackled, and the room was hushed as if by an omnipotent force. “It is now 8:55 a.m. The day will proceed as scheduled in 5 minutes. We apologize for any inconvenience the current temperature may cause, but assure that it will not directly contribute to any changes in workflow. Daily quota remains unaltered. Thank you.” Then it crackled again, emitted a short click, and fell silent.I wondered if similar announcements were made every day at 8:55, but as I had no way of knowing apart from inquiring with my coworkers, I put the matter aside and stored it for another time.

I replaced it with this one: the daily quota never changes. Without that quota, there wouldn’t be enough hydro for every citizen; it was slightly preposterous to even suggest that it would ever be lowered. The whole city would be dehydrated by next week.

* * * * * * *

I was filling a vial with "fresh" hydro when the siren began to wail. It came in short, overwhelming bursts, mimicking the way that the cloudy liquid poured out of the long, slender tube and into the little vial. Drip drip drip, went the hydro. WRAH WRAH WRAH, went the siren. At first, I continued to hold the “dispense” button down, unnerved by the sudden noise. But then I felt it: the overwhelming heat and the scent of smoke.

“Fire!” someone yelled. “Fire in B block!” My finger slipped, my heart sank, the flow of hydro came to a halt. For a moment, I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. I had to rewire my brain again, allow myself to adjust to the news. But this time I couldn’t just reset my internal clock, I had to reset my entire disposition towards the events of the day. I imagined Raquel reacting with less astonishment—this was the surprise she had anticipated, although it was not so clean like she had hoped. The Woman with the Long Braid was probably already reacting, her body and mind adjusted to the natural, albeit disastrous, flow of the day.

My first reaction was to jump up out of my seat, join the flow of workers sprinting to the exit. But B block could need help, could need my help. I halted. “Keep going!” someone screamed, and a forceful shove to my back returned me to the path towards the door. “There’s no time to stop, it could spread to C block!” The large yellow “C” emblazoned on my worksuit was all the reminder I needed that all our lives, if the fire did indeed spread, could be in danger. But what if it could be stopped in its tracks? What if someone in C block could force the fire down?

My coworker was right, though. There was no time to stop. The flow of workers towards the door could not be hindered by a single person’s attempt to turn around and play the hero.

And so we all ran. With heat and smoke at our backs, with what we could only assume was destruction behind us, with the wail of the siren in our ears, we raced to the exit. Sweat ran down my forehead, stinging my right eye and forcing me to hold it shut. The air around us felt like a furnace, so that as we ran, I couldn’t help feeling as though this factory was some sort of torture chamber. My feet pounded on the hot ground, my breath came in short, fast bursts as I attempted to inhale enough oxygen to get me to the door. Just a few more yards away.

A worker to my left was trying to sprint through the crowd, and in his haste he shoved a woman and elbowed his way in front of her. She toppled into me, causing me to lose my footing and crash to the ground. The ground felt hot beneath my hands and I struggled to regain my place in the flow of runners. As I stood, I saw the woman who had been pushed into me lying on the ground with her hands laced behind her head. I could feel her fear racing with my own heartbeat, and I felt I could not leave her there to be crushed by the stampeding masses.

I reached down to grab her by the torso, heaving her up with all my strength. Workers smashed into my shoulders and back as I lifted her to her feet. I could feel the woman’s heartbeat, rapidly firing like a machine pistol beneath her flesh. Her face matched the ferocity of her heart: her eyes wide and unblinking, sweat and tears emblazoned around them. She turned to me for only a fraction of a second before she screamed, “let me go!” I released her to the crowd, and she disappeared into the flow of humans racing towards the exit. No time to ponder. Smoke was rapidly filling C block.

I took a step, felt the pressure of a body against my own, fell once again to the ground. And then, darkness.

* * * * * * *

When my eyes finally opened, all I could see was smoke. It was entangled in the air, fighting its way into my lungs. I could taste it on the back of my tongue. There was a pounding in my head, and my body ached. I knew that I had to stand up, had to once again attempt to get to the exit and escape this furnace, but my mind could not will my body to move.

There was a sudden crash behind me, and I turned in time to watch several pieces of the ceiling come crashing down only a few feet away from me. But that was not the most frightening part of my vision—the entire room was not only filled with smoke, but was consumed by the B block fire. Its flaming fingers were reaching outto grab hold of everything in the near vicinity. And situated amongst the flames was the outline of a person. Their body was slumped over like they had been tossed aside, thrown to the floor and discarded. I stood slowly, my bones and muscles crying out as I did so. With an ache in each step, I managed to drag myself to where their body lay. It was wrapped ina navy blue worksuit with a large yellow B on it. And resting atop the yellow B, partially singed, was a long braid of dark hair.

My heart dropped. She must have escaped the flames in B block and come running in here, only to find herself trapped within a second fiery furnace. How vicious fate could often be.

I stared at the Woman with the Long Braid for what felt like quite a long time, trying to decide what to do. I squeezed my hands together as if somehow the answer could be wrung out of my sweating palms. I knew I had to do something for her, that I couldn’t leave her to be crushed by the decaying factory or consumed by the fire.

But what could I do? As I stared at the woman, the building continued to collapse around us and the fire continued to blaze. The exit that we were all so desperate to get to was now host to a flaming pile of debris, maliciously blocking our escape. I could attempt to plow through it, could “throw caution to the wind” as they used to say when breezes blew sweetly through the atmosphere. But she would not survive it, could not survive it, assuming that she was still alive as I pondered our course of action.

Assuming that she was still alive! How stupid I had been. In all the time that I had spent staring at the woman, I had never checked for her breath or pulse. I immediately bent down, carefully turned her head to test for exhalation.

I gasped, fell backwards, let out a cry of pain and shock as my back hit the ground once more. I had expected to see the woman’s dark skin and full lips, to put my hand under her nose or in front of her mouth to assess the flow of oxygen in her body. But there was barely any skin on her face. What was left was black and charred, a grotesque disfiguration of her former self.

Just like that, I knew that we were both in the midst of our final moments. There was no clear escape route anymore, no path to the outside.

So that was how we would end, surrounded by flames in the place that produced my most-hated symbol of this decaying world. And I could do nothing to stop both the Earth and the factory from falling apart.

[asterinjapan]

Hello from Tokyo!

Hello from Tokyo!

Well, almost – I’m typing this in the train heading towards Tokyo, but close enough, haha. Either way, I’ve made it to Japanese soil again safe and sound!

Since I’m always anxious about missing connections and what not, I took a fairly early bus to the airport this morning, meaning I arrived a solid 4.5 hours before my scheduled flight. Meaning I was past all security checks 3 hours beforehand, which is the time you’re expected to arrive at the airport. Woops.

But Schiphol is all donned out for Christmas, so there was plenty to see! I camped out at Starbucks for a bit since that’s a place that offers both green tea latte and charge plugs for your phone.

The flight itself was pretty smooth, barring some minor turbulence at take-off because the weather was pretty bad in Holland at that point. I watched some movies and forced myself to sleep for at least a couple of hours, although I don’t think I did anything more than dozing off. Still, bringing my eye mask and ear plugs really helped, and I’d now also learnt to take a case for my glasses with me. I learn a little more each flight, haha.

We had to wait for half an hour for people who had a connecting flight, so to make up for it they tanked extra so they could fly the plane faster and arrive at Narita Airport as scheduled anyway. I… wasn’t aware it actually worked that way, but whatever. Landing at a little before ten in the morning, and since it wasn’t that busy, I made it to the luggage pick-up pretty quickly. I got picked out to have my suitcase checked, although he didn’t really go through it super thoroughly and just checked for extra pockets and all. (Also, there were staff members who stood guard at the pick-up point to make sure that none of the bags would slam down on the band too hard, which I haven’t really seen done before. Which is considerate, because I’ve seen one bag slamming into a couple of others with a crushing sound a few times too many at this point.)

I walked right into the train ticket office, so I just asked for a ticket to Ikebukuro. That would take another 45 minutes, but the jetlag was starting to kick in, so I didn’t trust myself to make a transfer. I’d rather wait a little longer and pay a little extra to go to Ikebukuro straight away with a guaranteed spot in the train, thank you very much. So the Narita Express it is! With free wi-fi, so I can let my parents know I’ve arrived safe and sound. At 3 AM local time for them, oops.

I’m currently relying on iced coffee to keep me awake, because I’ll arrive in Ikebukuro around 1 PM and check in for my hotel isn’t until 3 or 4 PM (I keep forgetting which, but it’s past 3 PM at the very least). So I’ll be closing the laptop in a bit, enjoy the view (I should be able t see the Sky Tree in a bit) and then dump my big luggage at the hotel. My stomach is a bit queasy right now, so I’ll grab something light for lunch and then do some shopping in Ikebukuro before checking in and uh, trying not to pass out at 5 or something, haha. I’m also planning on going to Shibuya today, because I want to go to Disneyland and I like to buy my ticket at the Disney Store. And well, Shibuya is fun and it’s tradition by now to take a picture of the statue of Hachiko. I really liked the wolf shrine I found last trip too, so I’ll see what that looks like at night time. (Temples close super early in winter, but shrines should be open 24/7, so we’ll see.)

And with that, I hit Chiba station! So technically still not Tokyo, but I’ll close the laptop for now and continue this report once I get back at the hotel.

Okay, I’m back!

Well, I dropped off my luggage at the hotel, went into Ikebukuro, had lunch (rice omelet), browsed some shops, dragged myself back at 3 PM to check in, and finally convinced myself to go out to Shibuya after. My jetlag was starting to kick in pretty heavily, so I hadn’t stopped to consider how 5-6 PM is a perfect time to get into the train that frequents some of the busiest train stations in the world… You know those videoclips of people getting pushed into the train? Yeah, basically that. (And to think there were people complaining in the train in the Netherlands yesterday about having to stand. I wisely didn’t comment, but I was tempted, haha.) For extra fun, my IC card suddenly decided ‘you know what? I know you had money left last time, but we’re going to make that mysteriously disappear’. I couldn’t check in anymore, I just got the notice ‘please alert the staff’. I was already prepared to open up the dictionary app I have on my phone to explain more than ‘IT STOPPED WORKING ALL OF A SUDDEN HELP’, but that was enough. The staff member scanned my card, tapped some keys and poof, my 500 yen were back! Uh. Magic? Either way, not complaining, haha.

It was already dark when I made it to Shibuya, so I got to take pictures of the Christmas lights! I did some more shop browsing, but it started to rain and my jetlagged mind had forgotten to place my umbrella in my handbag, so I opted to go back to Ikebukuro instead of visiting the wolf shrine.

I did secure a ticket for Disneyland, though! I’ll be going on Tuesday. And after today, the weather forecast is rainless for the upcoming week, so that’s nice.

I just had dinner and I’m kind of falling asleep sitting – it’s 9 PM now, so decent enough time to go to sleep.

Time to sleep off the jetlag and get ready for tomorrow! I was maybe planning on going to Ôji, but I think I’m gonna skip out and visit familiar places instead. I also have to buy a train ticket for the road back, so I’m making a list now so my jetlagged brain won’t forget, haha.

See you tomorrow!

#tokyo 2017 #report #report: tokyo 2017 #report: travel

[sometimesrosy]

Into Eden, chapt 2: Actually Some Sort of Princess

Into Eden

rosymamacita

Chapter 2 read on AO3

Bellamy was a mail-order bride. It was ridiculous and desperate. But he had no reason to stay on his dirt colony and this would get him to Eden.

Now he was married to this golden princess, Clarke Griffin. And she was so rich it made his head spin. He wanted to take advantage of it all. This money that was now technically his, of a sort, because it never had been fair the way the rich always got everything and people like him got nothing. So he could right? It would be fair.

But Clarke seemed sort of desperate herself. Clarke seemed sort of sad. Dammit if she weren't all sorts of earnest and honest and he kind of liked her.

“A state room,” Bellamy said. He stood in the middle of the spacious cabin on their luxury space liner, and spun slowly in a circle. There was a tiny chandelier like he’d seen in the history vids, fabric curtains on the portholes which actually looked out into space. They had a room where they could watch the stars. Actually watch the stars. Through an actual plas glass window. What kind of… a window. In a private room. And then to top it off, it was decorated with some sort of planet side pretension. With actual shimmery cloth curtains. And wood trim.

He dropped his duffel and went up to the window. There were the stars all right. To be honest, he was not impressed. He touched the trim and knocked on it. “That’s wood.” He looked back at Clarke Griffin.

Clarke Griffin-Blake. His WIFE.

She looked over. “Wow,” she said.

“Wood. Like from a tree. Inside of a space ship.” Nobody could afford to decorate their ships with wood unless they were ridiculously wealthy and had credits to burn.

She nodded like she had no idea what he was getting at.

He chuckled and looked back at the room. His stateroom for his trip to Eden colony where he would start his new life with his new wife, who’d ordered him from the black-market. He knew she must have had money to be able to afford all this, or connections or something, but he was not expecting this level of luxury. “You’re actually some sort of princess, aren’t you?”

She looked at him shocked, hurt almost, and for a minute, he felt bad.

“Lucky me. Marrying into royalty.” Marrying into. Being bought and paid for. Same difference, right?

She raised her chin slightly.

She really was privileged. He knew he should have expected it. “It must be nice to just, you know, throw some money around make things happen and get to enjoy a life like this.” He smirked at her as she glared, knowing even while he was doing it that he was provoking her and not really knowing why. Just that she was so pretty and golden and rich and he was leaving his dingy life behind and he felt totally out of his element. “So I guess, what I mean to say is thanks for the life of luxury, princess.” He flopped down on the couch with the brocade embroidery. Shit this place was high class. And put his boots up on the cushion because he was an ass.

She kicked his duffel, which he’d dropped in the middle of the room. “Stow that. We have to strap in for take off.”

He laughed. “What on a luxury liner like this? I thought that was just for the common folk. We’re royalty, aren’t we?”

“No.” Her voice was hard and flat. He’d pushed too far. He was an ass. “Stow it. Your cubby should be….” She walked over to the wall and pressed something. A door opened. “No, that’s my wardrobe. So yours is,” she stepped over. “Here.”

The door opened and inside it was full. He got up and looked inside. “This is a whole… how many clothes do I need? I’ve never owned this much clothing in my life.”

“This is just for the trip. We have to act the part of, well, wealthy colonists.”

“It’s an act, huh? I think it’s your real life.”

“No. It’s not. This is all there is. Don’t get used to it. I spent my whole fortune for this trip. To outfit the both of us. And to buy this claim off of someone who couldn’t use it. There’s nothing left.”

He blinked at her. “You spent all your credits on this. Why would you do that? And used the last of it for this fancy stateroom?”

She shook her head. “No. I used the last of it for you. For our marriage. So I could get accepted in the colony charter. The stateroom was part of what Diana Sydney sold me. I just had to change the boarding location and pay for your trip to Polis Station, and of course all the gear a man needed for the colony. So I spent the last of my inheritance on you.”

“Me?”

She nodded.

“I used your measurements from the agency—“

“Space Spouse Store,” he interrupted. His sister, Octavia, and he used to make fun of those desperate enough to sell themselves to the colonists for a better life. And now Octavia was gone and here he was one of the loser space spouses, married to the gorgeous, rich princess. He deserved the mockery.

“The marriage contractors,” she corrected, “to buy a wardrobe that would fit you. So unless you gained or lost weight, or lied, since filling those forms out, it should be all good. All this stuff here is to play your role for the ship events, the dinners, the meet and greets, the official survival workshops, with the other colonists.

“Survival workshops?”

“We’re all used to living on space stations and developed colonies. Eden’s a wilderness.”

“Maybe you all are used to living in luxury. I know what it’s like to work every day. I’ll do fine.”

She pressed her lips together. “Still. You need to pay attention. This is no joke.”

“Yeah, I got that, princess. Don’t worry. I’ll do what I need to.”

“I’m still a little nervous that we’ll be found out as a fake. We have to get our story down. How we met, what our tastes are.”

“Yeah, I knew the game when I signed up. I’ll play along.”

“Okay good. We’re not on Eden colony yet. They could send us back and keep all our gear. When we get to Eden colony, we’ll go straight out to our claim. Once on Eden soil, that’s it. We’re colonists. They can’t send us back. I got you a wardrobe for colony life, too. It’s in freight. They’ll deliver it along with our building mods and mechs and everything we’ll need.”

He ran his hand along the clothes that someone, what did they call them on a ship like this? A steward? had hung in this closet. “You got everything figured out.”

“Well, most of it was already planned by the person whose claim I bought. The rest? Why not spend my inheritance on giving us the best shot at a new life? My dad died for this. Maybe if he hadn’t died I wouldn’t have needed to leave the quadrant.” She looked away from him.

He wanted to call her a poor little rich girl, but she looked legitimately sad. He was taking it out on her because he was nervous and he knew it. He didn’t even know this woman, and he didn’t think she’d ever headed out to colonize a new planet, either. He wasn’t THAT much of an ass. He could feel empathy for the girl.

He chose this. It had felt like his last choice, but he definitely chose it. He could have stayed working in the factory on his dirt colony when his sister got married and ran off, but he didn’t want to. There was nothing for him there. Here at least he had an opportunity. He looked at Clarke and a seed of hope settled in his gut.

A siren broke into the peace and beauty of the stateroom. “All passengers, please proceed to flight seats.”

Bellamy felt his heart racing. This was it. No turning back now. As if he could have turned back before. He’d made his choice when he accepted Clarke Griffin’s proposal. And since meeting her, it might have felt more real, but it was still his choice.

He stowed his duffle and locked the door. Clarke gestured him over to the flight seats, which were cleverly disguised in the living area of the stateroom to look like entertainment loungers. As soon as they sat down, in fact, the vid screen went off and began playing soothing music and images of pastoral scenes. Their soon to be home, he assumed. Eden.

The nerves in his gut turned into anticipation. He looked over at Clarke as she fastened her harness. He really hadn’t been expecting her to be this pretty. In her pictures, she’d been very professional and buttoned up, clearly good looking, but this girl, frazzled and flushed with nerves, she was something different. And he was startled by his urge to ease her anxiety.

He clicked his harness in and a soothing green light went on over their stateroom door. They were all go for take off.

“Boy it’s lucky they got my shuttle fixed when they did, or I would have missed the whole flight.”

The look she shot him was nowhere near the response he’d expected from his half joke.

“That’s why you were so late? They were getting ready to close the doors on us.”

“Us?”

“Us. They weren’t letting me on without the family in the contract. Me and my husband. Both or neither.”

The engines in the luxury liner started humming. He could feel it through his bones. He’d barely had enough time to adjust to actually being on this ship before it was taking off. This was all happening so fast. He was leaving his old life on a dirt colony, the grind of working for the factories with no way to have a better life, not unless he got off. His sister had got off. And now he was following her. To freedom. The vid played images of a sweeping landscape with pink clouds and towering mountains. The vegetation a strange bluish green.

Almost freedom. He was still married to this woman. He slanted his eyes to look at her. A beautiful woman, to be sure. She dug her fingers into the arm of the seat, her eyes locked onto the vidscreen. She didn’t look particularly eager to get to Eden Colony. She looked like she was nervous, anxious. Like she wanted to be away. A thought occurred to him.

“If I had missed the flight, they wouldn’t have let you on either.”

She shook her head tightly.

“You would have been left on Polis Station.”

“Yes.”

“And they would have kept your claim and your supplies.”

“Yes.”

“But you spent your whole fortune on this claim and this trip and… me.”

She nodded slowly, still looking at the vid of Eden Colony. “I did.”

“I almost didn’t make it. Clarke. You almost lost everything.”

“But you did make it.”

“What were you going to do if I didn’t show up? If I’d been a scammer. Or my shuttle had just broken down like it almost did?”

She shrugged and the looked at him finally. Her blue eyes were open and vulnerable. She started to speak and then swallowed. “I guess we’re married, and you’ve got to play the game, so you should know. My ex girlfriend is the commander of Polis Station. It ended badly. She blamed me for some things that happened in her career. Her advisors informed my employers. My job ended badly. I was being evicted from my apartments so you could say that ended badly, too.” She laughed bitterly. He could see the sadness settled into her skin and he wished he could reach across and take her hand, just for human comfort, but she was too far away. She shrugged. “If you hadn’t shown up, I was going to call my mom on Alpha Station and let her bring me home like she’d been begging to do for the last two years.”

Bellamy blinked. Alpha Station. “Griffin.” He said. “As in Abby Griffin, the chancellor of Alpha Station.” She blinked back. “And Jake Griffin, the galactic engineer who was assassinated by Abby Griffin’s political rivals for exposing the plot to conceal a new power source that would enable interstellar travel at a price regular humans could afford. That Griffin.”

She didn’t nod. She just looked at him.

“Holy shit. My wife really is a princess.”

She pointed at the vid screen. “I won’t be a princess there. I’ll just be another colonist, getting away from my old life, trying to make a planet habitable to the human diaspora.”

He tried to turn and face her but the harness held him down. “But because of your father, regular people might actually be able to live on Eden, not just the rich people who get everything and always have. Holy shit. I’m the rich people now?”

“No. We’re not rich. It’s all gone. And money doesn’t mean anything on Eden Colony, anyway. It’s a barter economy.”

He wasn’t sure if she believed that or if she was naive. If she was a Griffin from Alpha Station, then she had to understand politics and economic and how the powerful got everything and the poor got nothing. And she had to understand that a government who confiscated the freight of colonists who didn’t pass the charter agreement was not exactly a colony that didn’t care about money. And he might have brought that up to her, but the engines roared to life and and the ship began moving and Polis Station, shrunk away. He could see it through the porthole, the ugly little station, it’s long, awkward shape looking almost like a tower from an ancient fairy tale, a flame burning away on the pinnacle, really just a signal beacon, beeping out, over and over again.

When the luxury liner was far enough from Polis Station and the nearby inhabited colonies and stations, it picked up speed, the g-forces pressing them into the harness of their flight seats. By the time they reached their cruising speed and the announcement came that they were free to walk about the ship again, Bellamy had too many questions to ask his wife, and he didn’t know where to start.

#bellarke #bellarke fanfic #into eden #scifi #space colony #fake marriage #mail order bride #bellamy's the bride

[insanitysscribblings]

I've always been interested in working in Japan through the JET program but I'm interested in hearing your experience with working in Japan and the reasons you work there.

STORY TIME!

I’ve always been interested in Japanese culture. The first time I watched Sailor Moon, I was completely enthralled. When I found out it was a type of animation from this little island across the world, I was hooked. It’s always been one of my childhood dreams to come here, whether to live here or for a visit, it didn’t matter. One way or another, I wanted to set foot upon Japanese soil, even if it was just to cross something off my bucket list.

So I found out, very early on in my college career (through a Skype call with a friend of my Japanese professor during class freshman year), that teaching English in Japan was a thing that I could do without being fluent in Japanese/a certified teacher. And since I always knew I wanted to be an author, but wasn’t enthused about the thought of slaving away at some job I wasn’t passionate about until I finished a book, once I figured out this was A Thing?

“HELL YEAH SIGN ME THE FUCK UP”

I had to wait until my senior year to apply, naturally. XP My first choice was the JET program, because it was the most well-known, and I read nothing but good things about it. I sent in my application, and checked my e-mail OBSESSIVELY, waiting for a response.

I didn’t even clear the first cut. OTL

Took time to be sad about it. My friends were very sympathetic (they even bought me chocolate to help cheer me up that night, ha ha~) Once I was done being sad, I picked myself back up and threw myself back into the search. If the JET program didn’t want to hire me, then it was their loss. But now I was Determined: I was GETTING to Japan one way or another, and this one rejection wasn’t about to stop me.

And then, after signing up for several sites which granted jobs to gaikokujin and OBSESSIVE searching, I found my company: Interac. I read up on it, did my research. They didn’t pay as well as JET supposedly does, but still, it was a teaching job in Japan. Repeated the process: sent in my application and waited, on pins and needles now, because I was going to be graduating soon and if I didn’t have a plan, I felt like I’d be screwed.

I heard back VERY quickly from Interac. We did the phone interview, I presented myself as professionally as I could, and then we were done.

Very soon after THAT, I received an e-mail for a SECOND INTERVIEW!!!!

The only difficulty was that the interview was being held in D.C., which is near where my folks live….but it was a week before my graduation from my college in North Carolina. ^^; THAT was an interesting weekend: I had to fly back to Maryland early on Friday, prepare for the interview AND do a mock lesson that night, drive to D.C. Saturday and do said interview/mock lesson, and then fly back to North Carolina on Sunday to graduate a week later. Whew!

But yeah, that happened, I graduated and got my degree in English Writing, then went back home to CHILL for a bit as I waited for a response.

We had gone to Texas to watch my brother’s ceremony for completing his basic training (we’re a military family, hahaha~) when I got the e-mail. Now, we were there for my brother, so I didn’t wanna kick up a fuss, but my dad saw me grinning like an idiot and asked what was up. I passed him my phone and let him read the e-mail, bouncing in my seat. Naturally, my mom and grandma had to know what was up too, so, as quietly as I could (I get loud when I’m excited), I said, “I got the job…!”

Queue mini-celebration before the ceremony started, but needless to say, I was deliriously excited~

Once we returned to Maryland, I threw myself into the next step: paperwork, paperwork, PAPERWORK. Luckily for me, Interac works to take care of most of the big stuff: securing an apartment, picking the schools you work in, stuff like that. But before I could get there, I had to apply for a working visa first. That required photos being taken and several trips to D.C., but I got it did. There was a bunch of other stuff involved too, if I recall correctly, but the visa was the one big thing I remember.

Next, I had to find a job in order to pay for my plane ticket/have start-up money as soon as I headed over there, because I wouldn’t be paid until about two months in (this could be different for JET; I never found out, so I’m just sticking to telling you my experiences, ha ha~). I remember they gave me two options: to start training in August so I would be prepared for September, or to come in March to be prepared for April, when the school year officially started. It was June when these options were presented to me, and since I didn’t have anywhere NEAR the funds I needed, I chose the latter and took a cashier job to build up my funds/pay student loans.

My company worked with me throughout the months, updating me on things like what I would need to bring and where exactly in Japan I would be placed. They made sure to check that I would be comfortable in my placement and if I had any questions while working through the processing of the paperwork I had to send them, so I never felt like I was at a standstill with them, which was nice~

And then, at long, LONG last…it was time for me to go. I booked my plane ticket a month in advance, my grandmother (who was heartbroken that I was leaving) was gracious enough to throw me a going-away party, and my family saw me off at the airport. I was anxious that the sudden SNOW IN APRIL would delay my flight, but things went off without a hitch. (Flight delay due to snow happened to me just this past winter, though; that super sucked. Oh, important advice: MAKE SURE YOU KNOW WHO’S OPERATING THE FLIGHT. It might say one airline, but it could really be operated by another airline altogether. Which reminds me: DON’T FLY UNITED. WORST AIRLINE TO FLY OVERSEAS ON.)

And then…I was here.

Been here for a while; going into my third year with my elementary school, and the four kindergartens I teach at. Some days are harder than others, but the kids are really cute, and I’ve found that if I try my best, they’re usually willing to reciprocate. And it makes my heart swell when they get excited to eat lunch with me, even if they ask some inappropriate questions (the amount of times I’ve been asked if I’m married/have a boyfriend…)

What I want to say, though, before I get further lost in my rambling, is that everyone’s experience is different. Some people love it here; some people leave half-way through their contract because they can’t stand it. It all depends on how well you can adapt. The language barrier sucks sometimes, and you feel “other” sometimes when the Japanese folk stare…but overall, I find it a pleasant place to live. My coworkers are nice, my town is small and convenient, and I found that it very quickly became home for me. I don’t know what everyone thinks when they picture Japan, but to me, it’s just where I live. The people just happen to speak Japanese here. :P

If you’re seriously considering living here, the truth is that, in some ways, you will be inconvenienced, compared to what you’re probably used to. The people at the convenience store ask you a question you can’t understand, the NHK man comes knocking at your door demanding payment for a service you don’t use, TALKING CARS AT 11 PM. But there’s a lot of good about it, too, so much that it would make this answer waaaaaaay longer than it already is.

But I think the most important question, Nonny, is this: how bad do you want it?

#reyna rants #personal #SHIT THIS GOT WAY TOO LONG SORRY #I spent so much time answering this that it's time for class oops! ^^; #I hope this helped a little though Nonny!

[bobmagicashopaiat313-blog]

Story Board

The story takes place over five days - one game day is consists of 3 - 5 story moments.

Day 1 - 

Act 1: Puffie Dream 

Bob dreams about the good old times he had his ex-girlfriend had. 

Act 2: Wake up Call 

Bob wakes up to a call from his landlord, telling him that if he’s gonna get kicked out if he doesn’t pay the rent in full amount in a week. 

Other activities:

- The players can navigate the home interface. Buttons are disabled if the plot requires. 

(Inventory Interface, where the player can check what ingredients are needed for each recipe)

When Bob doesn’t possess the item or haven’t unlocked the recipe, the icon remains black. 

-  Tutorial on how the gameplay (No pictures yet) 

- Meets Bob’s friend Buttons

Act 3: Tonight is the night 

Buttons drags Bob to The Bar to hang out. There, Bob seems Puffie with another monster - it looks like a date. Hurt, Bob ran back home. 

Day 2 - 

Act 1: First day back on the job

Bob wakes up, still feeling sad about seeing Puffie has already moved on while he locked himself up all this time. 

The player is required to go out and get store supplies. - The player cannot go back to the shop before going to the three available locations and buy a certain number of ingredients from the two stores. 

Rock Shell - The owner Cronoki asks Bob if he could make an energy drink for him 

Herb Garden - Meets a new resident, Nami

Youth Center - Sees Puffie, Bob signs up to be a conversation partner for the local youth to impress her

Act 2: Shop time!  Gameplay time (No pictures yet) Act 3: Event choice: 

Buttons comes to Bob’s shop again to hang out, but Bob has other things to do too. 

Player choice -  

1. Hang out with Buttons 

2. Make the energy drink for Cronoki 

3. Go to Youth center 

1. Hang out with Buttons - 

Buttons tells Bob that his cousin quit his job at some factory about a while ago and apparently the factory recently go shut down because it made its workers ill.  

2. Study Shygo

Bob stayed home and unlocked a new recipe - Energy drink. 3. Go to Youth Center 

Bob is informed that Puffie has left early so he didn’t see her here. However, after having an interest conversation with a young Steel Moth called Feathers, Bob was given a glow lipstick from Feathers. She claims that this thing makes her feel sick. 

Day 3 

Act 1: React to last night 

Bob quickly talks about what happened last night: 

If hung out with Buttons:

Bob: I wonder what happened to Buttons’ cousin . . . I hope he’s doing alright. Good thing the factory shut down. If a job makes the worker ill, it shouldn’t exist in the first place. 

If Developed for Cronoki:

Bob: I need to talk to Cronoki about this!  (Shop button disable)

If went to Youth Center: 

Bob: Hmm . . . Feathers said the Art Gallery has a free painting workshop tonight . . . Maybe I should check it out . . . 

Act 2: Shop time 

Gameplay 

Act 3: Puffie with bad news

Puffie comes to Bob’s shop to talk about something important. She tells him that there’s a flu outbreak in the two next to the monster city. The flu is actually an unknown disease that kills the patient. As a toxicologist, she and her colleges have been working on an antidote for almost a year now - but nothing has come of it.  Bob: So . . . You want me to help you find a cure?  Puffie: *Sigh* Yes, that would be helpful. Bob, we don’t have much time - this disease is spreading fast. So far, we only know the toxin is likely to be from an ancient marine monster but . . . I can’t tell you any more. I’m not even supposed to be here -  Please do not disclose this information to anyone else, or it can cause a major panic. 

If developed energy drink for Cronoki -  Bob receives 150 mo from Cronoki for developing the energy drink. However, Cronoki has another request. He bought a glowing lipstick for his daughter, but he thinks it’s problematic - from his own experience, most glowing things tend to be poisonous for Steel Moths like him - so he asks Bob to look into it, makes sure its safe. 

Act 4: Event choice - 

Player choice:

1. Call Buttons to hang out tonight 

2. Stay home and study 

3. Go to the art workshop (disabled if did not go to Art Gallery earlier today) 

Hang out with Buttons: 

Buttons is sad that his friend who is supposed to come to visit him got sick and she seems to be in a lot of pain. Bob worries that Buttons’ friend has caught the deadly disease Puffie was telling him about.  Stay Home and study: 

Bob does some testing on the toxin and is shocked by i. It’s like nothing he’s seen before. 

- If has lipstick:  Finds out that the lipstick seems to be able to coexist with the toxin. 

Goes to the Art Gallery: 

Meets Nami and the two become good friends. 

Day 4: 

Act 1: Morning reaction: 

Bob reacts to what happened last night. 

If the player chooses to go out, Nami at the herb garden and Cronoki for rock shell tell him to take care of himself because it’s flu season. 

Act 2: Shop time! Gameplay 

Act 3: 

After a day of work, Bob is ready to close the shop and relax. He starts thinking about his life without Puffie and how empty he feels inside. To suppress his sadness, he calls up Buttons. It turns out Buttons is sick . . . And he hasn’t gone to work today because he was in so much pain for some reason. 

If hang out with Buttons on Day 3: Buttons: Bobby . . . Remember my friend I was telling you about? Her brother called me his morning . . . She passed away . . . I . . . I don’t understand. It’s supposed to be a regular flu? . . . Bobby . . . Am I gonna be ok?  Bob tells Buttons he will make some sort of pain-killer & sleep potion for him so he could rest.  After Bob hangs up the phone, he now feels incredibly sad and driven to find the antidote. 

This has put the pain of the breakup in perspective for him. 

If went to the Art Gallery:  Suddenly, someone knocks on the door. Nami was outside. She came to ask him if she could learn some alchemy from him, after talking to him yesterday.  Player choice: 

Sure.  Sorry, I have to do some important research right now. 

Act 4: Research 

If know the relationship between lipstick & the toxin:  Bob comes to the conclusion that the toxin may not actually be what Puffie said it was and research into what the lipstick is made of. 

If studied the toxin but doesn’t have the lipstick:

Bob is frustrated and decides to step away from the research so he could work on the pain-killer & Sleep potion for Buttons. 

If haven’t studied & decides not to teach Nami: 

Repeat Day 3  - if doesn’t have lipstick, makes the painkiller & sleep potion for buttons. 

If decides to teach Nami: 

Bob got frustrated teaching Nami alchemy and lashes out on her. Nami asks what’s going on, and Bob can’t help but telling her that Buttons’ sick and he might not have much time to live. 

Nami is surprised to hear that and then tells him that she’d like to help him find an antidote.

Nami:  *Pulls out a bag of leaves* Remember this? This isn't a regular plant . . . I infused my wind-magic into its seed and plaint it in the wind magic-infused soil. I . . . I don't know what this herb can do yet . . . But why don't we do some experiments now?   

Day 5 

Act 1 

Bob reflects on what happened the previous date:

1. Researched what the lipstick is made of: Has a working theory about where the disease comes from - the factories that produced the glow lipstick have been releasing a toxic gas during their production, which is confirmed by the piece of news he found. A glowing lip balm factory in a city far away from the monster city was shut down due to evidence of its environment making its workers sick. 

2.  Makes the sleep potion: Bob successful developed the sleep potion but is frustrated that his research on the toxin didn’t go anywhere. 

 3. Knows the relationship:  Frustrated by the research, Bob comes to a conclusion for himself. The toxin isn’t what Puffie said it was. 

4. Studies with Nami:  Nami and Bob stayed up all night developing the antidote - and it turns out that Nami’s wind magic-infused herb was the key ingredient. 

(For all conditions:) Bob decides to go to Youth Center and talk about his research. 

Bob meets Puffie at the youth center, he gets a nervous vibe from here. 

Bob: the flu . . . It’s happening, isn’t it?

Puffe: Yes . . . *Sigh* It spread to Monster city way faster than we expected. I worried the kids the most . . . They are . . . So vulnerable. *Sigh* Now, let's go somewhere private and talk about your research. 

Act 2: 

They came back to the shop: If Has a working theory:  Puffie is impressed by Bob’s research. Very different approach to her and her colleges. Before Puffie leaves, Bob confronts her on why she broke up with him, Puffie simply said she had work to do, not time or energy for anything else.

Narrator: With those words, Puffie left. Bob stood there for a few more moments before he moved. Only now he realizes that the Puffie he fell in love with is no longer there. 

Makes the Sleep potion & Know the relationship: 

Bob admits that he isn’t sure where to go regarding his research and asks Puffie for more information. Puffie says she cannot disclose that information.  Bob gets angry and lashes on her and then breaks down - he tells her that Buttons is sick and he feels so useless not being able to save his friend.

Puffie: Stop that Bob. There are lives at stake. That kind of talk has no value. 

The two argue for a bit and finally, Puffie admits:

Puffie: Can’t you see I’m just as sad as you? But I can’t be like you Bob - I can’t afford to feel sorry for myself. Hundreds of lives are lost because I made no progress! I . . . I can’t be weak, I have a job to do. 

Bob begs her to stay and help him but she still leaves him. 

If Nami: 

Puffie is impressed by Bob and Nami’s work. Puffie: Wind Magic? . . . interesting, such a different approach than ours. 

Before Puffie leaves, Bob confronts her on why she broke up with him, Puffie simply said she had work to do. Bob says he understands and tells her that she deserves happiness. However, that turns out to have the opposite effect than he intended.

Puffie: I’ve been working on this for almost a year now . . . and you . . . you found the antidote in less than a week. Hundreds of lives are lost because I couldn’t figure out sooner . . . I . . .I do not deserve anything. 

Narrator: With those words, Puffie left. Bob stood there for a few more moments before he moved. Only now he realizes how truly depressed his lover is. 

Act 3: Shop  

Game play 

Act 4: choice

if Working theory: Successfully developed the antidote

If Nami: Spend the evening with Nami

If has Sleep potion - Goes to Buttons’ home and take care of him. 

Knows the relationship - Goes to Youth center and ask her to help him develop the antidote. She finally gives in. 

Ending (if Rent >= 1000): 

Antidote: Puts the breakup behind him, becomes the city hero and is hopeful for his future. 

Nami: Puffies the break up behind him, Bob introduces Nami to Buttons and they take turns to take care of him. The three become great friends. 

Take care of Buttons: Still bitter about the break but Bob is more worried about Buttons. He take care of Buttons for the next days, knowing that he needs to prepare for the worst.

Finds Puffie: The two keep working to develop the antidote. They know it wont be easy but they feel confident with each other’s help. 

Ending (if Rent <= 1000):

Ushaga comes to kick Bob out.  

[jorgesmedicine-blog]

Hello Family

So many things I want to share with you. I’m sure you feel the same way too. As a person, I’ve lost the compulsive need to explain myself to others, I think it’d take too much time to do that, we could be doing something more interesting. Much of my writing comes from explaining myself. Not everyone is like me, but that’s only half truth.

I learned that through explaining myself I was able to create bridges of understanding between ideas. With so many ideas disconnected between us, it becomes difficult to reach those peaceful bridges where we meet precisely in the middle.

Have you heard of the term starving artist? It’s a real thing! While some artists are well off and thriving in this way of living, other artists live on bare bones, at the mercy of life, doing the necessary to do what an artist does, live as an artist, but that’s just one way of explaining it to those that haven’t experienced it themselves.

There’s no point in condemning anyone, or diminishing them. I love Earth, so I keep coming back here. Is it for the continuous refinement of the soul, or is it for the celebration of life as it is?

I’m feeling a wave of unagreeable thoughts, dis-validating, disagreeing, creating conflict: ”The problem with most Christians that I’ve met, is that they have a very heavy book which rules their life, for the better and for the worst, they love this book, a lot of them hit you with as they say‑ “it says it in the bible”. They talk about Jesus like if he’s not there listening to them, they scrutinize Jesus life through the bible, they cut Him up like a frog to study Him, they believe themselves holders of the absolute truth (sometimes even above everyone else). They apply logic to the stories, cutting them in half. The other half of the story becoming big shadows, the things that they’re most afraid of: death, punishment, public shame, the devil, sickness, addictions, violence, abuse, absolute freedom.“

And then I thought… AHA! There’s the love! See, some things have to be said with gentleness, sometimes there are stored emotions, stories that keep repeating and they have to come out one way or another so that we can hear what it is that it wants to say.

If I was a vegetable now, I’d be a hot pepper. Stings in the mouth, And maybe even When it comes out, yet, it has great health benefits.

Anything that we consume in excessive excess is indication that something is out of balance. A little bit of everything is the best diet I can imagine, some environments take advantage of that natural feeling. These excesses are telling us that something is happening, is the announcement of something out of balance.

When I write about myself, I get bored. When I write about them, I get critical and judgmental. When I write about us, bridges are created. It doesn’t matter if we scrutinize Jesus or not, I know that by doing this we’re learning immensely about something that we’ll need in this life. But what should we do about that shadow that follows us around everywhere? That shadow that is attached to us but we walk as if it’s not there?

I gave up long ago on the idea that we should all think the same way, or that we should all be the same way and do the same things. I don’t carry that idea that “I’m special, so everybody should think like me, or act like me” I learned to get a deep appreciation of our differences.

The times when I’ve fallen in life, made me realize that I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing, most likely, I wasn’t loving what I was doing in that moment, I was loving something else. I fell a lot. I still fall a lot, so I continue learning to love what I’m doing now. For me to walk without tragically falling, I have to do what I love. From so much falling, I also learned to fall gracefully, to not let a “no” take me down, to see that it wasn’t anybody’s fault but mine, and at the same time, fault of the universe, or no one’s fault.

If it’s not a fault, if it’s not a mistake, then what is it? an opportunity in disguise maybe, definitely a change in rhythm or note, a moment of awareness increase.

Spiral of Emotions LOVE       Peace Joy           Gratitude Passion    Happiness Courage   Pride Hope         Acceptance Boredom   Annoyance Worry        Blame Anger        Hatred Bitterness  Guilt Shame       FEAR

We can experience spiraling up towards love, we can experience spiraling down pulled by fear. To me, these are all natural feelings that we experience regularly with the changes of the day, the changes of the moon, the changing of the seasons. To me, this is a map that taught me to not get stuck in low emotional vibrations, to rise above shame, above guilt, above blame, above boredom. Getting stuck on any of these feelings makes it very impossible to see the big picture, we lose perspective, our senses are distorted, we can’t see right.

I’m not perfect, I stopped aiming for perfecting long ago. We are humans and we’re not always right, we err. I’ve observed that as we do to others, so it is done to us. As we judge others, so we are judged. With the stick that we measure, so will we be measured. These days, this way of living doesn’t feel thriving, doesn’t feel human to me.

My dream is, to find, to create, to invent and to help materialize, solutions/synthesis to the conflicting ideas of this way of living. For us, for our children, for all the living things that hold everyday on their shoulders the heavy weight (footprint) of this way of living, of this great pyramid.

We are pampered and spoiled, this doesn’t come without a consequence. A ripple from our acts, from our choices, a reaction on the world where we co-exist. We are afraid to leave our things behind, to not have “our thing” to make us feel good. What we ignore, the big shadow of this way of living is that it’s consuming and poisoning everything on its path.

The green and wild, getting exploited and covered with cement. The mysteries that were out there in the wild are now being heavily and invasively studied and exploited. What the greedy fingers touch it also destroys. The way we’re giving power to money is what gives them glue to paste all their lies together so that they can treat us the way they do. We give them the power to control our life, power to give us routinely boring jobs with very little reward for the self (mentally, physically, spiritually), very little reward to this world, very little reward to others.

I believe that we met for a reason, that life put us together for something awesome to happen. To all of us. For us to see a part of ourselves that we don’t get to see very often, or perhaps a part of ourselves that we see very often but now we get to see it in a different light. There’s an immense amount of power in the words that we say. Never forget that. The word is the first materialization of a thought, and thought also carries an immense amount of power behind it.

I changed my speaking habits of being sarcastic. Sarcasm isn’t just sarcasm, it isn’t just humor, it’s a poison to our language, to our own power, poison to others. It’s a thing that debilitates us or others, trust me, it’s not something that we should allow in our thesaurus, not on a daily basis at least. There’s no right or wrong, only habits, things that we do that we don’t know we’re doing, things that we picked up in life. Remember, what we give, we receive.

Passive aggressive, is an idea based on blame and guilt. This idea is like tying a knot on the spiral of emotions. The emotions come trying to flow, they find a blocking knot and start accumulating. Then comes the business man, once a month, when the hose is full, about to explode, and with their special syringes they drain the juices of our tasty emotions.

Sometimes we experience ideas like this and we don’t know how to react, we don’t know what to say, or we know what we want to say but don’t know how to say it. This is one of the most humble human thing we can experience. Sometimes it makes me feel angry or ashamed or blameful, for not knowing what to do, or what to say. That doesn’t stop me from breathing and realizing that I’m getting upset because I don’t know what to do.

We can’t solve a problem in the pit where we fell. The answer is somewhere else, how we get to that somewhere else is how we solve the problem.

Blindly following progress, success and perfection, we can aim for those things but we lose sight of what is already perfect. We become condemned victims to perfection, to that dragging never-ending idea of progress, that we sacrifice so much for, while we let the precious moments die by the thousands.

Don’t get me wrong, I have appreciation for whatever people choose to do with their life, I appreciate the love that I receive in any form, I live in gratefulness for what I have and for what I don’t have, your actions, your words I heard. They go through me, bouncing all the way around, have a tap dance in my stomach, a kick in the crotch area, then, it finally comes back to my heart, and back to my mind as these words that I write for us tonight.

Everybody is important, don’t forget this. We are all children of this Earth, we all came to this place in a most fashionable way! Our journeys began very similarly, then as we go through life things become very different for all of us. Different parents, different forms of birth. Our journey began (or continued, or transformed) in the orgasm of our father into the fertile egg in our mother’s womb. All the conditions were right for us to make it here from the sperm form. From that mysterious world, to this mysterious world.

Behind we left millions of us, the ones that didn’t make it to the egg in time. But I don’t think their life gets wasted, that’s just not the way of life, I think they are like seeds that fall back into the soil. We’re all important, we are all connected, we can’t deny that. For us to be alive, others had to die. The law of creator is written in you, in your body, in your existence, in your DNA, in everything that makes you “you”.

Making some things more important than others, is forgetting that everything is connected. It’s hard to imagine, that our children are not any more or less important than the children of others. Everything and everyone has the mark of beauty when you look at it with clear eyes. That someone has eyes doesn’t mean that they can see, that they can see doesn’t mean that they have eyes.

I mean that written inside you and me are the laws for our growth, the information and tools necessary for growing, to be what we are meant to be. We never stop being that thing that we were meant to be, because we were meant to be that thing that we were, we are meant to be that thing that we are.

I have faith and conviction that the law is there and it knows how to growth without having to go to university or follow passing religions. Like a cub grows into a tiger, like a baby grows into a human, like an egg hatches into a bird, like a seed grows into a tree.

Only we know what charges us with energy (life giving energy, creative energy, sexual energy, ki, gi, ji, our source of power). Only we know what drains us out of energy and what limits our growth. It’s nobody else’s responsibility but our own. Only we are responsible for keeping our energy, our garden, for getting it what it needs. It’s important to learn to communicate in terms of energy, to learn how to flow in life gracefully, to know how to ask for space from others, to feel and understand when we need space, to learn how to make a safe space for someone who needs it, to see and speak the truth of your existence.

Thank you for everything that we’ve shared.

[awesomecyberkidcollection-blog]

How To scrub Gutters And Downspouts

How To wash Gutters And Downspouts

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[zingmagazine]

Lutwidge Finch: A Novel by Thomas Rayfiel, Part III Chapter 7

The soft yet powerful hands of Monsieur Robert were completely at Madame Schlierbeck's service. She lay naked on a marble slab, having dispensed with even the modest sheet she had been offered, and allowed his lightning-fast palms to chop up and down her back, felt them stray, daringly, teasingly, to that nether region so ill-defined in our anatomy where the body's upright nature shades indistinctly toward that of its quadruped ancestor.

"Mmmm," she said, finding the experience called for wordless, yet vocal, appreciation.

It would have done no good to talk. Monsieur Robert spoke not a word of English and Hepzibah Schlierbeck, despite the 'Madame' with which she continued to preface her name (it would do until Lady) had no French. But they understood each other perfectly, these two, the adorer and the adored, as he moved on to her shoulders, appraising, admiring, suggesting, all in the articulate language of the physical.

"Voila!" he finally said, less a word in this case than an exclamation, accompanied, as it was, by a friendly slap on the bottom, as if he had just delivered her, safe and sound, into this new sensual world.

No crying babe though, Madame Schlierbeck merely sat up lazily (all her bones seemed newly acquainted, making a jolly, good-natured effort to work together, no petty jealousies, gripes or nursed aches, having yet arisen) and smiled. She reached for the purse resting on top of her carefully folded clothes and tendered a large, chocolate-colored coin. Monsieur Robert bowed slightly and, with a twinkling, luck-wishing look in his eye, left the 'Madame Anglaise', as they had come to call her at the Bains Solitaire, alone, so that she might dress.

Paris was a revelation for Hepzibah. Never before had she realized what "abroad" meant, how one could flower here as nowhere else. It was not that she was going native, aping the locals, making a spectacle of herself. Rather, it was that her economical and practical exterior, hard as that of a small seed, had burst forth in the most unexpected manner. Stretching her arms, she felt exhilaration surge through her body. In twenty minutes lay the appointment. She thought she would be nervous, now she knew she would not. How fortunate it had been, yielding to Mr. Hardheart's repeated demand that, if she insisted on handing over the sum to be loaned his Lordship personally, it at least be done on the Continent. Her father, of all people, had offered the unlikely encouragement that finally convinced her. He had overheard her refusing, again, to make the journey to Paris, and, after the agent left, remonstrated with his daughter for "shutting herself up in this poky little store." It had hurt, to hear him denigrate their establishment so. Their home, she felt, for they did little more upstairs than eat and sleep. But Reza Schlierbeck was insistent. "You think I lived here all my life?" he asked. "I came here, after many adventures. I like it here fine now, for a man of my age. But you, knoedelichen, you have to see things, kick the dust from your heels, before you decide to settle down." In the end, he had forced her hand by threatening to invite to dinner the widow Klein, a woman clearly smitten with Reza's still lean and romantic profile. "Of course I couldn't if I was alone here," he went on, blithely ignoring Hepzibah's smoldering stare. "It wouldn't look right. But with you as chaperone..." So she gave up the picture of Jeffrey, Eighth Earl of Choir, stooping low to avoid the domino-like knocking of dried salami that formed a bead curtain above the entranceway to her office, and with little more than a guidebook, a letter of credit, and one indispensable item from the fragrant alcove, set off on her journey.

The café table was reserved, the man from the hotel, waiting. She signed a receipt and saw with pleasure the strongbox set down on the round, rose-veined marble. It was a sentimental gesture, having the box here. Flat, chipped, dented deeply, this was the very container Reza had carried his meager savings in when coming to England so long ago. It was only fitting the money should return now, much multiplied by dogged labor, just as she was returning, not the struggling merchant but his successful daughter, to the continent, if not the country, of her ancestors. Indeed, she now saw something providential, clairvoyant, in her having adopted the sobriquet Madame, since France fit her like a glove. It was many things, the smell of the air, the light through trees, but mostly, she reflected, sipping mineral water and watching the world go by, it was just this: the unending theater of people passing. In London people passed too, of course, but bundled up, even in summer, their emotions tightly buttoned, their faces giving away nothing. It was to penetrate this tough carapace and so succeed in her chosen field that Madame Schlierbeck had developed her ability to shrewdly judge, to see past all subterfuge (the conscious and the unconscious), to sense the true motive, worth, and trustworthiness, of her clients. Here, people dressed to show, much as characters in a play attempt to convey even more by their clothes and manner than by their spoken lines. People paraded. You were encouraged to observe. You never felt you were spying, intruding, simply by looking across the street, or into someone's eyes. It would all be for naught, if one did not, for what was the actor without the audience, the parade without the cheering crowd? Faces brimmed here, with happiness, with tears, with hunger, but showed, in a way their English counterparts did not. So she sat, thoroughly at ease, appreciating her fellow humans for the first time, subjecting them not to a narrow, cynical analysis, but offering them an amiable, almost loving acceptance. How rare, she thought, considering her universally despised race, to feel one belongs.

The view was replaced by the Earl of Choir, who sat opposite without asking permission or indeed uttering her name. He was immaculately tailored as always, with a monocle hanging loose on a purple ribbon, his jet-black mustache, and a sprig of lilac in his lapel. He wore scent, she noted, also of lilac. And carried a rapier-thin cane.

"Well," he said insolently, taking out a cigarette case, "gaze your fill."

"I beg your pardon?"

"My agent said you wanted to see me, personally, before completing our transaction. Seemed damned irregular to me but since I have no choice..."

"Our arrangement itself is irregular," Madame Schlierbeck pointed out, watching him wave away the waiter. This was not, she saw, a social call for the Earl. This was not even business. It was a disgusting task and he would make no effort to conceal the fact. His gallantry did not extend, did not descend, to dealings with her kind. It stopped abruptly, as at the edge of a swamp. "I simply wanted to make things clear, face to face."

"It is all spelled out in that paper I signed, isn't it?"

"I am lending you five thousand pounds," she said, patting the top of the strongbox.

--to which his eyes involuntarily swerved, as if a starving animal had been offered meat--

"You, in six month's time, will either pay back the sum, with interest, or agree to marry me."

"Yes, well anything for a good sandwich, I always say."

"I want you to understand the gravity of the agreement you are entering into. I will hold you to your word. There is no other reason for my loaning you this sum. The rate I am offering is far in reduction to what you would get elsewhere. And if the Choir name means anything, you will not suffer it to be soiled by my bringing a suit for Breach of Promise."

He laughed harshly, fit the monocle in his eye and glanced over her with a look of incredulity.

"Madame Schlierbeck," he said sarcastically, "please excuse me if the schoolgirl fantasies of a moneylenderess do not interfere with the day-to-day considerations of a peer. I will take your cash, and at the end of six months I will give it back to you with the blood money you people are so famous for extorting. The tall tale you are telling exists only in your overheated imagination. I am sorry," he gave a mock, seated bow, "to disappoint."

"You intend to marry for the repayment, then?"

"That is none of your concern."

"Your concerns are my concerns. And mine, yours," she added significantly, continuing to rest her hand on the top of the box.

His gaze rested there as well. He pursed his lips.

"What is it you want?" he asked, in a different tone of voice now. "I have come, haven't I? If you wished to see me brought low, if you wished to see me shamed, well, understand: this is humiliation for me, simply my being here, at your beck and call."

"I don't want to shame you," she frowned, not sure this was strictly true. What about that picture she had of him quite literally brought low, stooping to enter the humble precincts of her office? "It is your title that interests me, and your station."

"--both of which would mean nothing if I defiled them with an outrageous marriage. You face the classic climber's dilemma. Wherever you want to get, you will never get there, because by definition it does not include you."

"That is not how I see it," Madame Schlierbeck riposted. "The way I see it, you are the last in a line of old, tired, sterile dead wood. And I am exactly what you so desperately need. New blood. New capital. With my resources, you might actually begin to approximate what a true nobleman should be, one whose actions are backed by authority, one whose word is law. You think people bow to you now, but they snigger behind your back. 'There goes the penniless Earl,' they whisper. If you put me in charge of your lands, I guarantee in ten years you will be free and clear of all debts, in twenty years, the luster of the Choir arms will be restored to their former glory, and in thirty years, god willing, you will be the practically independent ruler of a small kingdom, with greater powers than, say, your great-great grandfather ever had."

"Are you applying to become my bailiff or my wife?"

"I am proposing to be your partner, in every sense of the word."

Choir, amused, raised his hand. A waiter appeared.

"Will you drink with me?" he asked. "No? Well I need something. Cognac." He returned his eyes to Hepzibah. "I cannot decide if you wish to save my soul, or claim it."

"I wish to be the Lady of Choir Castle," she shrugged.

"Understand," he said gravely. "I will marry before the six months is up. I already have my sights trained on the most eligible of heiresses."

"No doubt. But perhaps you will come to realize that the union I propose is in your own best interest. That is what I wished to tell you, personally, not to see you beg, but to make you think."

"Very well. Then this will be less a loan and more in the nature of a bet. Though it is not my habit to wager with ladies."

She smiled, acknowledging the compliment, and took off the small, heart-shaped locket that hung round her neck. Free of that possible entanglement, she slowly began to draw up the links of her gold chain. Like hauling a bucket from a deep well, Choir thought, trying not to appear eager. Finally, the key to the strongbox appeared.

"Five thousand pounds. Please count it and sign this receipt."

"Oh, I trust you," the Earl said, pocketing the thick wads of notes.

"As you like. Sign here."

He did, with surprising care, his tongue stuck partway out, as if he had just learned how to write.

"Where will you go now?" Madame Schlierbeck asked, taking advantage of his distracted attention to examine more fully his physique. He was actually somewhat small, but firm and well-knit. She felt a flicker go through her, the lingering aftereffects of Monsieur Robert's massage, no doubt, and resisted the temptation to reach out and touch the curly head bent over the document.

"My clothes are in shocking condition," he said, completing the signature with a flourish. "While here, I intend to order a new wardrobe, then return later and oversee the fittings."

It was easy to see why people underestimated the Earl, taking his rather insipid manner (which was genuine, he really was preoccupied, already, with the relative merits of the paisley versus the polka dot) for an expression of his true nature. But just as a cheetah can appear the epitome of laziness when at rest, then bound off to outrun an antelope, so Choir, despite a hunger for the ephemeral, the worthless and impractical, could act with swift decisiveness and cunning when it was in his interest to do so. Indeed, only then. It was this queer blend that attracted, or let us say, excited Hepzibah. His dual nature made the loan--yes, he was right--something in the nature of a gamble. It was exciting that he was not so boringly predictable as her other clients had all proved to be.

"Are there geese at Choir Castle?" she asked.

"Geese? Yes. And chickens, and ducks, and goats. They wander through the dining hall, which resembles nothing so much as a station platform nowadays, with no furniture and the roof in tatters."

She signalled for the hotel servant, who came and took away the strongbox.

"I must go," she said, holding out her hand.

He kissed it, enjoying the slight blush he thought he detected.

"In six month's time, then?" Hepzibah smiled.

"You shall receive an invitation long before then," he promised. "But you people are not permitted to enter the Abbey, are you?"

Alone, Choir had the waiter bring him another drink. He was so giddy with excitement at being once again in funds he knew it was best to sit, not run off wildly and start buying whatever came to eye. Be sensible, part of him warned. But he knew he would not feel fully alive until he had made his first extravagant purchase. The silk smoking jackets of the rue Dalier beckoned. A locket rested on the table. Yes, she had taken it off when extracting the key. He picked it up and looked for Madame Schlierbeck, but she was already gone. I shall pass it on to Hardheart, he thought, who shall return it along with the loan once I am able to sell off the Shepperton estate. The ludicrous image of Hepzibah tossing grain to the assorted livestock of Choir Castle made him shake his head. What was the world coming to?

In Rome, the Duchess Middleton was entertaining similar thoughts. There are Jews everywhere, she scowled, mistaking the Holy Father himself (perhaps because of the office's tiny white skullcap) for his illustrious predecessor. A contingent of Swiss Guards nearly ran her down. The Eternal City was a dangerous place. She would never have come here at all, certainly not in October, had it not been a question of duty. The Duchess was very conscious of her role as matriarch of the Bourneville clan. It gave her actions meaning. She was a representative, a dignitary, even if these greasy heathens refused to acknowledge the fact. Of course the only way to get respect from foreigners is to wave a piece of gaudy play money under their rather pronounced noses, she told herself. But, here incognito, she suffered the outrages of the solitary traveller in silence. Anything for family. The via del Corso gave onto a more crowded street. To escape, or rather to more fully enter the heat, families dined out on the roadway itself, wax-spattered bottles sporting candles whose flames shone feebly in the still-bright dusk. Horses, used, apparently, to fettucine on cobblestone, picked their way around the various repasts, their great tongues lolling, drool pooling in soft corners of elongate jaws. I am in Hell itself, she fantasized, which I would gladly traverse with the family scutcheon held high, and ferry it unsullied to the opposite shore. But there was the contrasting, nagging notion that she was only wading deeper into a morass, not simply meddling, but having taken an actual wrong turn in the real world. She was too timid to consult the map the owner of her pensione had scrawled on the torn page of a French novel. Walking towards my doom! she thrilled, seeing a boy with no shirt, thin, and with just the start of manhood about him, advance on her with a glass of red champagne.

"I have no money," she said, thinking he meant to sell her refreshment. This stark admission she would have never made in London, where it was simply assumed any Bourneville was rich. So Italy, even to those not seeking it, encourages visitors to cleanse themselves with simple truths. In fact "airs" were mostly what the Duchess lived on.

But the child insisted, holding forth the goblet, which was heavy cut glass, not all what one served sparkling wine in, so that the round surface fizzed like a lake situated in a volcano's crater.

"No!" she cried again. The boy had an idiot's wolf-like smile.

"Lambrusco!" someone called.

Surely being summoned by name would make him break off. But he only motioned again, exaggerated his already outstretched offer, causing the wine to slop and spill towards her, one red drop catching the late Roman sun.

"Signora." A man had gotten up and was lumbering over. "It is Lambrusco, a wine of celebration. My boy asks you to drink to our daughter's health."

"Oh." She saw now the wedding party, charmingly grouped before one of the subsiding tenements.

"It is custom," the man went on, taking the glass from the boy and handing it to her. "A stranger gives her blessing."

"I will indeed." She felt the bubbles bite her lip.

"Miranda." The father pointed out each member of the multitude. "Her husband, Sergio. Sergio's mother, Alma..." And on it went. The Duchess nodded at each in turn, with a vague smile she hoped conveyed her lofty beneficence. "And two of your own countrymen who live here in the quartiere."

She had by now unconsciously drunk half the glass and felt less a sense of violation at the man's sweaty, garlicky presence. But seeing the very people she had come in search of, seated comfortably among the other celebrants, the Duchess stiffened, took a deep breath, much as an actress does before stepping out from the wings, and advanced on the unsuspecting pair.

"What did you ever do with my macaw?" Bradley Ghoulrich was asking.

"He was very good with parsley sauce," Lutwidge Finch recalled.

"Tell me you are joking."

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