Crafting and booster shot updates! - little crochet airplane is finished, baby blanket is washed, checked for loose threads, and ready to go!  - my dad and I got the booster shot on Friday, and my brother held off so that there’d be at least one functional person in the house this weekend. He’s going to get his booster shot sometime this week, and will take the blanket and airplane to the lady at the pharmacy for me when he does - I ironed the fabric for my next quilt, which will be a quilt to donate - I did not expect to get much crafting done this weekend, and I didn’t, but taking extra meds (mostly benadryl) helped me SO MUCH with the booster side effects. Turns out like 95% of the side effects I had after previous vaccines were not vaccine side effects, they were side effects from being injected with something I am allergic to*. I didn’t have low blood pressure problems! I didn’t almost pass out!! I did spend most of the weekend resting but oh my gosh the improvement is almost unbelievable. My blood pressure was so low for so long last time, even after a *triple dose* of my usual meds that raise my blood pressure, that if it weren’t for covid I probably would have been at an urgent care to get an IV of fluids. *I’m allergic to vinegar, and there’s acetic acid in the vaccine**. Vinegar is basically acetic acid plus water **please do not take this as medical advice of any kind, or as an example of getting medication you know you’re allergic to working out well. When the ads about medications say “do not take if you are allergic to any part of this medication”, they mean it. Talk to your doctor first. It is very, very important. 

We had a freak emergency yesterday.

The urgent care doctor put me on antibiotics and steroids for my lung infection and told me if I suddenly get worse and have a high fever then I need to come back for help and that’s exactly what happened. (unfortunately Urgent Care was closed so we had to go to the ER instead)

I was doing ok all day and then all of a sudden I started to tank. All of my muscles were very sore and started to spasm a little. I was in a lot of pain and just didn’t feel good at all. Hubbins was in class, but I felt it was important enough to keep him updated. When this health crisis started I didn’t have a fever. Half an hour later I measured 107.2

I immediately called Hubbins and told him it was an emergency. It would take him another half hour to get home, so I did everything I could for myself. I’ve seen a healthy person have a 105° fever and it caused them to hallucinate, so I wasn’t confident in my abilities to think properly during this episode. That’s why I decided to crate Mandana and have Hubbins take me to the ER.

I took a high (but safe) dose of Ibuprofen and strapped my ice packs to my torso. I packed up my meds and monitored my heart rate, blood pressure and fever. Everything was way too high. I didn’t know it at the time but I think my high fever threw off the calibration of the thermometer. I’m confident I did have a high fever at some point but after it reached 107 it didn’t wouldn’t measure anything lower than that, even when I tested it on Hubbins.

It was an hour after the crisis started that I finally made it to the emergency room. They took blood samples, X-rayed my chest and hooked me up to an IV. By that point everything was starting to level out except for the heart rate and blood pressure but I was stable and able to be discharged a couple hours later.

I’m not sure exactly what happened. I felt like I was having a crisis and I’m confident we did everything right. I think the funky thermometer put a lot of doubts in the minds of the ER staff, but I use it every day and have never had issues with it. It measured normal just 30 minutes before and I felt like I was having a high fever when it measured high. I didn’t drop it or anything but I think going that high must have just ruined it because it ended up going all the way to 109 which is clearly not possible (and of course didn’t match the ER thermometer). After so many bad experiences with doctors, I hate it when things like this happen. The last thing I need is for my closest ER to think I’m crazy.

(Hubbins & Mandana cuddling. We didn’t get home till midnight. He missed his class & had to go to work early the next day. Insurance will only cover half of the ER visit, so that stinks too)

Mandana was a very good girl through all this. She was concerned of course but was ok being left behind in her room. She was happy to see me when I got back and was extra gentle. Today she just relaxed & let me set the pace which was really nice. When I finally started feeling better, I made sure to play some enrichment games. I even gave her a container of shaved ice with treats hidden inside to play with.

I’m going to share a bit of my breast reduction surgery experience since I couldn’t find a lot of info about people that went through it while being chronically ill! Feel free to reach out and ask questions if there’s anything I didn’t cover below ❤️ 

Here’s a bit about prep and the first few weeks of post-op recovery (tw for mentions of throwing up, needles, blood, and general surgery talk):

Prep:

I was scheduled for surgery on a Monday and got a call from one of my surgeon’s nurses on Friday (since they close over the weekend) to go over prep. I was allowed to eat until 4:30 AM the morning of my surgery since I wasn’t scheduled until 12:30PM, but ended up letting dinner be my last meal. I asked the nurse if I should take my usual meds before surgery (Xeljanz, tirosint (levothyroxine) and she said no. HOWEVER, when I mentioned that I take corlanor and explained what it does (keeps my heart rate normal instead of spiking to 200) she decided I should absolutely take it with a sip of water the morning of. Make sure to go down the list, ask EXPLICITLY about your medications and explain why you may have hesitancies about not taking them. Sometimes nurses just... don’t know what drugs do what- especially if you go through a surgeon’s practice and not a hospital- and that’s okay! The more thorough you can be the better you can make sure your experience is.

Day of (before the surgery):

I ended up getting called in early since my surgeon’s schedule seemed to be opening up (good thing I didn’t eat wicked late like they said I could!). I was taken back almost immediately. I was asked to pee in a cup for last minute testing (pregnancy tests smh 🙄) and given what was basically tylenol to take while I waited for the anesthesiologist. 

The team was very quick to hook up my i.v. (one poke in my hand! that’s a new record honestly) and shortly after the surgeon came in with a student to make guide marks with a pen- we also discussed my goals one last time to make sure we were on the same page about size. I was walked over to the surgical table, situated myself, and got about 5 words in before I knocked out for good!

While I was briefed about the possibility of having drains inserted there was a good chance I would be sent home without them. I personally didn’t need them but you might- and your nurses and surgeon will go into great detail to tell you how to care for them and when you should be able to remove them!

Day of (after the surgery):

This is where it gets the most hazy for me. I know I was kept in the facility for an hour after the surgery but don’t remember any of it. I don’t remember the nurse helping me get dressed, or wheeling me outside. I do remember throwing up quite violently and not being able to figure out where the vomit bag was or how to keep it in front of my face. I do remember the heat really getting to me and thinking I wouldn’t feel so sick if I were inside and cooled. If you have a home with stairs or live in an apartment I highly recommend you DON’T CLIMB STAIRS. Maybe arrange to stay with a friend or at a hotel if you can, or stay on the first floor of your home. Even with 2 people helping me I stumbled almost drunkenly, while vomiting, just praying I could get to my recliner before I passed back out again. It was terrifying and I definitely didn’t have the strength to deal with it- I’m lucky I didn’t crack my head on the concrete stairs outside or fall flat on my chest.

I vaguely remember being fed ice chips (highly suggest having ice ready, as well as popsicles and ice cream) and sleeping a lot. Once I was awake, we discovered I couldn’t take the pain meds I was given due to allergies. I ended up taking extra strength tylenol at normal doses and though I was uncomfortable, I made it by just fine. The pain levels are pretty exhausting but I think the worst part is that it’s consistently achey and feels tight- like your breasts are way too high on your chest. I was allowed to use ice packs for 20 minutes at a time but my cousin who recently had the same procedure was told to completely avoid it. As with most things listen to your surgeon and their specific instructions for YOU and your body- there’s usually a reason.

Post-op (1 day after):

This seemed quick to me, but the day after my surgery I went back to see my surgeon. He removed the surgical bra I was sent home with and I IMMEDIATELY got nauseous and gagged a lot- but once I had ice packs and a cool drink I felt alright. There’s a lot of bruising and swelling the first week so your tits look pretty gnarly. If you have any signs of infection you’ll be put on antibiotics, but luckily for me I seemed to be healing just fine. The back relief and lack of weight is amazingly immediate though! I could already feel miles and miles better. 

I was told that I could shower the next day (wed) and to be careful about it. I fully recommend taking it SUPER slow. The release of pressure when removing the surgical bra really takes it out of you. I was able to shower for maybe 5 minutes before I had to tap out and vomit some more. It felt amazing to get clean though. 

Recovery:

I tried to get back to work (I’m still remote so this would’ve just been sitting up and being on my computer) 2 days after but couldn’t handle sitting up like that. By Friday (the 4th day) I was much better. I wasn’t nauseous anymore and could sit up and work, pay attention better to the tv/games, and just all around felt more aware and in less pain. 

At my 1 week post op I didn’t feel sick when removing the bra and was told I could start wearing zip front sports bras. I could start to lift my arms pretty well and now (at 3 weeks post op) I’m able to lift my arms above my head without any pain or weakness. The 2 week mark is when I’d say I noticed the most leakage from my wounds. While I didn’t tear anything (which is totally normal, just make sure to reach out if it seems excessive!) my bandages did have a bit of blood and fluid, mostly around the under-boob.

My wounds are already fading so well and since most of the wounds are closed up I’m not really leaking anymore. The only pains I have are the occasional ache and a shooting pain you’ll feel in your nipples every now and again, which is good because nerves are reconnecting but really sucks for about half a second. 

Having multiple chronic illnesses I think it took me a little longer to get to a place where I felt comfortable resuming tasks. I’m definitely still a little more weak than usual and can’t push myself as far as I usually do. I’ll try to add more info as I remember it and share any questions that come my way!

Overall I’m super happy with the results and the few days of throwing up (which is my personal hell tbh I can stand a lot but vomit is the last of it) were worth it looking back.

Finding a good endocrinologist is one of the best things you will do for your thyroid health.

Searching for an endo (Endocrinologist)…

After my thyroid surgery, I was automatically referred to an endo by my medical insurance. The doctor was in Scottsdale, Arizona while I was located way out in West Phoenix. For my health absolutely it was worth driving the 40 miles each way to visit him, but with the pandemic and all the issues happening in 2020, I found it would be better to find one closer to me.

I did my research, I googled the best endocrinologists in Goodyear, Arizona or 15 miles from here, I looked at their Google reviews, I went onto my health insurance website and looked at reviews on there, I looked at the doctor’s website, checked out the endo and how long they had been caring for patients with thyroid issues and especially patients who had just had a thyroidectomy and would need lifetime care.

I didn’t know what I was doing. Hell, I didn’t get much of an explanation about what this would mean to me for the rest of my life. I needed someone who really cared about the future of their patients. This entire process has been very enlightening, like getting hit with a bat in the face and seeing stars. I finally understood that it is not up to the surgeon or the endo to tell you how something is going to affect the rest of your life, you have to find out for yourself. The information you receive about how you should take care of yourself and what’s coming next is about 1/3rd of the information you actually need. Use the power of the internet, find like-minded people, join support groups, and ask questions, so many questions. That’s the only way you will make yourself feel better. 

Finding an endo….

So after a lot of research, I found the endo that I was certain was going to help me get through the first stages of my life without a thyroid in the best way possible. This endo has 5-star reviews, people just praising the way she changed lives and helped them through their situations. So I booked my appointment. I had my little journal ready to write down notes, I had questions I was ready to ask because I didn’t know what I needed to do to lose weight and that was forefront on my mind at the time. This was before I felt like shit, I still had hope I was always going to feel even half the amount of energy I still felt so I was genuinely naive about the whole thing.

The day of my appointment comes and I leave work early so that I can drive straight to the endo’s office and get there a little early to fill out paperwork.  I get there and I notice the building is nice and I can tell this office has good visitation so that makes me feel even better about my choice to come here. Everyone looked happy and they were smiling, so I kept telling myself this is it. Only… I just didn’t feel right. I kept telling myself I was overthinking things which I always have the bad habit of doing so I shut off the voice in my head and waited until my name was called for my turn to be seen. 

What the hell kind of endo is this??

After getting my blood pressure checked and being told that my heart rate was at 125bpm and waiting 10 more minutes, in walks a tiny lady who would be my new endo. The endo has a foreign accent and talks very fast so from the get-go I was having trouble understanding her. For privacy, I will call her Dr. Hollis. Dr. Hollis tells me about my blood tests and I know this because she is showing me the physical tests on her laptop although I can’t understand what she’s saying, I don’t know what any of it means, and she’s not slowing down to explain it either. 

Then she stops and starts scrolling through my chart and I see her eyebrow perk up and she looks at me and says “you had thyroid cancer, why aren’t you taking care of yourself, your blood tests are unacceptable!” Holy Shit I almost had a meltdown in that room. It took everything in me not to get up and flip her off and walk out of that room. 

I answered pissed off and if I could have chopped off her head with my eyes I would have. “I am here because I don’t know anything about my condition, and as my endocrinologist, you are here to help me figure this out right?” Wow, talk about a match made in patient/doctor relationship heaven.  That conversation set the tone for a year of care from her. In that year, I saw her 6 times. She had my thyroid medication Synthroid dose at 175mcg, and to counter the heart rate I was on 25mg of Atenolol. She would not lower my dose of Synthroid because all she would tell me was that the “cancer would come back” if my dose was lowered.

When I can no longer ignore my negative relationship with my doctor…

In October of 2019, I met with the endo to review my latest set of blood tests and she gave me the grim news that it looked like cancer had returned. Can you imagine the horror I felt when she said that to me? My blood tests were showing something in my blood so I was probably going to go through radiation again and if that didn’t work I was going to have to have neck surgery and remove any lymph nodes left and any tissue that may be lingering in my thyroid bed. I mean it was just that cut and dry. Again, when I would ask her to explain things to me it would take extra dedication from me to sit and listen intently and ask extra questions about what I THINK she was telling me because she was hard to understand. She told me I would need to do another Radioactive Iodine Uptake Test and depending on the results I would need to do radiation. I stopped her before she could say anything else, I said no. 

I told her I would not be doing any more radiation. I was done drinking poison only to feel worse. This was the good cancer it wasn’t supposed to ever make an appearance again. And here I am getting ready for round two. Nope. I was going to do things my way and I would come back to get the MRI in three months. She looked at me and said “ok”. So just OK. An endo who doesn’t try to tell you about why it would be dangerous not to do treatment and go nomad may not have your best interests in mind. Also, a doctor who pushes you to do a certain treatment and does not try to listen to the options you think might work may also not have your best interest in mind. Keep that in the back of your head when being “ordered” to do something. 

My family was worried about me. They were worried that I had said no to radiation, but they were also worried if I did do it. They were stuck as I was stuck about this whole thing but I deserved a chance to try something else. I tried a holistic approach and dedicated the next 3 months to meditation and cleansing my body of toxins.  I scheduled the MRI after 3 months and it came back cancer-free. No cancer cells showed up. It is February of 2021 and to this day I have not had to do radiation again and I hope to keep that going. 

After that, I switched to another endo. When she told me that there was a great possibility that I would have to do radiation again, everything about her energy gave me NO HOPE. NONE AT ALL. I don’t need anyone like that in my life and none of you do either. I removed her negativity and surrounded myself with the help and love of those who believed in me. If your endo isn’t someone you can count on, I hope you have a way of finding one who is a blessing and not a burden to you.  

Finding an endo that cares enough to stop me from giving myself a heart attack…

Again I looked for a year for an endo. My thyroid medications had refills so I wasn’t worried about getting those, but I knew it was probably time to get my blood checked again. I needed to make up my mind about an endo. I had found one that I was feeling good about, but after this nightmare experience, I was afraid of what I was going to walk into. 

When I finally met my new endo, he was the complete opposite of what I had experienced. He took his time to answer my questions and took blood tests on the spot. I have a confession to make, because I was never able to get any help with the chronic fatigue I was experiencing, I started taking Armour thyroid along with my Synthroid. I did this all on my own out of desperation and didn’t think that I was probably killing myself. I told my new endo this and he was naturally alarmed. I had lost a great amount of weight, I couldn’t sleep at all, I was shaky all the time but the worst part was my heart. I was putting myself at risk of heart failure and I didn’t even know it. I felt really stupid. 

He has helped me realize the importance of my situation, and I no longer take any medication without a prescription from him first. Finding this endo has helped me understand why my dose needed to be lowered and how keeping me at such a high dose was putting me at risk of death already. I am not 100% better but I do feel a lot better now. It’s a work in progress but now I have hope where before I didn’t. The doctor also explained to me that my situation with cancer is not one that will just disappear which was how it was explained to me before. I will always need to find ways to keep it at bay… that is my realistic future and that’s the type of honesty that your medical providers need to give you. Everyone is different and no situation is the same so although I don’t doubt my previous endo was and is great for her patients now, she was not the one for me. 

Your endo is very important to your well being. The endocrinologist has the power to stunt your progress or make it grow by leaps and bounds so ask questions freely and openly, let him/her know how serious you are about your personal situation and that you want to be actively involved in getting better. 

Find an endocrinologist in your area: 

AACE - Find an Endocrinologist Near You

Find an Endocrinologist

Christmas in the Clouds

(requested by anonymous, who thought this would be cursed...HAH I say. HAH.)

It was Christmas morning, and like most of their employees, the Doctor wasn’t going into work today; they’d polished off most of their work the day before in a Christmas Eve crunch that would make any exec jealous, and now it was time for some serious R&R. They pulled out their trusty rolling paper, tossed in some of their favorite blend of grass, and smiled as they settled into their smoking chair, ready for a comfy evening in their house, just them and the THC.

It was an open secret the Doctor had started smoking marijuana some time after returning to Rhodes Island from their comatose exile in Chernobog; Perfumer, after several sessions with them, had determined they were entirely too anxious to keep up their current pace and not hurt or even kill themselves with a blood pressure spike, so she’d put together a blend of medicinal herbs - including marijuana, yes - to calm them down and prescribed it under the pseudonym “Smoke Balm,” which she got approved through Aak to minimize the number of questions asked by medical personnel. The best part, in the Doctor’s mind, was how easy it was to get more; Lena and Podenco grew the individual ingredients for a variety of other blends for other Operators, and they were more than willing to top the stash off whenever their boss asked them to, which meant the Doc essentially had a year-round season pass to Zootsville whenever they felt like. It was heavenly.

That morning, however, wasn’t the best to start high off their ass, as the knock on their door signaled. They stood up, albeit a bit shakily, set their joint on a silver tray on their chair arm, and answered the door to find...Lena? “Good morning, Doctor...Did you forget about the Christmas party?”

“The what?” They blinked. “We have one of those?”

“Dr. Kal’tsit sent the invite out two weeks ago. Did you not get one?”

They thought for a minute, but there wasn’t really any hope of them remembering at this point - that blend did good work, fast. “Uh...”

“Regardless, I was hoping you and I could go together.” She smiled. “Especially since it seems you’ll need someone watching you tonight, as I imagine you’ll be taking your afternoon dose as well.”

“Yeah...sorry, I didn’t know.” The Doctor wasn’t sure why they were blushing. Maybe from the heat from holding the smoldering herbs to their face?

Perfumer pat them on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Doctor. Next time I plan on asking you on a date, I’ll do it earlier. See you tonight~”

“Yeah, I’ll see you tonight.” She left, and a few minutes after they sat back down, it clicked what had just happened. Maybe they shouldn’t smoke the second one today…

About ten hours and three joints later, the Doctor was going on a vision quest in the main hall as Lena led them around, arm in arm. The lights shone brighter, the music sounded more in-tune, and the Vulpo on their arm looked absolutely stunning, but in spite of all of that, there was a gnawing pit in their stomach that something wasn’t right...or maybe they were just hungry.

“The kitchen staff aren’t serving dinner until later tonight,” Perfumer explained as they walked to the snack table, “but this should be enough to tide you over for now. I’m going to get us some punch, okay? Stay by the brownies until I come back.”

“Okay.” They waved to her as she went off, which was apparently enough to earn a blush, before turning to the brownie plate and picking it up off the table.

Aak arrived around three brownies later, looking oddly dapper in his party get-up. “Hey, dude. Man, you look wasted; how many puffs did you take before you got here?”

“...Uh...” Were they supposed to answer with a number?

“Ah, whatever; I won’t stop ya from having fun.” He winked at them. “Waitin’ for my date, too. Can I get one of those?”

The Doctor looked at the brownies, frowned, and handed them the plate. “There you go.”

“Thanks, man.” The Feline took two and handed back the plate.

“Hey...” They counted the number in his hand. “That’s not one.”

Aak laughed. “I rounded down, man, don’t worry ‘bout it. Guess you got nervous about your speech, huh?”

“...Speech?”

“Yeah! You’re the boss, after all.” He laughed at the expression on the Doctor’s face, but after a moment he realized he wasn’t joking, and the Feline suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for the poor bastard. “Shit, man, they didn’t tell you anything, huh?”

They shook their head. “I didn’t even know we had a party today.”

“No wonder you’re so out of it. Well, you’ll do fine, so don’t think about it too much.”

At that point, Warfarin arrived; if looks could kill, she’d’ve slain most of the room by now in that scarlet dress of hers. “Good evening, Doctor. Aak, you’re not bothering them too much, are you?”

“No more than a nibble on their neck would.” He grinned as she thumbed him in the center of his forehead. “Gotta go, my guy, but good luck tonight!”

“Yeah, man...You, too.” The Feline steered his Sarkaz date away from the Doctor, who suddenly had a real concern on their plate. What kind of speech was it supposed to be? And how do you give a speech when you can’t remember the sentence that came before the one you were saying just then after you said a sentence and forgot about the other one?...Wait, hadn’t they already thought that?

Perfumer returned with two tall plastic cups and handed them one. “There you go, darling...Is everything okay? You’re sweating now.”

“Aak said I have to give a speech tonight.” They gulped down the punch. “I’m not ready.”

“Ah, yes, the speech. I wrote one for you this afternoon.” She reached around the back of her dress and pulled out a set of note cards.

The Doctor set their empty cup on the table and hugged her. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Lena’s face was now a Christmas light in and of itself. “I also spiked your punch.”

“Wait, what?” They let her go.

The Vulpo smiled back at them. “It’s a counter-dose for the Smoke Balm in your system. It’ll take some time to take effect, but by the time you need to make your speech, you should have all your faculties back.”

“Wow...You’re amazing.” That overloaded her systems, but the Doctor couldn’t tell in their current state. “Hey, is there somewhere I could sit? I’m kinda dizzy.”

“Ah, yes, the side effects...Coming down so quickly might fatigue your body extra. Let’s find somewhere to wait for the antidote to kick in.” She took their arm again, blushing more than she had in her life, and led them to a circle of chairs that, at first, was completely unoccupied.

Once people saw the pair sit down, however, they began to fill in around them; Podenco sat next to Perfumer, which meant Myrrh and a few others from the garden crew did as well, while Gravel took the seat next to the Doctor with a wide smile on her face. “Good evening, Doctor. How’re things?”

“Things? Things are good.” Lena was distracted right then, but that probably wasn’t a big deal. “How’re your things?”

“Good. I’d like to show you something, if you’re not busy~”

They shook their head. “Not really, but I gotta sit for a bit.”

“Oh? That’s fine.” The Zalak pulled a piece of mistletoe from somewhere and dangled it between them. “Here is just fine~”

“...I don’t get it.”

She giggled. “You don’t know? When two people are under mistletoe together, they have to kiss. It’s the law.”

“It is?” The Doctor looked over to Perfumer. “Hey, Lena? Is it a rule that people under mistletoe have to kiss?”

“Hmm? Why are you-” The Vulpo looked over, saw Gravel attempting to steal their date, and glared at her.

The Zalak cocked her head. “Is the Doctor with you tonight?”

“Yes, they are.” She held out a hand to the Doctor. “We’re on a date.”

“Is that true, Doctor?” The knight turned back to her mark-

-who’d plucked the mistletoe from her hand and was now eating it. “Piney.”

“...Doctor?” Perfumer giggled. “Well, I suppose you’re not under it anymore.”

“Huh? Oh, right.” They kissed Gravel’s forehead, which left her steaming in her chair.

Lena blinked. “I...hmm.”

“What?” The Doctor did the same to her. “Now I’m the mistletoe.”

“I...I suppose you are, but...why are you kissing everyone’s forehead?”

They shook their head. “Not everyone. Only if they’re shorter than me.”

“...Okay, then.” She stood up, letting go of their hand. “I need to use the restroom. Stay here until I get back, okay?”

“Okay.” As they walked off, the Doctor could feel the high wearing off as everything turned a little more grey, a little more quiet...or was that because their eyes were closing?

A few hours later, the Doctor woke up, still in the corner, with no one anywhere near him. They glanced around, confused. “Wait, wasn’t...wasn’t there a party?”

“There was.” Perfumer walked in from off to the side. “You slept through the rest of it. No one asked you for a speech after all - apparently Amiya does those now. Are you ready to go home?”

“...I’m sorry.” They really were.

She shook her head. “I should be apologizing, Doctor; I didn’t realize the antidote had a side effect-”

“I shouldn’t have had four Balms in the first place.” They sighed. “I’m a terrible date, and a worse person for making you drag me around like that.”

“Doctor, you didn’t make me do that. I wanted to.”

The Doctor looked up at her. “You did?”

“Of course.” Lena smiled at him, although it was a little shaky. “You’re my patient, after all.”

“You know you’re more than that to me, though, right?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“...You’re sure?” They stood up, holding out a hand. “You don’t seem confident in that.”

“I...the mistletoe stunt hurt, but I knew better.” She didn’t take their hand.

So they took hers. “Lena-”

“It’s fine.” The Vulpo’s eyes fell to the floor. “We aren’t actually a couple, so I-”

“Lena, look at me. Please.”

Perfumer looked up - and sprouting from the Doctor’s head was a sprig of mistletoe. “...Huh?”

“I don’t need this to kiss you.” They snapped it off their head and threw it behind them, into a smoldering fireplace which flared dramatically as the plant made contact. “I want to do that anyway.”

“Oh, Doctor~” She leapt into their arms to accept their kiss-

-and punched their arm to wake them up. “Doctor? You fell asleep.”

“...Did I?” They groggily looked around. The party was still going on, but it did feel like it was winding down. “Sorry. I think the Balm’s wearing off.”

“That’s good.” She was apparently cross with them in real life as well as in their dreams. Reality is often disappointing like that.

The Doctor turned to Lena. “Did something happen with mistletoe earlier?”

“...Nothing important.” The Vulpo looked back at them, completely neutral, as she stood up. “Dr. Kal’tsit said your speech is in ten minutes. I’ll take you to where you’ll be giving it.”

“Thank you...I’m sorry.” They followed suit.

She shrugged. “Sorry for what?”

“For making you work on Christmas Day.” That earned them a curious work. “And on our date, too.”

“It’s not work,” Lena protested.

The Doctor took her hand. “It hasn’t been a date, either...I’ll make it up to you.”

“That’s okay, you don’t have to.” Perfumer looked off to the side before they started walking. “I knew what I was asking for.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, please be seated. The Doctor’s closing message is about to begin.” Dr. Kal’tsit said as she saw their HR head and primary tactician approach the raised platform she’d had set up for the night’s festivities.

The Vulpo patted the pocket where she’d put the speech cards. “Just read that and you should be fine. I’ll be sitting in the crowd with everyone else.”

“Okay.” They took a deep breath, and suddenly the world was brighter again. “Wait, what the-”

“Doctor, would you please come up to the microphone?” The green-haired Feline surrounded by knives - wait, knives? - called to them.

They walked up the mile-long staircase to the mike and looked out into the sea of blood and ashes- looked out into the audience, including Lena, who flashed them a thumbs-up. The Doctor cleared their throat, took a deep breath, and began to read.

“As the end of the first calendar year since my return comes to an end, I look at what we’ve accomplished as a company, and I couldn’t be more proud of each and every one of you. I know that even before my return, you were hard at work, and you set a strong foundation for me to capitalize on, which I can’t thank you enough for. Since then, we’ve created a strong working partnership with Lungmen, initiated trade deals with multiple city-states, repelled Reunion forces from several locations and secured trade routes, stopped a volcano - a fricken volcano! - from erupting and burying a city, prevented a hostile takeover of Lungmen by the Rat King and his forces, and fought injustice and prejudice at every turn. It’s impossible for me to thank each and every one of you for your contributions, but as this year ends and another one begins, I hope to at least be able to return the effort and good faith you’ve given me and this company with my own.”

Applause...and then an awkward pause as the Doctor stood there, contemplating their next action before continuing.

“Truth be told, my own investment has been...lacking, I feel. Shortly after returning, I developed a chemical dependency which very nearly jeopardized this evening.”

Murmurs from the crowd.

“Going forward, I promise I will be fully present and engaged for gatherings such as these, as I refuse to repeat this sort of mistake...and to my date for the evening, I’d like to apologize with every fiber of my being. Let’s grab a burger or something tomorrow. My treat.”

Louder murmuring, which instantly fell silent when Lena called out “Sure!” from the back of the audience.

“Alright, now I’m done.” They chuckled. “Have a good night, everyone. Try to not get caught under the mistletoe at the wrong time, okay?”

A few people in the know broke out into laughs as the rest awkwardly applauded; Kal’tsit returned to the stage and announced the party was over, and as quickly as they’d taken their seats, the crowd scattered.

Except, that is, for Lena and the Doctor, who took their time walking arm-in-arm to her apartment. “You didn’t need to do that, Doctor; I knew you didn’t intend for the evening to go the way it did.”

“I want to be held accountable, so I decided to get the whole company involved. Besides, it was a convenient way of making sure we scheduled a second date.”

“Ah, clever.” The Vulpo giggled. “I would have agreed no matter how you asked, of course.”

They smiled back. “Of course...Well, we’re here. I should probably get some sleep now; I did a real number on my body today.”

“Oh, I’m sure...but are you sure you want to go all the way home to do that?” Perfumer didn’t let go of the Doctor’s arm as she swiped her keycard through her dorm’s card reader.

“Hmm...well,” the Doctor admitted, “I suppose I can stay for a little bit. Having a medical opinion of my condition would be nice.”

Lena nodded. “Oh, yes, I agree. I’ll be sure to give you a thorough examination.”

“...You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Gravel scared me with that mistletoe stunt,” she admitted, “and scent marking might not be as effective as I’d hoped. If you’d rather not-”

They spun around so they were holding Perfumer in the threshold, unlinking their arm so they could hug her instead. “I never said that. I’m just surprised you’re okay with moving so quickly.”

“You can never be too careful around Rhodes Island, Doctor, but you can be too cautious.” She hugged them close, gently leading them backwards into her apartment.

“True.” They pulled the door shut behind them once both were past the threshold. “Merry Christmas, Lena.”

Lena slid the Doctor’s mask aside with a finger and kissed them, eyes glittering in anticipation. “Merry Christmas, Doctor dearest~”

SEAL Team fic. Crush pt.2

A/N: This chapter picks up when Full Metal wakes up in the post-op ward.

Word count: 1022 Too many hours later, he had been carried out to the waiting chopper. This time on an actual stretcher which made the journey slightly less excruciating. The paramedics or whatever had given him more morphine, or fentanyl or something. He didn’t complain, he didn’t have to be able to protect himself, or ration his auto-injectors. After that, he didn’t remember much before he woke from surgery.

*          *          *

 He was relieved to see that some sort of shape continued where his leg was supposed to go. At least he hadn’t joined the ‘some-assembly-required’ squad yet. But he didn’t like that the pain was constant, even though he had just woken up, nor did he want to settle with the amount of pain he was experiencing.

He managed to get the attention of one of the post-op/ICU nurses.

“Hey there…” she smiled at him, “Anything I can help you with?”

“Can I get something for the pain?” any other circumstance and he would have played the tough-strong-SEALoperator card, maybe offer up a pick-up line, but the pain was close to breaking him. “Or am I maxed out?”

“You’re in pain?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, “Lots. Solid 8, at least.”

“I’ll go check.” The nurse nodded, “Just a moment.”

He nodded.

 *          *          *

 A few moments later, she came back with two syringes filled with clear liquid. One of them had a red cap on the end and a sticker taped on it. The other one had a white, shorter, cap.  “How does a dose of IV morphine sound?”

“All for it!”

The nurse offered up a gentle smile as she stepped closer and unscrewed one of the caps on the three-way valve. Then she took the cap off the syringe with white cap and twisted it on the valve.

“Just have to flush the line first.” she informed as she opened up the valve and started flushing the line, “Feel any pressure or pain when I do this?”

“No, just feels cold.”

“That’s okay.” The nurse nodded, “But your skin feels a little cold, do you freeze or are you staying warm enough?”

“Not much. Probably just the blood loss.”

She nodded, “Do you want me to find an extra blanket for you?”

“Could you?”

She nodded, “I’ll do that once I’m done with this.”

He nodded.

When about half of the saline inside the syringe was gone, she twisted the valve again and removed the saline syringe and placed it on the bedside table. Then she reached for the morphine syringe, twisted the red cap off and twisted it onto the port. Then she opened the valve and slowly started to push the morphine a little by little.

“So, Scott. It was a pretty impressive injury you came in with…”

He huffed a laugh, “Yeah. Apparently, I don’t do anything half-assed.”

“No, I wouldn’t say…” the nurse winked, “Can I ask how you managed it?”

“Haven’t had time to read up on me yet?”

“No.” she admitted, “Shift started five minutes ago. You managed to catch me before I even got over to the nurse’s station.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be…” She chuckled as she gave the plunger another little push before letting it rest a little, repeating the push and pause cycle every 15 to 30 seconds.  

He nodded a little, “Well, I’m a soldier. Had a close call with an RPG. And a concrete wall fell on my leg.”

“Ouch…”

He nodded, “Ouch is right. So, you’re not from around here. Your American is way too perfect for that.”

She chuckled, “No, but my parents are both from this area. Moved to the states before I was born, and I grew up in Colorado.��

“Colorado’s a nice place. What made you decide to move halfway across the world?”

“I moved here because I was guaranteed to get experience with trauma cases. I’ve been here for eleven years now, because this has just the right pace for me.”

“Must be a pretty high pace.”

She nodded, “I work both here in post op, and in the ER. So, it’s fast paced some of the time at least.”

He nodded.

“How’s your pain now?”

“Better.” he nodded, “Still not good, but I’m not about to break down because of it.”

“That’s good.” She smiled, “Scale from 1 to 10?”

“5…” he shrugged a little, “Can ignore it, but can’t really relax.”

“We’ll go for a couple more milligrams then.”

“Thank you.”

“Must’ve scared your team mates a bit, huh?”

He shrugged a bit, “Yeah, guess so…”

“So, are you looking forward to go home for a spell, or?”

He shook his head, “No. I’m too damaged for home-life. I need the action and adrenaline to function.”

“Like many other career military…”

“Hey, haven’t decided on making a career out of it yet…” he smirked.

“No?” she raised her eyebrows, “You’re not exactly fresh out of high school.”

“Just a bad joke which runs in my team.” He shrugged, “Many of us has been in for 15-20 years.”

She chuckled a bit, “So, about that pain…”

“Still notice it, but it’s okay.” He shrugged.

“Annoying?”

“A little.” He admitted, “Call it a 3 or something.”

She nodded, “Feel like you can relax?”

“Yeah. I don’t feel tense anymore.”

“That’s good.” She gave the plunger a little push, the last quarter of a milliliter up to the next whole number, “Think we’ll call this good, and then you just let me know if you need more?”

He nodded, “Thank you.”

“No problem.” She smiled back, as she twisted the valve shut, picked up the red cap and unscrewed the syringe of morphine, replaced the red cap, placed the syringe on the table and picked up the saline one to flush the line. She hooked it on, opened the valve, flushed the line, shut the valve, discarded the empty saline flush and put on a new cap on the three way valve. “I’ll go write the morphine into our charting program, you need anything you use the call cord, okay? And I’ll be by with that blanket in a couple of minutes.”

“Copy that.” He nodded.

In the Pines

All she wanted was her family.

Or: Myrina wakes up alone, and this is a Very Bad Thing.

(side note if you want an extra dose of sad, here’s a song that reminded me of Serella’s childhood after their parents died.)

The first feeling that Myrina was conscious of was her torso feeling as though it had been set on fire.

She had thought to open her eyes but they would not obey her— not even after feeling the odd jostle or shift of movement around her that reignited the agony that had slashed itself across her shoulders, her chest, her abdomen. That she was being moved by vehicle became clearer to her but by whom or to where yet eluded her.

As she mentally negotiated with her eyelids to cooperate, she tested the rest of her limbs. Slowly, painfully, she flexed her every finger, her toes, and though the pain that raced back from the tip of her every appendage to her core was agony, it was also a relief: she yet possessed control of her body. Her worst fears had not yet been realized.

“Hey— hey, I think she’s waking up.” Called a voice, quietly but near where she lie. Her lips parted, though her throat had long since dried, and all she could manage was a raspy sigh. “Easy, easy,” the voice said again— a man’s voice, soft and trying to be comforting. “You took a thrashing back there, but it’s alright, we’ve got you.”

There was a glow— like the early morning sun’s light passing through the bedroom window, and the nostalgic, soothing rush of healing magic splashed across her torso. A chirurgeon, she thought, rapidly becoming more alert.

“Where—” she wheezed, feeling as though her lungs might explode from the effort of speech.

“Shh, shh,” the chirurgeon tried to quiet her. “It’ll be alright, miss.”

“My husband—” Myrina fought the urge to clutch at her side, even as her arm jerked to do so when the pain flared again. “My children—”

Because she needed to know. Even if she ultimately succumbed to her wounds, if she knew her family had made it, it would be fine. The agony of uncertainty threatened to be her ultimate doom. Her heart hammered against her battered ribs and breathing hurt but she clung to consciousness, desperate to know.

“You were the only one we found alive, miss.” The voice reluctantly said. He laid a hand on her head. “I’m so sorry.”

Though the sobs that wracked her body hurt it was nothing to the heartache; she had failed them. She was their spear, their shield, their arbiter of the Fury meant to protect them from harm because she had to be. Because Hanvesh was too injured, and her little ones were yet too little, and she had sworn to herself that she would keep them all under her protection.

And she had lost them.

“Rest now, miss.” The chirurgeon murmured, and she felt something softly pull at the back of her mind. A sleep spell, her mind distantly remembered from her days as a Dragoon. Her resistance, while valiant, was weak, and she felt herself slip into slumber. “We can talk more when you are better.”

Myrina fell asleep praying she would never wake.

So when she opened her eyes sometime later, blinking back the light filtering in through the cloth canopy ahead of her, she added not dying to the list of her failures. She just wanted her family. She just wanted to go home.

The flames that had licked at her every nerve ending had abated somewhat; movement was still agonizing but she could shuffle about without threat of losing consciousness and breathing was no longer a strain on her constitution, and she could consider that progress, miniscule as it was.

Gaining her bearings, she realized that she was in the back of a caravan— by nothing short of divine providence, a travelling healer and his alchemist husband had been making a trek through the Twelveswood on their way down into Thanalan and had passed through where her village had lie in rubble. In speaking with the healer, he explained that he and his husband had searched for more survivors, but had only found her with a pulse.

She provided him, in breathless desperation, a description of her family, of her little Uthen with silver-blonde hair and bright gray eyes and her little Ella with mismatched eyes and dark hair, and of her beloved Hanvesh, he would have long hair carefully groomed into dreadlocks and eyes blue as the sea.

The chirurgeon told her that though he had indeed seen her husband amongst the dead, he had not seen children of her description at all. Speaking with the alchemist, he confirmed that he had only seen her husband, but that he had passed some time before they had arrived. And that had been enough. As she laid there in silent mourning of her beloved she already began to assess how long it would take for the wounds to close; a few hours, perhaps, and they would be mended enough that she could make the journey back to the village. She would bleed, to be sure, and agony was a guarantee but it was kinder than not knowing where her children were.

She left at dawn the next day.

Dissuasion fell of deaf ears as Myrina had simply limped away clutching a walking stick she had found near where the caravan had been parked. They were still in Gridania, on the road that led to Thanalan were she to travel south. She pushed north: she knew this path.

This was the same road that had led her and her sweet Hanvesh to their final adventure together, the same road that he too had limped along to find them a proper place to call home. This road, with its sluggish winding path was as familiar to her as her own heartbeat, and though it took more effort— and time— than she would have liked, she had managed to make it back to the ruins of her home by the time the afternoon sun hung high overhead.

“Halone have mercy on my little ones,” she whispered as she neared the edge of the village. “Guide them home to me. Don’t punish them for my sins. Not my babies.” She felt her throat tighten. “Was my husband not enough?”

She found her spear not far from where she had been flung before she had lost consciousness— still whole, miraculously. It felt heavy in her hand but still she clung to it, abandoning her walking stick to replace it with her favored weapon. Pressing on to the town square, her heart pounded painfully in her chest.

Though she was not near enough to see clearly, she could instantly tell which body was her husband.

He had died near the doorstep of their home, now in shambles and splinters and nothing but a distant memory of hearth and happiness. Lying on his back, his hand outstretched, as though he had been reaching for something at the last. She did not know whether it was better or worse that his eyes were not open. She knew even less what she was feeling other than overwhelming pressure threatening to crush her chest in.

Much as she might have wanted to sink down beside him and wait to join him, she continued her search of the area— anything that could point her in the direction of her children, some inkling as to where they had gone.

Myrina limped around neighbors, friends, loved ones that all lie where they had fallen, their bodies echoes of the horror that had been wrought upon them, unrecognizable from the trauma and blood. Shattered homes and the rubble they made littered the area, impeding her laborious search.

The devastation was too familiar for her to pretend to be fine, though too foreign enough to pretend this was Coerthas and the Dravanians had simply extracted another fine of lives and livelihood for the war effort. There was no fire, no smoke, no smell of burning flesh. Though death surrounded her all she could smell was the life of the forests around her, all she heard was birdsong. The Twelveswood got what it wanted in the end; even as she stood among the dead, the forest lived on with no trace of them or their loss. The wood did not care.

Myrina found nothing— it was as though they had vanished without a trace.

Just as she began to limp back to her husband’s body, her eyes spied a corpse she had not seen before: hiding in the remains of their house, there was a body of an adult she did not recognize, with an arrow protruding from their back.

Jarred from her anguish and fighting against the shock of hope that fueled her movements she made her way into the dilapidated home to more closely inspect the body. A miqo'te male lying face down on what had once been their living room floor— she recognized the leather armor he wore, even through the blood that had long since soaked it through: he had been of the Coeurlclaws.

Turning her eye to the arrow, she inspected the feathers for any significance to their color or their shape; perhaps it was a rival group, or a stray poacher’s arrow, or—

Myrina knew those feathers— Hanvesh had traded with a travelling clan Duskwight that moved through the Twelveswood. He had often commented to her that these arrows were of a particularly high quality, and he always readily traded some of his woodworking for a quiver full for hunting their game. The same Duskwight clan who had a little girl that liked to play with Serella and Uthengentle by the river often, whose family had become fairly close to theirs, insofar as their constant moving allowed them to be. They had come here? After the attack on the village, doubtless interrupting the Coeurlclaws from picking over the corpse of the village.

Now she had to try and divine whether the Coeurlclaws had gotten to her children and either took them or killed them...or whether the clan of Duskwight elezen had taken her babies in. That she did not find them among the dead was encouraging, but left too much unanswered for her to know. All this pain, all this anguish, and still she knew no more than she had before she came.

Her breathing ragged and her heart aching, she hobbled as well as her body allowed outside of the house’s remains. Scanning the forest surrounding the village and straining to hear anything other than the fauna around her she desperately searched for a sign that they were still in the area, that the Duskwight clan had simply taken her babies to safety and they were still close.

“Uthen!” She shouted. Her throat scratch and her body burned but she did not stop. “Ella!” She paused, straining to hear more than her echo and the rustle of the leaves. “Uthengentle!” She screamed. “Serella!” It felt as though her throat was being split open but still she screamed, “I’m here, little ones!”

The only answer she received was her own voice reverberating through the trees.

She continued to scream— her children’s names, screamed that she was there, that she needed to see them, that they were scaring her. She screamed and screamed and screamed until she collapsed beside her sweet, kind Hanvesh’s body. Then she screamed just to scream out her anguish. She sobbed into the earth that had dared to steal everything from them, she shrieked and shrieked and shrieked because her family had not deserved this. She howled because no, actually, the Twelveswood will not pretend her village did not exist. It did. And the wood robbed them of their life. She would remind them all day. She had nothing left to do.

Eventually, her voice left her, too, and she was left weeping beside her husband, her mind trying to figure out where to go after this around the sound of her heart breaking. For how could she find her babies? Who could she even ask- if they were alive, they were taken, and she had no real leads that the Wailers would be able to use- or even want to use, based on past experience. 

For all intents and purposes, she had lost her family all over again.

There was a hand on her back- soft, tentative. A voice speaking in her hear; the alchemist, the husband of the conjurer that had found her. 

“I’m so sorry for your loss, miss.” He said. “We...we had wanted to come back, before your recovery. We wanted to give these people a proper burial.”

“Thank you,” she rasped. “That means much.”

“We’ll still see that they’re laid to rest,” he reassured her. 

She nodded, not knowing what else she could say. In the distance, somewhere beyond the village’s main square, she heard the conjurer saying a blessing- he must have already buried some of her neighbors.

“Have you other family you can reach out to?” The alchemist asked. “We might help, if you do-”

“None,” she whispered. 

Even if her brother was still alive or Ser Alberic would even recognize her, she was still a dead woman in Ishgard. She had no business there any longer. Hadn’t for over a decade at that point. No sense in haunting them, ghost of her former self as she was.

“If you have nowhere to go- we were heading home,” he began to offer, “to Tailfeather. It’s in Dravania, but-”

Tailfeather. If she had even a fraction of her heart left, she would have laughed in bitter nostalgia. Of all the places that she might find a chance at rebuilding from the shambles of the life she lost, it would be Ishgard’s easily forgotten Dravanian outpost. If there was ever anywhere that was not beneath the boughs of the Twelve that a lancer might easily blend in, it would be there.

“I...have some hunting skill as a lancer,” she answered distantly. She could keep her name- ‘Arcbane,’ meant nothing in those parts, and no one would care to ask so long as she earned her keep. “If it would help your outpost, I would offer you my lance.” 

“Outpost-? You know of Tailfeather?” The alchemist asked, surprised. 

“In passing,” she said, her hazy mind offering an easy cover, one she hadn’t needed to use in some years, “I was an adventurer, before I settled down.”

“Ahh,” he gave a nod, but even still she could not lift her gaze from her husband’s shoulder; she could not bring herself to lift her gaze higher, to look at his vacant face in detail. She chose to know him only as he was when he was alive. “Let us take care of the burials, then, and we can be on our way.” 

Myrina wanted to insist that she be the one to bury Hanvesh. She wanted to be the one to take him to the tree they had picked out, to bury him beneath the boughs he chose for himself. She wanted to be the one to carry him, to lay him to rest with a kiss to his forehead and a tearful smile but she knew her wounds would only open and add to her agony.

“There was a place my husband wanted to be buried,” she said quietly instead, shame filling her that she had to ask another to do what should have been her duty by right. “The great oak tree behind our house...” she drifted, craning her neck as much as she could to look behind the remains of their home.

When the alchemist followed her gaze he gave her a nod. “I see it- ‘tis a fine tree, miss.” He carefully laid a hand over hers and implored her with his eyes, “we’ll be respectful, I promise.”

She had no choice but to believe him, though he was kind enough to help her pick flowers from Hanvesh’s garden and lay them over his eyes. Her last kindness to him. She kissed the flowers over his closed eyes and waited in heavy silence in the humid, still air of the caravan while they did what she could not.

They were...kind, these two. It took hours and there was no promise of a reward but the conjurer and alchemist laid to rest the half dozen villagers that had yet remained unburied. They had helped her walk to Hanvesh’s grave- exactly as he had wanted it- and let her say her goodbyes. They were kinder still as they offered her a spot in their caravan to take her to Tailfeather. 

Her life had always been a cyclical routine of times of suffering and times of plenty. Of having a family and losing it again- though this is only her third go around the cycle of loss, she felt as though she had lived longer than she had. Too long, but she couldn’t end it now. Now she had to live for her family. For all those she had lost. No one else could live for them now but she, after all.

And so she let the caravan take her away from the life she had build toward the shadow of the life she had left behind.

Undefeated - unforgiven series

Characters: Dick Grayson, Scarecrow, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, bits of others Summary: Dick lost them already, through his and Bruce’s own faults. He would not lose them here. He would never lose them again. A/N: Ending is trash, sorry. Pure adrenaline is why Dick’s injuries from the previous part aren’t bothering him. I love me a Dickie G who will straight up kill for his bros. I don’t know what this is. *thumbs up emoji*

Unforgiven series.

~~

It wasn’t hard to find Crane. Never was – like all of Batman’s foes, the guy loved to be in the spotlight. Especially when he thought he was being extra clever.

Besides, even for the bad doctor, it was always a warehouse. Always down by the docks, or the river. Never a high-rise. Never downtown. Hell, never even a damn hospital. Just some nasty ass warehouse that really could be demolished and not be missed.

Regardless, none of these facts eased the pain in Dick’s heart, even as he raced there. Because Crane still had his brothers. Crane had still hurt his brothers, and could very easily kill them if he so pleased, purposefully or accidentally. Could put a gun to their heads, or just overdose them both on untested fear toxin. Could do so easily, but the worst part – quickly.

And Dick could just as easily not make it in time, no matter how fast he could force his motorcycle to go.

Not to mention – Batman wasn’t helping. Batman was brooding, a voice in his ear saying they needed to go slow, make a plan. Bruce was hesitating and honestly, Dick could strangle him for that right now.

He’d let his brothers go before, and was still suffering the consequences of that. He wasn’t about to lose them again, with a potentially even worse outcome.

So he grabbed Bruce by the cape and dragged him to their vehicles. Ignored Bruce’s growls and orders. Ignored Barbara too. Kept his focus on one thing and one thing alone.

Because he would. Not. Lose. Them. Again.

So he revved his bike. Kept the lead, even as Bruce continued to air grievances behind him. Honestly, Bruce could stop right now and Dick wouldn’t care. He’d go in alone, if it came to that. Fight tooth and nail if he needed. Kill, if he had to.

He ignored the sudden wave of thugs as he reached the grid of warehouses. Let Bruce deal with them if he felt he needed to.

But he let the wave guide him. The more henchmen that appeared, the closer he clearly was. And when he spotted a light up ahead, he barely stopped his bike before jumping off and storming inside.

“Nightwing, wait for me.” Bruce demanded over the comms.

“No.” Dick spat back. And he didn’t.

The henchmen didn’t stop him in here. Just sneered and laughed, watching him go towards the main room. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything else.

He could see Scarecrow in the room, standing behind a table full of papers, though he wasn’t looking at them. Was staring at the other side of the room, a smirk playing across the wrinkles of his mask.

Dick held his breath as he approached, knowing what Scarecrow was looking at, but still hoping he was wrong.

He, of course, wasn’t. As he approached the doorway, he looked that direction himself and found exactly what he feared.

Tim and Damian were in the corner, clothes torn and covered in blood. Any exposed skin was cut or bruised, and Damian had a clear black eye. Damian was also clinging to Tim’s torso like his life depended on it.

Or maybe…like Tim’s depended on it.

Damian looked tired, sure, and completely beaten down. It was obvious none of their injuries had been taken care of in any way. But his eyes were still clear, full of fury and annoyance. Mentally, he was fine.

But…Tim.

He was trembling, breathing shallowly. Sweating. He had his arms around Damian’s shoulders in return and his fingers were twitching randomly into his skin, creating more scratches, drawing more blood. His eyelids were fluttering, pupils darting this way and that.

Obvious symptoms of a heavy dose of fear toxin.

“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” Scarecrow hummed. Dick didn’t look at him, watched Tim jerk and gasp and try to hold Damian even tighter, feet scrambling on the smooth floor. Damian just tried to hold him just as tightly back. Mutter something, trying to cut through the voices Tim was no doubt hearing. “Exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”

Dick grit his teeth and slowly looked Scarecrow’s way. “Let them go.”

Crane glanced at him. “Why should I?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll beat your face in.” Dick hissed, slowly pulling an escrima from his back, and taking a step towards Scarecrow. “I’ll do worse than beat your face in, actually.”

“Feeling guilty?” Scarecrow sneered. “Because you’re their hero and they tried to protect you?” A laugh. Giddy, like he was truly enjoying all of their pain. And Dick realized – he probably was. “They tried to do something nice, just like the heroes they admire, and ended up here. How funny.”

Dick took another step. “Let. Them. Go.”

“Ah, ah!” Crane sang. Held up a vial of a glowing green liquid. “One more step, Nightwing, and I dose the little one.”

Dick paused then. Glanced back to the corner. Damian was watching them now, eyes wide and angry. Tim was practically in the fetal position around him. Shivering and whimpering.

“And this is an even newer new strain.” Crane continued. Dick reluctantly looked away from Damian. “Haven’t even tested it yet. Made it just ten minutes ago. That young man will make the perfect first test subject, I think. A proper dose for someone of his size is about a third of this tube.” Crane grinned, shook the vial. “And I’ll happily give him the whole thing.”

“Don’t-” Dick lunged. Scarecrow just backed up, held the vial above his head. “Don’t you dare touch that kid…!”

Suddenly, Tim shrieked. Both Dick and Crane jumped and looked over to him, and found him already sobbing.

“No!” He yelled. “Not…please don’t take him too. I.” Damian began squirming, trying to cover Tim’s mouth. Even in his state, Tim was bigger, slightly stronger, and pulled away. “I’ve already lost my dad. My big brother. Please. Please don’t take Damian too. Please.”

Dick’s heart shattered. He didn’t know what Tim was seeing, or how sounds were being distorted in his mind, but it didn’t matter. Watching Tim scramble to hold Damian as tight as he could, and Damian in turn attempting to comfort him, was bad enough.

“Damian, hm?” Crane sneered. There was a grin on his face when Dick looked back. “What a handsome name.” Scarecrow turned towards him completely now. Crouched slightly. “And what’s your brother’s name, Damian?”

“Fuck off.” Damian spat, wincing in pain as Tim shifted his body.

“Now that was rude.” Scarecrow tsked. “You should apologize, young man.”

“Make me.”

“Well.” Crane sighed, like he was disappointed. “If you insist.”

Dick’s chest tightened and he instantly began to lift his weapon to hit Jonathan Crane as hard as he could. But suddenly there was a hand around his wrist. An arm around his throat, and a gun barrel pushed into his chin.

At the same time the henchmen were grabbing him, Crane was snapping his fingers to the others swarming into the room. “Bring the little one to me.”

“No.” Dick grunted. He watched as Tim whined and kicked. Watched as a henchman punched him in the face and wrenched Damian up with an awkward grip on his shoulder. “No!”

The man dragged Damian, kicking and screaming himself, across the floor. Another thug stayed above Tim, hitting him over and over every time he tried to stand.

“No!” Dick repeated. “Dammit – it’s me you came after in that apartment! Let them go!”

“Children need to learn not to meddle in others’ affairs. They should have left you in that gutter, Nightwing, and they need to understand that.” Crane hummed. The man with Damian had stopped in front of him now. “Just like they need to understand the consequences of being a brat. Open his mouth.”

The man complied, taking hold of Damian’s chin. Tim was still screaming on the other side of the room, and grunting every time he was hit. Crane started laughing.

And Dick saw red.

Well. A deeper red than he already saw.

He twisted his leg backwards, sweeping them against the legs of the one holding him, then immediately grabbed the gun and whipped it against the second man, before launching it with all his might at the head of the one assaulting Tim. It was a direct hit, and the man crumpled to the ground.

He launched himself forward, tackling the man holding Damian to the ground and pinching a pressure point until he too went limp.

Then he turned towards Scarecrow.

Crane had already backed up a step, but Dick could see in his eye that he was still debating on attempting to give Damian the fear toxin. Debating how quickly he could jump forward himself, how quickly he could grab the child now fallen to his hands and knees.

And that hesitation was his downfall.

Dick leapt at him, grabbing his face with both hands and slamming it into his knee, then spinning Crane around to slam his head against the paper-filled table, breaking it in half with the force.

He let Crane drop to the floor then, but stood over him, grabbing his second escrima stick, and hitting the button to set off its electricity. Then slammed it right into Scarecrow’s throat.

Crane screamed, but Dick didn’t let up. Didn’t pull away. In fact, he just pushed the weapon further into his throat, practically grinning himself when Crane shrieked louder.

Someone else shouted in the room, but Dick didn’t care. Ignored it for the sweet sounds of Scarecrow’s own pain, his own fear. At least, until they shouted again, closer, and someone grabbed his wrist once more.

But he was ready this time. And spun around with his other hand already curled into a fist.

And found Batman.

“…Stop.” Bruce breathed. And suddenly, the world wasn’t so red. Bruce held his arm a moment more, before dropping it and stepping back. “You need to stop, Nightwing. Get away from him.”

Dick looked back down at Crane, now sniveling and whimpering on the ground.

“No.” Dick snapped, grabbing the vial still in Crane’s hand to hold in his own. “He needs to pay for what he’s done here.”

“And those boys need you more.” Batman whispered. Dick blinked and glanced up. Found Damian already trying to hobble painfully back to a wide-eyed and dazed Tim. “I’ll handle Scarecrow from here.”

Dick swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, practically jumping to his feet. He stared at the liquid in his hand for a moment before shattering it against the ground and walking cautiously towards his brother.

“Damian.” He murmured. He watched Tim blink and look over at the sound. Damian looked back too, more bruises already forming from where the thug had grabbed his face.

He didn’t say anything else as he approached. Just carefully lifted Damian into the safety of his arms. Damian didn’t say anything either. Just leaned into Dick’s embrace, clinging to Dick’s neck with two trembling arms.

“No…” Tim breathed, lurching up into a sitting position. “No! You…you put him down!”

“Tim…” Dick tried, walking towards him. Tim began shaking his head, almost violently.

“No!” He yelled. “No, you…you already…you can’t have him! You can’t have my brother! Give him back!” He tried to stomp at the ground, like a tantruming toddler. “You give him back right now!”

“Tim, it’s alright.” Dick cooed, crouching in front of him. Tim immediately latched onto Damian’s sleeve, tugging weakly. “You’re safe.”

“You can’t have him.” Tim repeated harshly. “You…you two already took my dad. And my brother. You can’t have this one.” Another pull of Damian’s tattered shirt. “You can’t have Damian.”

“Tim, it’s me.” Dick tried. Damian raised his head weakly, and reached his hand out for Tim to take instead. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“Of course I know who I’m talking to.” Tim snapped. He clutched Damian’s hand in both of his. “I’m talking to Nightwing, the one who took my older brother away.”

Dick blinked. “Tim, do you-”

“He thinks you and Nightwing are two separate people.” Damian rasped in his arms. “Drake, relax. Nightwing and Batman will-”

“Batman killed our dad.” Tim huffed. “So they will not do anything with us.” He sniffed, wiped at his still-watery eyes. “I won’t let them take you too, Damian. I promise.”

A pause.

“…Please don’t take him too.” Tim’s voice cracked. “I…if you take him, I won’t have much family left.”

Dick shifted Damian to one arm, then gently took hold of Tim’s shoulder. Tim glanced up at him, eyes still darting around, looking like the child Dick first met, all those years ago after Jason died.

“Tim.” He said sternly. “I promise, I won’t take Damian away from you. I swear on my life.” Tim didn’t look like he believed him. “But can I take you both with me? So I can get you two safe, and fix up your injuries?”

Tim seemed unsure, tried to pull away, but the wall he was propped against stopped him.

“I believe him, Drake.” Damian tried. “I…I think we should trust him.”

And that hurt, how unsure even Damian sounded at that. How much it sounded like he didn’t want to say that at all.

Tim just stared, for almost a minute, hands still tight around Damian’s, body still tense and trembling.

“…Drake.”

“Fine.” He whispered quickly. “Fine. But I go where Damian goes. We are not separated. Got it?”

Dick smiled. “Of course.”

Damian pulled his hand back just as Dick heard reinforcements arrive. Black Bat, Batgirl and the GCPD. Batman came over to them then, but Tim immediately flinched back, shaking his head vigorously once more when Bruce offered to carry him.

“You killed my dad.” Tim accused again. “You killed my dad multiple times.”

Cassandra and Stephanie took over then, lifting Tim between them and situating him on Stephanie’s back. He didn’t seem real happy to see them either, but didn’t accuse them of murdering their civilian counterparts, so it was good enough for the moment.

Once the Scarecrow was handcuffed and being led away, Bruce ordered Dick and Stephanie to get the boys home, that he and Cassandra would stay on scene and work everything out with the cops. Jason rang in on the communicators then, said he and Alfred were almost finished synthesizing an antidote, and that it’d be ready by the time they returned to the cave.

They took the Batmobile home. Stephanie drove, Tim in the front seat. Dick sat in the back, with Damian still across his lap so he could reach Tim’s searching hand.

He wasn’t kidding when he demanded they not be separated.

The ride was mostly silent, save for a curse here and there from Steph about bad drivers, and a painful moan from Tim or Damian. So Dick was a little surprised when Damian suddenly shifted midway home, slipping his free hand into the one Dick had across his knees and whispered: “Grayson?”

Dick squeezed his fingers. “Yeah, bud.”

“You’re not hurt, are you?” He asked. “I didn’t get a chance to look at you much before we were ambushed.”

And leave it to Damian to be the kindest human on the planet. Bleeding and beaten, and still asking someone else – the person he was hurt because of – if they were okay.

“I’m fine. They didn’t get me too bad earlier.” Dick murmured into his hair. “But I’ll feel way better when you and Tim are fixed up, so let’s just worry about you two for right now, okay?”

Damian just hummed, and leaned deeper into Dick’s chest. In the front seat, Tim was starting to doze off too. By the time they reached the cave, they were both completely out.

Jason met them as they parked, opening the door before Steph had the engine off and gently tugging Tim from the seat. Tim groaned a little, but had apparently been hit by his exhaustion, and didn’t put up much of a fight. Only stirred when Damian’s hand slipped from his, but relaxed instantly by Jason and Stephanie’s reassurances.

Damian remained asleep until Dick began to gently lay him on the med-bay cot. Then he lashed out, retaking Dick’s hand and squeezing as tight as he could.

“Are you going to stay?” He pleaded. “…Please?”

Dick smiled, running his hand over Damian’s hair as Alfred appeared between his and Tim’s cots, hooking them up to monitors and oxygen tanks.

I’m never leaving you and Tim again as long as I live. No matter what. He didn’t say.

“Sure.” He hummed instead, pulling his eye mask off. He glanced up at Tim, knowing full-well that things wouldn’t be fixed, even when Tim was clear minded and off the fear toxin. In fact, they may be even worse. Who knew. “As long as you guys need me, kiddo.”

Damian nodded, then glanced over at Tim. Once he was satisfied that Tim was getting stabilized, he nodded to himself and, without letting go of Dick’s hand, allowed himself to fall asleep.

Bossy Boots Strikes Again

Madara & Tobirama  Words: 3,051 A/N: Kid!Tobi is back to serve your daily dose of fluff! Huge thanks to @redhothollyberries​ for giving me hc’s to run with, and beta-ing this fic into shape! Send her all the love :D - Sequel to Bossy Boots -

When Hashirama specified that Tobirama will eventually ‘revert’ back into an adult, he never included an estimation. There’s a reason for that. It turns out, there are no estimates to when Tobirama will eventually become an adult again. Time moves on, and the small group of people Hashirama trusts to look after Tobirama return to the responsibilities they have to attend to.

Their days off hardly ever coincide. The days where everyone happened to be working, Tobirama had stuck to Madara’s side like a leech. Not going to lie, Madara preened a bit.

There’s something sweet about being chosen by Tobirama, time and time again. Even though Tobirama sometimes chooses to sleep with Hashirama at night.

He thought Hashirama would sulk at the idea, but when Madara strode into the office the next morning with Tobirama in his arms, there was an extra table with a high chair beside his Police Chief desk. Tobirama’s glower is still unparalleled. And Madara is shameless about utilising it for theatrical effect.

Thus began one of the strangest games of hot potato between Konoha’s elite, with small, chubby Tobirama being shuffled between the people who happened to have time off for the day.

Surprisingly, this is the most smiling Madara’s seen Tobirama do in years.

-

“Alright, Hikaku,” says Madara as he flicks a folder across the table. “You’re officially the senior officer in this case. Remember that the trainee is your responsibility. Do well, and there might be a promotion in your future. Flop, and, well–”

Tobirama doesn’t blink. “Say goodbye to your career.”

Hikaku, the poor teenager sitting across from him, actually breaks out a sweat. Madara cackles. Tobirama is unmoved, but Madara can see his lips twitching.

Hikaku basically flies to the door when he’s dismissed. Only then, does Tobirama let himself giggle.

Kagami pokes his head through the door. “Should I inform him that you’re kidding, Shishou?”

“Nah, wait till the afternoon.” Madara looks at Tobirama for confirmation. Tobirama nods in approval. “Fear is a good motivator.”

Tobirama goes back to his scribblings. He’s scribbling with such focused intent with the tip of his tongue poking out in concentration, that curiosity tickles Madara. Slowly, he leans over his desk, trying to take a peek at Tobirama’s drawings.

Tobirama slams his drawings blank-side up.

Madara frowns. “C’mon.”

“No.”

“Can’t be that bad.”

“It’s not ugly.” Tobirama scrunches his nose. “But I can do better. I know I can. It’s just not going the way I want it to.”

“Adult you can do better,” Madara agrees. He’s not known for coddling kids, and it would be a particularly idiot thing to do with a kid as smart as Tobirama. “The you with around twenty years’ worth of extra hand-eye coordination can do better, of course. That skill will come back as this jutsu fades. However, if it makes you feel better, I’m sure your current skills are better than what I can do.”

Ever so helpful, Kagami pokes his head through the door again. “It’s true. Every time Shishou tries to draw, the paper sets itself on fire. It’s a more merciful fate, to be honest.”

“Okay, new rule.” Madara points at Kagami. “Keep opinions to yourself, unless they support my statements.”

That tickles a smile out of Tobirama. “Well,” he says. “I guess if you’re so sure it’s better than Madara’s…”

Being better than him – the usual motivator for most of Tobirama’s actions.

Kagami and Tobirama break off into snickers. Madara levels them with flat stare.

“I’ll be finished when Kagami takes me to lunch,” Tobirama says. “You can flip it over then.”

It’s a good compromise, so Madara agrees.

When lunchtime comes, Tobirama orders to be carried with his customary arms-up. After melting into a puddle (“I can’t believe I’m carrying, sensei!”),  Kagami and Tobirama heads off to fetch his lunch. Madara leans over, and flips the drawing.

His breath hitches.

It’s a drawing of a red and black dragon, curled in the air and breathing fire. It’s a bit more cartoonish than Tobirama’s usual style, but there’s shading in each scale, and the details that differentiate the dragon’s mane.

Guess Madara’s correct about it being better than anything he could produce. Actually, it’s better than anything he could produce with training.

Incidentally, red and black are his favourite colours. He was thinking, just the other day, of how drab his office walls are. Maybe it’s time to decorate a bit.

Madara makes his way to the stationary closet to see if they’ve got some spare frames.

-

Almost two hours later, Kagami strides in carrying a half-comatose Tobirama in a new set of clothes and a bento box. Madara feels his blood pressure rise at least three notches when he spots an Uchiwa sewed on Tobirama’s armband.

“Before you panic,” says Kagami, “this is a food coma. We took a detour to get yakidori, then dango, then a bit of sashimi, and then some rice cakes, and then yakidori again because I underestimated how good it was–”

“Kagami,” Madara interrupts, “do you have any idea how much trouble I will get in for dressing up a prominent Senju member in an Uchiha Police uniform?”

“But sensei insisted on wearing one so he could be part of the team, Shishou,” Kagami emphasises. “Part of the team.”

“Uniforms encourage solidarity,” says Tobirama.

Kagami grins at Tobirama. “Exactly!”

Madara cannot deny that Tobirama looks damn good in Uchiha colours. Still, propriety.

“You should’ve seen what happened when we walked in,” Kagami tells him. “Half of the squad doubled over in pain, like they overdosed on cuteness. The other half is still terrified of sensei, but I can totally feel the morale rising.”

Madara narrows his eyes at Kagami. “We don’t even stock uniforms in a size that small. Did you throw a bunch of our uniforms into the drier?”

Kagami’s face doesn’t twitch. “No comment.”

(Although, in Kagami’s opinion, it’s so worth it.)

Before Madara can groan his frustration, Tobirama’s eyes are drawn to the frame hung on the wall to his left. His eyes brighten. “You like my drawing?” Tobirama asks, half surprised and half sheepish.

Slightly caught off guard, Madara answers, “Of course.”

His eyes crease in a pleased smile. It’s a good thing that Madara’s already sitting down, because his knees feels weak.

Tobirama tilts his head to admire his drawing. “I guess it does look better when it’s framed. You can have your lunch now.”

Squirming, Tobirama slides out of Kagami’s hold, careful not to knock over the bento box. He then tugs the box out of Kagami’s hand and delivers it to Madara, holding it up with a blinding smile that shows how proud he is at such a successful delivery.

Madara is pretty sure Kagami passed out on the spot. Overdosed on cuteness, as he said before. Baby Tobirama is lethal. That smile should really be outlawed, for the sake of Konoha’s constitution.

Accepting the bento box, Madara nods his thanks, and tries his hardest not to follow in his apprentice’s footsteps.

-

Tobirama is slippery at any age. At one point, he went beyond slippery and decided to literally disappear from air by inventing a space-time ninjutsu just to escape from his grasp. It’s debateable, however, if twenty-four year old Tobirama is more slippery than the little child that’s currently leading Izuna on a merry chase across the rooftops of Konoha.

Of course, Tobirama is thinking that this is just one huge game of tag. Izuna is panicking out of his mind.

“Tobirama, come back right now!” he orders. “Don’t you run away from nap time. Get back here and face it like a shinobi! And watch where you’re stepping!”

Ever since child Tobirama became a constant present in their household, they started stocking on caffeine-free green tea, because Tobirama at any age is also a tea and caffeine addict. The sneaky child almost took a sip out of Izuna’s own cup of coffee, but Izuna managed to switch their cups at the last minute. He gave himself a pat on the back at a job well done, and for averting disaster.

Izuna did not realise that he made the tea from the wrong tin.

He regrets making the tea from the wrong tin.

How he’s paying for it now.

Tobirama ignores his yellings, giggling as he zig-zags at impossible speeds. How the hell is he so fast? His legs are literally a quarter of Izuna’s. This is just shameful.

Charging chakra into his feet, Izuna springs into the air. With this much chakra, should be able to land about two steps behind Tobirama–

–only to be jerked back by the back of his collar to meet furious brown eyes.

“Why,” Tōka chews out the words in a way that suggest imminent death, “is my five-year old cousin cartwheeling across dangerous rooftops when he’s supposed to be sleeping?!”

Izuna winces. “I might have…given him the non-kid friendly green tea by accident.”

Tōka is on the verge of shrieking. She grabs his collar with both hands and shakes him with each word.

“You gave my five year old cousin caffeine by accident?!”

“I’m sorry! I made a huge mistake! The caffeine was an accident! And now, he’s so damn slippery! Look at how easily he’s jumping over the roofs. Tobirama’s not a normal kid – he’s already so adept with chakra. The first day he turned, he climbed to the top of Hokage mountain! I was doomed from the start!” Izuna manages between each shake. Although, his head is starting to get woozy. “Please don’t tell Madara.”

“Tobi’s already very active for a five year old! He doesn’t need caffeine to amplify it!”

“But look at how happy he is right now!” Izuna points at the blur of blue and white soaring through the sky. “He’s tiring himself out. I bet he’ll sleep so much better after this.”

Tōka snarls, looking pretty close to ripping his throat out using her bare teeth.

Izuna resigns himself to dying. He’s had a good life. At least he got to die with Toka taking a bite out of him, even though it’s not quite in the way he had wanted it to be.

Evidently, Tobirama realised that Izuna stopped chasing him. He doubles back towards where Toka and Izuna are without them realising. Izuna feels Tobirama tugging on his robe.

To their surprise, Tobirama puts a small hand on Toka’s leg.

“Tag, Tōka-nee!” he says, grinning like crazy. “You’re it!”

A second ticks by. Tōka melts into goo.

“You have to count to ten first because some people,” Tobirama side eyes Izuna, “need all the advantage they can get.”

Izuna squawks in protest.

Stern and solid, Tōka may be, but she is nowhere near invulnerable. Tobirama at five, the first time round, was inquisitive. He used to waddle behind her like a duckling. Tōka was too swamped in her duties to indulge him back then: when she finally earned to luxury to take a breather, Tobirama had long outgrown his habit of following her around.

But this Tobirama – this Tobirama is looking up at her with his huge eyes, and a cheeky grin that makes her feel like she could bench press an entire army. This Tobirama makes her will crumble into debris.

She sighs in defeat and releases Izuna to flop to the ground.  “Alright,” she says. Tōka makes a big show of putting her hands over her eyes and, quite dramatically, takes a huge breath.

Before Tōka could count to one, Tobirama is already fleeing as if the Shinigami is at his heels.

-

It’s not Madara’s turn with Tobirama today, it’s Izuna’s. Yet, his nerves itch away at his concentration.

The silence is his office is stifling.

He taps his fingers in sync with the ticking clock. Then he glances at the empty table beside him, looks at the crayons all in their neat box, before looking at the picture hung on the wall.

It’s silly, Madara thinks. Three days straight with him, and suddenly Madara’s getting separation anxiety.

Madara has no claim to Tobirama, and Tobirama doesn’t belong to him. He might be Tobirama’s favourite, but officially, he’s not Tobirama’s anything.

“It’s silly,” Madara repeats to himself. “You’re being silly. Stop worrying. He’s fine with Izuna – it’s probably his nap time, anyway.”

-

Izuna wishes he was better at de-escalating situations. First it was the great naptime escape, then it was the rooftop tag. Now, he finds himself chasing Tōka and Tobirama through Konoha’s wide, expansive forests in an attempt to supervise their impromptu ‘stroll’.

Their stroll across Konoha’s trees that are substantially taller and more dangerous than any building found in Konoha.

The height would scare any other child, but Tobirama is, as usual, unlike any other child. He’s perched on Tōka’s back, laughing like there’s no tomorrow, impervious to the palpitations of Izuna’s weakened heart.

“I don’t think this is good idea,” yells Izuna, the wind attempting to muffle his voice. “And this is coming from me. You know, the Emperor of Bad Ideas. We should go back and put him to sleep.”

“It’s fine,” Tōka calls out. “He’s using chakra to stick on to me, he’ll tire out soon! Hold on tight, Tobi. We’re going to freefall!”

They jump out of a tree that’s at least twenty metres in height, hollering in delight as they plummet through the air.

Somewhere in the village, Izuna is sure that a civilian mother is collapsing from shock.

-

He knows that something is wrong when Tobirama asks if they could skip work and sit on top of the Hokage mountain for a bit. There’s a weariness to Tobirama’s tone, one that indicates his past experiences are causing some confusing emotions. Helpless to anything that would make Tobirama feel better, Madara agrees.

Madara takes a day off – perks of being in charge – and carries Tobirama up to the mountain. It’s that time in the morning where the sky is a mesh of blue and pink. They sit in silence as they watch the first trail of people blink away their bleariness, the village breathing up to life.

“I dreamt about Itama and Kawarama last night,” Tobirama says. “It was – I don’t know, so vivid. I thought I was back in there with them, but I know they aren’t here–I thought I was–”

Tobirama curls into himself, and the action is so painful, Madara draws Tobirama into a hug. He knows what Tobirama means – how Tobirama thought that he had moved on from his grieving. That the feeling of their past and future lost, and the endless missed opportunities had become more bearable throughout the years. He thought he moved past it, only to have the memories smack the hollowness straight into his gut again.

Tobirama buries his face in his chest and takes a shaky breath.

“I miss them,” he finally says. “I wanted to be the best big brother ever. I wanted to be their favourite. The one they’d go to if they were sad or scared. I promised I’d always protect them.”

Madara just holds Tobirama tighter in his arms, and rests his chin on top of his head.

“I don’t know–I don’t know how to feel. This is–” Madara can feel Tobirama frowning, “–confusing.”

The thought of Tobirama trying to decipher something as complex as feelings makes Madara laugh.

“It gets bearable after a while,” Madara says. “Izuna and I, we do things to make it bearable.”

Sniffling, Tobirama peers up. “Like what?”

“Like singing, old kid’s games, and eating their favourite food. Our youngest sister loved it when Izuna sang. She’d always clap along to Izuna’s lullabies, which completely defeated the purpose of a lullaby, but she was happy. And Izuna’s quite a skilled singer. You might think that Izuna’s a tenor, what with all his undignified shrieking hitting those high notes, but he actually has a very rich, baritone voice.”

“Oh.”  Tobirama shuffles closer. “Do you sing too?”

Madara squeezes the small bundle in his arms. “Not as good as Izuna, sadly. I like to press flowers. Hanabi and Tsurugi liked to collect them and make flower crowns, so I like the preserve the ones I think they’d like. I try to grow my own, but sometimes I don’t have the time. ”

“Can we do that?” asks Tobirama. “Can we have a Kawarama and Itama day–can we have a siblings day?”

Like he said, he’s helpless to anything that makes Tobirama feel better.

“Anything you want,” Madara tells him.

Honestly, Madara’s just straight out helpless to Tobirama.

-

So Madara digs through their attic for their old card games, falling Buddha blocks and spinning tops. Being a hoarder comes with perks, especially when Tobirama’s face lights up when he sees them.

They spend the better part of their morning playing. The plan is to play till lunchtime before going to a barbecue house, since Tobirama said that’s where his family liked to eat when they were younger. Madara sends a messenger off to Tōka, Izuna and Hashirama to – quite politely, in his opinion – clear their lunch schedule under the threat of amputations and fire and pain and suffering. No threats of death this time. No need to defeat the purpose of Siblings’ Day.

An hour before lunch, a knock rings through Madara’s door.

He opens it to find Hashirama smiling sheepishly.

“I heard we’re having a siblings’ day today,” says Hashirama. “I hope I’m not too early.”

His tri-cone hat is nowhere in sight, and he’s out of the Hokage uniform. Dressed in his casual black robes, Hashirama might have done the impossible. Hashirama might have pulled a miracle; Hashirama has found a sudden substitute for the rest of the afternoon.

Truly, his friend never ceases to amaze.

At hearing Hashirama’s voice, Tobirama comes running to the door, halting himself right in front of Hashirama. He schools his face into a blank expression.

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to let him in. He is my brother, after all.” Tobirama sniffs, pretending to be unaffected by Hashirama’s sudden appearance.

They’re not fooled, of course. Tobirama already looks a lot brighter than he did this morning.

Tobirama lets Hashirama through the door. Instead of just entering, Hashirama swoops Tobirama off his feet and hugs him tight to his side. Squeezes him like Tobirama’s the only thing that matters to Hashirama right now.

Tobirama doesn’t pull away like he usually does. Instead, he melts.

 - A/N: The Great Sphinx of Giza is about 20m high. Rip to all those who thought that Tōka was a Responsible Adult™. She’s just as weak to kid!Tobi as the rest of us are. Also, I’ve become very enamoured with the idea of a Konoha/B99 spoof.  

I’m basically Madara with drawing so I’ll stick to writing.

Dosage For Chia Seeds

The dose of chia seeds depends mainly on the individual, the goals and the current well-being.

 Measurements of Salba seeds for a person with a low pulse should be confirmed by a doctor and they will illuminate their willingness to try Chia seeds. This is based on the argument that Salba seeds and Chia seeds can continue to reduce the pulse significantly over some time, whenever this is the case. You may want to take this in case you have a low circulation problem after seeing your doctor because the heart rate may be too low, which is a dangerous condition. If they are allowed to take chia seeds, the dose should be about 1 teaspoon and be gradually extended over a longer period, but only after meeting their doctor.

 Measure for chia seeds of people with hypertension

 This is another gathering of people who should seek restorative advice before starting to measure chia seeds in their eating routine. Even a minor reduction in circulatory load can have a significant impact on your well-being and well-being. In a recent study, the results showed that the probability of reducing your diastolic heart rate (the basal number) to only 6 mm / Hg can reduce the number of heart attacks by 14% and stroke by 42%! !! For some people, a little more exercise and reduced salt intake, combined with a high fiber diet (CHIA SEEDS) will do the trick. It is ideal to start a teaspoon several days after a discussion with a specialist and develop it gradually over a longer period, in close consultation with your doctor, up to a full tablespoon a day. At this point, increase again if it improves your heart rate to a maximum of 2 tablespoons a day (with the permission of your family doctor).

 The measures for endurance competitors' chia seeds are another story.

 I drink two tablespoons of breakfast in half a liter of crisp orange that I had prepared the night before. It's my morning meal and I do not eat until 2 pm. I drink this chia gel and after an hour and a half, I walk at a frantic pace, but barely 10 km, which has no form or endurance, but in general, I feel very good,  I took this superfood, I did it for a while and I lost 2 pebbles in the last 2 months without it really causing me any inconvenience neither too much vitality (in fact, I wish, I would have learned from my sister in Australia, who asked us and myself) My family is involved. Continuous measurements of Sprinter Chia seeds can be increased to 4 to 6 tablespoons per day. Run continuously for more than 100 kilometers and run all day. and lead like Chia-Gel in their Freisha or water campaigns, and a warrior could only live a spoonful for each day. They would also carry a small bag of chia seeds to keep them alive, as well as a glass of water to moisturize the seeds. The Aztecs called chia seeds their "current food".

 Measurements of chia seeds for weight loss

 The measurement of chia seeds for weight control depends on the determination and inspiration of the individual, who must be thinner. The following is a good numbers calculator for good well-being: -

 With a median section up to the hip greater than 0.8, the risk of heart disease, diabetes, osteoporosis, and joint pain is increased, and protective measures must be taken (aversion is always better than a cure !!).

 To determine your waist/hips ratio

 Measure your closest size.

 Measure your hips the strongest.

 Separate your abdominal estimate from your hip assessment to calculate the proportion.

 For example, if your height is 79 cm (31 inches), separated by your hips, 94 cm (34 inches) = 0.84.

 We recognize that overweight women are increasingly prone to breast disease because of specific synthetic compounds present in their body fat. Xenoestrogens (synthetic estrogen-like compounds from environmental contamination). In addition to heart disease, diabetes, and high blood pressure, obese people must also return with discomfort, joint pain and joint pain due to the extra weight they carry. Fat woe, no weight loss. It's distinguished. It is almost impossible to spoil more than 900 grams of fat in seven days. People heavier than this bad luck seem tired of losing muscle, water, and proper tissues, as well as very little fat.

 The constant weight reduction must require considerable investment and be continuous. In any case, it works and the fat stays much easier.

 Weight loss measures of chia seeds can be included in any diet to replace unhealthy foods. This is complemented by the manufacture of a chia gel and its use to move up to 75% of unhealthy foods, for example. For example, cream or mayo for salads. It can move fatty foods without affecting the taste. It can also be used to move some of the fat when cooking treats, cookies, and cakes, etc.

 Chia seeds can also be used to lose weight by giving you the feeling of feeling full for longer, like I do at the beginning of the day when I use them for my morning meal, and discourage snacks in the morning. as they multiply. contain liquid that you absorb. This chia gel supports the compounds that separate starch into glucose.

 However, the general dose prescribed is two tablespoons a day for healthy adults

 If in doubt, consult your doctor before starting to measure chia seeds.

 Chia seeds also have:

 30% more antioxidants than blueberries.

 6 x more calcium than whole milk.

 15 times more magnesium than broccoli.

 25% more fiber than flaxseed.

 8 x more Omega 3 than salmon.

 3 times more iron than spinach.

 Estimate how much chia seed you use.

TWO  OLD  STAGEHANDS  REMINISCING

I bought a new device this morning(Black Friday), disrupting my savings to the tune of $278.19; this was NOT a doorbuster bargain, but was their least expensive 'laptop.' This purchase has relieved me of the burden of Google Chrome & brought back Cortana("Hey!"); also I have the use of my WiFi, and can stay in touch with the Amell family(up in those woods). When I ventured out this AM, it was about fifty degrees out; I got a biscut-breakfast at Hardee's, before negotiating my holiday purchase; after bringing my prize back to the room, I sped off to get 4 packs of cig's and some(6 for $1) donut sticks. Hurricane Michael has managed to permanently close down my Harvey's, so it's Family Dollar, Dollar General & Dollar Tree for now; this has increased expenses significantly, while reducing overall quality & variety. I'm sure to think of something else to write about, but for now, I'm sending this along.

Outstanding! Glad to hear from you. I had another episode with another blocked artery. I'm up to three stents now. This happened right after Michael blew through, so I'd been wondering how you were doing. This news is tonic for me.

sorry; I was checking out alternative forms of identification; not sure if this is tonic(because I'm tone-deaf), but I'll dash off something for a three-stenter; keep this up and you'll be setting off metal detectors at airports and courthouses; when you say 'episode' you should elaborate, even if you have to make the shit up; making shit up has become quite presidential lately RE:Hurricane Michael - about 7 PM, my power went out; luckily, between 5 & 6 PM next afternoon, it was restored I opened my drapes for lighting, and sat facing the window until around 12:30 AM, when the worst of it had passed that bitch was loud, and at one point, while still approaching from SW, one sheet of steel roofing blew off our U-shaped building; a shower of sparks as it blew across the parking lot got my full attention did you purchase a copy of "Whose Boat Is This Boat?" it took 30 min's to get this far...  updates and such[speaks to the age of the model I was sold @STAPLES] cheese grits on the breakfast menu, but first I'll be needing a shower

Of course we didn't catch the full fury of the storm, but we got plenty of rain and wind, I have several washed out sections of driveway I need to attend to, it's a rough ride down into the valley here. In regards to my ongoing heart troubles, in 2011 I had a blockage of the left anterior descending artery, that was causing great pressure in my chest, felt like an elephant was sitting on me, no heart attack with that event, but the docs implanted my first stent. The heart attack this past April was brought on by blockage of the right coronary artery, I aggravated my heart by over-exerting myself digging my dogs grave. That event was marked by rapid heartbeat, dizziness, sweating, confusion, and pressure radiating out from the left side of my chest. That blockage was remedied by stent number two. The latest episode at the end of October was preceded by a week or so of pressure and mild discomfort in my chest that was remedied by taking a dose of nitro-glycerin.  I awoke with that pressure, took a dose, didn't get any relief, I alerted Debbie, took another dose, but by then I was having difficulty breathing and having strong chest pain, Deb called 911 and gave me a third dose of nitro, at that time I was hyperventilating uncontrollably, sweating profusely, and the pain was very intense...I was sure I was about to die. The EMTs arrived, got me in the ambulance, took my blood pressure, and an EKG, drew some blood, analyzed that with the fancy computer analyzer and came back with "Everything looks fine, you don't appear to be having a heart attack." I got to the hospital, had a quiet morning and afternoon, save for the drawing of blood and the checking of blood pressure. Later that night though, I had six more non-heart-attacks. I won't go into all the drama wrapped around that due to my vitals all showing good normal indications. Anyway, I got my third stent early that next morning, after being catheterized and they found another blockage in the right coronary artery that was downstream of the second stent. Phillip, during those six non-heart-attacks I was truly sure I was going to meet the creator. I had told Debbie all those things you tell someone when you think you're dying. But apparently I've either got unfinished business or I'm just getting some extra time here on earth due to my exceedingly good looks, wit, and charm. ;)

good looks, wit & charm aside, since you have unloaded onto DEB all those last minute appurtenances, you should think about what must be/should be said about your time together since recovering from those six downstream pain events[& consider the high dose of TNT necessary for that most recent download]

We're getting ready for our Thanksgiving tomorrow. Lots of cleaning and such. I'll be in and out all day. Got yard-work to do now that the rain has passed. I have a fire going to save electricity, and the added benefit of warm glowing light is helpful. I've got to go buy a used bass guitar in a little while. I'm snagging parts off of it to make a cigar box bass guitar for Patti (Tuck) Tuckwiler's brother's Christmas gift. I'd already had my oatmeal & blueberries along with a patty of turkey sausage and a slice of toast. I let this guy named Possum hunt on our property, he gave me a slab of backstrap as thanks for hunting privileges. I'm thinking about having a backstrap on a yeast roll for lunch.

shower complete backstrap a la antlered-buck, I'm assuming had some online interaction w/TUCK[doubt she will remember] will your son attend tomorrow's feed? you sound pretty busy, so I'll catch up w/U later

oversized notebook w/no disk player[complicating printer connection]

trak-pad offset too far to left of center[due to hard drive's location to the right of it]; I keep right-clicking when I want to left-click I'm running down my battery for the first time today[not sure whether these rechargeables benefit from 'training'] still 'customizing' my task bar/I can use my 'task view' to 'see' what's down there[and access w/a click] tomorrow will be a 'shopping day' as I'm out of grits limerick is kinda fun most forms are the kind of challenge a writer loves I once wrote a Petrarchian sonnet[back in high school]; it was a love-poem to my girlfriend; in order to fit her 2-syllable name into it, without breaking with meter requirements, I wrote it as G_____[just one syllable]; this came in handy later; I was able to recycle my metric sentiments for future girlfriends. https://www.booksie.com/sent-messages https://en.wikichip.org/w/index.php?title=User:Phillip_DeNise&action=submit

My youngest son works for a company that resolves gift/cash card issues. They're well moneyed, they pay their employees very well, and they feed them like royalty. The company had bought a Thanksgiving feast for 9 people. They spent $1700 on that meal, that was catered by Olive Garden. There was so much food left that all the employees got to take home...like...doggy bags for elephants. My son brought some of that bounty to share with us for our thanksgiving dinner. We also had plenty of food leftover, so much that we sent all the family members home with food for days, and we still have much left in the fridge. I'm having some fettucine alfredo, and yeast rolls for my late lunch. I'd been busy cleaning and straightening from the dinner. Also I'd bought a $50 bass to sacrifice for parts I need to build that cigar-box bass I'd mentioned that I'd disassembled before taking lunch. I'm trying to stay busy and keep moving. Whatever amount of life I have left, I want to use as much as I can, as wisely as I can. After I wrap up this message, I'm going to chop some wood and get a fire started for this evening. It's supposed to be in the low 30s tonight. Cheers! I hope that laptop ain't making you crazy.

fettucine alfredo is one of my all-time-favorites; 1st time I had it, my sis made it at home; she did it so well that I was forever hooked; add smoked chicken breast & sliced, fresh button mushrooms, and...  well, Italian ambrosia; plain f.a. is the perfect side for veal marsala do you have to smoke all those cigars for authenticity?  ...probably a good way to end up w/John Prine's voice check came yesterday; I'll go to Liquor Locker at 11[as it is usually sans-customers then; less chance of a robbery], to get my wad of ca$h then $625 to motel-boss, $60 + any cash from last mo. goes into savings hidey-hole, leaving about 3 Benjamins for necessities

All the cash that I have to my name is tied up in two guitars and a guitar amplifier. Got them all up on eBay, and Craig's list, hoping some aspiring young rock star has a need...soon. I'm living off the fat of thanksgiving today. Got that fire going, saving on heating bills, and trying to figure out how to get the most cash I can for the HHR. I've got about 1.75 years to go until I can take SS early retirement. I honestly don't know how I'll make it that long, barring a minor miracle or a random act of kindness, but somehow we've manged thus far, I have faith and hope for better days to come. As far as cigar box guitars go, we find the boxes online or at tobacco shops in the area. I haven't had a cigar or cigarette since April when I had the heart attack. I do find myself "wanting" quite often but have taken up gnawing a straw, gum, or a toothpick. The good news is that it's saving me between $10 - $20 a week that I don't have anyway. Yay. Anyhow, I'm going back out to work on the cigar box bass. Peace to you Phillip.

get some sax-reeds for your oral gratification-smoking abatement strategy; a cigar box will make an excellent homemade resonator for a sax-like sample to feed into your reactionary music what changes when you claim your partial & have significantly improved your survival-horizon in the interim?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8buJ2-oD02E https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KDqoTDM7tio https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f2-XU8jm02o where do the best stories come from? editors are famous for taking out the stuff that isn't needed; old men have a similar process occurring among the aging neurons in their noggins; this is giving them a new voice; problem is:if they show their wizened faces, nobody will listen to them; time to employ a mask...  a truly vital issue that cannot be ignored Calories are units used to measure heat. Mammals maintain their body temperature by chemically converting starches and sugars back into H2O & CO2. When we burn hydrocarbon fuels, the heat production and the waste products are the same. Plants do just the opposite; they use the H2O & CO2 to store the heat energy in their starches and sugars. Down in Brunswick, there is a company called Hercules; when you pass by their manufacturing plant, you will see tree stumps piled high; they use the waste from lumbering operations to convert the cellulose into gunpowder. The lowly peanut vine, hosts on its root systems, colonies of bacteria[also plants] that 'fix' the nitrogen from the atmosphere, so that it is soluble[thus available to the vines for uptake through those roots]. Rotating to a planting of peanuts can quickly restore the depleted nutrients resulting from cotton or corn plantings. The lint caught up in the air circulating in a cotton mill can cause an explosion if rapidly oxidized. Corn silos can be dangerous concentrations of these plant-stored nitrates as well. As a child, I was the agent providing the fixed nitrogen, when I 'strowed sodie' about the roots in a plot of sweet corn. These crystals of explosive nitrates are chemically produced from nitrogen in the atmosphere. 'Scrubbing' the atmosphere of dangerous concentrations of CO2 can be done in a similar process. If the energy needed to trap the carbon can be 'captured' from sunlight, then the corn plants and explosive fertilizers can be dispensed with. If animal life forms are so much more intelligent than plants, then they should consider taking over all the terraforming functions that they mindlessly perform in their own self-interest. Terraforming distant Mars seems to depend heavily upon creating a breathable atmosphere there; what are our scientists doing about terraforming the Earth, where a kingdom of plant life forms could be better harnessed to accomplish our desired balance of CO2, O2 & N2? Climate change, probably in a warming phase, is increasing our atmospheric H2O; this will eventually reverse the warming trend. In the interim, it seems logical that there are locales on the planet which will benefit from the current trend; these are the places we should be colonizing. Diverting the hordes of humanity, that are fleeing the effects of climate change, into these mostly unsettled areas, not only solves the immigration problems of industrialized nations, but represents a tremendous business opportunity for expanding their struggling economies. These new colonies offer to the 'survivalists' among us, destinations where there is less government and enormous freedom to develop their ideas into social organizations that will promote their own desired political and economic change. No matter where they chose to go, they will still need shoes...  need clean drinking water...  shelters constructed from available materials[rammed earth domes are remarkably resilient] will immediately be needed; and what will they eat? Business solutions exist for almost every difficulty that such a growing society must soon encounter; why continue looking to charitable organizations and over-burdened governments for the answers?

Everyone now has the capability of being able to hide behind a digital mask on them damn interwebs. Here we have the vastness of mankind's accumulation of knowledge, and people choose to watch cat videos on facebook. There's really not much hope for people in my best estimation, masks or not. I understand why there needs to be a revolution of the mind, heart, and soul. I understand that I'm not the only one that sees this, and I'm glad I'm not alone. One of the problems we face today is the blessing/curse of the internet. People aren't using it so much as a learning tool, but rather as a distraction from all the folly of the times. That said, I'm going off to work on a box.

time actually flies when we are having so much fun; my cheese grits are already at stage one[awaiting the time when I shove the green plastic bowl into the nuke-o-wave, while those frags of kernal-corn soak/soften in cold water], I'm fully dressed & the bed is made; the TV is on & I'm halfway through my first cup of joe and my first cigarette[which I have stubbed out and noticed that the first half was the most generous one]; a great noise is being raised outside my place[some sort of gas-powered welding machine], so staying in bed would not have been a workable alternative; it's rainy out, which is a meteorological condition that could remain in place for three days; I saw that coming, so I visited my nearest Family Dollar yesterday, when it was seventy-two degrees and sunny GATOR used to be right here "gator takes a ride" is my visual offering for today; not sure why the hands call him gator, but getting sent up to the loading bridge is probably a status indicator; I spent a lot of load-in's & load-out's watching and listening from high above the groundlings; I was also rewarded with a department head's position on a national tour for having filed an NLRB charge; that got me to thinking IATSE Local 41 is still on display in cyberspace; do you ever go there? That is where I snatched this image for my ACER. I snuck in using a private browser & made off with my prize. "behindthemain" reminds me of something my Dad used to say; "Once you back your ass up to the teaser, you'll never be able to go back." The age of Rock 'n' Roll was the greatest AGE because they wrote songs about US! How cool is that? What is totally uncool is my mail.com, which has just refused to send this draft until I remove my stolen image; so just imagine a close-up of a stuffed gator-doll perched on an arbor loaded with counterweight which was originally posted by some dude called @behindthemain

Time, at least for me, has become compressed. Three days, maybe a week will go by in the blink of an eye, and there's really not much I can do to slow the procession. The best thing I've found that I can do is create, fabricate, manufacture, and repair. Just trying to stay, to keep from spending too much time in my head. Now there's a dark place. I wouldn't send anyone to spend any time there. One problem is that of psychic transmission on my part. Bad enough I should have to spend time there in my mind, but I was also gifted with the ability to broadcast my thoughts, so, certain lucky "receivers" get to share the "Matt experience". I generally know who's getting that broadcast because they either don't know me but they're able to complete my sentences, or I'll be thinking of or about a person that I know, and they will call me on the phone. If the case is the former, those people tend to try to stay away from me. I'm thinking they can't handle the stream. If you're in the latter group, we're connected. Probably always have been. Determining which thoughts are your own, and those that come beaming in seemingly out of nowhere is the catch to all that. Thoughts??? P.S. I don't consider myself a receiver, but maybe I just can't sort my thoughts from the thoughts of others... Herman Hill passed away a few days ago. He was a receiver of my thoughts. I bet it was confusing for him to be in proximity of me.

intelligence originating from without, as you should already realize, is sorta my thing if I have connected with your interior spaces in the past, I must assume that it did not seem so dark to me I would remember being put off in such a manner

Deb & I have been buying, selling, and trading electric guitars, and amps. Unofficially we are Pocataligo Guitar Exchange. I also do minor repairs to electric guitars & basses. We've flipped 4 Squire Bullet Strats, an ESP - LTD EXP200 Explorer copy, and a DeArmond M65C Les Paul Studio copy, as well as a Peavey Mark III Citation bass amp head, and a Peavey Citation Mark IV guitar amp head. The fun thing about this is that we get to try all kinds of gear that we wouldn't ordinarily get to play with. :)  

now you will be needing a PGE logo; some consideration should be given to the silk screening process, when you select a design; the reason for this being cheaper T-shirts and complete PGE control over their manufacture & distribution; just sayin'

1st things first - incorporate as an.LLC. Get a bi'ness license. Then we'll get around to tee shirts and what have you. This will also be the outlet for any cigar box creations.

LLC's are pure crap; there are many ways to protect your #1 asset[your residence] from liabilities you may not see coming, while operating this[any] business at your residence; you can pledge the equity in a residential property as collateral for a small business loan, while your LLC could not; of course your CFO[DEB] would need to chime in on such risky decisions[but risk is what living is all about; security a delusion] got up early[9:03] as per usual on Sunday, in order to catch Jane Pauley on CBS; NOT! there is a tornadic fear monger down in Tallahassee pre-empting the network broadcast to tell me that I need to get in my safe place; all last night there were alerts interrupting my TV-viewing; this 'storm' is indeed unusual for December, with lightning & thunder[started hearing rumbles about 8 PM while watching "Rampage"]; there have been accumulations down here between 2 & 3 inches, but no real cause for flash flood warnings[every 5 to 7 minutes]; added to that sort of aggravation, I'm now an expert in the minutiae of George Herbert Walker's 94-year-long public life[best part is watching secret service guys puking up their guts while an 85-year-old maniac races his speedboat around Kennebunkport's rocky shoals]; if TRUMP died suddenly, we'd really be consigned to TV-hell; so, those warnings expire and they start six minutes of backlogged commercials; sheesh!

Cocoa Beach secret stagehand local?

Titusville; Dad had a friend down there; entire membership of this four-digit film unit was featured on the cover of IA Bulletin

One of the reasons we ditched Atlanta and moved out here was the abundance of nature out here. Ample wildlife, some wild berries and muscadines to be had in good years, plenty of breathing space, no bumping elbows with neighbors. Deb took this picture about 10 minutes ago...

when I go hunting for muscadines, I take along a paper sack; I collect a few in my sack & leave them on that 'shelf' below the rear-window of the jalopy; now the car is infused with the most wonderful odor[perhaps for weeks to come]

It's beautiful, mild and partly cloudy today. I may get out and try to find a good sized deer to take down for our winter meat needs. Possum put up a deer stand that's fully enclosed, about 10 feet above ground that I may go sit in to see what comes by. Rick Scheuerman had a great idea - there's a hangout in Athens named Nucci's Space. It was originally a place where one could rent musical rehearsal space by the month, that also has a coffee shop. I think, as I recall the story, that Nucci had committed suicide, but someone kept Nucci's Space up and running. So one of the things they do there is have auctions of art and musical instruments to provide support for depressed/suicidal people. Rick suggested that I take some of these old beat relical guitars that I have in abundance just sitting around, make them into pieces of art, and either donate or perhaps take a small percentage of the sale of these items. What sayeth thee old friend?

I like the auction angle[not so much the 'cause' enumerated]; also, auctioning off unwanted guitar-bodies converted into 'art' would not provide the benefit I imagine; I think you should cobble together an instrument, using all your acquired skills, that is meant from its conception to be auctioned off @Nucci's Space; the bidders would be local musicians/collectors that you'd be pleased to meet[& that may commission lucrative projects going forward]; no charge for this wonderful idea

the Athens music scene has developed a somewhat muted presence online; it was in emergence-stage, when I was dating my 1st wife & made the drive frequently in my VW-van, fitted w/8-track stereo system sorry I did not mention my amazement at DEB's photo of tomorrow's lunch; I'll use that image for cover art soon, and look forward to gator's comment on it once I have the TITLE, I'll know what to write about in the contents; these images can entice many more clicks, and that is what I'm exploring @Booksie.com my 'editor' sucks, but I'm also exploring better ways to make use of its features; learning as I go keeps me busy at this keyboard not much real interaction with other readers/writers has occurred; there is a moderator calling himself Booksie Guy; BG is probably not a BOT, but I have not really gotten to him yet I tried to get a new persona at Retirement Online, but have not heard back from its Appleton, WI moderator/witch checked out 'online banks' without any success; ALLY requires govt.-issued ID to open an account if you had been able to open my home-video, you could have seen me vibrating; my tremors are pretty bad, and when my paycheck arrives, I usually sign the damn thing first thing in the morning, before I have my coffee; this seems to make the scrawl more legible my typing ability is affected, and this over-sized keyboard is a help with my target acquisition difficulties https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uVlSVkzbJDA check out the antiquated studio equipment featured here

Gary Jules, Michael Andrews

All around me are familiar faces Worn out places, worn out faces Bright and early for their daily races Going nowhere, going nowhere Their tears are filling up their glasses No expression, no expression Hide my head, I want to drown my sorrow No tomorrow, no tomorrow And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take When people run in circles it's a very very Mad world, mad world Children waiting for the day, they feel good Happy birthday, happy birthday Made to feel the way that every child should Sit and listen, sit and listen Went to school and I was very nervous No one knew me, no one knew me Hello teacher, tell me what's my lesson Look right through me, look right through me And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take When people run in circles it's a very very Mad world, mad world Enlarge your world Mad world

The cover art is from a photo taken in 1968. The building featured was a new one, and I graduated from Bass High School on its stage. Most of the boys were headed for college...  or Vietnam. I chose the former, and believe that it has made all the difference. When roads diverge in a yellow wood, noticing their width and worn condition is just one approach to the decision-making quandry. I was taught to choose door number three. 1968 was a good time for such choices, and many of my contemporaries made just such a definitive choice. If you possess the technology to view/listen to DVD's, might I suggest the enhanced edition of WOODSTOCK; the movie. You'll see what many of those, that chose door number three, looked like. My graduating class was small by most standards; we chose to sing a song from "Man of La Mancha." But we 'walked' in a less-prescribed manner. I drove off in a Renault Dauphine with a slow-moving-vehicle sign attached to the rear. Though I might like to be eighteen again, at the time, I was not looking back. I did return to this building many times though; I worked there on many occasions. Sometimes I worked on that stage; sometimes I worked in the exhibit hall at the other end of the complex. The construction of this facility, by the municipality, was considered to be an important urban renewal project. That is how 'buttermilk bottom' disappeared from Forest Avenue. Another blight vanished when Fulton County Stadium went up. In 1951, the city received the All-America City Award, due to its rapid growth and high standard of living in the southern U.S. Annexation was the central strategy for growth. In 1952, Atlanta annexed Buckhead, as well as vast areas of what are now northwest, southwest and south Atlanta, adding 82 square miles (210 km2) And tripling its area. By doing so, 100,000 new affluent white residents were added, preserving white political power as well as expanding the city's property tax base And enlarging the traditional leadership upper-middle-class white class. That class now had to room to expand inside the city limits. Federal court decisions in 1962-63 ended the county-unit system thus greatly reducing rural Georgia control over the state legislature, enabling Atlanta, and other cities, to gain proportional political power. The Federal courts opened the Democratic Party primary to black voters, who surged in numbers and became increasingly well organized through the Atlanta Negro Voters League. Rush week was soon upon me, and I attended two of the parties; choices! ALPHA TAU OMEGA was where one of my acquaintances at work had become a paddle-wielding brother, so I checked out their presentation. As a sort of back-up plan, I also checked out the men of ALPHA EPSILON PI; they checked me out as well; I was rejected on religious grounds. Time for door number three. I carried a full load for four consecutive quarters at my new school, before that other door presented itself. From Fall Quarter of 1969 until Fall Quarter of 1970, I was out of school, but stuck to my solemn vow to return in one year[against all the odds]. It had been too cloudy and overcast to see the eclipse of the sun that year; there was a lot going on that I did not see very clearly. When I returned to school, I changed my major from 'undecided' to ANTHROPOLOGY; a Greek professor guided my acquisition of this love for studying men; he was Greek Orthodox, and would have been rejected by those men at AY-EE-PIE as well; he took his 101 class to the Church he attended, and we followed the liturgy in Greek[and wrote a paper on the experience]. The mosaic in the dome was impressive. I never adhered to my degree 'program,' and so I never graduated from GSU; a classmate from Bass had gotten his degree in just four years[Class of '72]; I ran into Ross at SEARS, where he was selling tires; I went back to that stage, where the Class of '68 had sung about walking on through the wind.

Everyone knows that without a valid photo ID, you cannot purchase a box of breakfast cereal. The folks across the wall will need a better system, and the increasing use of bio-metrics[by connected data terminals] is a giant leap for the AI kind. UPC's can be scanned to track products as they change locations. RFID's are often laminated into photo ID's, so an employer can track his/her minions, and control their access to sensitive areas within their workplace. In the US, your SSN connects you to an exhaustive data base that 'knows' how hard you work, how much compensation you receive and where your 'assets' are currently being stored. What can be 'learned' about an individual, and how quickly this new data can be accumulated, attached to the appropriate individual files and how quickly those updated files can then be assessed is what AI exists for. Current business models[like at FaceBook & GoogleChrome] will each gradually lose its earning potential[a process being accelerated by the public sentiment in favor of government regulation of all their data collection and sharing practices], as the flow of data becomes more centralized and access to those files and data streams more restricted. The global expansion of connected Android devices is shifting the product consumption patterns in growing/struggling economies towards some ill-perceived goal, that becomes more and more achievable with each passing minute. Both of the big 'data players' in the streams of ones and zeroes now being catalogued here in the US, have made agreements to share it with our government. If we assume that there are adults in the room, where the analysis of this growing horde is being coordinated, then we can also assume that some of those individuals will be targeted to administer this collection and analysis process, once that 'responsibility' is transferred to a more 'independent' entity, resembling the Federal Reserve in its organization. At that point, the elected representatives in government will be reduced to an ordinary subset of identified individuals, to be monitored and manipulated by an increasingly automated system. If the drones can find you, you could be quickly eliminated. What will determine your value to that global system? Your consumption patterns is the obvious answer; BUY WISELY! I'm off to get an HBO fix; at eight they are replaying a missed episode of "My Intelligent Friend" just for my benefit; this series is filmed in Italian & broadcast with English subtitles; this makes it difficult to enjoy the imagery, because I'm busy reading so I'll know WTF is going on.

AI may be the thing that brings us into full globalization, perhaps the issue that preachers in my past have warned us about. Our baptist preacher out in Mableton used to hand out Watchtower pamphlets that had articles regarding the evils of globalization. Hmm ... to be overseen by the great computer in the sky (cloud networking).

I've been keeping my cloud-connection turned off

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bixby_(virtual_assistant) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jen_Taylor https://www.pcworld.com/article/2099943/microsofts-cortana-digital-assistant-guards-user-privacy-with-notebook.html https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Invoke_(smart_speaker) https://www.ask.com/youtube?q=cortana&v=DxrJWSi_IWo https://www.windowscentral.com/why-splitting-cortana-and-search-windows-10-makes-sense https://www.zdnet.com/article/microsoft-moves-key-technologies-including-cortana-from-research-to-product-groups/ https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2012/06/inside-the-architecture-of-googles-knowledge-graph-and-microsofts-satori/

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=ASMR like those furries, these 'artists' are being accused of deviance; what say you? https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=furry+fandom

To be sure, I'm not understanding the nature of adult cos-play.

cable TV is definitely turning my brain to mush, but some furries have serious behavioral issues that can be mitigated by their cos-play; ASMR is the new player on the block, and their 'offerings' have been 'taken down' on multiple forums as somehow inappropriate; I find this lack of freedom[of expression] to be indicative of rapid 'political' corrosion of the medium; that button labelled REPORT would be less attractive, if your reporting history came up with your profile info; STFU would be door # 3 Gibi explains it quite well:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCE6acMV3m35znLcf0JGNn7Q

I'll start back driving for Uber or Lyft later today, after having taken some time off due to those pesky heart issues. I didn't feel confident driving people around knowing that I was possibly still at risk for another "coronary event". The cardiologist has cleared me to return to normal activities. I didn't start driving for these ride-sharing companies to impress anyone, hell there sure as shit ain't nothing glamorous about carting poor people around all day. What it does give me is nearly instant income that I can access almost immediately after giving someone a ride. Pair that with there ain't a boss riding my ass. I can drive whenever I want to, I set my own hours. And lastly it gives me something to do beside sit here and piss and moan about things over which I have no control. :) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tg0BNTebcbY  

there are two types of people in the world; when your 'ride' climbs into your vehicle, do you re-adjust the rear-view mirror to center onto the face of the speaker; door #3 is insisting that he/she rides up front; keep on smiling RYAN wrote: I make projects of my experiences working UBER. Last video of this nature got a lot of attention- though, I deleted it to be (slightly) more professional. So here is another few weeks worth of footage. These videos have been for nothing but fun, and I'm glad others have appreciated them. It's awesome to have an audience watch something that I've created and I want to see if this little project can go somewhere. Those in my videos consented to being in my project, blurred identity or not. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pVOJ5ZfzjF8

my TV took a shit...  and now SANTANA is blaring; this album, the one with all those damn faces, was given to me by a chick that thought my DONOVAN eight-tracks were just not going to get me there; of course she was right...  and so there were drums in the house; another tape cart that was played in that house was WHO'S NEXT; I thought it was pretty good travelin' music, along with a Beatles-thing called RUBBER SOUL; gettin' high & gettin' out on the road was a pretty good way to pass the time on my gap-year; when I decided on ANTHROPOLOGY, it was mostly because it legitimized the study of sex, drugs & rock'n'roll...  so I studied...  HARD! playing this complete album seems to have slowed down the clock; that's an unusual effect; I'm shopping for a King Crimson video                 [  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=no8L51U_KlM  ]; not any WHO'S NEXT videos that do anything; guess I'll just let it play for awhile I get my TV going, and dammit...  the water goes off; they're out there digging up the street; probably gonna be off the rest of the day brewed my coffee w/ice cubes; just try and outsmart an old white guy...  go right ahead wrote a new ICU last night; about 40 peeks at it, w/no comments, so...  vanished new text has less film-script niceties...  less humor...  no dialog...

He had to admit...  he couldn't see a thing. A good bluff sometimes can win the pot. He spoke into the darkness, "I see you!" He hoped it had sounded convincing. Not a sound. Why had he come out here without his trusty flashlight? Only gonna be gone for a minute. Tell it to the wind. He turned with a confidence he wasn't actually feeling. In a slightly lowered voice, he spoke to himself as he walked away from where he thought the creature must be. "I'll be right back,...  so don't you dare move." Not a sound. He tried to imagine his 'creature' when it was not cloaked in utter blackness. The imagined lighting his mind put into those trees just beyond the clearing where his friend had parked his truck was of no use; he could see the trees right enough, but the image he needed simply would not materialize there. Not knowing what was there with him...  not knowing how far his friend needed to go in the truck to fetch water...  not knowing how fast he could make it to the imagined safety of the old cabin...  not knowing was making him sweat. And that creature could smell the fear...  smell the open containers with food in them...  smell where the truck had been parked, and the odor on that other one...  that was far away now. His thoughts were on the amaretto hidden in his sleeping bag; then his hand was on it. He poured into the tin cup...  the one he knew he'd left on the table; cup in hand, he closed and latched the rustic door. It was pitch black in the cabin too. He drank deeply. Forty proof means about twenty percent alcohol; better than a beer...  smelling better too. Now there was scratching and clawing at the corner of the door. "I'd pour you one too, but I gotta find that flashlight,...  first. Then maybe I can find another cup." He mock-toasted his little friend, and drank deeply once again. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_UNMTthguCQ

confession:the only GARCIA I like has cherries & chunks of chocolate in it

I've been rummaging around in those dusty old memory-bins, trying to remember when I switched from eight-track tape-carts over to vinyl LP's; first came WQXI, and then FM-stations became a thing; we were at 481 Clifton Rd., by the time I bought a stereo system[I would have been a senior in high school at the time...  1968]; 8-trak player/amplifier w/2 speakers that weighed nearly nothing; in the next room, my sister[13 months younger] was spinning LP's of Firesign Theater, Mothers of Invention & Jimi Hendrix Experience to annoy me; I moved out of there JAN 1970, & took that same stereo system to my Briarcliff apartment; during those tape-cart-years, I was driving an old VW 'bus[w/windows all-round]' that was repainted blue & gray; I had a tape player[under-dash] professionally installed; two ceiling-mounted speakers and a six-volt to twelve-volt converter mounted on the pan beside my engine; you could hear muted spark-field-noise when your tracks played[like a subtle audio-tachometer]; this 'dustbin' is kinda like a public library filled with stories packed onto shelves that nobody ever disturbs; these stories have sacrificed chronological accuracy for other, more aesthetic consistencies; at this point in my recollection process, I believe that "Tea For The Tillerman" was a tape I had bought, and that "John Barleycorn Must Die" was purchased on vinyl; both these were released in 1970; one night, in that first apartment, I popped in a tape that I distinctly disliked, and slept all night while wearing bulky headphones, and while the tracks endlessly looped; Blood Sweat & Tears...  NYC's antidote to Chicago; I cannot remember when I bought a better home-system & a turntable, but I recall listening to Ten Years After, Grand Funk Railroad & Bloodrock; "The Survival of Saint Joan" was also an LP that I bought[released 1971 by a Tucker, GA garage band]. In 1972[Fall/Winter], I drove around the US in my '71 VWCampmobile[bought new], with nothing more than a German-built radio; the best I could do, was find a pirate station, broadcasting at major mega-wattage, from a tall tower located on Canadian soil.

over there, I'm friedlich I'm new there, having joined on Black Friday tonight, I ran across your e-mail address, in a COMMENT you had left most folks do not do that, and maybe you are different from most folks[that, at least, is my hope] I sometimes publish my e-mail address, trying to encourage a more image-friendly medium of exchange my privacy concerns are next to none, and anxiety over firewall-type protection against virus/worm/spam/whatever is negligeable the site reminds me of a multi-player game moreso than a community of writers of course, I'm still figuring out how to use the site for my own purposes I'm an older guy, living in southwest Georgia a retired stagehand; been writing since I quit working in 2005 not a boozer[or any other vice that costs money] caffeine & nicotine are my thing[like most writers...  ALLEGEDLY] my stories run the gamut, and there is a lot of it that could be described as non-fiction fiction is preferred, when stinging truths are being revealed a cloak of plausible deniability my favorite author is Neal Stephenson hands down but I read a lot of books, and admire some of the fascinating women who have chosen to write Barbara Kingsolver springs to mind  -  http://www.kingsolver.com/books/ send me something you are working on

Ready for rain. My youngest half-sister, Sandra, (who's roughly 16 years older than me) married this guy back in...66 - 67. Perry Carlton Buie, aka Buddy. I have no idea how or where they met. They had gotten a house over near Columbia Avenue, behind Belvedere Plaza. Sandra had two daughters in tow from a previous marriages, Belinda, and Johnnie. Belinda is two years my senior, Johnnie is 4 years younger. My mother and I would visit them pretty often, and they were all lots of fun to visit. Buddy was a budding song writer/producer that had been working with southern recording legend Bill Lowery. Bill at that time owned Mastersound Studio, and had a publishing company called Low-Sal. Buddy's first hit was a song called "I Take it Back" recorded by Sandy Posey'

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r-zoLSF_-3c

And that was the launch of a very successful career for him. I won't bury you under all the details of all the artists that he has written for. He passed away a few years ago.

When he was really starting to bring in the money he was working with members of Roy Orbison's stable-band, The Candymen. They had some nominal success, but The Candymen begat The Classics IV, which did very well and had a handful of top 10 AM radio hits. The Classics IV begat The Atlanta Rhythm Section. ARS did great in the album oriented rock (AOR) format. But as always success has a price. Sister Sandra was jealous and didn't trust Buddy, he was always around southern rock celebrities, and their hot ass girlfriends. Not a good combo, so that marriage flopped.

The real point of it all though, was to say that I had some early life exposure to the music industry and I knew back then that I wanted to be somehow in the business of working in and around music. A car radio installer. A stagehand cum audio assistant. A song writer and a casual player of guitar, bass, and synthesizers, and now a maker of fine cuban cigar box instruments. (laugh at the last one).

When Buddy would have the guys from The Classics IV come by for rehearsals, me and little Johnnie would hang out in the hallway listening intently to what they were playing. What I saw about Buddy that was so appealing to me was that he kinda just did what the fuck he wanted, when he wanted to, and had very few people to answer to.

I liked that aspect of R&R...

you told me about BUDDY once before, and now I get the CANDYMEN connection to that pineywoods thing you sent; did you visit Blue Devil-country often enough to learn your way around?  ...any Belvedere Plaza experiences that would make a story or song lyric? Those places were within cycling range of my Little Five Points-hood; my gang would even go fishing in a creek out there. Kids today ain't about shit; so much character-building movement across a sprawling urban environment; we weren't afraid, and we weren't over-supervised I'm writing about my Sunday morning, which is the only day of the week, when I make the effort to rise from my bed as early as 9 AM. I'm retired now, which carries with it the unquestionable benefit of 'sleeping in.' I make this conscious effort, because I cannot bear to miss the SUNDAY MORNING broadcast.

An interesting ARTICLE, aimed at baby boomers who read such 'posted material,' requires that I first do a bit of research. This morning's research has yielded the e-mail address directing this COMM to some unknown reader. What if this lucky recipient became known to all those that rise early on Sunday morning, like I have done? Such a story, to actually make the cut, would need to have some visual appeal...  something for the camera to 'see' that is not just another talking head. If it becomes about the many suggestions that are not considered by the show's producers, I'm imagining an over-the-shoulder shot of an INBOX displayed on a PC's monitor; boring...  right? Following the next suggestion that has some potential, through a chain of CBS News employees, into a roomful of writers and producers having the kind of discussion that ends with a proposal that will get funded, while turning the negative into a positive, still lacks the kind of imagery that will excite a camera crew. With the show's long history, many of the best ideas will have probably been done before, but a story about the technology that has changed the whole process probably has not been considered. Retired persons have an attachment to the kind of resistance to change that would permeate such a story. They also have a strong dislike for seeing a computer screen depicted as a character in a film or TV broadcast. And reading those texts that pop-up on the screen, because there is a SmartPhone in the scene, is particularly annoying. A surprising amount of the liesure time that retirement affords my boomer colleagues is devoted to online communication, by the many individuals who have made the necessary adjustments to modern technologies. These intrepid 'explorers' deserve a part in the story, but the visual appeal considerations must still be artfully applied. Some 70 million retired individuals make up a significant slice of an imagined pie-chart, that represent specific demographic segments to be considered as 'topical' by story creators up there. Please don't show us the pie chart...  boring! Show us the bewildered old guy, searching for a qualified salesperson at Best Buy, to guide his purchase of an affordable laptop. Engaging that much younger demographic, now driving story selection in those board rooms, is a key consideration, if I'm to get my story selected for production. So, lets have a look at that young salesperson, that gets to help the customer make this purchase of electronic gadgetry. Are we talking tatoo's, facial piercings and a blue tooth-device protruding from the ear canal? Do we focus on his/her need to pay off the loan that sent them to some university, that forgot to teach them about being over-qualified for that sales position they would end up in? The scene ends in two ways; the kid sells the customer more gaming capability than he'll need for Skype, his gmail account and finding his grandchildren's FaceBook pages; or,...  and this outcome is far more unlikely...  the grandfather bests the salesperson, walks out of Best Buy with the low-end device he can afford[and was surprisingly in stock] and encounters no insurmountable difficulty, when he turns the contraption on at his comfortable breakfast-table, later that day, after a frustrating 45-minute ride on a metro bus, and a 20-minute hike, from the nearest bus stop, carrying his purchase with tired old arms, and painful arthritic hands. The interaction between the two alien cultures, that needs to occur for a purchase to be transacted, holds out the best hope I have for this story to get made. There are casting considerations, of course; two actors with current shows on CBS works best, so who could we actually get? They should both maintain residences in the same city, and those probable 'locations' to be used during production should be near a cooperating Best Buy retail store. My Dad was a technician that was employed by CBS News, back in the film-days, when a 3-man crew was required to document a story. He would go out with Laurens Pierce when cities in the South were burning; a dangerous job at the time, for a man armed with a Sun Gun. I got lucky enough, just once, to get one of these call-outs from our local affiliate; the three of us lugged equipment up to a crowded office-space at CDC Headquarters; a story was breaking about syphylitic men going untreated, during a clinical study over in Alabama; the prepared statement that we recorded there, was hardly worth all the labor involved[much less the expense incurred due to union wages that were paid]. This 'story' has already been published; here is a LINK to the page:  https://www.booksie.com/577188-sunday-morning Please spare no expense with your REPLY to my e-mail. I'd like to add it to the story.

When I consider bits and pieces of the article, not viewed as a whole - "lacks the kind of imagery that will excite a camera crew."  that statement kinda stuck out. Who gives a fuck what motivates a camera crew? I'd think, and wtf do I know, that the union pay scale would in and of itself be motivational. Having put that out there, it was just the first thing that came to mind. For my edification, in this story, what is your objective? How easy or how difficult the purchase was to make? Beat the kid at the sales game? Having made the purchase, the seemingly sad and somewhat difficult trip home? Perhaps an object lesson about our aging boomer population? All of the above? I see angles. Perspectives. I see an opportunity to make Best (fucking) Buys a proletariat hero, which is just bullshit. I see an opportunity to attempt to make plain to the children of boomers how difficult life can be. I see an op to make the whiz kid at BestBuy look like a jerk. What made the bus ride so frustrating?

Q#1:crew excited by producer's idea will spend more time and produce more fascinating video; imagine being CBS's go-to guy for interviews Q#2:dual objective:sell someone @CBS to do such a story & use e-mail text as content for Booksie.com[fixing to go silver sometime today] Q#3:under 'all of the above' I was trying to imagine what a crew could do to illustrate 'the story' with video that might be doable; my first trip to STAPLES to buy[for ca$h] my new laptop left me leaving for Office Depot with 'urge to kill' etched on my wizened face; next to finding out that the model displayed, at a sales price I can afford, is no longer in stock, my 2nd greatest peeve would be that sales pitch to purchase the more expensive laptop, conveniently on display right next to the one they don't even have, pointing out all that upgraded capability, like he was trained to say to his customer, because he don't know HDMI from HTML; the portrayal of transportation difficulties experienced routinely by retirees, goes to the value to the customer of the salesperson getting everything right on his first try Q#4:at the very end where you highlight the frustration, it would be up to the crew here to depict in their visual medium, the sorts of riders one might encounter, on a ride that zig-zags through all the housing projects, picking up more annoying riders, or perhaps letting the worst of them get off, stopping too abruptly, engaging in stupid arguments over the payment of the fare that delay any forward progress, and arriving at the desired destination 45-minutes later, when a crow could fly that distance in about three minutes its been pretty quiet up that way,...  so a shout-out found a new 'place;' it's called bookrix throwin' life a spitter; got up about 7:30 when I do this, I end up snoozin' during my news broadcasts latest short story kind of a poke at LGBTQ's Y-knot try something new? might bring some of these trolls out of the woods kinda stole these paragraphs, for...  ??

The life of a writer is pretty solitary, both by design and necessity. While you may find yourself in the neighborhood coffee shop a few days a week just for a change of pace, being a writer can be lonely and quiet.

Well-meaning as they are, your friends and family don’t understand the nuance between conflict and crisis. Try as they might, they can’t relate to the complexity of creating a consistent voice.

It’s no wonder that writing and alcohol are familiar companions. But it’s not happy hour yet. Here’s the good news: you’re not alone. In fact, right this moment, writers just like you are actively participating in writing communities all over the web. It’s time that you meet.

don't care for the alcohol bit, but it might fly did the coffee shop bit; kinda cool, but I'm persona non gratis at the downtown one cain't afford that shit no more nohow; cain't even get it together for Burger King Dollar Tree had some tasty canned goods; a $1 can of red beans & rice went down smooth[& spicy] lady behind me in line says that it's $.89 @Wal-Mart the pie-filling I bought would be $2 @Harvey's trade-off looks like Mueller's plannin' a warm reception for those freshmen/women Congressfolk Macron's reception heating up across the pond[the two M's havin' a populist crisis too; Europe's toast] it all started @NAPSTER; not Putin's doin' like some think battery in this Windows lapbook is for shit still fightin' off the FANG crowd; my spam folder still empty, but saw a browser-history thing pop-up w/firefox this AM tried out my MS-internet explorer as plan-B, but BING keeps interferin' & there are other annoying features I use WordPad, so I don't activate my introductory Office suite if I shut down instead of sleep, I have to close the cloud thing that slips in firefox wants to be set as default[another bothersome keystroke] there was an MS e-mail account that can't be used without a phone for activation code figuring out workarounds is my puzzle-thing; won't even register for ACER is there some LINUX browser code? wouldn't want snoopy here to know I was looking into that friedlich is being shamed for trolling already gonna try for a haircut today; it's gettin' too long[sides & back] clipping backside tricky w/tools I got w/trimmer[blind barber w/shaky hands] then there's the mess to clean up there's always the pony-tail option I also have one of those wave-caps, if I go native looking at the side of this new LG, there are yellow[video], white[L or MONO] & red[R] inputs and an S-VIDEO thingy w/tiny pins no HDMI I should find something like the back-up drive you suggested that can 'go there' have not heard back from CBS; no surprise they found a dead body on the corner; not watching my local news broadcasts means checking online for further details maybe they were digging his grave when the water went off my rides to the store, often two trips, indicate a decline in my physical strength that is mildly disturbing after 935-days of incarceration, I had soon gained back some musculature three trips to my storage unit, bearing incredible loads, took a lot more physical prowess than I now command I reminded myself that 2013-2015, I used to hoof it to the store[about 1 mi.], and backpack/carry back my supplies cycling is a luxury I'd hate to suddenly lose this motel-living is also a luxury[said the once-homeless man] I gathered all my manuscripts into one pile[for disposal?] took out any 'identifying documents' for safekeeping also have one three-page ms in an envelope I'll send that way one day tried giving away some of this ladies' apparel, but I think I offended my neighbor-lady with the gesture she liked the costume jewelry that was swag/booty found on the floor of my plan-B hidey-hole across from BK running out of ideas here "lady on"

I can relate to having lost some of that muscle. After I had the shoulder replacement I was laid up for about 8 weeks. Couldn't use the left shoulder at all, and was in a sling/pillow assembly that kept the arm in a state of comfortable non-use. That was pretty much the beginning of the end for my muscle tone. I'm striving to maintain the strength I have. I never thought I'd be this diminished. I sometimes have trouble lifting a full gallon of liquids such as water or milk with the left arm. Pair that with nerve damage that's caused a loss of sensation in my hands...argh...it's frustrating, considering that there was once a time when I could lift a chain motor with 75' of chain with just the left arm. That day has come and gone. I'd love to go pull that shrimp net with you again. Some of the most fun I've had was down at St. Andrew's sound, especially during a mullet run, where the dolphins were snagging mullet that were jumping the nets. What a great show of nature. I'm off for my half-mile round trip hike to the mailbox & back, then back to work on this bass guitar wine-box project for Tuck's brother. I'm almost finished with that, I just have to install the neck, the volume & tone controls, solder all the connections, install the machine heads, and seal the box. Ciao4now. Seizure later agit8r.

Seizure later agit8r ain't bad; mine was Ricky's tagline my intro to chain motors resulted from the now infamous "A call is a call" policy instituted by Local 41 bakNtheDAY; I was offered the chance to say no or yes to the worst thing on offer, before being skipped until my name rotated all the way back around; there was great benefit, on occasion, to getting first crack at something nobody else wanted to fuck with; this 'strict' policy was also a great way for a crook to skip quickly over a lot of referrals, before starting to fill a film crew, with a long list of assholes that turned down anything not film related, in order to maintain their position in this 'privileged' part of the rotating list; a full-time stagehand, with no friends in office[never wanted any], had to say yes every time[endless 4-hour calls] in order to eat; my rigging days started when OMNI Coliseum was new; we routinely had a 5-man crew[one groud rigger]; most points were not directly below any steel accessible from the catwalks in the pods; this, of course, meant guaging the lengths of two cables, Y-ed together with a down-length, to hit the bullseye; this was not only years before riggers became spider-men, that could rig points from beams running between pods, but also years before roadcrews trooped enough cable to deal with arena-shit like the fukkin OMNI; the building had enough cable for their everyday rigging needs, but...  it was all 1/2" shit; add the weight of 30 to 50 feet of 1/2" cable, to about 90' of chain, and you get two men pulling against two other men in another pod, that they cannot see or hear; a good ground rigger was key, and you didn't want no sound puke up there pullin' on that heavy shit beside you; no pussies need apply! - a manly physique was the result, when most of the[by now hundreds of them] guys on the old rotating list found out what was required to say yes to a rigging call, and the list just spun right back to the last 5 guys that took a call at the OMNI; I got seriously beefed-up, before this bullshit came to an end[& before those spider-men showed up, and they started paying a premium wage to get them] I couldn't find any rigger-pics, but this attachment shows the connector tubing; access to the catwalks was from the roof; to access the steel at the apex of a pod, you had to walk up the outside of the pod, using a rope left dangling for the purpose; if brave enough, you could save a lot of time and effort, walking the very broad tube to the next apex position; one problem, however...  there was a crotch-height + 3" lightning rod half way across; not so bad far the tall cowboys

I got lucky having Reagan, Milo, Hokey, and Big Bob to show me the ropes as it were. The Fox and Civic Center were generally easy rigs with most points onstage being single-point because of the way the grids were laid out. The Classic Center grid is a different story though. with 7 main beams spanning upstage to downstage, and no beams spanning left to right, practically every point was a compound bridle. At least in The Classic Center you can see & hear the up-riggers. Also nice is that The Classic Center had installed expanded steel grates between the beams so you can stow cables and gear up there. I miss being a rigger. I miss being healthy enough to rig.

I think 'stinger' should read stringer here; a 'stinger' is a 10' grounded extension cord[I had to ask the Best Boy]; bridle, basket & chain-motor are okay; when I took my ground rigger's training in Vegas, there was only one correct way to lay out pieces and parts for baskets...  one way to engage the shackles with 'economic' motions of hands, feet & back...  one way to tie a completed bridle out on the floor so the high men could inspect the work before lifting; the up-rigger 'makes' the basket[shouldn't have to undo a shackle or untie a bowline knot, to secure the hardware properly]; at the fukkin OMNI, the poor ground rigger frequently had to hold the 1.5 ton motor overhead, long enough for his four guys to secure both baskets, because it's 110' to the apex & the chain was all paid out; at least, if held above the headbone, the dropped shackle ain't a killshot

know of wire-rope, and witnessed a splicing operation @OMNI one day; the splice was as long as the arena[cleared for the process] Kermit[Spradlin] tryed over and over to teach me to splice hemp; that turn-back on the end, that was what the old guys did[pretty quickly] when they cut a rope[often for a snub to tie off a line set], instead of all that gooey electrical tape, was about all I could ever handle; the other end of a snub[about 6'] had a short loop spliced into it[about 14" splice enough for securing the 'safety' to the pinrail] I still think that stinger is just wrong, Wrong, WRONG!

O Peaceful One, That’s what the word ‘friedlich’ means in my first language. And yes, I remember Linda Goodman and her books. The first one was very good, but by the time the second one appeared Linda had ‘caught’ spirituality and went way, way, way over the top with it. She invented a new numerology that did not make any sense at all, if I remember right and I can’t recall whether I read that second book to the end. It was a very poor affair and just cashing in on the success of the first one. God bless and have a good day, With love – Aquarius

2nd book disapointed the girls as well; they weren't half bad predicting love matches, nasty break-ups & etc. they would get your birthday in their crew-roster, and find the one for you my best match was the lighting designer, but he had too many other boyfriends[ballerino's everywhere] I'm PISCES, & the match w/wife #1  not so good[CAPRICORN]; next tour was a GEMINI that earned herself a full-length fur coat she was way too smart to become #2 my mentor was Aquarian man; smartest man I've ever known horoscopes are like fortune cookies; a dream-job if you are a writer[used to love the 'fortune' in BAZOOKA bubble gum] write the stuff correctly, and anyone will agree that his/her sign just got pegged; those coin-op dispensers don't have 12 hoppers Mary Alice Kemery a.k.a. Linda Goodman, of course, would not/could not agree but,...  who wouldn't rather have 12 good forecasts in each daily paper instead of[in my case] one fishy one the shepherd that first saw a maiden bringing water in the heavens over his thirsty head, should get more credit, than some ancient astrologer, wearing ermine, & bearing myrrh this mentor had a way about him[buckle-up,...  I'm talking about you now]; every person in his presence, big or small, credentialed or insignificant, would instantly be made to feel of prime importance; the sun shone upon you; this is bearing water, dear meanwhile, your defenses utterly destroyed, he'd be in your head...  deep in your head, figuring things out... for YOU...  for HIM...  for someone else, that he may not have even met yet...  well, that all depends on how the 'long game' plays out he could artfully manipulate anyone, make them feel good about it, and even if things turned out pretty badly 4U you loved him all the more...  hating only his enemies[that had attacked you, because he was invincible] he would take you to 'special' places, impart sacred knowledge only meant 4U, find things you thought forever lost all the things a magus commands he was quite the yenta as well[but would probably end up 'with' your perfect girl] he moved in some pretty powerful circles, and it was as easy as 'teaching' kindergarten children his favorite recording was a live one w/Neil Diamond enduring an actual Hot August Night this was, of course, him, singing his siren-song to every young girl in a 100-mile radius are you blushing yet DON'T I love you! Everything about you! I'm not, however, fixing to drink your blood.

when I ran away from home[1st & last time], I was driving my sweetie[Diane was a year older w/fiery red hair] in a red Renault 10 w/push-button transmission For 1963 (initially only in France), Renault offered an automatic transmission of unique design, developed and produced by Jaeger.[7] It was first shown at the September 1962 Paris Motor Show.[8] Although it was described as a form of automatic transmission at the time, in retrospect it was more realistically a form of automatic clutch, inspired by the German Saxomat device which appeared as an option on several mainstream German cars in the 1950s and 60s. The clutch in the system was replaced by a powder ferromagnetic coupler, developed from a Smiths design.[8] The transmission itself was a three-speed mechanical unit similar to that of the Dauphine, but from the beginning with synchromesh on all gears in this version. The system used a dash-mounted push button control panel where the driver could select forward or reverse and a governor that sensed vehicle speed and throttle position. A "relay case" containing electromagnetic switches received signals from the governor and push buttons and then controlled a coupler, a decelerator to close the throttle during gear changes, and a solenoid to select operation of the reverse-first or second-third shift rail, using a reversible electric motor to engage the gears. The system was thus entirely electro-mechanical, without hydraulics, pneumatics or electronics. Benefits included comparable fuel economy to the manual transmission version, and easy adaptability to the car. Drawbacks included performance loss (with only three available gears) and a somewhat jerky operation during gear changes. The transmission was also used in the Dauphine and the Caravelle. https://otto-models.com/en/  -  build your own Renault at 1/18 scale

This ability to do some figuring, is greatly enhanced, because of the rudimentary training I received, on how to use those FRACTIONS. Most classrooms today allow the use of calculators, even during exams. Some students, much younger than I, have trained themselves in the use of their digital assistant, through trial-and-error regimens, that work well for ONLINE GAMES. Learning long division is a thing of the past, but having learned that method greatly improves one's ability to calculate something in one's head. ESTIMATING the answer can greatly simplify these mental processes, while providing acceptable numerical results. You may not have a CALCULATOR handy, when you suddenly need the kind of guidance, that a numerical calculation could quickly provide. 'Scientific Calculators' are reasonably priced, and include many more FUNCTIONS, than their stripped-down companions on the shelf have. My favorite one of these added functions, at the touch of a button, causes a randomly generated three-digit number to be displayed. How utterly useful! Another pre-loaded data point, that makes these calculators much more useful, would be a FORMULA remembered from some geometry class, or a physics lab you endured in college. With a formula, and an understanding of the relationships between numerator and denominator of two separate fractions, you can do a lot of useful shit. This verity is the reason they sell calculators at Home Depot & Loew's. They also sell the kind of tools needed, to remove the electronic device from its bubble-packaging. A formula I like is the one for calculating the length of a circle, which uses both its diameter and pi[the Greek symbol that roughly equals 3.14]. This FORMULA is useful for calculating the speed at which our planet circles about the sun, if you remember how far away that star is. Using such a large quantity in a calculation, means that your answer will sometimes be represented in 'scientific notation.' This is to save space on the tiny read-out screen, and should not create insurmountable problems for the operator. Similar calculations, using the same formula, will tell you how many tulip bulbs will be needed, of each color that you have chosen, for several varigated, concentric circles, planted hastily in the FALL, when the bulbs are widely available, and much cheaper to purchase. Figuring out how many eggs you should boil, so you can mix up a three-day supply of fluffy egg salad, is a different kind of problem, but it also has a trial-and-error solution. Believe it or not, it was this trial-and-error process that enabled Apollo astronauts to land their LEM on the moon.

three 'wise' men, bearing gifts followed a star[which some say 'moved' in the night sky in a noticeably unusual fashion] was there any disagreement among these three about what had been observed? three's are pretty important, as you know are there psychological implications buried in this belief in the 'power of 3?'

I was in ANTHROPOLOGY, and freely admit shortcomings relating to psychology cocaine use & Red Book symbolism did fall within my purview study & research into astrology, sorcery & freemasonry have me leaning towards early roots involving healers

this said, I'm quoting the 20th century's most prominent spiritual master:

Black Magic has always one definite characteristic. It is the tendency to use people for some, even the best of aims, without their knowledge and understanding, either by producing in them faith and infatuation or by acting upon them through fear.

this scrap of text was saved, because I was anticipating your e-mail response, so prepared myself I choose to 'act'/think about YOU, instead of wonder why I'm doing it I did take a senior-level course with a new textbook:"Culture & Personality" what did a gal, with an astrologer's webpage, study in preparation? reading stories gently molds the 'story of SELF' that determines our ability to ACT any 'story' requiring these 'edits' simply cannot be accepted as FACT[two rhyming stanzas... should I go for THREE?]my story is so long, that the attention span required does not yet exist language is the real key to a greater understanding in most every FIELD useful language always ends with a tryst negotiating a willingness in the other to YIELD[4 stanzas] this 'sentiment' is purely Darwinian the truth is, since civilization was birthed by, and gave birth to an alphabetic written form of the spoken language there are far too many individuals, fully integrated into society, that can choose to be motivated by artificial drives that do not contribute to successful reproduction like writing stories about it blame it on the moon

Think that would be handy for calculating sidereal time, vs solar time?

you mock me; how tall is your obelisk?

I'm not mocking you brother, I was just having a chuckle. We're victims of our own mechanisms. The calculator made us weaker and less knowing. This is also happening with computers and smart phones. We aren't pushing our minds to be all they can be. I haven't stored anyone's phone number in years. The argument is that you can use your mind for other, more important things ...like watching cat videos on the screen...

yeah,...  those damn cat-videos; I meant your reference to sidereal time, and something I had written about shadows moving about on the floor of my two-man cell

FaceBook, Apple, Netflix & Google are the 4 FANG stocks, which are characterized by their unreasonable P/E-ratios. When I boot-up my device, the first set of keystrokes that I execute, get me disconnected from 'the cloud.' Then, I can click on several options, colorfully displayed, when my FireFox portal screen is displayed. [though this browser is pinned to my task bar, I keep on declining to set it as my default browser;2 more keystrokes] These options are 'ranked' & Google & Amazon are ahead of the Mail.com option that is convenient for me. I have never even visited the Amazon site, but a lot of their junk came already loaded on my new device. There is another one included in my top six, waiting to whisk me away to a MicroSoft APP-store. I wonder what their current P/E-ratio is? There is a YouTube link, but I do visit that Google territory frequently. Apple sold-out to Microsoft, before Microsoft sold-out to Google, and that was before FaceBook & Google sold-out to HSA. In 2011, law enforcement technicians took physical possession of my Notebook device in order to duplicate its drive. Nowadays, such nonsense is no longer necessary. LE's problem now is sorting all those automatically sorted files that keep piling up on their servers. They do not have enough agents to do the necessary sorting & opening of so many suspect files needed to keep up. Instead of a new SpaceForce, Uncle Sam should be preparing for CyberWar, like the Russians & Chinese have. Losing the CyberSpace Race ain't gonna be good, and they have already received several 'Sputnik-embarrassments.' Android OS, in combination with a successful G5-buildout, represents additional frontiers to be protected. During WWII, piles of printed propaganda, were dropped by aircraft overflying urban areas in Axis-territory. The US CyberSpace is being overflown by simiar distributors of toxic materials, and we are powerless to respond. This, as our own propaganda grows increasingly less toxic. Ill-advised trade wars further weaken our position globally, as well as incentivizing new agreements & partnerships. Recent downward pressure on both stock & bond markets simultaneously, is being characterized as a rare occurrence. What happened on those historical occasions? A declining US Dollar would have just such an effect on financial markets. Where assets are denominated in weak currencies, one can expect tandem movements of all asset classes. The global currencies headed in the opposite direction should not be invested in such assets. Large trade imbalances where those debts can be paid off with ever-cheaper Dollars, are also undesirable. So, when India seeks to export significantly less product, what happens to prices in the US? And what becomes of the bluff, that our media has labeled a trade war?

We've been being profiled with steadily increasing depth as data storage became abundant and inexpensive either locally or remotely. A terabyte of retail hard drive storage is about $50, cheaper if you choose to cloud-store your data. My first HDD was 10MB and cost around the same amount. Between AI driven flagging mechanisms, faster and more abundant storage, and our own willingness to share personal information on therm inter-webs, anyone with a smart phone, tablet, or other computing device most likely has a profile. I feel sure that since 1991, there's been enough information gathered about me to provide LE a solid psych profile. I bought my first PC to begin determining the myriad of ways that we're being surveiled. We're screwed, dude.

I'd prefer, at least, the courtesy of a reach-around; wonder if Snowden is still in Moscow?

I think it is laughable, and very French, that yellow vests only clog Parisian boulevards on weekends, as they have to work. Picket lines at the GWCC, and @warehouse where my dear old Dad was a captain, were like that. I remember when all of Poland went out on strike, and "Solidarnosc!" entered the conversation. I spent four long years in a non-union apprenticeship, suggested by an old redneck @BAT. At one point, there was a 'hearing' and I was to be booted from the program. I invited this old bureaucrat to sit in on it, as a concerned observer. Problem solved. Repercussions loomed however. After a series of job interviews 'they' referred me to[where the member-contractor had already agreed not to hire me], I went to IBEW to seek their help. The union organizers sent me to a job site, they were targeting[in order to get at union members working there], where I was quickly hired at journeyman wage. I'd give those 'slugs' a dose of vitriol, as I was going in about 7:45 AM. Then I'd pocket the sign-in sheets, when I got upstairs[40th floor], and secreet them to the organizers. When that job ended, I returned to the Fox stage, a wiser man.

1988 Democratic National Convention in Atlanta at The Omni & GWCC. Just miles & miles of cables running between those two facilities. Seemed rather weak. The bridge/turnaround between The Omni & GWCC. FBI labor racketeering agent Brian Hitt on the scene with with his team of covert cam-ops and the audio squad with their shotgun mics. It's all well documented in the FBI & GBI archives, but you can't find dick about it on the internet. It's as though only one low-rent food workers union was the only union to apply any (laughable) pressure on the DNC in 1988. I will say this, whoever came up with the idea to oil the up-ramp to the bridge/turnaround from Int'l Blvd to the Omni was a fuckin' genius.

there were live feeds from convention hall to CNN secured to the bottom of that bridge; another fuckin' genius made some air-gaps interrupt the video; some kinda stones, huh?

From what I hear, there were several instances of air-gapping the cable runs. ;) Must have been just a series of unfortunate accidents.

probably slipped on that slippery slope, with a sharp cutting-tool inhand; unfortunate indeed

RUNNING for a Congressional Office builds up a momentum; a physical movement towards certain achievements, related to specific ISSUES, that should never be interrupted, by a 2-, 4- or 6-year rest period. Learning how to draft enduring legislation, need not involve years slaving away in some accredited law school. YOU can acquire the necessary skills in a fairly brief span of study-time. You must begin, by reading as many 'representative samples' as you can obtain. You could limit the documents to be thoroughly parsed, to the kinds dealing specifically with the ISSUE you have chosen to focus your efforts on. Your problem, initially, will be expanding your vocabulary enough to be clearly understood, once you enter the writing phase that will follow. Certain traditional 'forms' should be employed during this second phase. Phase three begins, when you furnish copies of your document to qualified confidants, for their opinions regarding certain changes that should be made, forecasting prospects for successful passage of such legislation or suggestions about how courts might reinterpret aspects of any resulting LAW's. For this, you need e-mail addresses for serving Congressmen, judges currently on the appropriate bench and affected business entities that can refer your inquiry to a battery of litigators. Replies to your inquiries will almost certainly indicate certain adjustments to your output that would be advisable. Phase four involves giving credit for the introduction of your BILL, to some ranking member of Congress, that has publicly attached himself to your ISSUE, in order to get himself elected. Previously unaddressed ISSUEs are somewhat problematical in this regard, but can be advanced by celebrities, clergymen and struggling local politicians that are 1)not camera shy, & 2)looking for a powerful issue to which they might attach themselves. More e-mail addresses will most likely be required. My ISSUE was pension administration, and it was very unpopular. I did considerable research, to be sure that I had my facts straight. I collected a plethora of e-mail addresses. I wrote a speech, and practiced before a mirror while timing myself, until I could, basically, read forcefully, everything that I had written, in less than 15 minutes. The facts I was pointing out, never made opinions change very much, but did garner me a lot of attention that had not existed before. I became "Chicken Little," delivered my speech years before my time and eventually, was proved right, when the sky indeed fell. About 700 participants, in my defined benefit pan, were adversely affected.

An ACT OF CONGRESS is not always the creation of a LAW. Often, these 'acts' invite some Administrative Agency to enact new LAW's, or otherwise ENFORCE certain specified REGULATIONS. Such LEGISLATION, must be carefully & unambiguously worded. Most of our 20th century Congressmen, though many of them were indeed trained litigators, were either unable to write the legislation they 'introduced,' or indisposed in some way to do so. Sometimes large staffs of competent individuals get the job of creating a BILL, while often obliged to adhere to instructions given them, to keep in mind, always, that whatever is introduced, cannot be awfully objectionable to the majority political party, in either end of the domed Capitol building. Another source for these craftily-worded proposals is the legal staff, maintained by some powerful business or political entity, whose well-paid lobbyist will deliver the carefully prepared 'suggestion,' at a steak dinner, over an expensive bottle of wine. In the 21st century, 'diversity' among the freshmen/women arriving in Congress every two years, often means that even more of the BILL's that we hear about will have been outsourced. In fact, the ability to read/comprehend proposed legislation, is also in rapid decline, and so the advice from adequately trained staff members grows in its influence, and its importance to the constituency. When you complain that some desirable change in your current situation would require an Act of Congress, you have unconsciously ceded your own ability to be effective, to myriad third parties with agendas that are often going to prove quite toxic. STOP WHINING! First, remove the most glaring ambiguities from that internal expression of your most fervent desires. Get help if that is what you need. Then, ACT...  like Congress. Or maybe that should read, "like Congress should be capable of doing, willing to do & adequately prepared to do."

my sign-in/homepage @mail.com was the fist thing that I saw this AM, after a full boot-up[& ditching that cloud] went into that little gear-box yesterday, and while I was changing a few things, I asked a few questions & paid those Firefox folks a visit too there's even some research on MS & that sell-out to Google[fukkin Chrome-enablers] oops!  there's an APP Explorer update notification[@taskbar]; WTF did that shit come from[I don't do APP!] there's some flamin' MS news thingy keeps me apprised whenever there are 'significant developments' RE:the Mueller investigations not too annoying, and that's how I found out about the 'big' earthquake the other day[4.7 in TN/GA] have you been reading about Jesse & Fred? I also wrote/posted something about the reveered Booksie Guy[founder/moderator] this prompted the evil Dr. Acula to kick me out of his publishing 'house' of 1000 horrors[had to move 4 'books' to QWERTY QUORUM] house-cleaning a sure sign that 1)I'm hitting a nerve, & 2)there's NAZI's @Booksie.com that deserve a little more attention trying to be subtle, & really do try to suppress MY trolling tendencies I'm up pretty early this AM, & lookin' forward to a SPAM-sammy for breakfast egg salad came out great, & there's still 8 eggs in the fridge 4more eggs are relatively cheap, so gettin' out my portable kitchen worth all the trouble & upset my theater-sound in disarray[but still available in a pinch] Miss Universe was a Filipina; I thought NEPAL had the best eye candy[in the top 20]; Miss Ecuador[eliminated earlier still] was HOT! Eagles squeaked past Rams last night; lot of spoilers in the mix this season[go Chiefs] Mariota's on Saturday[?]; some screwy holiday scheduling BS I wonder how my Thunder will fare, when B-ball takes over the only sports event awareness I had while in Vegas, was brother-in-law's phone call during Masters taunting PV about Tiger in AZ, it was Churchhill Downs here, the natives get restless[& loud] during March Madness and NBA playoffs I'm the lone holdout for the fukkin World Series that's all I have on sports

There's so much movie and TV work going on that the wonder girl is frazzled and looked about shot-out. Tuck sez they work 12 - 14 hour days 5 or 6 days a week. She programs lighting systems for the industry. Naturally we didn't just talk "banjo". Mostly she just explained all the different stuff she has going on.

TUCK needs WYSIWYG; design the lighting from home

Whaaaaaaaaaat? Gay musicians...un-fucking-heard of!!! Those shoes are just screaming "what a 'mo."

in high school, I wore the world's first pair of bright orange saddle oxfords; what was that screaming?

You wore 'em, you tell me. ;)

my Grandfather was a painter[both of houses & portraits], and on one of his visits when I was a child, he had returned from a job with a bit of dark brown in a can; I'm in the backyard with Joe, watching him organize all the shit piled in the trunk of his old beater; he sees that there is enough of the viscous remnant, and begins stirring with a broad pig-bristle brush; then, with a brushfull of shiny brown possibility, he throws his foot up onto his rear bumper, and applies a generous coating to his paint-speckled brogans[sock & all]; I guess it made an impression; Mods & Rockers were changing fashions and orange saddle oxfords seemed apropos to getting with it; they were my most comfortable pair[I had five pairs of saddle oxfords; a different look for each day in the school-week], and were badly scuffed from wear; I FIXED THEM! I was already queer-bait, so flamboyant footwear only added the faintest shout to already broadcast "come hither's"

if Mexico were to fund & build a wall on their northern border, they could design & control any gates thought necessary Canada could come to this same brilliant conclusion, but have a much longer border to their south USofA would quickly become a 'backwater' & learn some diplomacy Abe[not Lincoln] has decided to add a state-of-the-art aircraft carrier to their somewhat modest self-defense force's naval arsenal I can't wait to see it sailing proudly upon the China Sea those Russians, allowed to continue their occupation of Japanese territory in the 1965 treaty, better look out Abe could pull a 'Thatcher' on their ass[still claiming self-defense] Modi will not let this important development go unobserved Aussies could use any help coming from both these Asian-Pacific naval assets all that ocean water makes a poor border-wall Philippines & Indonesia could be taking sides soon, and they represent major populations that produce surplus foods on DEC 21, Antarctica will be at the peak of their summer thaw, and we should start seeing some scary video from down that way South America is fast becoming a bigger wild card than Africa Panama will need two[very short] border-walls; they could get whatever they need from Home Depot Online I'm fixing to adjourn long enough to grate some boiled eggs & craft myself a sandwich I had Special K for breakfast[at 1:08 PM]

not so long ago, Japan had the most avid/affluent collectors of vintage guitars like the market for fresh tuna, they kinda became spoilers[unless you are a seller]

Japan was, at one time, made the best guitars you could buy outside of the US. Nowadays, with computer assisted design, and CNC milling machines almost any putz with a few thousand dollars to spare can be in the business of making precision, high quality guitars. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b4bbUaqwTlk

Japan also distills the world's highest quality Scotch. whassup w/dat?

So, you pair that CNC mill  (with which one can also mill metal parts) with a computer, and a 3D printer, and I'm sure that ones ability to fabricate virtually anything becomes reality. Whoa. Hold on there, buckaroo. What about Mr. Retailer and his market-locked semi-monopoly selling copyrighted and patented products? DIGITAL RIGHTS MANAGEMENT...

NAMM was a wonderland, where competing instrument manufacturers got a very expensive opportunity for exposure. Some very well-attended guest artist performances at GWCC come to mind. Who plays your instrument is really the price-driver, and the actually-played instrument catapulted into the price-paid stratosphere! That auction you mentioned, could become a venue for one of these recognizable artists from the Athens music-scene. Have him or her[maybe them] play all your inventory, right before the bidding begins. Let the artist auction off the companion signatures, for the cause. Am I getting through here?

if Siskel & Ebert were arguing about some new film that was just out, their heated discussion might drift onto PRODUCTION VALUES(only EBERT would be likely to do that); if he argued for a THUMBS UP, based on excellent production value(making a film is like telling a story; some tell the same story better), he will say nthat the film's producers used amazing cinematography(spent lots more $$$) to express several themes/ideas, where most would not have(or would not have to), & that added P.V. made the film infinitely better, more entertaining & the extra-mile techniques became like another character in the story. YOUR TASK:when you have decided upon a particular 'song' to work-up for improving the ESSENCE ACT, do a YouTube search for videos & collect all that you may find(especially the less-professional and/or amateurish looking/sounding ones that somehow got posted); next, watch them all(probably several times each) & select the best few from the batch; discuss w/band-members WHY you thought those were the best ones; you may tend toward the better sound quality or the best of the musicians; you might find that you wanted to choose one of them, not for the music, but something they did that was captured in the video, or there were close-ups of fingering that you appreciated or just that the film featured separate performers at the right change-ups. My 1st TV-production had two cameras & a switcher; it was a softball game, sponsored by 96-ROCK & Alex Cooley, played by DJ's vs. band-members from KANSAS, when they came into town for a Concert(Cooley Promoted); it drew a large & raucous crowd of KANSAS-fans to Piedmont Park one sunny afternoon, helped promote both the Concert & the radio station(while having video-production equipment/personnel at the game helped boost all the excitement); one camera was fixed on a tri-pod behind the plate(to capture pitches & swings) & the other was just past 1st-base, and could pan to follow a hit and catch the play in-field or out-(w/close-up on 1st-base action); there was just one microphone, so I put it on a tall stand w/heavy, steady base, and placed where I got an adequate feed for both Alex's play-by-play calls on the P.A., and good coverage of the crowd-reactions(and even some overheard conversations in the bleachers); it took 3 of us, cameraman on 1st to do the panning if there was a hit/play, another guy on the switcher at my truck to change from behind-the-plate coverage, to the panning view of the field, whenever he heard that sound an aluminum bat makes clobbering a softball; then, of course, I was there directing(or perhaps repositioning the mike or just speaking a fake-part as faux-fan), and could have made the spectacle even greater, if I had carried a large megaphone around & shouted-out camera/switcher cues. Things went smoothly with 3-crew, and even though cameras weren't sync-ed & each switch rolled the image, the tape we produced gave the feeling of being there with crowd/Alex/KANSAS; my BetaMax was so amazing, that when I loaned my only copy to Alex, he never returned it(but word got around about my Channel 41 Productions, because this big promoter showed it to everyone that stopped by his office om business)!!! The Production Values of the song-videos you collect and watch depends on so many different things, that it would behoove ESSENCE to thoroughly exploit as many of them as practical in their future bookings; your SHOW can be good enough to disguise any musical- or talent-shortcomings, while growing a better- or well-organized local fan-base, that by bringing more folks to your bookings will equal higher- and better-paying gigs as you mature as a group, or change-out various artists as needed.

https://www.facebook.com/oldstagehands/photos/a.1375675492750537/1375675312750555/?type=3&theater

Following a performer around with what amounts to a big flashlight sounds easy, and probably looks easy too, if you watch while it's being done. Well, it ain't; and your lack of ability is most immediately apparent to the other operators who can make those first outings tough on you if they wish. That's when those relationships first begin to pay back dividends. The lighting director will be less aware of your foibles because the angle from which he is observing is a bad one; the audience even less able to see anything of what is going on. Your buddies can cover for your short-comings, and try to talk you through the rough spots. You'd better be able to take a ration of good-natured ribbing about it too! Watching an experienced operator while the show is going on is one of the best ways to get a heads-up on many of the subtleties that can take years to acquire. If you show the proper respect to his situation, you can ask questions and get helpful answers during the show. This exchange is doubly instructive because you observe the mysterious operations while in direct correspondence to actions occurring on the stage. Sometimes the cuing is coming through a biscuit(a small portable speaker) and you see that much more clearly how his responses co-ordinate with what is taking place. The respect part is something that you must learn about too, in order to understand; when to ask your questions so that they are not bothersome, distracting or downright disastrous; being aware that the presence of the headset sometimes means others are hearing everything or aware of your presence in the booth. Few apprentice operators ever spend that much time doing this; many experienced operators are glad they don't!

Phillip DeNise: ever change the hot carbons? 3rd paragraph from PREFACE to "Work For It, Baby!":Writers are frequently counseled to write about what they know. This writer knows spotlights better than anything else he was exposed to while in his secret world. What I know about them, if taken alone, would provide the content for an exhaustive technical manual. If we begin to consider how I learned what I know, a process then becomes the subject of the manual. Describing that process is most naturally facilitated by making constant reference to actual experiences that I had while learning to operate this specific piece of equipment.

Chapter 20 - Remember me - Kryber

Title: Remember me

Pairing: Kryber [Amber Liu x Krystal Jung] Fandom: f(x) Genre: Drama, romance

Summary: The bad ass androgynous girl Amber Josephine Liu with a sex, drugs and rock-‘n-roll attitude whom everybody seemed to fear and admire at the same time, with the flash of a smug smile on her handsome face, and a sigaret or lolly pop in her mouth, depending on her mood. A leather jacket always hugging her shoulders, ripped jeans and a loose tank top that displayed just a tiny bit of her sports bra when she lifted her tattoo-filled arms. Everyone was weak for Amber Liu. Krystal simply didn’t see it. Until that one night she accidentally met her, and met a whole other person than the stories she had been made to believe. Word count: 4000 Rating: T A/N: Excuse the grammar mistakes. This is my first time writing a multi chaptered fic. Hope y'all enjoy the progress!

Read it on: AO3 & asianfanfics

Moodboard: x

The following week, there was no message back. Krystal's heart had ached when she had sent the good-bye message, but she knew it was for the best. They'd never see each other again, and she could live a happy life. Well, it wouldn't be as happy as it could have been if she had just chosen for love instead of the company, but she was willing to sacrifice that piece of her for the company. Krystal had actually already found piece with her decision. It was easy to pretend there had nothing been going on between them, that their one night stand was just a fling and that it had been a desperate need for love. But they both had someone else who loved them. Kai and Luna deserved their love and Krystal perhaps was ready to give it him now. With an eased mind and heart, she had walked into Jung Internationals that morning. With her favourite mug filled with steaming coffee, she walked up towards the meeting room. Today was Liu Economics and Jung Internationals' monthly meeting. Jackie would be coming t discuss any problems. The whole conversation would probably be about her father and Krystal's future. Usually the meetings were quite casual. Jackie often brought her two seconds in lead and her father brought Krystal. Because Krystal was still the vice president, she'd be alone now, meeting the others by herself. She didn't mind much. Jackie was a gift and she was one of the nicest persons she knew in this industry. More than often her father was silenced by the two eagerly discussing ladies. So why couldn't she do it on her own now? Without a thing on her mind, she entered the meeting room. Eloisa had already put a bowl with good-smelling buns on the table, together with a few small plates. There were five glasses with water with icecubes. Krystal didn't even realize that there was one too many. She sat down in her father's spot, at the head of the table. Until Jackie arrived, she played on her phone. Today she didn't have any appointments but Jackie, so she'd have a 'chill day' for once. Other problems could wait. A quarter passed by, and Krystal was just about to take a look on her watch what time it was, when she saw people enter. With Eloisa on front to guide the small group of people — even though Jackie would probably know the way by now — they entered the meeting room. Krystal put her phone away and stood up to invite them all. Jackie immediately walked over to her, shaking her hand like they always did. Krystal smiled widely. "It's good to see you again, I hope you have been well?" Jackie asked her. Krystal nodded. "Of course. I hope you have been well too?" she asked. Jackie chuckled in response. "Always." Jack sat down at Krystal's right hand. In the mean while, she shook the hands of the other people who came in; Jackie's two vice presidents. One was an older, Afro-American man with a skin that seemed to be made of ebony. His temples had already turned grey, but his eyes were still lively and bore this playful glitter. "Nice to see you again, Jackson," Krystal said. Jackson smiled and nodded. "You get prettier every time I see you, Miss Jung." Krystal gave him a soft slap on the shoulder, and Jackson chuckled. He sat down next to Jackie. Behind him came a tiny latina, with black hair reaching all the way 'till her butt. She had a clapboard in her arms and a pen between her fingers. Her eyes were almond shaped and friendly, with some light make-up. She was younger than Krystal, some sort of apprentice. Jackson was momentarily Jackie's second hand, but if there was something to happen to Jackson, she was going to take over. "Hello, Valentina," Krystal greeted. The girl smiled back widely, showing her white teeth. "How's it going, Krystal?" Valentina asked, as she sat down. Krystal chuckled. "I'm fine, thank you" she replied. "Shall we start then?" Jackie coughed to clear her throat. "Actually, I'm still waiting for someone, but I'm sure she'll arrive in a few moments." Krystal raised her eyebrows. Normally, Jackie didn't bring anymore people than Jackson and Valentina. "Well, if she'll arrive soon, we can just start, can't we?" Krystal said, smiling kindly. The other agreed by slowly nodding their heads. Eloisa took the small plates and handed them out to the four people at the table. They all took a small roll. Jackson immediately took a bite and so did Jackie. An hour passed and Krystal doubted whether the extra guest Jackie had invited was still to come. So she had eventually just begun with the meeting. As predicted, it was all about her father and the future of Jung Internationals. Krystal told them all about her father, how he was in the hospital at the moment because his blood pressure was extremely high, causing him not to be able to be the Chairman of Jung Internationals anymore. Instead, he would pass his title to his daughter in a few months. Krystal didn't tell Jackie that she would get the company as a wedding gift. Even though she and Jackie were rather close — as close as you could be as collegues — it was weird to talk with her about Kai and her upcoming wedding. Jackie was still Amber's sister, and if she told Amber anything about her wedding and the overlapping handover of the company, would she be able to make up that Krystal had chosen the company over her? And otherwise, it'd still be awkward. Work and private life were best lived separated. Even though Jackie Liu couldn't directly make decision in Jung Internationals, Krystall still valued her opinion more than everything. The two women were much alike, but Jackie had a few years extra in age on her, meaning she also had a few extra years experience in business. She had become a CEO one year ago, so she'd be the perfect person to judge her and the situation. "I think you'll do well, Krystal," Jackie said, after Krystal was done telling her story. "You have the same intelligence and insight level as your father and with a fresh dose of feminism, I think you can take Jung Internationals to a whole new level." Jackson and Valentina immediately agreed loudly. Krystal noticed from the corner of her eyes someone coming at the meeting room through the glass door, but she didn't pay any attention to it. It was probably Eloisa. "Yes, I think that-" Jackson started. The door opened, someone stepped in. Valentina gasped. "What do you think, Jackson?" a familiar voice said. Krystal froze in her seat. Her breath got caught in her thoat. Her nails digged into the soft wood of the table, leaving marks. All the colour drained from her face. Her body almost seemed to be in shock. Amber stepped into the meeting room, a half-grin on her face. Krystal didn't dare to look behind her, hoping that if she didn't see her, that she wouldn't be there. "You didn't forget that I'd come, did you?" she asked. Krystal winced at her voice. Jackie sighed and looked at her sister. "Like we could ever forget you. You're too present. Sit down, please. I brought my little sister, because she wanted to see what my average day looked like, she asked me to. I hope you don't mind, Krystal?" Jackie asked. Krystal opened her mouth to say something, but her throat had become so dry that it was hard to speak. Her tongue felt like sandpaper in her mouth. "N-no," she eventually managed to get out, in a voice that was suddenly too hoarse to be normal. Krystal sat down across from Jackie, on Krystal's left side, immediately taking one of the buns and taking a bite. She immediately sunk down into her chair, with her legs spread and a piece of bread sticking out of her mouth. "Great," Amber said enthustiastically. "Then, ladies, don't be bothered by me, continue with your conversation. I'll just listen and observe." Krystal still didn't dare to look at her. She was so close, close enough that Krystal could smell her parfume. A summer breeze... She almost could feel herself loose consciousness because of that. Krystal hadn't expected that she'd see Amber anymore. It wasn't like they were in the same industry, or that they had communual friends or that they lived near each other. They would only see each other if one of them made an effort... Amber made an effort, she realized. She came here on purpose. There was no way that Amber Josephine Liu, who had turned her father down several times when he asked her if she wanted to work at the company, suddenly was interested in Liu Economics, let alone wanted to attend the meeting with Jung Internationals. Amber was here for Krystal, no doubt. "I-I have to use the bathroom" Krystal stuttered. With her teeth sank deep in her lower lip, she quickly stood up, with shaky legs, and walked as fast as possible about of the meeting room. Almost tripping over her feet, Krystal eventually found the bathroom. She immediately opened the tap and splashed some cold water in her face. Her arms shook when she held herself up against the sink, looking in the mirror, seeing how the drips of water ran from her face into her neck and over her back. She felt like throwing up. Even though she was shivering, her cheeks were burning hot, scorching almost. "Fuck..." she breathed. She placed one hand on her forehead and closed her eyes for a moment. "Fuck, fuck fuck..." She had never known that Amber would do this. In fact, she would've expected her to move on quickly too, because she hadn't heard anything of her anymore. But now that she was here, it was obvious she was angry, really, really angry. And there was no way to avoid a confrontation. Would she have the guts to tell Amber what she had done? Krystal knew she didn't. But she needed to go back into that meeting room, she could not stay away forever. Even though she'd rather dissapear right now and never come back... Krystal dried her face, fixed her hair and walked back. Amber and Jackie were chatting up, just like Jackson and Valentina. Only now she got a good look of the woman. Her lower lip contained several old wounds, little cuts that had just begun to heal. Her right eye looked like it had been blue for the last couple of days, but that it was healing now too and the skin had almost returned to the previous colour. She wore her leather jacket, a black, tight fitting t-shirt and dark grey jeans with open knees. Her hair fell casually across her forehead, probably to reveal her eye. Jackie and Amber both looked up to her as soon as she came in, although only Jackie had a smile on her face. Krystal sat down at the head of the table again and cleared her throat. "Is it necessary to discuss more, Jackie? I told you everything about my father and-" "You wouldn't want us to leave, now, do you?" Amber interrupted, chuckling softly. It wasn't the light chuckle she usually let people hear. It was a bit dark, with a hidden undertone that she actually didn't mean well. Krystal froze. That was exactly what she wanted, for them to leave, but it wasn't supposed to be so obvious. Jackie shot her younger sister a foul look. "I'm sure Krystal has much more to do than talk with us all day now that her father is in the hospital. I think we're all through for today," Jacke hissed, more to Amber than to Krystal. The woman packed her stuff. "My apologies for neglecting you and Liu Economics. Expect better communication in the coming few days," Krystal quickly said. Jackie turned to her and smiled warmly. "Don't worry about it. Just keep me updated on your father, it's such a shame the old boss is having so much trouble with his health." Krystal nodded. Jackie was the first to get up. Jackson and Valentina followed. Amber looked at them for a moment, probably weighing her options, but eventually got up too. They all shook her hand, showed her a smile or nodded... except for Amber. She just walked past her without saying a word. Krystal could feel the ice beaming off of her. Her throat was swollen with sadness. The group of people left. Eloisa led them downstairs again and Krystal quickly dissapeared into her office. With a sigh she let herself fall onto her leather couch, immediately burying her face into the soft pillows. God, how she felt horrible. The look on Amber's face had cut right through her heart. Betrayal and sadness and anger all piled up into one horrifying look that made her tear up too. She laid there for perhaps five minutes when her body grew restless and she got up from the couch. Krystal was about to walk back to her desk and start up her laptop — a good dose of work always did her well when her mind was troubled — when she heard the door open. "I don't need coffee yet, thanks Eloisa," Krystal said, without looking up. "I'm not your cheap coffee lady." Krystal almost choked on her own spit. She stopped, frozed right where she was. The door fell shut, she heard footsteps coming closer. Her cheeks burned like they were on fire. Her hands formed fists and she pinched so hard that she felt her nails dig painfully in the skin of her hand. Amber's hand grabbed her wrist, turned her around so that they were facing each other. Krystal couldn't help to look at her eye immediately, her bashed lip that was still dark purple. She had to suppress the urge to touch her face with the tips of her fingers. "Amber..." Her voice was tiny, barely hearable, but Amber chuckled mischievous anyway. She rolled her eyes and let Krystal's wrist go. Her smile dissapeared from her face, and suddenly it turned annoyed, angry. Her frown caused her whole forehead to wrinkle. "Are you not going to ask me why I'm here? Or perhaps... do you already know?" she added, as she pulled up one eyebrow. Krystal shook her head. "How did you know where my office was?" she asked her. Amber chuckled and rolled her eyes again. "You know, it's not more than child's play to break into here. Chumming up to your personal assistant who's so clearly into girls — and probably into you too — stealing her key card in a hug and getting in here was too easy. You should change your security system to the new face recognision system like we have, much more diffecult to get into." Krystal frowned. She was a tad disturbed by the fact that Amber had just chatted up Eloisa just to break into her office. Incredibly smart, of course, something she could've expected from Amber but she couldn't help to be a little bit jealous. Focus, Soojung, she thought. You let her go. You shouldn't be jealous. You're being ridiculous. "Why are you here?" she asked icily. Amber huffed. "Because we had something, Krystal. And it mightn't have been much, but it was something and you shut me out without a reason. I want to know why so I can decide whether you're just a bitch playing with people's hearts or a sad, misunderstood girl who's having a hard time." Krystal blinked a few times with her eyes, completely taken back by Amber's words. "I don't know what you're trying to accomplish here, Amber. Fact is that we can't be together. I only just was the first one to end our fling." Amber's eyes squinted together. "Fling?" she spoke the word with care. "That's what I am to you? A fling? Someone you can replace at any given moment?" Krystal opened her mouth, at first to say something to calm her down, to tell her that she wasn't just a fling. But she closed it again and looked down. She'd only make it worse. Amber was rigid. "I think I was wrong about you then. I thought you hadn't changed a single bit, that you were still the same girl I knew eight years ago. But this shit company changed you for the worse. I didn't know you'd be as stupid as this," Amber spat. Krystal stepped back, but Amber just stepped foreward so they stayed close. Krystal's heart beated fast in her chest, pumping adrenaline through her body. "I have not changed... that's why I did it... I chose the company over you just like I chose my father over you when we were eightteen..." Krystal said softly. Amber huffed. "That's bullshit. Back then at least you had a valid reason. Your parents are assholes and they'd be rude to us if we went on. Your father wouldn't have taken you in in his company et cetera, et cetera. But this time, Krystal, you do it because you're too lazy to face whatever concequences there are to be. Has it ever occured to you that you can have both and that you don't have to choose between a good career and a miserable life or no career and a good life. You can have both but I don't think you can even see that far. You choose the path that is the least trouble to you so you cut me off. Why on fucking earth-" "BECAUSE YOU RUINED ME!" Krystal blurted out in pure desperation. Amber fell silent. Her lower lip quivered and she started at the other woman with tears in her eyes. "Because you ruined me..." she repeated, softer. "I could have lived a troubleless life, you know? If I had never met you, I would've never goten into this mess. I could have loved Kai with all of my heart and I would not have to choose between my heart or my brain. We'd both be happy... and the worst part is that I wouldn't want it to be that way. I loved us, I loved what we had. I love the thrill of cheating on someone whom I don't love, I love loving you because it makes me feel alive in this dead world. But if I don't see you anymore, I thought, my life would be okay. Not as good as it would be if I had both you and the company, but it would be okay. And i'm okay with living an 'okay' life. It's enough for me, I can handle that... But when you're around I feel like giving up everything I've worked so hard for. and if I be with you now, then the sacrifice we made when we were eightteen would be in vain too. You make me want to do things I would never do if it was someone else and I hate myself for it. I hate myself for being in love with you, Amber, don't you understand?" Tears were now freely running over her face, and she didn't even try to hide them. Let Amber see how much in conflict she was, let her see how much she hated this situation and how much she wanted her. She looked down to her shoes, sobbing soflty. Amber stayed silent for a moment, then started to talk. Her voice was softer now, but still angry. "I won't let myself be pushed aside like that anymore, do you hear me? I won't be treated like some piece of old garbage. So I'm asking you right now, Krystal Jung, if all you feel about me is a fling. And if it was just a one time thing. I will go. I will leave and you'll have your happy perfect little life with your boring Prince Charming. But if I'm not, then I'm going to do everything in my power to stay and I won't be pushed over anymore. But you have to tell me. Am I just a fling to you?" Amber was out of breath when she ended her talk. Going from almost screaming to almost crying had exhausted her and Krystal knew how she felt. Holding in your emotions took every muscle of your body to keep everything inside. Krystal sniffled, looking back up to her. She smiled apologetically. "I can't tell you you're a fling.. because you are not," she said, in a broken voice. "We both know it." "Then act like it. Act like I'm the only person you will ever love." Krystal sniffled again. "You know I cannot do that," she said softly. "Then what are you willing to do for me, Krystal? Because all you have done is take little parts of me and there's nothing more you can take because you already own me. You already have everything. But there's still a whole lot of you that I have never seen before." Amber's voice had turned darker. Her gaze had deepened even more. By the look of her body language — her formed fists, her tense shoulders, her fastened breathing that idicated her troubled emotions — Krystal knew she almost lost her. It hit her like a truck that Amber was physically so close, but mentally so far away. And perhaps, that was the last straw that broke the camel's back. Krystal stepped foreward those last few centimeters and without even fully thinking through, she grabbed Amber's jacket firmly and placed her lips upon hers. It was supposed to be a soft kiss, but Amber's hand immediately shot up to her neck to cup her face and deepen the kiss passionately. They turned into a mess of rough kisses and panting against each other's lips. Krystal let herself be pushed against the desk, willingly let Amber do whatever she wanted because she knew this might as well be the last time. Tears streamed over both of their cheeks. When Amber pulled back, Krystal sought with her lips after hers, not wanting it to end. But Amber placed her hand upon Krystal's shoulder to keep her on a distance. Amber stayed close though, breathing hard and fast. Krystal was dazed on the scent of her parfume. It was enough to make her faint. "I'm giving you one last chance, Krystal Jung. Third time lucky," Amber whispered. Her voice was hoarse and husky, causing a shiver to run over her back and her belly to twist with lust. "Decide what you want. Two days. I won't receive any cowardy texts of yours anymore. You'll come to my apartment to tell me your answer, face to face. If you're only one minute late, it'll be over, even if you answer was to choose for me." And suddenly, she was gone. Amber had let her go, turned her back and walked with big strikes towards the door. Without saying anything more or looking over her shoulder, Amber left her office, whiping her cheeks right before she stepped around the corner and out of Krystal's sight. Still not being able to breathe properly, Krystal could only just stare at the spot Amber left, her mind still blank and her heart still racing. Eventually she calmed down a little, but with the calmness, the realization what had happened also came. With a grown she hid her face in her hands and cursed at herself. She heard a door open and a chuckle to fill the room. "Really, Miss, one hot husband on one side and fierce rebel like her on the other side? I'd be having a midlife crisis too." Krystal quickly whiped the tears off of her face and ran with her hand through her ruined hair. She looked up to her personal assistant and managed to place a weak smile on her face. "Oh, Eloisa, you don't know half of it..."

New reference sheet for my coffee baby Jeffrey <3 His BIO is long so prepare yourself: 

Name: Jeffrey Albarn Age: 24 Gender: Cis-Male Sexuality: Panromantic/Sexual Headcanon Singing/Voice: Robin Pecknold who is the lead vocals of the band Fleet Foxes (Example: youtu.be/INiITvrKIIc?t=50 just a tad bit of a volume warning since I copied the time to where the instrument starts before the vocals starts so just putting it out there ) Ethnicity: French/American/German/Irish/Romanian ((He's more of the mutt out of the bunch )) Species: Human with coffee for blood along with his other fluids made out of different types of coffee or cream based. Personality: Skiddish, Sweet, Unselfish, Humble, Vulnerable, Modest, Melancholy, Pacifist, Sensitive, Pathetic, Soft-Spoken, and VERY Cautious Biology: Jeffrey was born into a family whose blood-line having a rather strange biology in terms of their blood and other bodily fluids. Both his mother and father carry this blood-line that descends down for thousands of years, possibly even more. Nobody knows why this is. Some say that it is a curse while other say it was just evolution taking part of overly consumption of coffee beans. Again, nobody really knows. Each human that has this sort of blood-line all have different types of blood. Rather than saying Blood Type A, B, O, etc etc they usually go by their type of roast (Light, Medium, Dark) but their p.h scale is a lot lower than the average humans (more acidic). The blood-line can cause MAJOR disadvantages to run a normal and healthy life depending on their blood types. -A person that has a light-roast coffee blood can maintain their life easier considering the low amount of caffeine that they have in their bodies. They wouldn't have to take medication to keep their organs in checked nor have to do as much check-ups as those who have medium-dark roast coffee blood. Women can born healthy children as long as they're careful. -Those who have medium-roast coffee blood should take extra precautions and should make doctor appointments every so often to be sure the organs aren't overly working themselves. Medication is suggested in small-doses. Should practice stress-reveling routines and to be sure that a healthy diet is in check. Pregnancy needs to be watched carefully on a daily basis. -Those who have dark-roast coffee blood are the ones that usually have common diagnosis of severe anxiety, insomnia, and are more prone to illness. They usually have to take a special kind of medicine (which is what Jeffrey takes) what is called Decaf pills (Which is kind of like high-blood pressure medicine to regular humans). It helps people of this type of blood to run their life easier as well as get a good nights sleep. They would have to take the special pills about 2-3 times a day. Pregnancy is a risk that should not be taken lightly. If a woman of dark blood wants to get pregnant she would have to take multiple amounts of medication every day, eat extremely healthy, and have a routine of light exercises. If the father has light-medium roast blood it's usually less of a 50/50 chance that the baby will be healthy, but if the father is a dark roast carrier miscarriages are often common or sometimes have organ deformities (In which most children die before they reach the age of 30-40 ). Because of the many disadvantages of having dark-roast coffee blood, people who have this type of blood are often the most lonely and rejected. It doesn't help that others avoid them and spreading misconceptions that they are the least mentally/physically stable which is not the case 100% of the time. A person of dark-roast coffee blood can have a decent lifestyle as long as they're extremely careful and aware of themselves. -Drugs are never ever EVER recommended and should be prohibited from usage of any person that is part of the bloodline. It causes 10x more damage quickly than it would to the average human. Alcohol is fine in small doses though. -Consumption of coffee isn't really common but not rare either. I mean, why would you if your blood practically has caffeine in it? -The blood-line can be in any person despite of race and gender. -Those who carry the blood-line can have a healthy relationship with those who aren't carriers. Though should be extremely weary if children comes to mind since rather strange abnormalities of any kind could happen. BIO: Jeffrey was raised in a very loving and nurturing environment. Both of his parents loved him very very much and of course was careful and kept a good watch on him. He had an older sister (Who was 13 at the time) by the name of Vienna who always took joy of babysitting him and just being a loving sister overall. She was the first one before their dad to teach Jeffrey how to play the acoustic guitar.  As they both grew up, Vienna started her music career at the early age of 19 (Considering that both of their parents were successful country music singers as well). Jeffrey looked up to her and wanted to be a wonderful singer just like her. Unfortunately, like most things, good things come to an end. When Jeffrey turned 15 years old, Vienna had to have 3 major heart surgeries in one month before it just finally gave up on her. She only had little time to live which gave Jeffrey along with their mother and father time to say their goodbyes. It was a heartbreaking lose for all of them especially on Jeffrey's part. What Jeffrey didn't know, however, was that Vienna had an abnormal heart to begin with from birth (Since their mother is a dark-roast coffee blood carrier). Both her and their mother and father kept this a secret from Jeffrey to keep him from constantly worrying about her and stressing him out a a young age. Through out the years, Jeffrey had been diagnosed with depression/anxiety and found it hard for him to continue with his music. It would just remind him of Vienna every time he would pick up his guitar. Luckily, his father encouraged him lightly every single day to continue playing music and to someday share his beautiful voice with the world. His mother became more protective and smothering of him ever since Vienna died. While he appreciates her being concerned for him, he became annoyed with it and eventually found a place of his own at the age of 21. It was a huge change, but to get away from the painful memories was what helped him in his recovery. To this day, he writes his own music in hopes to make his own album someday and just chilling in a low and quiet life. -Is a medium-roasted coffee blood carrier (but has much more of a severe case than the actual norm) -Has a canon naga boyfriend, Vincent. Two of them hit of off on a rocky start to just being in a platonic friendship but soon grew so much more. Jeffrey was the one who fell in love with Vincent first before the naive naga could really understand what the concept of love was. Needless to say, these two are in very much in love currently. -Had an ex-boyfriend, Sebastian, on which treated him horribly emotional/mental wise. Jeffrey broke up with him and ended it on a sour note and pretty much avoids him like the plague. It left him feeling stupid and ashamed of himself to be taken advantaged like that. It took the support of his close friends to help him get him back on his feet instead of  laying in bed almost 24/7 crying into his pillow without having a bite to eat. -Keeps his right eye covered all the time. Nobody knows why exactly but truthfully he's slightly blind (a defect from birth). He has to keep that eye covered or it messes up his barrens terribly. It doesn't stop him from playing the guitar and trusts his sense of touch to do so. -Gets occasional nose bleeds when he gets into a situation that makes him nervous or stressed out -Is a massive cry baby and often doesn't like to get into confrontation. -Works at a music shop to pay for the bills -Hangs out with two of his best friends; Sour-Jolie and Velvet-Dear. He sometimes hangs out with Hazel every once in a while for spiritual guidance and advice. -Prefers to be in a warmer climate (Currently living in California) -His favorite foods are Angel Food Cake and Raspberries -Hates meat of any kind (He hates the taste of it ) -Has thought about going to college, but the thought of it makes him extremely nervous and sick to his stomach. He wouldn't think he could handle being around a large group of people. -Was decently above average as far as his weight was when he was in his mid teenager years. When Vienna died depression hit him pretty hard with his weight which is why he practically looks the way he is now. It doesn't help that his anxiety makes him constantly nervous which ruins his appetite.

Stephanie Bachelder - phaware® interview 276

Pulmonary Hypertension patient Stephanie Bachelder on being diagnosed with a terminal illness, the power of combination therapy and why she feels she is no longer dying of her disease, but living with it.  

My name is Stephanie Bachelder and I am a pulmonary arterial hypertension patient. For probably about 15 years, I was symptomatic, having shortness of breath, swelling of the legs. I was passing out. I had extremely high blood pressure. I was very obese, morbidly obese, and I just kept being told by my doctor that I was fat and lazy, and had asthma, and to go exercise.

I wasn't sent to any kind of specialist or anything like that and it wasn't until I was in complete respiratory, right heart, and kidney failure that the doctors finally looked at my case and started doing some tests, which included the echocardiogram and then the right-heart catheterization, which confirmed the diagnosis. It only took me about a month to be diagnosed once I was that sick, but again, 15 years, symptomatic with no diagnosis.

When I was first diagnosed, I went home and I looked up the information and I was horrified. I was resigned that it was a death sentence for me and that there was nothing that I could do to get better. Even with the medication that my doctor had put me on that was supposed to help me breathe better, I didn't see myself living much longer.

Well, the first therapy wasn't the right therapy and unfortunately I progressed from stage three to end stage. So again, I was already in right heart failure. I was in stage three end diagnosis, but stage four by 2013, they told me to get my affairs in order that I probably wasn't going to see the end of that year. So at that point my doctor had tried a different therapy, two therapies, a combination therapy. So probably within six months of starting that therapy, I was off the oxygen. I was blowing out of the water, the six minute walk test. I walked like 300 meters further than I had in the previous walk test six months before.

I got off the oxygen. At that point as I was getting better, I was able to lose a little bit of weight. I had been involved in a weight loss program, but they kept telling me that they would not do the surgery on me to have the gastric surgery, because I was too sick and I'd never make it through the surgery. My pressures came down enough on that combination therapy that they did the gastric sleeve surgery and I've lost 250 pounds, which has further, absolutely further improved my condition. I am now on a triple therapy. I live a normal life. My pressures went from in the hundreds to down in the low thirties now. I think it's important to first of all get diagnosed and get the right kind of meds. There's 14+ approved treatments out there now, whereas there wasn't several years ago and people are living longer with the right treatment and each case is individual.

I can't say that somebody would be able to go through exactly the same steps that I and my doctor did and have the same results. So it's an individual case by case thing to be able to find that right medication, that right combination. Some people have other conditions (I mean I had multiple morbidities, co-morbidities, they call them), and I still live with health problems, but I live a better life than I lived previously. I'm grateful for the little things and I don't sweat the big things anymore, because I know that I've been through something very, very big and I was fortunate enough to make it through it.

The questions that I get and the advice that I then give after these questions are about the side effects with the medicines. I tell people that those side effects can be very, very, very difficult to live with on a daily basis. Especially if you're living with a family, you have a family to take care of, you have a job that you're working. It's hard. It's very hard to deal with joint pain and jaw pain and diarrhea. You have to carry an extra change of clothes with you sometimes.

I mean you have to make adjustments, but I live every day managing my symptoms when I have them with over the counter medicines. I've been fortunate enough that I can do that. I tell people I bullied my way through those side effects and the titrations up on the medications to go up to the highest dose that they wanted me on. Like I said, still have the side effects, but they're more manageable now and you have to stick with it. Absolutely have to stick with it. I tell people that I'm no longer dying of my disease. I'm living with it.

My name is Stephanie Bachelder and I am aware that I'm rare.

Listen and View more on the official phaware™ podcast site

Tips For Cycling Between Primal and Keto

Consistency is key in everything we do.

Training in the gym: The most optimal workout imaginable won’t do a thing if you only get around to it once every two weeks.

Sleep: A solid 8 hours of shut eye every night beats 10 hours one night, 6 the next.

Learning a new skill: Practice for an hour each day and you’ll become a master. Spend twelve hours one time and never again, and you’re remain a beginner.

The same is true for nutrition. A consistent, reliable way of eating—especially with a diet like keto, where extended consistency actually builds new fat-burning mitochondria and establishes habits—tends to produce the best results.

But what if you wanted to be a little less consistent? What if you wanted to cycle between Primal and keto? Is such a thing even possible?

Yes. Just make sure you do it right—and for the right reasons.

When Deciding Whether You Should Even Cycle At All… Stick With Keto For At least a Month Before Cycling

Four to six weeks is usually a sufficient period of time. Then, once your muscles have become better adapted to the burning and utilization of actual fatty acids—not just ketones—you’re in a good place to start cycling between Primal and keto, or drift in and out of ketosis as you like.

Premature cycling without a sufficient base of fat adaptation will produce lackluster results across the board. You’ll never quite reach fat-adaptation, so the carb cravings will persist, your aerobic efficiency will suffer, and your fat burning machinery won’t be complete. And if you try to “cycle” without actually being fully ketogenic, you’ll be back at square one. Metabolic limbo is no place to be.

Do It For a Legit Reason

Don’t “cycle” because you’re five days into keto and feel terrible.

Don’t “cycle” because you miss French fries.

Don’t “cycle” because you took the stairs instead of the elevator and totally burned, like, 30 grams of glycogen from each quad.

Cycle because you’ve earned and fine-tuned your fat-burning ability, and now wish to support higher-intensity, higher-volume physical pursuits. Or because you just feel better with a more relaxed approach to macronutrients. Or because you really, really love purple sweet potatoes (I don’t blame you).

Watch Out For the Signs Of Poor Metabolic Flexibility

If every time you eat a carb you get sleepy in an hour and show signs of high blood pressure, even if it’s after an intense training session that should have depleted enough glycogen to make those carbs tolerable, rapid cycling is not for you.

If every time you “cycle” back to keto you feel like a truck hit you and it takes a week to get over the keto flu, rapid cycling is not for you.

When Cycling Back Out Of Keto… Reduce Fat Intake To Make Room For Any Added Carbs

Fat and carbs together is a fattening combination. Most of the worst processed junk food, the stuff responsible for the obesity epidemic—soybean oil soaked French fries, potato chips, donuts and the like—are bags of fat and carbs. They spike glucose, raise insulin, depress lipolysis, and increase fat deposition while being so nutrient-poor that you’re hungry again in half an hour. But it’s not just the junk food that makes this combo dangerous. If you’re dropping a half stick of butter into your baked potato, even if the butter’s from grass-fed cows who snacked on natto, did CowFit, and fell asleep to a Weston A. Price audiobook recording every night and the potato is an ancient heritage variety unearthed at Machu Picchu, you’re still overdoing it.

I’m not saying to “go low-fat.” I’m suggesting you reduce fat calories as you increase carb calories. What does that look like in practice? A gram of fat has roughly twice the number of calories as a gram of glucose (it’s actually 4 calories per gram of carbs and 9 calories per gram of fat, but close enough). For every two grams of carbs you add, reduce fat by one gram.

Remember That Primal Is Still Compatible With “High-Fat,” Meaning You’ll Probably Still Be Fat-Adapted

Primal has always been primarily about high-fat eating (while being agnostic enough about macronutrients to encompass moderate-carb approaches, too) and the resulting fat-adaptation. Keto isn’t the only path there.

It may take longer. You might never get to the point where you could get someone ketone-drunk by breathing into their mouth. But plain old low-carb Primal will turn you into a fat-burning beast. It’s important to realize that “ketosis” isn’t even the primary goal for most people doing it—the primary goal is building the fat-burning infrastructure that will give you food freedom for years to come.

Consider Time Restricted Feeding/Intermittent Fasting

Restricted eating windows and/or intermittent fasting are great ways to make your transition away from keto onto a higher-carb Primal approach go more smoothly. You’re not leaving ketosis entirely, since for the duration of the fasting period you’ll be consuming your own body fat and generating ketones. You get a nice guaranteed dose of ketosis every day (and night) while enjoying the benefits of relaxed macronutrient ratios—a wider variety of plant foods, in-season fruit, more carbs for athletic pursuits that warrant them.

This could very well be the dietary approach you stick with for the long haul, and that’s okay.

Go For a Hard Workout

Anything done with sufficient volume and intensity will turn your muscles into glycogen sinks—the perfect scenario for someone trying to ease their way back to a more relaxed macronutrient intake. If you have any residual physiological insulin resistance from being keto, a hard training session will re-sensitize you.

When Cycling Back Into Keto… Remember To Get Extra Salt, Magnesium, and Potassium

Even if you have extensive experience being fat-adapted and your mitochondrial infrastructure is set up to utilize fats and ketones, you’ll still lose a lot of intracellular water, electrolytes, and plasma volume switching back to keto—low insulin has that effect, regardless of prior adaptation. That means eating more sodium, more magnesium, and more potassium. Salt to taste (maybe even a bit more than that), take a good magnesium supplement, and eat potassium-rich foods.

Side note: An unappreciated and keto-friendly source of potassium is zucchini. Seriously, you probably don’t realize it, but a large zucchini has very few digestible carbohydrates and about a gram of potassium. Have at ’em.

Maintain Your Training

Some people suggest taking it easy during the transition. They say to let your body “ease” into the change. Hogwash. Consistent exercise is a great way to upregulate fat burning in muscle tissue. In one study, obese people—a population known for impaired fat oxidation—increased their ability to burn fat by a factor of 2.7 through moderate exercise alone. Imagine the effect it’ll have on you.

The good news is that it gets easier the longer you do this. At this point, 15-ish years into my low-carb, high-fat lifestyle and 3 years into my keto lifestyle, switching between Primal and keto is effortless. It just happens. And if I eat some carbs, I’m no worse for wear.

Of course, you don’t have to cycle between Primal and keto. Stick with one or the other. Or neither. Whatever works, works. Just be honest with yourself.

Thanks for reading, everyone. Take care, leave your tips for the transition down below, and have a great rest of the week.

Reference:

Berggren JR – Am J Physiol Endocrinol M (2008) Skeletal muscle lipid oxidation and obesity influence of weight loss and exercise

Tips For Cycling Between Primal and Keto

Consistency is key in everything we do.

Training in the gym: The most optimal workout imaginable won’t do a thing if you only get around to it once every two weeks.

Sleep: A solid 8 hours of shut eye every night beats 10 hours one night, 6 the next.

Learning a new skill: Practice for an hour each day and you’ll become a master. Spend twelve hours one time and never again, and you’re remain a beginner.

The same is true for nutrition. A consistent, reliable way of eating—especially with a diet like keto, where extended consistency actually builds new fat-burning mitochondria and establishes habits—tends to produce the best results.

But what if you wanted to be a little less consistent? What if you wanted to cycle between Primal and keto? Is such a thing even possible?

Yes. Just make sure you do it right—and for the right reasons.

When Deciding Whether You Should Even Cycle At All… Stick With Keto For At least a Month Before Cycling

Four to six weeks is usually a sufficient period of time. Then, once your muscles have become better adapted to the burning and utilization of actual fatty acids—not just ketones—you’re in a good place to start cycling between Primal and keto, or drift in and out of ketosis as you like.

Premature cycling without a sufficient base of fat adaptation will produce lackluster results across the board. You’ll never quite reach fat-adaptation, so the carb cravings will persist, your aerobic efficiency will suffer, and your fat burning machinery won’t be complete. And if you try to “cycle” without actually being fully ketogenic, you’ll be back at square one. Metabolic limbo is no place to be.

Do It For a Legit Reason

Don’t “cycle” because you’re five days into keto and feel terrible.

Don’t “cycle” because you miss French fries.

Don’t “cycle” because you took the stairs instead of the elevator and totally burned, like, 30 grams of glycogen from each quad.

Cycle because you’ve earned and fine-tuned your fat-burning ability, and now wish to support higher-intensity, higher-volume physical pursuits. Or because you just feel better with a more relaxed approach to macronutrients. Or because you really, really love purple sweet potatoes (I don’t blame you).

Watch Out For the Signs Of Poor Metabolic Flexibility

If every time you eat a carb you get sleepy in an hour and show signs of high blood pressure, even if it’s after an intense training session that should have depleted enough glycogen to make those carbs tolerable, rapid cycling is not for you.

If every time you “cycle” back to keto you feel like a truck hit you and it takes a week to get over the keto flu, rapid cycling is not for you.

When Cycling Back Out Of Keto… Reduce Fat Intake To Make Room For Any Added Carbs

Fat and carbs together is a fattening combination. Most of the worst processed junk food, the stuff responsible for the obesity epidemic—soybean oil soaked French fries, potato chips, donuts and the like—are bags of fat and carbs. They spike glucose, raise insulin, depress lipolysis, and increase fat deposition while being so nutrient-poor that you’re hungry again in half an hour. But it’s not just the junk food that makes this combo dangerous. If you’re dropping a half stick of butter into your baked potato, even if the butter’s from grass-fed cows who snacked on natto, did CowFit, and fell asleep to a Weston A. Price audiobook recording every night and the potato is an ancient heritage variety unearthed at Machu Picchu, you’re still overdoing it.

I’m not saying to “go low-fat.” I’m suggesting you reduce fat calories as you increase carb calories. What does that look like in practice? A gram of fat has roughly twice the number of calories as a gram of glucose (it’s actually 4 calories per gram of carbs and 9 calories per gram of fat, but close enough). For every two grams of carbs you add, reduce fat by one gram.

Remember That Primal Is Still Compatible With “High-Fat,” Meaning You’ll Probably Still Be Fat-Adapted

Primal has always been primarily about high-fat eating (while being agnostic enough about macronutrients to encompass moderate-carb approaches, too) and the resulting fat-adaptation. Keto isn’t the only path there.

It may take longer. You might never get to the point where you could get someone ketone-drunk by breathing into their mouth. But plain old low-carb Primal will turn you into a fat-burning beast. It’s important to realize that “ketosis” isn’t even the primary goal for most people doing it—the primary goal is building the fat-burning infrastructure that will give you food freedom for years to come.

Consider Time Restricted Feeding/Intermittent Fasting

Restricted eating windows and/or intermittent fasting are great ways to make your transition away from keto onto a higher-carb Primal approach go more smoothly. You’re not leaving ketosis entirely, since for the duration of the fasting period you’ll be consuming your own body fat and generating ketones. You get a nice guaranteed dose of ketosis every day (and night) while enjoying the benefits of relaxed macronutrient ratios—a wider variety of plant foods, in-season fruit, more carbs for athletic pursuits that warrant them.

This could very well be the dietary approach you stick with for the long haul, and that’s okay.

Go For a Hard Workout

Anything done with sufficient volume and intensity will turn your muscles into glycogen sinks—the perfect scenario for someone trying to ease their way back to a more relaxed macronutrient intake. If you have any residual physiological insulin resistance from being keto, a hard training session will re-sensitize you.

When Cycling Back Into Keto… Remember To Get Extra Salt, Magnesium, and Potassium

Even if you have extensive experience being fat-adapted and your mitochondrial infrastructure is set up to utilize fats and ketones, you’ll still lose a lot of intracellular water, electrolytes, and plasma volume switching back to keto—low insulin has that effect, regardless of prior adaptation. That means eating more sodium, more magnesium, and more potassium. Salt to taste (maybe even a bit more than that), take a good magnesium supplement, and eat potassium-rich foods.

Side note: An unappreciated and keto-friendly source of potassium is zucchini. Seriously, you probably don’t realize it, but a large zucchini has very few digestible carbohydrates and about a gram of potassium. Have at ’em.

Maintain Your Training

Some people suggest taking it easy during the transition. They say to let your body “ease” into the change. Hogwash. Consistent exercise is a great way to upregulate fat burning in muscle tissue. In one study, obese people—a population known for impaired fat oxidation—increased their ability to burn fat by a factor of 2.7 through moderate exercise alone. Imagine the effect it’ll have on you.

The good news is that it gets easier the longer you do this. At this point, 15-ish years into my low-carb, high-fat lifestyle and 3 years into my keto lifestyle, switching between Primal and keto is effortless. It just happens. And if I eat some carbs, I’m no worse for wear.

Of course, you don’t have to cycle between Primal and keto. Stick with one or the other. Or neither. Whatever works, works. Just be honest with yourself.

Thanks for reading, everyone. Take care, leave your tips for the transition down below, and have a great rest of the week.

Reference:

Berggren JR – Am J Physiol Endocrinol M (2008) Skeletal muscle lipid oxidation and obesity influence of weight loss and exercise