I wonder if a service dog with alert training would be of any help for me. because part of the problem is it's always a roll of the dice as to when I'll hit the threshold and I usually don't know what exactly was the tipping point, especially now when the threshold is both low and usually delayed reaction.

cuz like, the utility of a service dog with like, retrieval training is obvious for my situation, where I am often too exhausted to even get pre-made food from 5 feet away although the necessity varies wildly along with my condition and the availability of human support. and some dogs have been trained to lead their charges home or even pull wheelchairs like sled dogs, which would make it safer for me to leave the apartment by myself (if other things weren't making it untenably unsafe regardless).

but I feel like if I'm ever going to seriously look into the possibility of getting a service dog it's somehow my job to figure out what they can do to help me, rather than like. an occupational therapist. and even with a service dog I'd still realistically need intermittent human care, but crash alerts are something a dog can potentially do that a human can't. and would probably be helpful. if the dog says to lay down, I trust the dog.

This probably doesn't belong here but twitter have become a dumpster fire and I have followers still I rather leave behind but I can't tell who is who since they all changed their usernames. But anyway. I just had this thought and it's bothering me. I've been drawing all my life, started to really try when I was like 11 and people said I was "talented" when the truth was that I just kept practicing most hours of the day. Even went to an art highschool because people told me it's what I should do with my life, I was miserable the entire time, did not make anything meaningful and came out of it hating it even more. I have been writing just as long, I started both around the same time. Making oc's and lil stories. I never heard anything about it. I happily talked about my stories and people thought it was weird or not original enough. Someone who had a lot of power of me at the time pushed me down so I stopped entirely. I started writing again 2018, having finally started reading fanfiction for the first time in my life (it was seen as something shameful by people I pretended were close in my life), and started writing it as well. It was shitty at first, but I got better. My now spouse was patient and wonderful and helped me through my shitty english, shitty storytelling and what not and encouraged me, said what I did well and was actually someone to tell me my WRITING was good, it was something completely new for me. And at times when I was happy with something, I could actually be like, yeah I did that well, and it made me happy while writing it. I was just trying to draw something, just practice some kissing poses. It made me fucking mizerable. Idk if it's because I people kept pressuring me I should get good enough to live off my art and it lost it's appeal, or because I never have a feeling attached to it, or simply can't convey the feeling I want to. I just genuinely dislike it. Except for a rare few times a year. Since started to writing again I haven't exactly been hiding it, even to irl people. But it's the same shit. Talk about writing, no one cares, no one cares if it makes me happy. Mention ONCE or show some shitty art? Everyone is like woaaah you do this THING you should continue to do this THING! I once had a occupational therapist fucking harrassing me an entire appointment that I should be drawing again. Idk this is like half an essay long and I don't even know what I want to say with it. I am just pissed that writing, at least my writing is continously looked down on, or made lesser than my empty art. I pour my fucking SOUL into my writing. I research and I spend forever wording it exactly right, I plot things and make little artworks with words. And it's still never enough. It will never be enough and I'm just so damn mad. If I didn't have my spouse I would have stopped long ago. Because STILL people who are supposed to care, doesn't care or even sound embarassed. Fuck you all. I found my thing, my hobby that I can do forever and never grow tired of and ya'll just look down on me? I'll continue writing my damn fics, I'll continue practice screen writing and make little attempts of original stories. Maybe one day I'll really get to say fuck you to you all and make something out of it. But likely, none but my beloved will read them anyway. Because apparently my writing doesn't matter. But I don't care, even if I do care. Because me and my spouse will have our little cottage and a shared office and write together with animals cuddled close, and I'll be happy. But it's not fair.

⤑ made-up love song drabbles 

First meeting: Seokjin’s POV

kim seokjin x reader warnings; none!  words; 2,443

↪︎ read the series here / and drabbles here 

Seokjin was having the worst morning. He was usually in work by now. An early start to the day was the only way to start the day, so maybe that’s why he was thrown for a loop right now. Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. But he shouldn’t think like that, after all, he’d promised Arin he’d take her to school this morning. He was embarrassed to admit this, but Arin had been living with him officially for six weeks and he hadn’t once driven her here. It was unacceptable he knew that, but he was learning quickly that juggling a demanding job and being there for his daughter wasn’t easy. Perhaps Nana had a point… 

At the thought of his ex-wife, he grimaced, remembering the massive argument they’d had two months ago. The one that had triggered Arin’s move. When it came to Nana he often found himself harsh with his words. Not that she wasn’t with hers either. They had grown so used to lashing out at one another over the years it was hard to stop, even if their divorce was coming up to two years ago now. That’s what his therapist said anyway, and Seokjin just listened, knowing she was correct just unable to think of a way to change it, despite the countless advice Mrs. Shin had given him over the months, years. 

He and Nana both worked hectic and testing jobs. They were alike it that way, ambitious and driven. That’s what had attracted him to her in the first place, yet it was the thing that had ruined them soon enough. With age, especially after the birth of Arin, he found himself mellowing out. He was no longer in such a rush to get to the top, or to be the best. Maybe that was hypocritical of him, seeing as a few years ago he had become CEO, taking his father’s place. There was no higher. He had nothing more to chase. 

Nana continued to work long hours, motherhood not slowing her down in the slightest. Not that it should. Stereotypes weren’t his style, but it was beyond frustrating when all he wanted to do was spend time together as a family and Nana was too busy preoccupied elsewhere. She loved Arin, he had never doubted that and never would, but sometimes his exasperation outweighed his rationality. When Arin had come to live with him he was so determined to prove Nana wrong. He could easily do both – work and be a father. Of course, he wasn’t stupid, he had known he’d need help, and Misook was more than he could have ever asked for, but he had always been stubborn. 

The weekends were great. On his he would organise a bunch of things for he and Arin to do, and on Nana’s weekend he’d use the time to catch up on any work he had remaining from the week. Only, a fortnight ago Nana had cancelled the night before. Arin had been devastated obviously, there was video call of course, but it wasn’t the same for a six year old. He had been left to pick up the pieces, not to mention he had fallen behind on paperwork – and still hadn’t caught up.  Hopefully this weekend would be better, but he wasn’t holding his breath. 

He sighed to himself as he fiddled with the handsfree. Why wasn’t his cell phone connecting?! He knew he should have taken the other car. Weekdays were the most difficult. He just about saw Arin in the mornings and most evenings he came home past 6pm meaning he just had about enough time to eat dinner with her and catch up before it was time to get her ready for bed. It wasn’t fair on her, she deserved more of his time and he missed her terribly, but time was extremely difficult to find. That’s why he’d driven her to school today, he’d been promising for weeks, ever since she’d started at Primrose Hill actually. He didn’t want to be a let-down. 

He’d chosen today, a Thursday, because it was thankfully a quiet morning. Well, had supposed to be a quiet morning. Soobin’s call just before he’d left home had not been something he’d wanted to receive. The web conference with Mr. Lee wasn’t supposed to be until mid-morning but of course the impatient so-and-so had missed the memo – or just completely ignored it seemed more probable. 

Seokjin’s headache grew worse at the thought of today. He’d already popped two painkillers early this morning when Arin had woken him up prematurely by jumping up and down on his bed. She was excited, he understood that, but Christ was she loud at 5am. At least he knew she loved her new school, that was all that mattered. He’d been so worried in the beginning, taking his time to choose a smaller school so she wouldn’t be so overwhelmed. It worked out perfectly though. She adored Primrose Hill,  and her teacher actually, which he was thankful for. It was always Miss. Y/L/N this and Miss. Y/L/N that… Oh, that reminded him, there was that parent teacher meeting tomorrow afternoon. He couldn’t miss that, no matter what was happening at the office. He was glad he’d had a test run today actually. Shamefully he hadn’t been here in person yet, doing the entirety of the application process via phone call and the internet. The principal had understood, but that wasn’t the point. He needed to do better. He was trying to do better. 

This time he let out a yell of frustration as his phone told him yet again it had failed to connect via Bluetooth. He gave up, Mr. Lee would just have to wait until he was in the office to take his call. This was crazy, what on earth could the man want so early in the morning?! There was no emergency. He dropped his phone to his lap and started up the vehicle in haste, wasting no time in reversing out of the spot – Thump!

His car had collided with something. With his heart in his stomach he hit the brakes immediately, looking out the rear view mirror to see a white car. The something he’d hit. Shit. This day had just gone from bad to worse. Panicked, he drove forward, back into the space and turned the engine off quickly. He hopped out, acting on instinct, forgetting his phone was in his lap as it clattered to the floor. Thankfully the screen didn’t smash, and he didn’t stop, picking it up in a rush. No sooner had he come into view, the occupant of the white car was getting out of the driver’s seat too. 

“Are you okay?” He asked you immediately, the panic shrill in his voice. He was always such a competent driver. The only time he’d ever sped was when Arin was about to be born, rushing Nana to the hospital at two in the morning after her waters had broken. Now look at him. What a mess. 

He found himself babbling, not even giving you a chance to respond. “I am so sorry, Miss.” At that precise moment in time his phone started to ring again. “I really am. I was–” 

He had tried to ignore it, he really had, but the noise was just plain irritating and now he found himself quite mad. Stopping abruptly midsentence he let out a huff  and picked up. “Kim Seokjin, speaking. Please can I –”

“Mr. Kim, where are you? There’s something–” Mr. Lee tried interrupting, but Seokjin wasn’t having any of it. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to call you back. There’s been an emergency.” 

“An emergency? What kind? It better not be to do with –”

“Thank you for understanding. Goodbye.”  Seokjin hung up quickly. He’d deal with the consequences later. Not that he’d let that son of a bitch walk all over him. He never had. Immediately, his attention was back on you. There were pressing issues at hand here. “I’m just so sorry. Is there any damage?” 

He made his way over to the spot he’d hit, just above your back wheel and crouched down, inspecting the damage. “Oh god.” He grimaced slightly. The paint was scratched pretty deep but luckily there were no dents. Still, he’d been foolish. This was entirely his fault. 

“The bike rack,” he muttered to himself, looking behind him at the culprit. It had taken the paint clean off. Brushing a hand through his hair, he noticed you were beside him now, still not having said a word. He caught a hint of your perfume, unconsciously noting how pleasant it was. 

“What happened?” You asked him, your tone of voice taking him by surprise. You had every right to be angry of course, but couldn’t you see how sincere he was being? He looked up, composing himself hopefully. “I-I was distracted for a moment, I didn’t realise–” 

“Were you on your phone?”

“I’m sorry?” On cue the damn device started ringing again. Mr. Lee was on thin ice. He hit ignore straight away. “No, no. God, no.” He protested, realising what you meant as he shoved the phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. He straightened up, standing directly opposite you now as you crossed your arms, waiting for his explanation it seemed. He couldn’t help but notice the way you strained as tall as you could get. As if you were trying to appear imposing. Not that you weren’t unnerving right now. It was just the action was pretty… No. He wasn’t even going to think it because he didn’t want to be at all condescending. 

“I was – I was trying to get the handsfree to work in this damn car and last time I checked there was no one there.” Seokjin cringed at himself. He so obviously sounded flustered. He just couldn’t help it. There was something about you that made him nervous, and it wasn’t just because you looked so livid right now.  “I wasn’t thinking, I just backed out –” He stopped himself, suddenly realising something. “Why… Why were you on stop directly behind me?” 

“Excuse me?” You instantly got defensive. “I wasn’t stopped, I was trying to find a space.” 

Seokjin tried his best not to smile. Now it was your turn to try and not get flustered. The way your hands waved about animatedly as you spoke was…charming. Was that appropriate to say? You were watching him again, a look on your face that made him uneasy. Maybe it was because, and he hated to think this yet again, but maybe it was because you were so pretty. God, he sounded like a little kid. You were very attractive, did that make it sound any better? Probably not. Here you were well within your right to be mad at him, and here he was thinking such inappropriate thoughts about you. Well, that sounded weird. He didn’t mean like that. He just thought you were really pretty. He was spiralling over nothing. 

“I’m sorry, but do you even work here?” 

Your question threw him. “Work here? No.” 

“Then why are you using the teacher’s parking lot?” 

He watched as you folded your arms again and his eyes widened in horror as he realised his mistake.  “Oh no. I didn’t realise…” This was just great. Now he looked like an idiot. That or just plain rude. 

“It’s signposted.” 

Yup, just plain rude it was. 

“It’s my first time dropping off my daughter at this school. I didn’t know where to go, and I was getting so many phone calls, I was just trying to…” He petered out, realising it was no good trying to explain himself. You probably didn’t care about his morning. “There’s no excuses for this. I’m truly sorry and I feel awful.” He apologised, lowering his head.   “Let me sort this out. Money is no object. I can call my mechanic straight away and–”

“There’s no need,” you interrupted almost instantly, sounding baffled. 

“It’s really no problem.” He insisted. “Come on, if we wait for our insurance companies to sort this out god knows how long it will take. No, I’ll phone the mechanic I use right now and they can come and pick your vehicle up. It’ll be fixed in no time. You won’t have to pay a thing.” He was only speaking the truth. Most insurance companies didn’t even want to know. 

“No, thank you.” You voice sounded tight, clipped. 

He could sense your irritation but couldn’t understand why. “No?” 

“I don’t need your help or your money.” You declared. 

Now, there was no need to be stubborn about it. He’d phrased it wrong, admittedly. He wasn’t flaunting his money around the place. At all. He was only trying to help. In fact, he needed to do this. It was his fault. “But I did this.”  

“It’s fine, just –” You stopped when his phone started ringing again, glancing at the chest. “You’re obviously very busy, just forget about it. It’s a few scratches.” 

Turning your back to him you glanced at your watch. “Wait,” he called out.

“Goodbye,” you called back, rounding the front of your car ready to dive back into the driver’s seat.  

Seokjin’s frustration was about to hit its limit. Why wouldn’t you listen to him, and why wouldn’t his cell phone just shut the hell up?! “But – Argh!” He let out a yell, the shrilling of his phone loud and he yanked it out of his pocket roughly. 

It was his assistant. Mr. Lee was probably hounding him too. He picked up. “Soobin, what is it?!” 

“Mr. Lee, he’s –”

“Yes, I already told him I’m –”

“He said it’s extremely important. His suppliers are being difficult.” 

“What? He said they were reliable.” Seokjin ran a hand through his hair, feeling defeat wash through him. Today had beaten him and it was only 8am. As Soobin’s voice carried through the speaker, Seokjin watched you slam your door shut and whizz into one of the only parking spots. 

It wouldn’t sit right on his conscience if he left things like this, he’d damaged your car. He needed to make things right. Immediately. Or almost immediately. He’d sort things out with Mr. Lee as fast as he could and then call Jimin. Yes, that sounded like a great idea. He actually found himself smiling a little as he watched you walk towards the school building, a determinedness in your stride that was indeed admirable. You’d certainly left an impression, that was for sure. 

The one he’d left on you, however, was embarrassing… 

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

Watching House as a Physician.  Season 2 Episode 3. Infectious diseases & Respiratory.

Welcome to another episode of medicine done badly.  I’ve been watching House on Amazon prime.  Got the subscription during the pandemic, as like everyone else, I’ve garnered an online shopping habit now. 

Alright. In the opening scene a young roof worker falls off the roof presumably due to acute shortness of breath. i.e. trouble breathing. (why do we use the term shortness of breath? it’s the english version of the greek term dyspnoea - the actual preferred language of Western doctors. Fuck do I know why we like Greek and Latin so much. Moving on.) Then cut to Dr. Cuddy examining him in the back of the ambulance. 

This would never happen in real life. Yes you can be on the scene and handover to the paramedics or EMT when they arrive as a doctor. But they would take over. I personally wouldn’t have the balls to look after a patient in a different environment, different resources and field I’m not familiar with. You can have field Emergency docs - but requires different training. 

Also, ethically, you’re not meant to treat family or friends. Dr. Cuddy later in the episode gets a bit emotionally involved - this is why we don’t treat people close to us. We lose objectivity. We make mistakes. And you see later see Cuddy do some pretty bad ones. 

I feel like much of this episode is not really IM. THere’s less differential diagnoses being made. More side tracks into trauma, emergency, intensive care or vascular surgery. 

Anyhoo. Trauma and emergency would manage the fall and post fall traumatic injuries. And the trauma protocol was either not shown or completely off in this episode. Surgeons don’t seem to exist in House, at least not very much. Similarly, no other doctors exist except surgeons in Grey’s anatomy.  Also you can’t clear a C Spine clinically, which is what Dr. Cuddy does in the back of the ambulance. You’d need a CT first and clearance both radiological (by a radiologist) and a clinician. 

Aaaanddd, you can’t just listen to the chest and go no pneumothorax (air in lung or collapsed lung) - yes it’s reassuring, but again you’d need imaging to confirm this, given how serious a condition this is. It is realistic to consider in the setting of a fall, particularly if there are rib fractures that can puncture the lung.

Once the more critical injuries are managed, we would look after the IM side to things. 

So. Finally.. differential diagnoses.

Takes what seems and feels like days before they finally sit down and go through differentials. Really not much on that white board. Dark fingers, broken ribs, fever and lung infiltrates. Time line’s not clear on when he developed the fever.

Presenting complaint isn’t really addressed. It could be: - Dyspnoea, leading to the fall, he’s requiring O2 via nasal prongs, which suggests that he’s hypoxic (this is definitely odd in a young guy who’s normally very physical fit if he works as labourer). so much to unpack here, but they never get into this well.  Post fall, Cuddy notices his ring and pinky finger becoming dusky, which becomes very central in this episode. Very few things would cause this. pains me that they do no differentials on a white board for this alone. 

Then a lot of throwing around medical terms. 

PTT prolonged and Fibrinogen off. These are markers of your coagulation pathway and signs that you’re not forming the clots the way you should if you have an injury.  DIC is also thrown around. What is DIC? Disseminated intravascular coagulopathy. Certainly severe sepsis and trauma can cause this and lead to severe bleeding. It will throw off your coagulation pathways (things that stop bleeding). It’s not common. I’ve treated it once, while I was rotating in ICU, it is not standard ward medicine practice. Standard therapy is fresh frozen plasma (FFP) and even large metropolitan hospitals only have a limited supply. It’s a huge concern for surgery and post-op (as you patient will just not stop bleeding after you cut them open, and if not treated, potentially bleed to death). Cuddy mentions ARDS. Acute respiratory distress syndrome, it could be a complication, but it’s not a cause. Again, falls more into the realm of critical care (a la ICU). However, patient had SOB prior to the fall. Finally HOuse makes the observation. of “what if he was sick before he had his run in with gravity...” Everyone jumps to Pneumonia. And this is where it gets confusing.  If he was unwell, the minute he entered the emergency department with a fever and hypoxia, they would have worked him up for any garden variety pneumonia, bacterial or viral. Cultures would have been sent and imaging. Any young hypoxic patient would prompt a closer look at the chest. And no one waits that long to start antibiotics - “sepsis kills” is a slogan often used around hospitals. You have to initiate empirical therapy within 30 mins, to reduce mortality and morbiditiy. 

Ordering an Echocardiogram (USS of the Heart) also makes no sense in the context of a lung infection. I would order one, but not to look at the lungs.

Then there’s the most unrealistic thing about this series. Doctors breaking into patient homes.

It is however, a good way to showcase social history. It’d be boring to watch a doctor ask the patient outright about their living situation etc, but it’s far more interesting to see exactly how they live. We try as much as possible to illustrate to each other and ourselves what the living environment and working environment of our patients are like. 

In the context of infection, a good social history can point out exposure. As they exemplify by showing dead rodents and mould. This leads to 2 further differentials: Rat bite fever (caused by streptobacillus, something you’d see in the US, but probably not anywhere else), it’s an unrealistic differential in general. And the 2nd is aspergillosis.  Okay..  So aspergillus is a mould commonly found in our environment. In fact it’s everywhere around us. 

THere’s few times when it’s an issue.  It is a concern in respiratory syndromes like asthma or bronchiectasis. And also as an opportunistic infection in immunocompromised individuals. in the context of asthma, it’s not so much the aspergillus itself that causes issue, it’s our body’s over reaction. It’s a hypersensitivity issue that causes inflammation in the lungs or a pneumonitis. We even gave it a name. Allergic bronchopulmonary aspergillosis. It’s still badness, but it doesn’t happen that quickly. We also have specific tests for this, which were obviously not considered in this episode of medicine done badly. In the immunocompromised host (steroid therapy in transplant patients or those on chemo, etc.), you can get the invasive mould as an opportunistic infection.  I don’t really understand why they think it would be the case here. Also, killing the bug with heavy duty anti fungals will only give more issues rather than do anything. They start him on amphotericin. this is not standard practice.  And now it flips to why amphotericin is not standard practice or first line treatment for invasive aspergillosis. The patient has now become anuric (not making any urine). (First line drug by the way is voraconazole, superior efficacy in trials with a lower mortality rate and ADRs) Also, note that they have just jumped straight to dire renal failure from the amphotericin. No work up. That said, heavy drugs like amphotericin are often a cause, but  It’s often temporary with the appropriate supportive measures (stop insulting agents, give hydration, monitor fluid balance), reversible, even if you require temporary dialysis or haemofiltration. Anyways, would get into AKI another day, that’s a whole other post in and of itself.  Then his hand is apparently “dying.” There’s pain on light touch, but it’s not a cold, pulseless limb. Or discoloured. doesn’t add up. This now enters vascular surgeon territory. Again. It’s interesting that there’s never any referrals to any other teams. If he has good circulation, I would imagine they would try to save the hand and consider other differentials. 

The only time I can think of an emergency amputation in this situation is necrotising fascitiis. That’s the only thing that would occur that rapidly  AND necessitate losing tissue or limb.  With a young person who’s this ill, there’s often multiple subspecialties involved by this point. I’m also surprised he’s not in ICU.

Then there’s a buncha filler scenes of the cast of house getting emotional. Ho my god, they’ve taken the hand of a young 20 something physical labourer. Indeed, this is badness. Unlike House, we actually are trained to always consider how a patient’s illness impacts their activities of daily living and livelihood. 

I find the general population assumes that we practice medicine in a vacuum, we merely treat the clinical illness and ignore everything else. They imagine that we all must be like house. 

Actually we try to put things in perspective as much as possible and knowing our limitations in this area, we often enlist the help of friends - physiotherapists, occupational therapists and social workers. They never exist on TV or on the movies. Ever. Unless it’s to portray how terrible it is to be a social worker.  From time to time in this episode, Cuddy laments that being chief of medicine is too administrative and she hasn’t been a doctor in years. That also doesn’t happen in real life. If you’re chief you’re still a doctor. You have admin shit to do deal with yes, but you still practice. It’s like being chief resident, in all the TV shows with one of these, you still seem them working as residents, be it scrubs or grey’s anatomy. 

Back to the differential. They finally get to endocarditis. Culture negative to be precise. That indeed would explain the bilateral dusky fingers that led to unnecessary amputation. Septic emboli. 

Going to stop here, more out of exhaustion now. I’ve created quite a lengthy post. Happy to reblog thoughts on culture negative endocarditis on request later. This is a worthy topic to study up on for students or residents. At least review Duke’s criteria and think about your clinical features like Roth Spots and Janeway lesions or Ouch Osler’s nodes. 

The ending is also a far fetched connection to make, but is one that we would consider. In fact, we would ask in detail every time from day one - have you had any exposure to animals. It’s very rare to see someone so young be that sick out of the blue when you’re immunocompetent and have no underlying predisposing conditions. If there’s no focal source, then we would even ask about injectable recreational drugs, exotic travels, sexual health. 

Most of the time, patients that sick are honest to their doctors. 

But what about..

Frankly, much as we lie as humans, when our lives our on the line, we’re generally pretty honest (sometimes too honest) with the people we want to save us. 

Any patient who is young and comes to hospital requiring inpatient admission, they’d be investigated by subspecialties with expertise in certain areas such as infectious disease. The dept of infectious disease would either be home team, or all over this patient as they special in the realm of both common and rare infectious diseases, culture negative endocarditis would have been considered before a hand amputation.

The term, “department of diagnostic medicine is laughable,” particularly when they consider it the only department in the world in the show. 

In actuality, it’s a department that is universal and exists everywhere. it’s Internal medicine. Dr. Vivek Murthy, the next surgeon general (and also the last one under Obama) is an internal medicine physician. Ken Jeong of Community and the Hangover fame is also a physician of internal medicine. 

Beginning to get the sense that most episodes are going to end with a diagnosis that is either infectious disease, rheumatology or haematology. But generally those tend to be most interesting and give the most plot twists or meaty differentials V.s. a stroke or acute myocardial infarction is fairly straightforward to diagnose. 

This is a very twisty episode in all the wrong directions. 

Dyspnoea is a very common presenting complaint. There’s a properly done approach to this in the podcast by the Curbsiders by the way. 

Losing you

Growing up, there’s not a lot of constants in life it seems. Different friends, growing out of relationships, changing grades, new clothes when the old ones become too small. When you’re young you take things for granted, especially people. When you’re young, it’s impossible to interpret how short life really is- the thought of losing those people in your life who ARE constants is not even relevant because you’re too busy playing with your newest gadget or engaged in fourquare outside on the blacktop with the neighbor kids. You don’t ever think “I should spend extra time with my mom or my grandma (in my case, great aunt) because they will not always be here.” As you grow, you notice the people around you aging, as well. You begin to realize the importance of quality time and conversation with your loved ones. You take the extra time to do things for people when they can longer do things for themselves.. this is all an introduction to the story of my great aunt, Madeline.

Aunt Madeline, whom my sister and I grew up calling “Mammaw” was the most selfless woman I’ve ever met. I mostly carry memories of her helping out when money was a bit tight- and by that I mean, making sure Kelly (my sister) and I had things like our first bikes and new school clothes each year. Kelly and I grew up knowing we couldn’t always ask for every little thing we wanted because we knew we weren’t “rich” by any means. We knew how to live without things other kids had & we were okay with that.

My mom, sister and I would go pick Mammaw up at her house and go out to eat at Double Dragon, her favorite Chinese restaurant (which has since closed) she would order wonton soup and we would usually split an entree or two. My mom and Mammaw would always joke about their abnormally large spoons. We would go to Easton and spend entire afternoons that turned to evenings. Kelly and I could simply be looking at a piece of clothing or accessory and Mammaw would sneak up behind us and say “do you want that? Give it here, I’ll get it for you.” Kelly and I would hesitate or lie and say “no that’s okay, I don’t need it.” .....well, you guessed it, Mammaw would buy it anyway. *Blast to the past* Kelly and I were looking at game cubes, Mammaw bought it for us. Kelly and I were admiring the brand new, super slim iPod nanos... Mammaw bought us each one. We would only accept these gifts because we knew how much it meant to her to be involved in our lives and make us feel special. Sometimes my mom would say “you’re going to spoil those girls rotten.”

Aunt Madeline was our constant. She was at the hospital when Kelly and I were each born. She was there for EVERY SINGLE adolescent birthday party, she wouldn’t miss these events for the world. She taught Kelly and I how to skip rocks at Ye Old Mill after we had our bellies full of ice cream. When I think of my childhood- I think of memories with her.

I remember one late night, Mammaw called my mom saying Uncle Carl (Madeline’s husband) was very sick and needed to go to the emergency room. My mom loaded Kelly and I into the car in the middle of the night and rushed over. Mammaw knew we had already been in bed and that we both had school the next day so she immediately took us upstairs into the guest bedroom, which was absolutely freezing because Uncle Carl didn’t like paying high electric/gas bills. Mammaw layered us with probably 14 blankets and still left a stack at the end of the bed in case we needed more. She was so caring, her mission was to make sure everyone else was taken care of before herself. Holidays would roll around and she would slave all day in the kitchen, making sure her homemade biscuits were perfect along with everything else, of course. She would make each and every person a plate before preparing herself one, make sure everyone had something to drink, refills, dessert, you name it. We would have to insist “Mammaw will you sit down and eat your dinner before everything gets cold?!” She would eventually take a seat and most times, everyone else was already finished with their dinner. Last thing on this subject, that little woman could EAT. She would always eat 2 or 3 plates of food long after everyone left the table and neve gain a pound. We always called her a little bottomless pit.

As Kelly and I grew older and became busy with our own lives, Mammaw was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. We got a call that she was driving by herself and hit a tree- shewas okay, but she was getting older and more confused, so they suspended her license. Visits with Mammaw became few and far between, as much as I hate to admit. Confusion continued setting in as Mammaw began finding her own items throughout the house and accusing Uncle Carl of cheating. Her mind began slipping fast. Eventually, Uncle Carl became too old and tired to take care of himself and a wife with declining cognitive status. Mammaw was admitted into a rest home “specializing” in Alzheimer’s disease. The facility did not offer physical/occupational/speech therapy which this diagnosis desperately calls for. My mom, Kelly and I had no say in the location due to legal reasons. The decision was made by her biological daughter, Linda. Once in this facility, Mammaw declined even more rapidly than I could ever imagine and visits were even more scarce. The staff had stolen all of her personal belongings including her glassses. She was stuck in there, confused, wondering where her family is, unable to see...it was absolutely heartbreaking. Looking back, that is the reason it was so hard to visit her in there, in that way.

I remember getting her out of the facility for holidays at our house, Thanksgiving and Christmas (which was also her birthday, 12-25-1924) She would just light up with pure gratitude and happiness. Unfortunately, this privilege was taken from us by her biological daughter for reasons I will never, ever understand. Legally, we were not able to take her out of the facility anymore. It seemed, her daughter could not handle the closeness of my mom, sister and I with Madeline. We were heartbroken to say the least. All we ever wanted to do was make her feel at home with loved ones again after living in a facility with strangers as her disease took over her mind; if only for a little while during the holidays.

Years slipped away as life become busier for everyone. I moved away to live at college, making it even more difficult to make the trip for a visit with her.

An extremely vivid and realistic dream one night about her made me drop everything and drive to the place she was staying. I had not seen her in a few years, therefore I did not know what to expect with her condition. I made a stop at double dragon to pick up her favorite wonton soup. I walked in, looking for her room and ran into a man whose wife also lives there, who he visits every single day. He pointed me in the right direction and asked “do you come in often? Are you familiar with feeding her?” I responded, with shame “no, I have not seen her in a while. I am a full time college student” He took me to her and when I found her with no glasses, no hearing aids, sitting in a large, reclinable wheelchair (which I later discovered she slept in every night and was never transferred in/out of a real bed) I cried. I sobbed. I didn’t know how to process this. I also discovered she was no longer able to feed herself. I was a nervous, guilty 19 year old who was in school to be a physical therapist assistant, but had 0 experience thus far as I was completing my general courses at this time.

I sat next to her at a dining table and spoke slowly and loudly so she could understand me. I knew she recognized my face, voice, and loving gestures, but could not remember my name. I explained to her that I am Robin’s daughter and showed her some pictures on my phone. I fed her wonton soup and wiped her face. I could tell she was so grateful to eat her one of her favorite foods. I told her stories and reminded her the names of family members. I asked if she remember her beautiful home that she and Uncle Carl built. After hours of spending time with her, I had to go. I was saying my goodbyes to her and she grabbed my hands and said “do you have to leave.” I ended up staying late into the evening although I had class the next morning. I assured her I would come back and visit soon and kissed her cheek and told her how much I love her.

Uncle Carl passed away of natural causes in the time that had gone by.

The family decided it would be best not to tell her with her worsening mind state.

I returned another time with my sister, Kelly and printed pictures to jog her memory. Her face absolutely lit up when showing her pictures of her house, Uncle Carl, my mom, her sisters, Kelly and I when we were little and herself, in her younger years. I rubbed her shoulders and we cherished every moment. We had to keep reminding her our names, and telling stories about how she was involved in our childhood. I wish I could have somehow taken her smile with me. Kelly and I both cried on the way home, realizing her time left her is limited and her memory is next to nothing. What can you do? It’s like watching a train wreck, you want to help so badly but you just can’t. Her mental and physical state was not good at all at this point.

Mom and I went to visit two more times. We helped feed her dinner, which she was attempting to eat puréed food with her hands - no help from the nursing staff. It was heartbreaking. Now, an established PTA, I quickly realized her legs muscles had developed bilateral contracture (inability to extend knee joints due to prolonged inactivity and loss of range of motion/extensibility) basically, her legs were stuck in a bent position from sleeping in her wheelchair and never having the opportunity to participate in physical therapy which she so desperately needed. My anger grew more than anything that she was in this place where her belongings were stolen, aides were too lazy to transfer patients in/out of bed and/or did not have the proper training to do so. I wanted so badly to intervene because I know all too well that sitting in a chair constantly without being moved or transferred leads to further medical complications and issues like pneumonia. There was nothing I could do, legally, other than gently stretch the muscles in her legs.

The last time my mom and I visited her, deep down we knew it was the last time. She was sick, she was in pain, lonely, nearly blind... she was tired of fighting. She had a deep, intense cough from her lungs. We took her outside in the warmth to let the sunshine hit her face. We put a flower in her hair and told her how beautiful she looked. And she did, she would cover her mouth with her hand when she laughed because she was embarrassed she didn’t have her dentures in, but I still thought she was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

November 2nd, 2018 my mom called me, distraught and asked if I could come over. In the pit of my stomach, I had a feeling I knew what she was going to say next. “Mammaw Madeline passed away”

My Mammaw Madeline, my constant in life, my feisty little thing that would feed me until my belly hurt. I didn’t know how to deal with the loss of that little woman, and I still don’t.

May God rest her beautiful soul. May all of her pain be gone, and her memories of the wonderful life she led, be restored. May she know how much she was loved. May she know what an impact she had on my life and the lives of others.

- Sarah

I'm gonna tell y'all a story. It's a story about social stigmas, the American public education system, capitalism, mental health, income inequality, and parents who think they know best but actually cause more harm than good. It's the story of how I ended up where I am right now: in the break room of a major retail location wanting desperately to cry but unable to.

When I was very young, my parents knew I was different. I won't bog this down with the details, but essentially I was noticably different than my peers enough that my mom took me to get tested for various learning disabilities or mental disorders. Initially, the diagnosis I was given was ADHD, but that didn't satisfy my mother. She took me back a year later and I was diagnosed with Asperger's. Satisfied, my mother began talking with various specialists to see what kind of future I would have, and what we could start doing to help me become more well-adjusted to society. Once I had made it to grade school, after 2 years of kindergarten, I worked with an occupational therapist weekly, for 5 years. When I reached high school, I was declared well-adjusted enough by the school district that I no longer needed a 504 plan. I was officially no longer a special needs student. *Yay!*

I struggled my way through high school, having a lot of trouble with homework, especially long-term assignments like projects and essays. I didn't fail any classes (except my creative writing class, but that's a different story), but I nearly failed several important classes my junior year and only barely was able to graduate on time. But graduate I did, and I got accepted into the college in my town, which was really the only school I wanted to go to. So I started college. First semester freshman year was tough, as it often is for new freshmen. Of the 4 classes I was taking at the beginning of the semester, I dropped out of one and almost failed the other 3. I was told that it happens to everyone and that I would be fine after adjusting to college life.

Second semester of freshman year was worse. Of the 4 classes I started with, I dropped out of one and failed 2, and the third I only passed because my professor fudged the grades a little bit. First semester of sophomore year I failed all 4 classes I was taking. Near the end of that semester, when I knew that I wasn't going to pass anything, I began looking into some of the reasons why I was struggling and how I could possibly help myself. In looking, I mentioned to my mom some of the issues I'd been having. She told me about the initial diagnosis of ADHD, which I had no idea about up until this point, at 20 years old. I had been diagnosed with a learning disability for about 18 years and it had been untreated, and I didn't know about it until then. I began looking up stories of people with ADHD, and talking with my friends who have ADHD, and everything clicked into place. Unfortunately, it was too little, too late and I was placed on academic suspension, unable to return for the second semester of my sophomore year. Because I'm from a family that doesn't have a whole lot of money, but has just enough money that the government won't help me pay for college, I had to take out several private loans to pay for the 3 semesters of school I had. And because the grace period of these loans wasn't very long, I needed to find a job quickly to prevent missing payments and tanking both my own and my father's credit scores.

In February of this year, I began working at a major retail location. I will refrain from using its name because I want to. Those of you who care enough to know probably already know. Anyway, I work in the back room, about 3 shifts a week, for a total of about 24 hours per week, at $12/hour, paid bi-weekly. That's enough for me to cover my student loan payments, with some extra spending money, and still have a little left over. I'm thankful that I don't have to pay for rent, food, utilities, etc. because my dad knows that young people these days are, as he says, "financially fucked" and is allowing me to stay at his place, at least until I figure out my next step. Working retail, if you don't know, sucks hardcore. If you can avoid doing it, do so. If not, I'm so so sorry. A lot of people say that the worst part of retail is dealing with customers, but I personally think that the worst part of retail is corporate expectations. I believe this because retail would still suck if customers were better. If corporate expectations were more reasonable, it wouldn't suck nearly as much as it does now. I am one person, but they expect me to do the work of 5 people, which brings us to today.

It's back-to-school time, which is our second-busiest time of year. (I'll give you three guesses as to what's the busiest. I'll give you a hint: it's the really really obvious one.) Being in the back room, especially being the person in the back room when the store closes, means that I have to do little things everywhere in the store. Little bit of helping get product on the shelf, little bit of fulfilling online orders, little bit of helping people find stuff... Today, I've spent all of my shift so far, a bit over half, packing boxes that will be shipped to people's houses. I've had to do this because there were a very large amount of orders today and the people who work that part of the store during the day didn't have enough help getting it done. I will likely continue doing this until I have about a quarter of my shift left, at which point I will not have time to do anything else except get the back room set up for the truckload of product we're getting tomorrow morning. It is likely that I will get reprimanded, or at least will get a bad performance review, because of this. This is not the first time I've had to spend most of a shift doing things that should have been finished long before I even got here, but this is certainly the worst example up until now.

I've also had trouble sleeping the last few days, which may or may not be related to the fact that I feel miserable because I'm 21 years old and working part-time in retail while living with my dad after failing out of college. All in all, this day has sucked tremendously. It's understandable that I want to cry. And yet, because of the years of occupational therapy that I went to to learn how to "control" my emotions (among other things), I'm unable to. I cannot express my emotions in real life because "emotions are bad, mmkay?" according to the conditioning that I received as a child in school. Basically, I'm emotionally crippled and find it almost impossible to express myself truly in front of people unless my inhibitions are blocked, whether through comfort with a situation or being in an altered state of mind.

Were I able to express my emotions the way I'd like to express them in this moment, I believe that management here would finally understand that the amount of pressure that's been put on at least me is too much. That could go one of two ways. Either they realize that the pressure is on more than just me and that they need to get more people to help out back here, or they think that I'm unable to work this job and they give me less hours, or fire me outright. Chances are likely that it would end up being the second one, and I'm financially dependent on this job. If they do fire me, or make me quit, or whatever, it's unlikely I'll be able to find any other job anywhere except possibly at my dad's machine shop, and I a) wouldn't be making nearly as much money there as I make here and b) really really really don't want my dad to be my boss. Basically, I'm in an absolutely terrible position, and most of it can be boiled down to my mother refusing to accept that I have ADHD. So thanks Mom.

Anyway, I need to get back to work, and also find my manager so I can ask her what the fuck I should do.

Congratulations, Meredith! You have been accepted for the role of Ariadne Guzman (FC: Odette Annable). Ariadne is an interestingly positioned character. She could easily be written as a passive love interest for Mike... or as an active member of the police force. Your application made it clear where she stood: and it’s on her own two feet. You said it so well in that she is firm in her convictions and who she is. Ariadne is clumsy and well-meaning and entirely endearing, and that came across so well in your application. You have an ear for her character and it was a true delight to read your interpretation of her. Thank you for such a great application! Please have a look at this page prior to sending in your account.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Meredith Age: 18 Pronouns: They/them Timezone: EST Activity estimation: In the summertime (so, now!) I am extremely active, posting probably every other day, though I will make an attempt for every day. I’m starting college in the fall, so that adjustment might put a bit of a damper on that, but I’ll maintain posting as often as I can. I have no issue staggering posts out so I’m still on the dash, even if I prefer to post all my replies at the same time. Triggers: REDACTED

IN CHARACTER: BASICS

Full name: Ariadne Rose Guzman Age (DD/MM/YYY): 11/24/1967. Sagittarius sun, Leo moon. Gender: Cisgender Female Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Bisexual Occupation: Police Officer Connection to Victim: Blurry television screens and terrifying accusations only bring back memories of the horrors of ‘84 — and that’s what primarily fuels her determination to bring Brian home. Simply imagining all the horrors that happened, but instead to a little boy is enough to make her stomach turn. Ariadne knows Linda vaguely from church, mostly from chatting the other woman’s ear off after presenting a particularly shitty cherry pie at a church potluck. Alibi: Ariadne was on the job when Brian went missing. It made things more horrifying and more real, but she’s grateful that it’s solid. She knows what kind of paranoia small towns cook up after trauma like this. Faceclaim: Odette Annable, Shay Mitchell, and then the original face claim of Natalee Linez.

WRITING SAMPLE

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Shit, fuck. She’s halfway through the train of expletives, mind moving erratically — like a wonky washing machine in a seedy laundromat, thunk thunk thunking against her skull, or television static after a particularly nasty rainstorm knocks out the cable — when she remembers why exactly her alarm clock is losing it’s shit at such an early hour. Church. Well, perhaps early isn’t the best word for the situation, even considering the time at which Sunday service began was still in the single digits. Not early; Ariadne is indisputably late. She knows it well the whirs and chirps and blaring of the three clocks she has stationed around her room all reminding her oh-so-sweetly. She’s always been a heavy sleeper, especially with the sheer amount of glass bottles that line her recycling bins. Sam Adams, Pete’s Wicked Ale, Coors. It’s something reminiscent of a baby cooing and falling asleep with drool trailed across plump cheeks, after his bottle, the way she curls up under the blankets in the fetal position after three or four or five ( it’s not five often, she’d swear on it ) of her favorite brew. There’s even a raggedy looking plush dog, with worn patches in his fur and an eye gone rogue somewhere between toddlerdom and childhood, that she keeps in the corner of her room. Too grown to sleep with it, too nostalgic to tuck it — even if him is the pronoun the mind conjures, one can hardly forget all the details of childhood stuffed animal lore — away somewhere far from here. It gets lonely in her apartment. But she’d headed to church, not Sunday school, damnit, and she’s going to act like it.

Speedily, hopefully, and though she rams her funny bone against the headboard as she makes a spastic attempt to slam the first alarm button as she yanks off pajama pants. She hops on one leg, half to mitigate the pain, or at least let herself think she’s doing so. Hobbling now, to the second —— aaand, the other half of her reasoning is left in a crumpled lump on the floor. I’ll pick them up later, she thinks, as she hunts for dress pants. A skirt, maybe. Should she wear a skirt? Fuck, does she need to shower? She yanks long brown locks in front of her face for a moment, inhaling deeply. Still smells like mango, her arm through it still smells like Dove soap and dollar store shampoo. No one could say she wasn’t distinct.

Third alarm is slammed off, and sweet, sweet silence fills the apartment once more. Other than the clank of pipes, of course, and she shakes away thoughts of ghost stories she tells herself when she wants to be too terrified to sleep. Criminals, she could deal with, but Casper the Ghost was pushing it. Skirt, skirt, skirt … “ Make an effort to look nice, Ariadne. ” Words are mumbled, and it takes a moment for brain to measure up with scattered thoughts and realise she’s talking aloud to herself. Great. Something fluttery and pale blue that ends at her knees is snatched off a hanger that looks terribly lonely in her closet, and she feels like a school girl as white blouse is added and respectively tucked in as neatly as she can muster. There’s no time for makeup – thankfully, she absolutely despises wearing it — or doing her hair, which she doesn’t mind so much. Hopefully not a rat’s nest. A single yank of the string dangling from crooked blinds, and she sees that the sky matches the cardigan she yanks on in hue. Dress shoes are pulled on, and she knows she’ll get a blister along with the dirty looks from a church elder or two for legs not clad in pantyhoes. Keys, keys, keys — deodorant, a swipe under each arm — keys, keys, keys.

She’s out the door now, and never more has she wished to feel sunshine on her skin. But, she only only gets overcast, and in spite of it, she skips two steps at a time down the back of the building. Cramped in spite of beautiful hardwood floors and a relatively spacious kitchen — relatively being she could turn around in it and not smack her ass against a hot stove, the apartment doesn’t really feel like home. Not yet anyway. Home. That’s a concept, that, to Ariadne at least, exists somewhere in the mythical sphere between familiar and intangibly distant. The way she’d grown up, at least, of dress collars stiffened with cornstarch and staring out bedroom window at the blinking of city lights in the distance, wishing she was doing something — that didn’t quite feel like home either. She loved her parents, she did, is how she would explain it when offering too much information, but in the same way a zookeeper might like an elephant before it sits on their chest and suffocates them to death. Time spent in Devil’s Knot still felt like a vacation. A novelty, really, some shitty tchotchke that ended up breaking the moment you vaguely manhandled it. But the illusion of small town community hadn’t shattered yet, not under hands delicate even through callouses. Nothing could, only time itself wearing down the sheen. But for now, things were bright and real and good, crisp September air shirking off summer humidity on that Sunday morning. There was a buzz of possibility — or maybe it was just anxiety at the thought of bursting through church doors too late to not interrupt the hymns.

Maybe that buzzing was what home was.

ANYTHING ELSE?

I made a pinterest board for Ariadne here, and a playlist here. Both are constantly in progress, as right now they’re looking a little sparse.

BACKGROUND / THE STORY SO FAR

Religion was always a part of Ariadne’s life, but it didn’t fall into her lap quite so perfectly until she was in Devil’s Knot. She grew up going to a stuffy church every Sunday, with old men half asleep in the pews and slow, heavy hymns that didn’t exactly put the joy of the Lord into her heart. Sunday school was a drag, and her mind was always moving far too quickly for her to pay attention. Why does God make bad things happen? She asked her mother one day, after a collection plate had been filled with sweaty fistfuls of coins and crumpled one dollar bills at the revelation that someone in the congregation had cancer. God doesn’t, her mother said sternly, giving the meat she was tenderizing another smack. Ariadne jumped. People do.

Ariadne never believed that, though, not for a long time. Not until she was seventeen, and her parent’s mumbled words by the television set caught her attention. Murder. Gruesome as could be. She could feel the sinking in her belly of anger, at the cruelty and callousness of the situation. It was in that moment she vowed — she wanted to make a change in the world. She wanted life to not be so cruel. She followed each word of the trial with rigid attention, praying a resolution would be found. And then she saw Max Acosta’s face, and her mother’s words rang true in her mind. People do. People were not a supernatural force, nor an unstoppable one. People — people she could fix.

Being a cop specifically isn’t what she’s always dreamed of — it’s helping people. Ariadne’s people skills, empathy, and desire for change had her toying with the idea of becoming a therapist for a while, but she’s never been particularly focused. The idea of sitting around all day, only using her words … it didn’t feel like enough. Still confused and lost as to how she could possibly make a difference, Ariadne lurked around the local community college for two years, taking enough classes to get an associate’s degree in psychology. The scientific parts bored her, but one class caught her interest particularly well. The Psychology of The Criminal Mind. She knew then that this, that becoming a cop, was what she was meant to do. She didn’t have to save people — she could protect them.

Moving to Devil’s Knot was an easy decision. If there was one thing Ariadne craved, it was connection. People. And a small town, one with a shitty diner and church picnics and the trial that started it all … it just felt right to her. Weren’t those the people that most needed protecting? People who had already been burned? From her tiny apartment, Ariadne poured over police manuals, pushing herself through the academy and finally, finally becoming a trainee officer. Now that she’s in full force ( ha! ) at the force, she’s lost none of her shine or enthusiasm for what she’s doing. She’s certainly not a kiss-ass, because it’s all painfully genuine. She really does want to work more hours, she really doesn’t mind the extra paperwork. Anything that needs to be done, she’ll do it. It’s just what’s right.

HEADCANONS

She doesn’t mean to be a shameless flirt, it’s just how she comes off. She’s bright and she’s funny and she’s warm, and a cheesy smile or a hand placed on a shoulder only comes from that place of kindness. Banter rolls off her tongue easily, and compliments are always genuine. She’s been like this for as far as she could remember — fourteen and charming the wits of all the boys in the freshman class. That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble one day. Her father told her then, through a half baked smile and the reeking stench of whiskey as he ruffled her hair, even though Ariadne thought she was far too old to have her hair ruffled.

Ariadne has always had to work harder than other people. Her mind just doesn’t seem to focus right. That’s part of the reason she’s so meticulous when it comes to police work, the same way she was with assignments throughout her school years. Room is always messy, clothes mostly untucked and never quite ironed properly, but she’s a marvel when it comes to facts and evidence. She likes to let people believe it’s all natural, but the amount of time she’s pulled all nighters perfecting things because everything else is just too interesting for her to focus is more than she can count.

As friendly as she is, Ariadne is not a people pleaser. Firm in her convictions and quick to spout them, shutting her mouth isn’t something she knows how to do. More often than not, these can turn into arguments — though as anyone that’s spent more than an hour with her can tell you, any spat with Ariadne is brief, because forgiving and forgetting is just a part of her personality. She’s always ready to go back to being best friends, and start the cycle over the next time you disagree with her — realistically, the next day.

No one is a worse chef than Ariadne Guzman. Except, well, she doesn’t know it. She tries, always, but she’s the type of person to burn water. Chicken comes out uncooked in the middle, pasta falls apart into mush as soon as you twirl it on a fork, cookies and cakes are burnt and runny, respectively. But she still shows up wherever she’s invited with something disgusting that she’s deemed her new specialty. Suspiciously, after the response, her specialty is never cooked again. Following instructions isn’t exactly her forté when lives aren’t on the line, so it’s not really a shock to anyone but her things turn out badly.

Ariadne loves holidays. Something about not doing much outside of her family as a child, Christmas and Easter and Thanksgiving and even Halloween were always huge celebrations for her as a child. She has spirit for everything, and is the best gift giver in all of Michigan. Even though it’s a rarity that anyone sees it, her apartment is decorated as neatly as she can muster for each of them, and she never complains when stores break out their decorations a bit too early. Don’t you feel the spirit in the air?

TATE LANGDON ✈ ACCEPTED.

Welcome to the island, Sarah! Track the tag, throw up a starter and get LOST!

THE BASICS

OOC NAME & AGE: Sarah, 24.

CHARACTER NAME & AGE: Tate Langdon, 17.

FANDOM: American Horror Story 

OCCUPATION: High school student. 

FACE CLAIM: Evan Peters. 

REASON FOR BEING ON THE PLANE: An incredibly reluctant participation in the graduating class’ trip to Sydney. 

DARKEST SECRET: Tate has incredibly vivid and violent fantasies about the people in his life, regardless of whether the thought is sparked by anger or compassion. He hasn’t really acted on anything, but his therapist is less than impressed by his moral compass. 

ALTERATIONS FOR YOUR CHARACTER: I’m bumping Tate’s timeline up to present day so instead of being a murderous ghosty ghost, he’s still just a regular kid trying to get through high school like everyone else, just with a bit more of a war in his mind. 

RECENT THREAD: Aye papi.

DIRECT LINK: 

TATE LANGDON, 17. STUDENT. SINGLE. american horror story. // SARAH, 24, CST. 

IC QUESTIONNAIRE

HOLY FUCK. ARE YOU OKAY? DO YOU HAVE ANY INJURIES?

Am I okay? I’m not even completely sure this is actually happening. One minute I’m finally on my way home from some stupid group trip bonding bullshit with people that are irritating at best and infuriating at worst, and the next I’m standing on a beach surrounded by their dismembered body parts. You tell me. Pretty sure my finger’s not supposed to bend that way, though – if it hurts it’s real, right?

FUCK, IT’S BAD BUT IT COULD ALWAYS BE WORSE. I SAW A GUY GET SUCKED INTO THE JET OVER THERE.  WHY WERE YOU EVEN ON THE PLANE?

Yeah? Was he still alive? It’s funny how people keep rushing back to the wreckage like they’re somehow going to be able to do something. I wonder how many are gonna get taken out when that shit blows up, it’s only a matter of time – I’m good over here.

I told you, every year the seniors go on this big trip before graduation. I didn’t even want to go, my ironically self righteous mother’s just a cunt. If it weren’t for Mr. Graham I probably wouldn’t have bothered anyway… that’s kinda funny. Hey, do you think I should thank him, or blame him? Ha.

WHAT DID YOU DO BEFORE ALL THIS? TELL ME ABOUT YOUR LIFE. DON’T SKIP ON THE DETAILS, SOMETHING TELLS ME WE’RE GOING TO BE HERE A WHILE.

Same thing everyone else does. Wake up, drag yourself out of bed to forced pleasantries from people who can’t wait for you to head off to school. Proceed to the aforementioned hellhole, try to find a way to focus on the mind-numbingly dull classes built around only the most trivial of scholarly undertakings.  Watch everyone smile and laugh and wonder if they’re faking it or if your pessimism has just evolved into indignant complacency. If you’re extra lucky, you get to stop over for a visit with the good doctor on the way home. He doesn’t understand, so you rarely bother with any actual attempts to figure out what the hell is going on in your head that makes him give you that look while you find at least a small upside to your day by trying to make him squirm instead. Head home, put on some good music, try not to think about the fact that once you finally go to bed, you get to repeat the pathetic cycle again in the morning. You know; the usual. 

so i haven’t journaled in 2 weeks because i am a #mess and a lot of stuff has happened so i think broad summaries are more in order

basic themes: the summer, school, the next week, the house, ken, friends, family, my health

the summer: we had the group sicha for mosh madatz applicants and i had my interview with ari for the gilboa position, galil applications just came out

i don’t think i’m going to get mosh or gilboa - not ‘cause i’m not qualified, i am, but there just seems to be a lot of people more suited for that tafkid at those machanot than myself

galil is still open and idk as much what the landscape is like so it’s still a possibility, but idk what i’m going to to if i don’t get madatz madricha. i have been actively trying to separate what i want from the summer from the tafkid and i can’t do it. 

Hannah and Sarah have made a proposal for a kvutzah messima based on leading nachshonimot and I’m down with that, but Hannah think that i could just go to Galil and be with their bogrimot and do that and maybe i could but a) that still wouldn;t give me the tzevet experience i’m looking for b) i wouldnt have the time or freedom to build a tochnit and c) i do NOT want to be the person coming in to the summer, especially as an outsider, demanding to be with certain kids! That person sucks!

I’ve talked to Hannah and to Bekah about it and im trying to talk to the mads but if i don’t get madatz madricha it’s really hard to justify going to a new machaneh to be on tzevet ragil to myself and my mother, not when there is SO MUCH theatre over the summer

anyway we just had a kvutzah call about it - Hannah, Jess and Toviah are applying for MBI! Sara and Ari are thinking about gesher! but sara still only wants to come for one session? arron fine is applying for madatz at miriam and maybe gilboa but idk?

i do have an idea, that maybe if i don’t get madatz, i stay in the city, work in theatre over the summer and spend my free time facilitating the kvutzah. like everyone gets so busy and hyper focused over kayitz and i could be an eye in the sky, keeping everyone updated, helping people with resource gathering and editing peulot - i could still be involved while not missing a summer of opportunities

school: so things are a lot more overwhelming than i want them to be

‘cause i had a bad week at the end of january i feel behind and i still haven;t totally caught up and it’s coming to mid-semester and that’s gonna catch up with me

monologue study is a lot more work than i expected - just doing all the xfript work is taking much longer than i planned for - i /just/ finished making the Lists yesterday and I’ve been working on that for WEEKS. Luckily, we don’t actually have class this week so all that stuff is due after the break - unluckily, i can’t really do work over the break and that shit needs to get done - more on that later

however, my actual piece is looking really good and some of the warm ups and breathing exercises have helped so much! two classes ago we did these breath exercises and then went around and each said a central line from our pieces and i have never been so in the moment and real and in my breath than right then and now i have had a taste and want that always

we’ll be starting shakespeare after the break and i want to try something new, I love my Beatrice, but there is something to be said for repertoire building. Rosanna suggested looking into Rosalind  pieces from As You Like It and that’s promising. I might... try a Juliet? Like, idk if that’s worthwhile im just... not a Juiet, im never gonna be the ingenue, why try? but having something sweeter is definitely a goal, idk i looked at Rosalind pieces and i think there is something that catches my eye

scene study has a similar issue in that the written work is a lot more overwhelming and time consuming than i planned and that /is/ due next week so. however, rehearsals have been going AMAZING, we’re like 98% off book and have to focus on picking up the pace, sticking to tactics and not playing attitudes and getting the blocking a little more fine tuned. 

we had dress rehearsals tuesday and it was a WRECK. /no one/ was off book, a couple scenes were just /stopped/ midway through and everyone was off. then we went up, the only group who didn;t even once call for a line and who was actually on top of our shit. i admit, it felt kinda good to be the best. though, the bar was kinda low. 

I’m being mean, a lot of people had good moments and most of the scenes that derailed derailed ‘cause ONE particular person clearly didn;t have their shit together and it threw everyone off. 

Brandon and i rehearsed today and got pacing a little more down and he’s gonna come over sunday and do a final rehearsal before tuesday’s presentation!!

my elective has been a lot less interesting than i was hoping for, the classes are kinda boring but at least it’s pretty easy. HOWEVER, we did a field trip to city hall yesterday and THAT was fascinating! we got to sit in on the city council sessions as they were deciding the budget and it was! so! cool! that’s the room where it fucking happens. and like, we should all be more on top of local politics ‘cause that’s where the day to day shit gets figured out. i did a whole snapchat rant about it it’s good

fevergraph isn’t technically school but it’s been going really well - i got to get some emotional stuff out through the journeys and i’ve gotten my heart rate up a few times, last class is next week and i think i’m gonna look into maybe some voice lessons for the next half of the semester?

anyway: sunday i need to get all my fucking scene work done, monday i should record all my notes for my TOR midterm ‘cause tuesday im running around a lot and i need to study for that. monologue stuff will have to wait - that’ll be wednesday/thursday, cause thursday afternoon... i’m getting on a plane to israel

so, that’s happening. i kinda was just.., thinking about it.. and then jazz said that if i went she would go with me.. and then my parents said they’d give me 300 for the trip as a bday present.. and then i booked tickets. we’re still figuring out exact details in terms of where we’re staying when but i’ve e-mailed mona and paul and talia and the mads about it and we’re figuring it out

so, yeah... that’s happening. we’re gonna chill and see people and go read on the beach and i’m going to where nothing but dressed the whole time and i’m so fucking excited.

in the meantime, this week i have to get all this fucking work done, my birthday is this weekend!! (there’s gonna be cupcakes and whiskey and an entire afternoon of theatre!!!!) and we need to shove in ten thousand roommate interviews in there sometime

‘cause YEAH, updates on Murnau House: we still haven;t found a new person for the Room That Cannot Be Filled which is Annoying and the previous occupant has not been as ontop of finding a replacement as he said he would so Sam is leading the search, bless her

aaaand our fridge broke last week, again, and we lost a BUNCH of food, but due to my skills of being a polite and efficient BITCH thanks to my mum, we got a new one pretty quickly and that’s going fine.

the ken: we had a tubshvat carnival two weeks ago, some bogrimot came and volunteered, it went fine, but i wasnt as invested as i should’ve been - however, i did see Iris there!! whcih was nice, she’s gonna be chinuch at shomiria this summer and she did the habo/hashi birthright! very cool

then, sem. so, we had a tzevet of 7 for 40 kids, two of whom lefton the saturday night. aaron and yehuda of all people were on mitbach and the post mbiers were a big help. the schedule pretty much went out the window becuase we didn’t even get in till after midnight in friday due to the storm.

i did however get an entire busload of kids off the bus, to a rest stop and back on to the bus in FIFTEEN MINUTES ‘cause i’m amazing, we went to camp and the kids had fun even tho it was very Emotional for me, and we re focused on The Krinkle Project for messima, and even tho we didn;t do the vaad stuff i hoped for, i think we can move forward if i get my shit together enough. we also did kvutzah peulot that, even if they didn’t go /so/ great, i think brought important ideas and next steps into a lot of the kids minds about how to be stronger as a kvtzot

there was gonna be a katkateam this weekend but ido and i are both on vaccations so that’s been cancelled. there;s a purim party on the 5th that might launch our participation in Krinkle if we get that together. Mifgash with Tavor in March, spring sem in May, maybe one final event for messima and then... we’re done. at least. I am. I’m done. And I should be expecting a cheque from Shaul any day now.

friends: sima is interning on a CTV show and getting updates on the PM’s schedule in her work e-mail, and graduating soon

julia is kind’ve her usual mess but also starting to turn a profit in selling her embroideries on etsy, but idk if she has like a plan of any kind? and that worries me to a degree

mikki’s cosplay stuff is BOOMING and she’s back with Lou but... she’s still being kinda self destructive and i’m worried about her??

josh just finished a show and i haven;t talked to him in a while.... 

anna grace and natty are putting on a show that natty wrote!

i don’t ... have that many friends??

family: same pretty much. Alex is migrating in a month, they’re moving a little closer to me than i like but what can you do.

Batsheva was here, we had one of our Talks, i need to find a more permanent therapist to go deeper with once school is done. i should probably join a group... but that im where im at for as young as i am considering everything... im honestly on a pretty good track

my health: so, i doubt anyone is reading at this point so... the weekend after my fatigue flare up at the start of the month i had a suicidal episode. and i’ve only told my therapist

it was my first one in about a year, my worst one in two and over the dumbest thing since highschool .... just being overwhelmed by school work

like, two mays ago i had a really bad one ‘cause i couldn’t get myself to finish my Buddies piece, a year ago i had a much smaller one ‘cause of a HUGE fight with my dad and this was just... being overwhelmed.

and that’s what;s frustrating!! i guess it was frustration at my body and i hadnt eaten that well and i was a day away fro  my period and all that added up to curled into a ball trying desperately not to reach for a handful of my ciprilex and melatonin for most of that saturday??? which just like wtf

OTHER THAN THAT, my physical strength has actually been on an upswing since the start of the month and im feeling a lot more active. i have a cold this week but that’s just it being february and my immune system being shitty. thank god for cold 911

okay, it’s far too late. i gotta shower and sleep and this took about 10x longer than i planned for

it’s gonna be a hell of a week, and i have no idea when i can do this again, but wish me luck!