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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

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Cherry Wine

TW: Self harm

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Bessie was angry very often. Sometimes for no reason. She couldn’t explain the rage she sometimes felt- it just existed and burned and blistered all the way through her.

But sometimes the fury would often be blown out like a candle, leaving her cold with only sorrow in its absence. A tidal wave of misery crashes over her and suddenly she’s floundering around in black waters, desperate to stay afloat. Her hands grab for anything to anchor onto, but the riptide seizes her in its grasp and she’s yanked down, down, down, until her back is scraped against jagged coral reefs. Red mist hazes the diminishing light from above, but it wasn’t coming from her wounded spine.

Bessie likes to think she was smart. She always kept her wrists clean. Her stomach and thighs on the other hand...well, they were not a pretty sight to say the least. With summer coming up soon, she had to either get ready to swim in a t-shirt and shorts or get over this habit. The latter didn’t seem too likely.

Thank god she was asexual, though. And that Anna accepted that and never pushed anything because her cover would be blown the moment she took off her pants.

Her stomach and thighs were easy to hide thanks to the wonderful invention called clothing, but that had a downside, too. For starters, a lot of the frayed edges would get caught on the cloth and rub in a very uncomfortable way. Her torso and legs would also burn like they were on fire for half of the day after, but she would usually get over it by the time the show started. And she was SUPPOSED to clean the cuts after she finished, but, well...

Well, it’s a wonder she hasn’t gotten infected yet.

An itch ripples across Bessie’s body and she went rigid. Her skin prickled in a way that she couldn’t satiate with her fingernails. Bugs were crawling underneath her flesh and she HAD TO GET THEM OUT.

Her eyes popped open. The sensation of army ants marching across her muscles came so suddenly. The scalding rain from the shower she was taking was failing at scraping her raw. The steaming bullets couldn’t tunnel deep enough to soothe the infestation and the colony continued to swarm throughout her limbs.

Fingernails curl into bare, scarred thighs. Bessie hunched over from where she was sitting and tried to calm herself down. The scratchiness would go away if she just waited it out. Just resist the urge.

But she couldn’t, she couldn’t, she couldn’t.

Bessie turned the heat up and pulled her knees in close. She tangles her hands in her hair and hoped that the hot shower would be enough for her. Her skin burns, but the bugs continue to crawl. This isn’t working. She can’t flush them out.

The spigot sputters to a halt and Bessie stumbles out of the shower. The amount of steam gathered in the bathroom practically suffocates her. She coughs.

Bessie was sent reeling across her room after pulling her clothes on, desperately scrambling to grab the box cutter she hid beneath the mattress. With a click, the blade retracts and she finds herself hesitating for a moment.

Did she really want to do this? She’s been clean for two weeks. That’s really good for her, especially with her current depression spiral. She didn’t have to do this. She could put the blade down. She could ask for help. She could get a hug. She could call Anna. She could-

She could cut.

Bessie didn’t want to look at her ugly thighs and ugly stomach, so she rolls her sleeve up and brings the blade down on her shoulder, slicing open a new tally. The relief that washed over her had her shuddering in blissful agony, choking on a sob as she cut again. And again. And again.

On the inside, she was screaming. Her brain was commanding her, even though her body didn’t want to bring itself anymore harm. She couldn’t stop herself even if she wanted to.

Bessie was seriously uncoordinated during moments like this. Her shaking hands slipped up and accidentally cut into one of the older scars, breaking it back open and spilling more blood down her arm. She yowled and threw the box cutter at the wall, clutching desperately at her throbbing shoulder. She sunk to her knees, stinging tears rolling down her cheeks. Too focused on the pain and hot blood pouring over her hand, she couldn’t even register if she heard footsteps coming to her bedroom.

Aragon suddenly swung the door open, halting mid-sentence when she saw the bassist on her hands and knees, bleeding heavily from an injury she was white-knuckling. She froze and so did Bessie, and they stared at each like deer caught in headlights. Neither dared to move for a good thirty seconds, but it was the queen who snapped out of it first.

“Elizabeth!!”

Bessie attempted to evade her, but the moment she put pressure on her arm to try and scuttle away, she nearly had herself howling again. She couldn’t move and felt completely helpless in that moment.

“Elizabeth,” Aragon called out, crouching down to the girl’s side, “Bessie. Open your hand, please. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Bessie was deaf to her words. She’s relishing in the pain, weeping softly as her consciousness wavers in and out of her mind. Her nails curl into her shoulder and she sobs again.

Fingers touch her own and she flinches back, digging her nails deeper against her arm. She thought her grip was of iron, but her hand is slowly pried loose and she gasps for air. Bright red glistens on her palms. There’s too much. It wasn’t an accidental scratch like Aragon was expecting.

The queen stares in shock at the vicious scars striped across the bassist’s shoulder. Some were whited out already, others were scabbed over, a few were fresh, like the one with crimson bubbles simmering on the edges. Oh how she wished this wasn’t what it was. Maybe one of the cats was just very symmetrical? No, no. Improbable, at best.

“Oh my god, Elizabeth...” Aragon murmured. Hearing her use the Lord’s name in vain meant she really was shocked. “Here, I’ll- I’ll be right back.”

Bessie didn’t have the energy to respond. She’s swaying in her spot on the floor, watching a fleeting figure hurry out of her bedroom. Aragon was probably going to go through the bathroom, but she wasn’t able to stop her. Her eyes start to close and she puts one hand on the floor to attempt to support herself.

Aragon came back with the first-aid kit that was kept in the bathroom cabinets. Lucky find. Bessie was just going to let herself bleed until a clot formed.

“Elizabeth, can you hear me? Nod to me if you can.” Bessie did as she was asked, unable to speak. “That’s good, honey, that’s very good.”

Bessie sniffled and tilted her head down. There were multiple trails of sweet red venom dribbling lazily down her arm, and Aragon is working to wipe off the blood with a cloth. Did she really cut that much or did she hit a blood vessel?

“This is going to sting a little.”

The girl hissed and arched her spine when an antiseptic-soaked gauze is pressed to her arm. She convulses and whimpered, swatting at Aragon’s hand, but isn’t able to stop the disinfectant from flushing out her wounds. After a moment, she finds clarity in the pain and almost enjoys it.

The silence is tense. Aragon is focused on stopping the bleeding and Bessie is still out of it. Her hands quake with tremors and she paws helplessly at her carpet, which has been ruined. She was so busy being dismayed over the stains that she didn’t even feel the thumb brushing away her tears.

“Elizabeth, would you like if I called Anna?” Aragon asked gently, “Would she make you feel better?”

“N-no!”

Aragon pulled back a little and furrowed her eyebrows. She had expected the girl to agree to the idea, not decline.

“N-no,” Bessie repeated, this time softer, “Sh-she can’t know. Anna can’t know.”

Her trembling gets worse, breathing picking up. A panic attack rises in her chest and she chokes on a sob. Aragon’s eyes widen in realization and she’s quick to pull Bessie into a hug, soothingly rubbing her hand up and down her spine.

“A-A-Anna c-can’t-” Bessie coughs, “She’ll be mad. She’ll leave. She’ll leave me. I can’t- I can’t lose her, Catalina. I can’t!”

The girl yowls and whimpers and frets in Aragon’s arms, crying against her shoulder. That feeling of bugs crawling beneath her skin returns and she reaches to scratch at the cuts that had finally stopped bleeding. A hand grabs her wrist before contact could be made.

“You’re not going to hurt yourself again.” Aragon said firmly. “Just breathe, mija. Can you do that for me?”

Bessie had practiced breathing, told her girls to do it so many times, so why is it so difficult for her? Maybe because she wasn’t used to someone being with her, helping her through the panic attack. Or maybe because she was caught cutting and the shock was making her brain stop working.

She shudders and grips tightly to the back of Aragon’s shirt. Her mind is reeling and so many horrible thoughts whip around in her head. Maybe she if she just waited until Aragon left then could she continue.

But is that what she wanted?

Yes. It had to be. It’s the only thing that would make her feel better.

“Can you stand?” Aragon asked softly, “Your bed is probably a lot more comfortable than the floor.”

Bessie agreed, as the carpet was starting to get scratchy, but she didn’t trust herself that much. Still, she tried to get to her feet, but dizziness cracked against her skull like a sledgehammer and she nearly toppled back over if it wasn’t for Aragon steadying her. A newborn foal would have better balance than she did.

She felt utterly pathetic. Aragon had to help her walk a few steps to her bed because she would collapse if she tried to by herself. Now that the queen was dragged into her problems, she didn’t want her to leave. Especially since she’s seen her like this.

Aragon was surprised when Bessie turtles against her, gripping desperately for her sleeve or something to hold onto. Her hands hovered for a moment before rubbing against the girl’s back.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She felt Bessie shrink up, like a scared hedgehog brandishing its quills. She screwed her eyes shut and exhaled shakily, finally speaking up in a hoarse voice.

“I’m sorry.” She croaked.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, my darling,” Aragon said gently, brushing back some of the girl’s hair.

Bessie grimaced and pulled her head back with a jerked motion. Her eyes glanced up momentarily before going back down to her bed sheets.

“Yes, yes there is.” She said, “It’s unfair to you. You-you didn’t come here to deal with my bullshit. You came here to eat dinner and th-this-” She gestures for her reddened shoulder, “shouldn’t have been what you saw. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“No. Don’t you dare apologize, Elizabeth.” Aragon said and Bessie has never heard so much firmness in her voice before.

“But-”

“But nothing.” Aragon cut her off, “Elizabeth, being here is all I can do for you and, trust me, I wish I could do so much more than that.”

Bessie stared at her in disbelief. She didn’t understand why Aragon was being so nice to her, even though they had settled the past months ago, but the kindness was overwhelming and so, so needed.

The girl curls her fingers into her sheets, inhaling shakily and trying not to start crying all over again.

“You don’t think I’m a freak?” She asked softly.

Aragon squeezed Bessie’s forearms, coaxing her to look up and make eye contact.

“Not at all.”

The tears spilled over again and Bessie pressed her face against Aragon’s chest, muttering “thank you” over and over again. A gentle hand rubs circles against her back, soothing her until she could calm herself down.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call Anna?”

“I-I’m sure,” Bessie sniffled, rubbing her wrist against her eyes, “She can’t know about this. I told her I stopped..”

Aragon frowned deeply.

“But you didn’t.”

Shame burned across Bessie’s face and she nodded slightly. She tucked her head under Aragon’s chin, nuzzling closer like a cold kitten searching for warmth.

“Please don’t tell her. I-I will. Eventually. Just-just not right now. I’m not ready yet.”

In reality, she probably wasn’t ever going to tell Anna if she didn’t have to. She could just keep up her facade of her skin being clean of cuts. No unnecessary drama had to happen.

“Alright. It’s your choice.” Aragon said respectfully.

Bessie looked down at her floor while yanking her sleeve back over the fresh injuries. She heard Aragon make a disgruntled noise from above.

“You don’t wrap them?”

“No,” Bessie shrugged a little. “Nothing has happened yet. I’m more worried about my floor.”

There were drizzles of red dotting the shaggy grey circle carpet, making Bessie grimace. She might be able to play it off as paint, but that would still make her girls worry.

“Hydrogen peroxide dissolves blood, ri- ow!!”

Aragon scrambled up to her feet when Bessie clutched at her shoulder while attempting to stand. She hissed a wheezing breath between her teeth and pulled her hand away.

“Easy, mija, easy.” Aragon said like a worried mother would.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Bessie said quickly, “Just the after effect. It always burns like this. You’d think I would get used to it.”

She stretches her arm a bit and winced, but shook off the stinging sensation spreading through her skin. Her cells were having an aneurysm from this aching feeling.

“But it is hydrogen peroxide, yeah? I wonder if we have any.”

“Maybe you should sit down.” Aragon offered, “Let me.”

“You already had to deal with my weeping into your chest,” Bessie pointed out while pulling her phone from her pocket, “Siri, how do you clean blood out of carpet?”

She paused for a moment.

“She recommended a cleaning company but I’m just gonna use WikiHow.”

“Do you always act this relaxed after...?”

Bessie rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly, looking over at Aragon, who still looks worried.

“Yeah, kinda.” She admitted, “That’s when I dissociate. Everything feels lucid and less stressful. And numb. It’s kinda nice.”

Aragon didn’t feel safe letting Bessie wander around grabbing cleaning chemicals by herself, so she went with her. Mainly because she was seriously worried about the girl downing an entire bottle of dish soap.

“How long have you been doing this?”

Bessie froze mid-scrub. Slowly, she raised her head to meet Aragon’s gaze.

“I, umm... Two weeks after we got reincarnated?” Bessie said meekly, “So about a year and a half now... Usually I do it on my stomach or thighs,” She sees Aragon glance momentarily at those two locations, “It wasn’t that bad back then, though. Things have just gotten worse, and...” She sighed, “So did I.”

Aragon moved from her spot to kneel down next to her. A hand is placed against her back.

“Are you going to be okay?” She asked in a softer voice.

“I think so.” Bessie answered, “I can’t- I can’t promise that I’ll stop. I don’t know if I can. But I’ll try. I want to get better, I just-”

She swallowed the painful lump in her throat.

“It’s hard.”

“I understand,” Aragon murmured, “Just remember that there are people you can talk to. Anna, for example. I’m here, too. I won’t try to act like I always know what I’m doing, but I’m here, if you need me.”

Bessie leaned against Aragon, fighting off tears once again. She sucked in a shaky breath and smiled wryly at her.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Aragon says, leaning over to kiss the top of Bessie’s wet hair. “Can you promise me something, though?”

Bessie looked up at her. Her eyes look so young, so hurt...just like they used to. Aragon couldn’t resist another kiss, which she places against the bassist’s forehead.

“Come to me. Please. Next time you want to cut, come to me. Call me, text me- just please reach out to me. We’ll go do something. We can watch a movie or I’ll just hold you like I used to, just please,” She grabs Bessie’s forearms and blinks back a haze of tears. “Please, baby girl, please come to me.”

Bessie’s eyes started to water all over again. She nodded with a strangled whimper and fell into Aragon’s loving arms, which held her so tightly.

“I love you so much, Elizabeth,” Aragon whispered. She’s crying, now, but her voice stays stable and strong. “More than life itself. You’re my beautiful daughter, and I hate seeing you like this.”

Being referred to as the queen’s daughter made a sob bubble to Bessie’s lips. She clung tighter.

“I-I love you, too....”

#oop #catherine of aragon #bessie on the bass #elizabeth blount #six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #tw: self harm

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killerswonderland · 4 years

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The Goddess of Death

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: You always taught you were going to have the job you wanted. But in Gotham it was never like that. Will the goddess of death continue to reign or will she finally succumb and lay to rest in her deadly world.

Warnings: Language, minor violence, mentions of death.

Word Count: 2.2 k

A/N: OMG!!! Thank you everyone who liked my previous fic! I fucking cried. You guys are amazing!

This one is a little weird. Hope you guys like it!!!

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The clicking of your heels sounded rhythmic against the pavement. Every move you make, every breath you took, every look sent to the passing gothamites was carefully calculated. Hiding in plain sight was your specialty. The suitcase you carried was heavy, but you didn’t let that manifest, lightly swaying your hips so you could maintain a balanced walk through the path you had chosen. You got to your destination quickly, entering the high office building, the wall full of glass causing a light reflection in your eyes as you passed through security, nodding and giving the guard a small smile.

You got in the elevator, pressing the button for the last floor. As the sudden motion began, you watched as the walls of the elevator turned from black to a skittish grey, the clarity of the outside world infesting the little glass cage. Gotham was a big city, a big monochromatic grey city. The downtown area was packed, the buildings extending through miles, the streets looking like pathways for ants, as people shuffled in the sidewalk, mindlessly following their routes, the anxiety coursing through their veins. Although you held an apathetic gaze you knew the feeling. The desperation, the panic, the depression of the city that surrounded you. You broke it as your heard the gears slow down, turning to the doors and walking straight out when they opened it.

The stairs were one of the worst things of your little career, slightly loosing to the main action of your contract. You never thought that you would follow the line of work you had. You see, you had always been a good girl, a smart girl. You took your SATs, you passed through university like it was the easiest thing to do and did your Bar Exam, and still, after all of that, you didn’t got the job you wanted as a minor lawyer at Wayne Enterprises. You got the job it was offered, not only doing what you got a diploma for, but also for doing something else.

As you opened the doors the winds pushed you backwards. You took long strides to the ledge of the roof, seeing the covered sun setting, the myriad of unusual colors mixing with the polluted grey of Gotham’s skies. You took a breath, turning to one of the building that surrounded you. Now, you were in the tallest building in the area so you knew no one could see you. You knelt onto the ground, laying your suitcase and opening it, staring at its disassembled contents, a sigh of uneasiness leaving your lips as you picked up the part of the lower receiver, clicking the trigger mechanism, twisting in the bipod and locking it in place. Allowing the bolt carrier to come forward, you positioned the upper receiver, grasping lightly and releasing the charging handle slowly, fully closing the bolt, and finally attaching the scope and the suppressor. You laid onto the floor, position ready, breath held. You take a shot and you can hear the screams even from the distance. You raise yourself, clicking, twisting and snapping the rifle, disassembling back into its harmless form, closing the suitcase and leaving the building.

Hel, that’s what you were called. The heir of Loki. The nordic Goddess of Death and ruler of the land of the dead. Your boss was the great crime lord Black Mask, and you were not only his lawyer, which sounds ridiculous since he only deals with criminals, but also his number one markswoman. You hated the job, but the sum of money you received was enough for you to become calloused with the deaths.

As you enter your apartment complex you feel a tranquil sensation overtake you. You lived in a small but comfortable studio apartment, as you didn’t liked the opulent style your boss and colleagues flaunted. It also helped you feel more human, knowing your neighbors, hearing their talks about how the prices of tomatoes were raising. “You seem tired sweetie” you hear the softly spoken voice of your elderly neighbor Nanci say as you get to your door. Tiredly looking at her you just give her the most sincere smile of your day and she responds with a sympathetic one as you opened your door, getting promptly inside.

Taking your shoes of you walk through your living room and past your bed, entering the bathroom only to peel your clothes like they were hazardous and enter your little bathtub. In days like these you felt relieved your boss gave you the rest of the night off as a reward for a job well done, and always sunk in your tub, darkness engulfing you, warm water washing your sins. You guess you laid there for an hour, the flames of the candles you lit slowly extinguishing, until you decided to leave the warm comfort. As you raised you felt the brisk air, coming in contact with the water that trickled down your body, you shivered, quickly going for a fluffy black towel and drying yourself so you could put on the old silk robe your grandmother had given as her parting gift.

When you left the bathroom the apartment was dark, the penumbra settling in. Not that it was uncommon for you to leave the lights off, enjoying only the lights that came from the city. You moved to your dresser, putting your light flannel pijamas on and laid in the bed, a drained sigh escaping your lips as you closed your eyes, waiting for another dreamless night to take you in.

You guessed it was 3 a.m when you heard a thump, eyes opening immediately as you shudder from the chilly autumn air. Even though Gotham was a cold city, your apartment was never cold as it was now, so you knew something was wrong. You felt as someone, or something, was observing you. You breath hitched in your throat when you saw the tall figure through the wooden carved divider and you slowly made your way to the wall of your wardrobe, gently removing the ebony wood, getting the pistol you left hidden for the day someone would try to get their revenge on you.

You walked calmly towards the living room where you saw the shadow, positioning yourself so if you needed to take the shot it was going to be certain.

“The only thing I don’t understand is how someone as smart as you is working for someone as dumb as Black Mask” the shadow tonelessly said, a red helmet shining as the city lights entered you apartment. He turned to you, the blue electronic gaze clearly analyzing your stance, gloved fingers brushing the gun in his holster.

“And I don’t understand why the most psychotic vigilante broke into my apartment”, your caustic tone dripped from your tongue. Breaking your stance you lowered the gun, returning the hammer and putting the safety on as you sit on the sofa, putting the pistol in the coffee table between you and the vigilante. “That wasn’t my first option of a job, you know,” you point it out, the tiredness in your voice making the stance that he held soften.

You stood there, a comfortable silence setting as he took his gun from the holster and, imitating you, left it on the small table and leaned his back on the wall, still staring at you. You closed your eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath as you raised your body from your couch and moving to the kitchen “You can sit down, if you want Red Hood. I guess we have a lot to talk and if I don’t have a coffee you better just die before I get to the gun again” you confessed, hearing a light mechanic chuckle coming from the living room. You start to boil water in your stove as you hear hard footsteps, “And please take the shoes off, leave them by the door” you demanded and soon later heard the a slight “ompf” as the heavy boots dropped to the ground, with that you smiled and thought that at least you would die in the hands of a considerate vigilante.

When he got to your the kitchen island he sat down in one of the stools while you were putting the grounded coffee beans in a paper filter, covering with water as the dark liquid filled a thermic bottle, and not even the helmet could stop the smell of fresh coffee of reaching his nose. You poured it in two cups, sliding one back to him as you pulled your body up until you sat in the cold marble counter, holding the cup with your two hands and slightly blowing the steam coming from the scalding liquid. You hear the small gears of Red Hoods helmet twist and a light pop as he detached the crimson helmet and put by his side.

“Does the other mask serve as a dramatic effect?” you jokingly ask as you study his face. The chiseled jaw and the soft skin begging to be touched by your hands and the chapped lips begging to be kissed by yours. You shake your head, taking the indecent thoughts ou of your mind as he passes his hands through his raven hair and you thought you could see a clear white streak hiding between the dark locks.

“Yes” he answered giving you a sheepish grin and taking the cup of coffee into his hands, smelling e taking a small sip, a distorted quiet moan leaving his lips as he closed his eyes, muscles seemingly relaxing “You know, my partner would love this. He never sleeps so he needs caffeine all the time” he tells you.

“The secret is in the way you prepared it, fresh, saying no the the machines” you instructed, taking a gulp of the hot beverage, the sensation of the burning awakening you. Again you two sat in silence, the only sound being the almost silent swallowing. “I can’t leave” you mumbled, attracting his gaze from the cup back to you, eyeing you with curiosity. “I can’t leave, I signed a contract, I sold my soul to him. I know what I did is wrong, but it was the only way I could survive Gotham,” you said louder, your grip in the mug tightening, “I do the job and in return he keeps me safe and pays me a good amount. And if one day I decide to leave…” you stop, the panic arising on your mind, reflecting as you bite you lower lip and you see his jaw tighten.

He raised himself from the stool, his hands tightened into fists as he got closer to you, slightly looking down so the could see you in the eye since you jumped of the counter. “I can’t help you” he began “I was sent here to do a job. You see, I do get some gruesome jobs sometimes, after all, I do have to pay the rent so I don’t blame you there” he revealed, a dark tone lingered in his voice. You closed your eyes, hunching your shoulders and twisting your lips in a half, sad, smile. You heard him turn, walking back to the living room and picking the heavy pistol, pressing the hammer down. “What I can you, is kill you” that was the last thing you heard as the ringing in your ears started. The loud bang startling you as you felt the raging pain in your leg, warm crimson liquid leaving your as you fell on your knees.

You held the scream of pain, looking as Red Hood, face hidden once again by the helmet, walked back to you and kneeling onde he got in front of you. “Pack a bag, go away. I’ll take care of the rest and after I’m finished they won’t have a doubt that you’re dead” he calmly whispered, touching your wounded and spreading some of the blood in your sofa. He turned to you, helping you to your feet and you limped back to your wardrobe, getting the the bag you prepared when you first entered the job. You opened it to see all your money money, fake documents and some clothes laid neatly in it. You entered the bathroom, scattering on your cabinet for your first aid kit and promptly arranged a tourniquet, also popping some painkillers in your mouth. You keep hearing crashing coming from the kitchen, glass being shattered and now suppressed gun shots in you wall.

It was a misunderstanding to say that it was repairable. Your apartment was in shreds as Red Hood got closer to you, opening the fire escape so you could pass through it and both of you got down to the alleyway that stood in the middle of your and the neighboring building. The next thing you know you were hugging his back tightly as the motorcycle roared and speeded thought Gotham’s streets. The lights passing so fast you thought you were going to vomit. As the bike came to stop you noticed the neon lights mark the way to the bus stop.

“Get as far away as possible, and never come back. Gotham always remembers.” he says as a restrained mumble, never sparing you the look.

“Thank you” you said, lips quickly coming in contact with the cold steel of his helmet.

He watches you until you disappeared, never once turning to look back.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #jason todd #red hood #reader insert #batboys imagine #fanfic

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vixthefantheorist · 5 years

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The Discovery - Say Goodbye Aftermath

A/N: Hello, hello my fellow readers! Vix here and I’m back with yet another short story! This time however, this story is based on this amazing artpiece by Turquoise Magpie but its a commissioned piece to Jacksinsanity. So please be respectful to these two and give them some love! I saw this art piece via a friend who pointed it out in Jack’s discord server and… I fell in love with the image. And from it I had to write something that depicts how and why Henrik arrived there. Anyway, this story is focused on the good doctor, Henrik Von Schneeplestein! And a tiny bit of Marvin. I will say that I am talking out of my ass on some descriptions, like namely the house, I dunno what Jack’s house/apart is like, so I’m just throwing things together for the sake of the fic. And the smell of pumpkin… I never been around a pumpkin to know what it smells like. So again, just making it up as I went with it. As for what happens... it was Anti’s doing... blocking their sights until they see what he left behind for them... I hope you enjoy! *~*~*~*~*~*~*

October 31st 2016 What was once a fun pumpkin carving video… turned into a nightmare. Chaos reigned in the video once the star of the show was spirited away, leaving only the dark shadow to taunt and rant at the onlookers. They, who had no way of helping or stopping the situation that unfolded before their eyes; could only watch in horror as the light of life was snuffed out. All they were given were harsh words, words that stung and sliced into their hearts… the idea burned into their souls… that this tragedy was their fault. The mysterious being they dubbed, ‘Anti’, hissed and spat at them like an angry but cheeky cat; telling them that this nightmare was one that they brought upon themselves and the one they cherished. The shadow hissed icily that they only had one thing to do, only one thing to say to the Irishman that they lost. “̻̫̻ͅS̖̖̬a͏̼̱͖̟̰y̠̠̪̙ ̛͍̞̜̱G͠o͎o͙̰̼̻̼̺͜ͅḏ̖̞͉̹͝b͓̣̪̠̱̰ý͍͖e̼̠̬.̦̀”̶̩͉͕̱ *~*~*~*~*~*~* November 3rd 2016 Only a few days went by, things looked normal for the JackSepticEye channel with videos uploaded on time. But… something didn’t feel quite right. For the community’s part, it was unnerving, calling out to content creator in hopes of getting answers. But their words fell on deaf ears. And calls… emails… none were answered; not even a sight of him outside his house. Only on the videos did anyone see him. This struck the Septic Egos as strange. Jack was never one to ignore calls or email, especially from friends or family or potential sponsors. He would at least answer to say something about being too busy, or at least call back and apologize for missing a call. Even stranger was the constant restlessness of the community that the Septics noticed. They seemed very jumpy and kept repeating things and showing things that oddly… the Egos couldn’t see. Was Jack overworking himself again? It was possible and the videos could have been made in advance and queued to post to buy himself more time. So it was decided that Henrik should go check on him, in case Jack was sick then the doctor could provide some minor first aid. And so… Henrik Von Schneeplestein headed over to Jack’s place, whipping out a cellphone to call ahead. He listened to the phone ring as he drove over. After a few rings, the call was dropped into voice mail, Jack’s voice cheerfully reciting his message of apologizing for not being able to answer before it stopped and the beep signaled that it was ready for recording a message. Henrik frowned as he drove closer to the block where Jack lived. “Jack, are you being a little bitch baby again? You honestly need to stop overworking yourself, its not healthy and making everyone worry. Anyway, I’m coming over to check up on you for peace of mind. Do you know anything about what’s going on with the community? Everyone seems restless but we can’t see anything that could tell us-” The phone beeped again, signaling that his time was up and wouldn’t record the rest of his questions. “Damn it.” He swore softly, driving closer to the house and slowing the car to a stop. He got out and headed for the house, slowing a little as he noticed Jack’s car was at the driveway. “Least that tells me he’s home.” he muttered as he continued his way to the little path that led to the door. But as he looked up at the house, bright with a nice cheerful look to it…felt off. The cheery exterior seemed forced, like how Chase would give a false smile to hide his pain. It seemed far too still, like the home was holding its breath behind its false smile. Henrik furrowed his brows in confusion at the description that came to mind; then shook his head and headed for the door. “Must be getting paranoid, worrying over Jack and making me think something’s wrong with the house.” he murmured, nodding to himself, taking comfort from that logic. Granted, that didn’t stave off that feeling of wrong that gnawed at him a little. Still the doctor ego mentally waved the worry aside and gave the front door a hearty knock, standing back to patiently wait for an answer from Jack. Surely, he would have had to have heard that. A few minutes passed and… nothing. He frowned a little before giving the door another knock, a little harder and louder. “Probably asleep but come on, he should have heard it this time.” Another few minutes and still no answer. Worry spiked through him for a moment before replaced with irritation. Henrik exhaled, the rush of breath hissing through his teeth in annoyance. “I swear to god, if he’s playing another game instead of eating, I’m shoving his microphone stand up his ass sideways.” He griped, abandoning the need to knock on the door a third time; and choosing to rifle around for the hidden spare key. Jack always locked his door when he came home to record. He always had that fear of people walking in while he was distracted by games so he always locked the door behind himself. It took the good doctor a moment to find the key, hidden behind a compartment of the joke hallway key rack placed by the door. As if anyone would openly leave their keys there. But behind it, thanks to a bit of Marvin’s magic, was the key. Grumbling to himself mostly to keep the worry at bay, he fitted the key in and unlocked the door, slipping inside. The moment he entered the house was when the worry he kept ignoring, whispered to him. Something’s not right. The house was eerily quiet, the interior dark; save for the light coming through the window. Thankfully, sunset wasn’t until another few hours, so it wasn’t that dark. But it was enough to say that no one was here… or the resident was asleep. “Jack?” Henrik called out quizzically, wondering what the hell the Youtuber was doing. The house shouldn’t be this quiet, even if he lived on his own, there was always that something. Something that made the home more lively. But that something was missing, leaving the house to be as quiet as a tomb. The doctor shook his head, scolding himself for such a bad analogy, stepping further into the house to close the door behind him and set the key aside on a side table. “Jack, are you home?” Maybe he went out on a walk? He had been going on runs… but… no one has seen him since Halloween. “Are you alright? Are you sick?” Silence. Taking a breath to steel himself against the feeling of uncertainty that wrapped around him. Then flinched at the scent of something foul. It was faint but it was definitely there. Was something rotting? “All right, something is definitely wrong...” He murmured as he ventured into the house, wincing at sound of his own footsteps seemed to unnerve him further. He was closest to the kitchen and decided to check it out, since the living didn’t offer any clues besides it being empty of the Irish Youtuber. The kitchen, on the other hand, was just as empty of a person… yet it did offer a couple of clues. It was missing a table and the remnants of a cooked meal were still present, so he did eat. But there was a problem. The dishes had remained in the sink and the part of the scent of rot was coming from here, but not the scent he smelled from the living room near the stairs. That and there was a colony of ants feasting upon the leftovers of what was… chicken? Some kind of meat and vegetables, it was bit difficult to tell with ants all over the sink. Henrik twitched at seeing them thriving there, disturbed and a lot more concerned now. Everyone knew Jack despised cleaning… but there was no way he would’ve ignored the dishes to let ants just move in. How long did he leave the kitchen dirty? “Jack?!” The doctor called out louder, stressing Youtuber’s name as he left the ant infested kitchen to search further, his movements no longer hesitant and quiet. “My friend! Where are you?” The downstairs bathroom yielded nothing… same with the linen room, save for a pile of dirty clothes begging to be washed. The only other room left was the bedroom that doubled as the recording room and Henrik was already dashing for it, taking his phone out. He hit speed dial for Marvin. It didn’t even take two rings before the magician picked up. “Hello? Hey, Henrik! What’s going on? Jack ok-” Marvin the Magnificent greeted happily before being cut off by the doctor. “Marvin, whatever magic show you’re doing, pull a disappearing act and get your ass over to Jack’s house. NOW!” He hissed as he passed the kitchen to get to the stairs. “Jack’s house? Why? What’s wrong?” Whatever mirth that had been behind his tone earlier switched to concern and seriousness. “Hen, are you… are you running?” “Yes, I am! Where’s Chase? Just… call everyone to get to the house NOW, Marvin!” “Chase is with me at the magic show...” “Magic his ass with you then! Call Jackie and tell him to get here! I don’t know what is going but something is wrong and I need you all here to help me! If I’m guessing right then- Oh god… what is that?” “Hen? What is what?” Henrik ignored Marvin’s voice, flinching at the scent of rot… it was definitely coming from here. He paled realizing that the scent was originating from here the second floor of the house... It can’t… No, the scent wasn’t right. He shook his head, trying to not panic and analyze the scent of rot he was smelling. It wasn’t sickly sweet… not flesh… not a dead body… no… it was a little more bitter and sour. ...pumpkin…? A rotting pumpkin or the pulp of it..? Henrik’s eyes scanned the second floor, again not hearing Marvin calling him from the phone. “Why rotting pumpkin…?” “’Pumpkin’? Henrik, are you okay? What’s going on?” The doctor’s eyes fell upon the bedroom door, jolting a little at the sight of the door slightly ajar… and from where he stood… could see the room was dark. Pumpkin… Pumpkin… There was rotting pumpkin… Henrik stared at the door, moving quickly over to it, remembering now. The scent of rotten pumpkin pulp was thicker here. Jack was recording a Halloween special… Henrik hesitantly reached for the door. He was carving pumpkins for the community… he loved it back last year and thought it would be fun again this year. “Jack…?” He called softly, earning another concerned word from Marvin, who was on the move to collect Chase on his end, listening to what was going on. The video aired, the Egos couldn’t see anything wrong with it. To them it looked like an average pumpkin carving video… but community had been going ballistic after it aired, insisting something was wrong. “Please...” He whispered as he pulled the door the rest of the way open and stepped in the room… But no one saw Jack physically since Halloween… Henrik stared in horror, phone dropping from his hand and clattered onto the floor, earning a worried Marvin talking frantically to him, but… the ego didn’t hear the magician. The egos didn’t take heed of the community pointing something out to them. No one checked in on the Youtuber on Halloween when the video uploaded or the day after… “Oh...god...” “Henrik? Henrik! What is going on?!” Marvin’s voice was growing in panic the longer the doctor continued to mumble and speak softly. He was too dazed by what he was looking at to really hear or answer the magician. The bedroom was just as it looked in the Halloween video. Computer and recording set up out and unmoved, camera facing a table that normally didn’t belong here. That answered the question of where it disappeared to since it wasn’t in the kitchen. Burnt out candles were still where they were on the table, completely void of candle wax. Black plastic garbage bag was on the floor, judging from the smell, the pulp was in there and thus the culprit of bitter smell that wafted in the house. A carved pumpkin also sat on the table, grinning crookedly at the camera. But Henrik’s eyes saw nothing in the room, nothing in there was important. Nothing save the figure the pumpkin sat next to… The figure that belonged to the one and only… Jacksepticeye; who was slumped backwards on his chair and limp; eyes left in a half closed state but devoid of any kind of life. The way the body was positioned… it completely exposed his neck for the world to see. Henrik’s eyes reacted to focus on his friend’s neck, which blatantly showcased the clean, deliberate slash there, clearly indicating how he died… Died… “Why… why didn’t we..?” Henrik breathed in a horror, staring at the scene before him with wide eyes, feeling the burning of tears coming forth. It didn’t make sense… how did this happen? Jack hated using knives… they terrified him, he would never- And yet... Jack was dead. The realization hit the doctor hard, tears stung his eyes as they flowed freely down his face as he kept staring, burning the image of his friend’s corpse to his mind’s eye. He could never forget this moment…this chilling sight that would always haunt him for as long as he lived. He would never forget this terrible discovery. “My friend… Oh god... Why?” Softly, in the background, was sinister giggle and a pair of pure black eyes watched from the shadows. It smiled before it vanished, keeping itself hidden from view until the day came to reveal himself to the others.

#jacksepticeye #dr. schneeplestein #antisepticeye #marvin magnificent #jacksepticeye fanfiction #turqouise magpie #jacksinsanity #ego fanfic #vixfics

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loiswolf · 5 years

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Day 26 June 25 Nemours - Réclainville 87kms

Last night was soooo hot! I had to keep my room door open because there were no windows. Unfortunately another couple turned up to stay in the next room. Since I was sprawled on the bed in my underwear I thought I’d better close the door as they were out on the terrace talking. In the end it was just too hot and stuffy so I opened the door anyway. Don’t worry, the room was upstairs and there was another external door locked downstairs so none of the more unsavoury elements could get in.

Speaking of unsavoury elements! If you ever consider selling up and buying a chateau in France, don’t buy one in Nemours. It’s pretty horrible. The only redeeming element was the unusual looking church but it was covered in scaffolding and tarps so I can’t even vouch for that.

For dinner last night I walked about 200m to the chicken shop. I was sorry I didn’t have my pepper spray with me. I knew the shop opened at 6pm so I got there at 6:30. Can you believe they had sold out of chicken pieces? It’s a chicken shop!! I had to make do with tenders instead. I took them back to my room to eat them with my ant infested salad. Yes, ants everywhere because I didn’t want to put my food bag in the lady’s fridge. The reason I carry a food bag is so I have food. If it’s locked in someone else’s fridge then it’s pretty useless. Thus the ants! I ended up putting the food bag in the shower on top of my breakfast bowl. A few times I soaked it with cold water hoping this would discourage the ants and keep the food a bit cooler. It didn’t work.

The forecast for today was even hotter than yesterday so I left at 7:30. I had already corresponded with my host for tonight and knew I could get into my little apartment whenever I wanted.

Cycling through Nemours is not fun. The road is narrow, there are cars parked and several sets of traffic lights. The town is dirty and dowdy and always seems to be jammed with cars. Like I said, don’t go there. However, about 14kms up the road is one of the cutest little villages I have ever seen. It was called Jaqueville. There wasn’t much there and I didn’t stop to take a photo but it was very pretty.

My ride was a bit of a rerun of yesterday. There was a bit of a hill, nothing to worry about, lots and lots of farmland, and fortunately a slight headwind. This at least kept me a little cooler throughout the day.

At 24kms I came to Malesherbes. On a corner in the middle of town were a Boulangerie and a bar together, with seating outside. Perfect! Who knew where I might find this convenient combo again?

The queue in the Boulangerie took a bit of commitment but the coffee was quick and cheap. I had to sit on a ledge at the side to escape all the cigarette smoke but I was happy with my choice.....the cake was really good.

Last night I had made my usual list of towns and roads. Twice today when leaving Malesherbes and later Mainvilliers I found myself on shoulderless d roads with lots of trucks zooming along them. Both times I felt it wasn’t right, I wasn’t recognising the numbers or names so I did map checks. Sure enough, I had taken the wrong exit but was able to correct my mistake without adding too many extra kms to the day. Good system!

Does anybody know what this crop is? It was quite different to all the others.

I thought this was photo worthy.....its probably why I missed the turn.

Diverting from the google maps route in Mereville I headed down to Angerville. I knew my accommodation tonight was very remote and I had figured out where the nearest big supermarket was. There was a Lidl in Angerville and that’s where I was headed. It wasn’t really out of the way and I was able to get something to cook in my absolutely gorgeous apartment tonight. After the shopping expedition I headed into town for a really expensive coffee ( got tricked again!) and drank it with the very cheap cheese bread and muffin from Lidl.

Only about 26kms from there and boy, was it getting hot. I stopped at this field thinking I might be able to get a bit of a soaking from the sprinkler.

Nope, it didn’t work. I stepped over rows of whatever the crop was but didn’t seem to be able to nail exactly where the water was landing.

Only a few more villages to go....past this lovely chateau,

Lots of wind turbines spinning lazily in the heat ( a bit like me really)

and soon I was turning off to Réclainville. It not a big place! My accommodation is not even in the village. It’s another 1.5kms down the road at an even tinier village.

It didn’t matter, it was worth the extra k’s. It’s a perfect modern little apartment at the side of a house. It has everything I’ve been missing. A fridge, a microwave, a beautiful modern bathroom but sadly no air conditioning. Oh, and no ants, except the ones I brought with me and have since killed! I’ve had to sit outside again this afternoon and will be leaving my door open again tonight. I might even have company!

Today’s map.

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thechocoboos · 6 years

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may I request a modern AU in which the chocobros go on a good old fashion American roadtrip in the Regalia? and if they did, who would ultimately win control over their summer roadtripping playlist? thanks!

Hey there!!! Thanks so much for your request, I really loved writing it omgHope you guys enjoy reading this, and look forward to a new hc list shortly!!!

HC: The Bros on a Roadtrip

It was all Prompto’s idea, he suggested it one night at a bar

“Omg omg guys we should go on a roadtrip!” -Prompto

“Maybe… sounds like it would be cool…” -Noctis

“Yeah, could be fun. Camping in the great outdoors by night, cruisin the countryside by day…” -Gladio

They didn’t listen to what Ignis said about it (something logical and realistic, but the other bros said fuuuck that)

So they went on a roadtrip, giving Regis a mild heads up one day and driving off

Now. Let’s talk music…

Prompto, cause he’s in the passenger seat, decides most of it, as Ignis usually doesn’t care

So, they get stuck with either pop or indie stuff

Noctis doesn’t care too much; he’s usually asleep

Gladio sometimes cares, but he usually gets some time with the aux cord (he plays classic rock and metal music btw)

Ignis… Ignis rarely gives any fucks about what’s playing, so he lets Prom have a field day with music, but… if he doesn’t like a song or what’s playing… You bet your ass he will snatch that aux cord and play some smooth jazz or classical music for the next three hours (he says it’s to cleanse his palette)

So basically, Prom chooses the songs, but Ignis has the most power over music choice

And in saying that, Prompto also made five different playlists for the roadtrip: One with Gladio’s fave music, one with his own, one with ignis’ faves, and one with Noct’s faves, then one with random ass, typical summer-y montage type songs

He likes to switch up which one is playing

Ignis sometimes turns his nose up at some of the shadier diners they stop at along the way, but if the others beg enough he’ll eat there anyways

The bros camp most of the nights, and just like ingame, Iggy cooks (the camping idea was pretty much forced upon all of them by Gladio)

Ignis doesn’t like to let Noct ever see the map ‘cause then he’d make them stop at every body of water to go fishing and they’d never get anywhere

Prompto also doesn’t get to do too much navigator stuff, ‘cause he always gets turned around or distracted, making Ignis miss turns and go the wrong way allll the time

So, Gladdy is the official navigator

He’s so good at reading maps that he can do it upside down and backwards and every which way (he also takes them through the scenic routes so he deserves a gold star or somethin’)

Don’t get me wrong tho, he does mess up

Once he fell asleep with the map on his face and Ignis didn’t realize until they were an hour out of their way

Prompto has them stop at EVERY roadside attraction and takes so many pictures that he has to bring extra storage for them

His favorite attraction are the really dumb ones, like The World’s Biggest Ball of Twine, The Biggest Santa, the Jimmy Carter Peanut Statue, etc

He also loves the big attractions, like The Grand Canyon (even though he almost fell in while trying to take a good picture)

He also has them stop at any super pretty areas for pictures too

Ignis started saying no whenever Prompto asked to pull over, so now he always asks Noct (Noct can never say no to Prompto)

Oh, and in case you were wondering… Bathroom breaks. See here for more details.

Ignis is the one driving 90 percent of the time

Whenever he gets super tired, he lets Noct drive but Ignis always feels regret afterwards (Noct sometimes likes to brake check them if no other cars are around)

They let Prompto drive once, but that was the biggest mistake of all. He stopped every five mins for pictures, and at one point got so distracted by the scenery that he ran them off the road

So yeah

Prom doesn’t drive anymore

Gladio, on the other hand, outright refuses to drive (even though he has his license)

They stop for every meal because Ignis does not allow food in the precious Regalia

Speaking of the Regalia, they’re 90% sure they’re not supposed to take it on long trips or anything but… Noctis swear it’ll be fine

Noctis has to call his dad every night (Ignis always calls Regis behind Noct’s back to give him a truthful report)

Gladio has to call Iris every night too (his calls last at least half an hour, and it’s mainly him “mmhmm”ing at the stuff Iris tells him)

Sometimes Gladio gets a call from Iris during the day too, but usually it’s asking something small like, “Hey, Gladio, can I borrow your romance books?”

Normally, she’d want to text him instead, but Gladio hates texting, so she just calls

Speaking of calling family… Prompto tried to call his adopted parents to tell them about his trip (multiple times might I add), but they never answered the phone or called back after he left messages, so he just stopped trying

He gets kinda lonely seeing the other bros on the phone each evening (when they have signal, that is), but tries to hide it all the time

Noct noticed. He told Prompto to give Cor a call for him, “Let ‘em know what we’ve been up to…”

So he did. And then he did it again. And again. And soon, Prompto was calling Cor every other evening when the other bros’ called their families.

At first, Cor was confused and a little annoyed, but he had a liking for that kid, so he listened and talked to Prompto with no problem. Soon, he legit looked forward to hearing from Prompto’s calls and missed him when there were none. Cor tried to pretend that he didn’t feel like a dad to Prompto, but he started calling Prompto “son” in the end, anyways (Prompto may have accidentally called Cor “dad” or “pops” a few times, too)

Prompto likes to take his shoes off in the car and prop his feet up on the dash, but Ignis will stop the car and lecture him if he does

Noctis also takes his mismatched boots off, but his feet stink so he usually keeps them on…

Gladio doesn’t like to take his shoes off, but if he ever does, the stench would probably kill an entire ecosystem

Noctis has the worst roadtrip hygiene (he showers like, three times a week?)

Ignis? You bet that boi has some dry shampoo, some extra water for washing up, three different kinds of soaps… He’s all set. He will not go a single day looking or smelling like shit, mark my words

Prompto borrows Ignis’ soap here and there and he defo showers whenever he has the chance, but otherwise he just lives with insecurities about hygiene and hides his greasy hair with a beanie when they don’t have access to showers

Gladio is good with either. He’ll shower when he needs to, but he doesn’t let the grime get to him, like ever (“If our ancestors can live in the woods without a shower, so can I.”)

Ignis packs snacks and pulls the car over for snacktimes (he can’t have anyone going hungry on his watch!)

Sometimes Prompto will crank on some grand ole tunes that they all know and they’ll just cruise down the highway screaming lyrics (even Ignis will tap his hands to the beat and mouth the words with a dumb smile on his dumb, perfect face) and Prompto will take pics and it’s just such an A E S T H E T I C

Also Prom and Noct wear each other’s clothes sometimes when they can’t be fucked to grab their own (Gladio and Ignis are too specific in sizing to be able to wear the other bros’ clothes)

Prompto LIVeS for roadside diner food omfg

His stomach gives him hell for it and he’ll complain about gas or bloating but he can’t stop eating the greasy fries and overstuffed burgers

Ignis is disgusted by it all but he still eats it for the “original road trip experience” as he says (we all know you’re a slut for crap food sometimes, too, Ignis)

Prompto started collected cool looking rocks from each place they stopped at. Soon, his bag was too heavy to tote around and the bros were sick of hauling around heavy ass bags during camp, so he was forced to give him his collection (tho Ignis swore it was due to the ant infestation one rock caused but Prompto says otherwise)

Gladio, tho, he collects flowers. I know, surprising. He presses them between the pages of his books and plans on making a scrapbook (also surprising) with photos of them at the places they found the flowers pasted next to the pressed flowers themselves (he also presses extras to give to Iris, bless)

ANyways

They didn’t get proper permission to do this, they fought over sleeping arrangements and showers, and they argued over music sometimes, too

But in the end, they made memories that would last a lifetime and they began feeling like a weird lil family anyways

#ffxv #prompto argentum #noctis lucis caelum #gladiolus amicitia #ignis scientia #final fantasy xv #ffxv ignis #ffxv gladio #ffxv noctis #ffxv prompto #prompto #Gladio #ignis #noctis

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jupiterreed · 6 years

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(The days that followed)

It’s a casual sort of sinking, a perennial mudslide beneath the once rosy bottoms of your feet, a head-first collision and you don’t see what you’re crashing into but you can imagine once you hear the sound of the glass shattering and it’s almost a choir. The sirens pouring into the fizzling distance. Flashing murder-red behind your eyelids. Feral red, confused red. The red of eyes in paintings of the devil. The red of the inside of my thighs, blooming ghastly and slightly swollen. Most definitely swollen. It’s like diving blind-eyed into monster-infested waters and it’s everything it’s rumored to be, krakens and megalodons and you want to slip away but you’re chained to the bottom of the sea and it’s your worst childhood fear, the Jaws theme ringing ominously in your head. It’s dreaming of coral reefs wet with your own blood. Gasping for air and coming up empty, coming up slick-clean and robbed of your will to live. The first month was waking up with a night terror sitting upon my chest, the woman with craggily skin and fingers like barbed wires. I was incapacitated and breathing dirty ocean water. The first month was a panic attack in a Burger King bathroom stall and meeting a German boy on Tinder who told me I was pretty in a strange way. It was being touched for the first time and feeling my body flinch in unprepared protest, soldiers flanking my stomach lining, cherry bombs exploding in my chest and scorpions scratching at my throat. When he left he told me he didn’t like my septum piercing that much and I told him to fuck off. No longer intrigued by the glossy allure of cancer sticks disguised as cherubs. Impolite girl, angry girl, Britney’s 2007 breakdown. I come pre-packaged and licked by the moon. I am what I am. Foolish fever, selfish retch. Unlovable wind, intolerable myth. I know I’m not enough, but enough is no longer quantifiable.

The months after were a barrage of broken light bulbs, rat-traps, temptations of guzzling chlorox in the basement and offering my body to the fruit flies. It was hair pulled from shower drains and afternoons spent in unmade beds and fighting the urge to change my name and flee to the Himalayas.

Lately my lungs are propellers but there’s nowhere to land, nowhere to uphold temple, Bermuda Triangle days circling the hips of void. I’ve been aching to talk about the longing. How I want and want and want. But I never know what I need. I need to be suffocated by the skin of another. I need closure. Rituals of death in department store parking lots. All those girls with their high-pitched voices and soda pop laughter, calling me the girl whose name no-one can ever pronounce, and what does it mean anyway: sorrow, daisy, fool? I’ll be honest for five minutes because the lies are piling up like dried up moths beneath my bedsheets. I’m jealous, I’m canine. I want to turn into a wolf at night and maul them all. Go back to simpler times when cruelty made sense and their smiles got trapped in ribcages and nobody ever questioned the meaning of things. I still remember we threw slumber parties for roadkill and brought our bodies down in the middle of the street to emulate the feeling. I remember feeling smaller than the microorganisms of misery milling at me. I remember the vintage dress I bought off of eBay and the look on his face when he saw me in it for the first time (and maybe reverence never belonged to the gods anyway). I twirl around in it and for 0.5 seconds I get to feel like a garden variety princess and the sky turns stale and black coffee pours from the heavens and my hands are satellites again. (But then I wake up and everything I’d ever wanted is still too far away and the peach dream is over.) Did you know how often the average human has thoughts about death? Gosh I’m so fucking tired of having to try. Call me sloth, call me chimera. I can’t move. I’m sinking further and I can’t move! It’s all in your head. The rinds of darkness. That rotten pomegranate smell that grew ever-so familiar. The blood I found in my best friend’s bathtub, how it took up an entire block, crippled the air with rot. She stopped calling me. It’s been over five months now and we haven’t talked. Part of me wishes she’s dead on the side of the road somewhere, because the happier possibility would be too unbearable. I know, I’m terrible. When the anger settles and the upset hightails it out of my windpipe all I’m left with is the dull drone of cicadas and an impaled conscience.

He comes over again and this time I ask him to leave with citrus in my eyes. He makes sure to make note of all the skin I’ve peeled from around my nail beds and I make sure to let him know that the next time he comes around, I’ll be biting my fingers off too. Maybe I’m just afraid of what he’s capable of turning into, like the kindergarten boys who step on the helpless ants that trail the sidewalk just to feel a little bigger than themselves, like the grade school boys who TP the principal’s office and peg poor Jimmy from homeroom upside down by his underwear outside the boy’s locker room upon rumors of being gay, like the high school boys who bring their father’s guns to school to impress the pink-lipped prada girls who have no idea what they’re getting themselves into. Like the sound of Camilla’s shriek and the final bullet bouncing off a multicolored wall advertising a false sense of safety.

Maybe I’m afraid of me, how these days my chest is a beehive and my heart a winged animal. The depression is a pyramid scheme, my blood vessels pop candy reverberating the same old fucking mistakes over and over until I’m left lifeless, pickled, taxidermied. My dad tries to call me every 2 days but the disappointment in his voice is getting larger now and I think about how I could scoop it clean with a pickaxe or let it fester, let it grow sentience and a sense of belonging. I tell him I’m sorry even though it’s useless and tastes like spoilt milk. I tell him I’ll try even though I know I won’t. Not hard enough. I’m still disgusting, stagnant. I feel like I’m on the world’s slowest carnival ride and the lights are dimming all around me. It’s sitting cross-kneed in a bomb shelter as the world implodes around you, it’s falling asleep on a train once you’ve missed your stop, it’s the circulatory system of a star puking up whatever’s left of its glow. That was before we began killing ourselves over the aesthetic, before the taillights of his car came alive and turned into fireflies. Before I was girl incapable of living. Before long-sleeves and the concussions we received from 7-11 slushies and picking at the scabs under your chin as if you could tame flowers there. I was restless and so very bored, I’d stare at my reflection in mirrors for hours and take knives to my zits, pierce the skin like cake. But proper girls don’t ache that way.

I kept losing myself on empty park benches and in the back of grocery store aisles and across the street from the airport where escape awaits. I remember calling her up, it was raining and it would continue to rain all week (at least over me), I was cold and shivering, my clothes pressed to my skin like I’d been trapped in a spiderweb of my own design. I told her the truth, that I wasn’t strong, that I’d never been. That sometimes giving up felt deceivingly like winning. Like getting out, scot-free. Like shelter from a nuclear winter. I fell victim to the temptation of teeth in September and spent way too long communing with ghosts, cracked my forehead open on the bathroom shelf, turned my blood into an altar. What I’m afraid of is waking up one morning with the brevity to go through with it. My roommate walking in on my body lying on the floor, the expression on my face so peaceful it could be mistaken for sleep if it weren’t for my bloodied wrists exhibited like vines. Self-inflicted, self-stormed, self-destructed. But I want to make it through, dammit! I want to be good!

(The day before I killed myself)

I imagined the colors were brighter than I remembered them, like they were screaming or had been for years and I was only just noticing the extent of their turmoil. I took my neighbor’s dog, Buster, for a walk and she smiled at me, old teeth yellowed, close to ruin, but her eyes still echoes of her baby days. They were forecasting more rain on the radio, nothing obnoxious or inconveniencing, not an inkling of a storm - more like, the kind of weather that feels like a kiss to the back of your neck: pleasant, quiet. The slightest prickle. I remember I spoke to my mother on the phone and she asked me if I could fetch her some carrots from the store on my way back home. I told her I’d be home late, and she didn’t argue. She rarely ever does these days. I made the familiar walk to school, I absorbed faces. All these people I would pass who I would never get to meet. What does that even mean, to meet someone? Do we ever truly meet anybody? I’ve been growing familiar with emptiness, like my whole life’s been leading up to this fabled meeting I’ll one day have with someone, someone who will walk into my life and change everything. I think my soul is waiting to be met. Except that day will never come, nor that person. And I’ll never know what it feels like to forgive myself or to succeed at something other than breaking my own accident records, or whether my ex-best friend will ever try to get in touch with me again. I’ll forget the colors. I’ll forget I existed. I’ll forget - everything.

The Day Before I Killed Myself (And The Days That Followed) || j.r (please do not remove original source)

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therealseanwstewart · 7 years

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Julie, SWEET Julie

SWEET little Julie always knew that she was such a nosy little scamp; she would constantly run down the stairs after breaking the locks on her room door exclusively to bother and nag her superior, the maidlady, about what it takes to be a woman, and how a girl would evolve to be as lovely and beautiful as possible in the eyes of men (and other women!). The maidlady was such a snark, she would often respond to Julie’s inquiries with the usual answers in the face of such questions like “Well dear, <giggle>, you would just need to be obedient, be polite, study your homework, be SWEET, listen to your superior: GO TO BED WHEN YOU’RE TOLD TO!! And remember: What goes inside, must always come out!!” Maidlady would then hand Julie a glass of warm milk and send her little butt right off back to bed. And so Julie did just that. In fact, Julie did a little TOO MUCH of just that! Julie lied down in her sheets, face planted in her pillow. She made herself dream of such wondrous things! Because, for a girl to end up being so dreamy, wouldn’t she also have to stir up some sweet things within her own dreams? It was about dead ‘til 1, and she was just sound asleep. And even so, Julie could feel the very shadow of a strange entity hovering above her body. Still dreaming she could not move an inch, and if she WERE awake, she’d be far too scared to turn around and see this strange creature; the thing made no noise as it laid its hand upon her back. It threw off her blanket and laid its fingers around her neck. Julie felt the sting, so much that it startled her awake. She felt all over herself in search of the sensation she was feeling, eyes darting across the dark room, tears in her eyes, in search of the weirdo that just laid its hand upon her. But it was too late. It vanished as soon as she had finished dreaming. Julie scratched her head, and slowly went back down, continuing to bury her face within her pillow once again...but her impeding, burning feeling that was overtaking her body just would not go away, and she could not sleep a wink, but cry between her lashes.

The sun rose next morning to Julie’s staggering over to her bathroom mirror...she lifted up her dress and pulled down her knickers to pee, and what did she see?! There were...HAIR down there where there weren’t any before! How incredibly...WEIRD. Julie just was so stranged out, that she had instantly lost the capacity in her gut to take a wee, as if somehow her bladder was no longer so wee...

Breakfast time. What was on the menu? A plate of French toast...and then some. It seems as though Julie were in the mood for...SWEET things, as the maidlady would soon notice as what seemed suddenly...off, as far as behavior of Julie goes...Maidlady turned to ask Julie at the table as Julie still stuffed her face, as to why Julie suddenly had such strange, unhealthy cravings. “Now, now, you’re going to spoil your dinner! Why, your lunch, your dinner, AND your dessert!!” Julie eyed her in the face for a second or two, and then went back to scarfing down the cupcakes. Maidlady continued, “Are you listening to me? Stop eating that trash!! You stupid rebellious girl, sugar makes ladies fat and ugly! Do YOU want to end up being fat and ugly??” Julie paused very briefly...and then fixed her gaze upon the maidlady’s chest...nodded to herself, then finally returned to her long, stuffy meal. Maidlady could only run off and roll her eyes in disbelief and disgust. Now for the donuts! Oh, how Julie’s poor clean, proper dress became covered in white powdered sugar!! Julie giggled as she imagined herself becoming like a sugar-coated donut, as a result of eating too many of them!

A few weeks of this same routine passed...But Julie still thought long and hard about that being that came to transform her that one fateful night...She had asked the maidlady the very night prior, about her...tingling sensation, as the few weeks before, she had barely the amount of courage to bring herself to finally do so, and the maidlady at last after a long sigh, responded, “This happens to every girl, Dearest. It happened to me when I was but a tiny girl...but in my case, sadly, I confess...it wasn’t natural...” Maidlady suddenly trailed off into mumbling as Julie could tell for the very first time that something was...off about her...the maidlady could only turn away shortly afterward, and run off into the ladies’ room, saying that she has something in her eye...Julie could only look on as the sound of her high heels clacking on the floor faded into the hallway...

Julie had just felt a burning sensation on her chest area now, so one morning, she lifted up her nightgown...and whaddaya know! Two tiny lumps were developing there, staring at her! Perhaps the SWEET sugar that Julie has been intaking, is transforming her into a beautiful young woman after all! ...But Julie had been torn on this for a while...After all, didn’t the maidlady tell her that eating too many SWEET things could make her grow up to be “fat and ugly”???! No...Julie proposed to herself that perhaps that was all just bluffing. Besides, she always sees the maidlady’s super-flat chest. And from what Julie’s learned about male society from TV and movies, men don’t really like flat chests, do they? (The maidlady never got married.)

So Julie kept stuffing herself with sweets for months to come. Maidlady kept warning her. But Julie did not listen. ...One day, Julie even chugged down a whole pitcher’s worth of syrup! Yummy for the tummy (And other soft frontal areas)! Julie awakened many more months later, more eager than last time to undress and see her feminine bodily developments. Julie now at last had a bit of a belly going on, and her chest and backside were much rounder and fluffier than they’ve ever been before when she was younger. Julie found much joy in playing with her newfound bloated flesh, in fact.

...Suddenly, Julie had a bit a rude, and strange, awakening; ants were invading her bed, biting at her hands and feet! A whole colony of them, it seemed wanted in on the action, as if Julie were suddenly some really SWEET-smelling snack or something!? Julie screeched, waking up the maidlady and pretty much the entire neighborhood, as she jumped up in pain, and fueled by rage and disgust, thrashed her pillow upon the vermin to try to squish them, or scare the rest off.

The maidlady called it an unforseen infestation; she called the exterminators to have their home sprayed, as Julie and the maidlady drove down the countryside to have a picnic together by the park, to get their minds off of the nasty situation, and to have some quality time together, enjoying the fresh outdoors for once, and, of course, getting a SWEET bite to eat. Outside on a nice, grassy hill in the shade of a lone tree, Maidlady was unpacking the rations from her picnic basket, as Julie sat down, and tried her best to look strong and unfazed by the nasty experience with the ants, despite actually still being a little disturbed, trying not to shiver in disgust in front of the maidlady. Despite the maidlady’s best efforts to try to deter Julie away from the nasty sugary sweets, Julie still strongly insisted on gobbling up the sweets: cupcakes, twinkies, donuts, candy and all. All while staring at the maidlady’s pitiful chest. Poor thing, Julie always thought. At this point, Julie had begun to notice that, despite being less than a quarter the maidlady’s age, the size of her features had already begun to surpass that of the maidlady! And it was all thanks to the sweets. And “puberty”. That’s right, Julie continued to think to herself, she’ll remember that night when the Great Invisible Puberty Fairy had come to pay her a visit! Oh, what a blessing that was! Julie will grow up to be the most gorgeous woman who ever lived! Julie’s day-dreaming fantasies of being a model are short-lived, however, as the maidlady suddenly speaks to her, almost sounding to be in genuine shock at something: “Julie”, she yelled, pointing at the girl in surprise, “You’re covered in ants again!!”

Julie jumped up and wiped off all the bugs from her dress yet again, as the ants just seem to have a thing for the poor girl nowadays! Her and the maidlady are now standing, just as they are about to run away, they look at the ground and notice seemingly an entire army of the rascals scurrying around in a single-file line surrounding their picnic area! ...Perhaps they unknowingly sat by a field of anthills? Julie scratched all over, as the maidlady grabbed her and they ran off together, got into the car to return to their newly-sprayed home, and hopefully to put some ice on all those itchy, burning ant bites all over poor Julie’s skin...

...Now back in their clean, man-made home, the maidlady takes Julie into her restroom with a fresh bag of ice and some special ointments to hopefully soften the burn of those swollen bites. She undresses the miserable, aching, weeping Julie to see even more ant bites in some rather uncomfortable places...The maidlady scolded Julie, realizing that perhaps it was due to all the sugary SWEETs that Julie had eaten during that picnic that her body had become the sole target for the sugar-hungry insects. Julie can only pretend to nod in fake agreement, as she still stubbornly stands by her own belief that continuing to eat sugar will help her to develop a quality body. ...Maybe being bitten by ants is just something that she’ll have to endure for the rest of her life? As a trade-off for being beautiful, Julie always knew that becoming a beautiful person must come with some discipline, after all. The maidlady’s skinny chest and posterior are still her antithesis to this.

Whilst gently applying the ice and lotions to Julie’s hurties, the maidlady could only see something, stop suddenly, and make a face so contorted and disturbed that even Julie could look at her and notice something was definitely the matter with her, and ask her what is wrong. The maidlady could only freak out, whip out her phone to call the hospital and start shouting at them to come here to pick Julie up as a patient, as, in the maidlady’s words, Julie has developed an unusual “startling skin condition”. Julie, confused and startled, looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. What she saw on her thighs was every bit as strange, supernatural, and shocking to her, as it was for the maidlady: Her skin was becoming coated with white flakes of sugar! Freaked out, she tried scratching at it, and it would not come off. It’s almost as if her flesh was regenerating powdered sugar from the inside-out, as no matter how much she would scratch at it, the sugar would just fall off onto the floor, or fill her fingernails and stain her fingers. After a few minutes of waiting for the ambulance to come, Julie eventually proposed to the maidlady that maybe she should try licking or biting it off of Julie. The maidlady quickly rejected the idea, as she thought it “gross, creepy, and inappropriate”. It took Julie a while to agree, and she even became rather creeped out and disgusted with herself to even have such a fantasy...Although, she WAS caught in the middle of puberty...

Just a few seconds later, some ambulance workers busted through the front door to grab Julie and take her and the maidlady to the hospital. The maidlady was there next to Julie, lying on a stretcher like a freak, to soothe her and tell her that everything is going to be okay...as long as Julie doesn’t eat. Any. More. SWEETs!! In the emergency room, the doctors and nurses could only look on, baffled, and utterly stupefied. They called doctors, scientists, and even bakers from all across the country to have a look at Julie and examine her surreal condition. Why, Julie was on TV! She was all over the news!! This excited Julie. She WAS doing the right thing after all!! Julie IS beautiful enough to be on television, as only beautiful people are allowed to star on the telly, right?!? Further analyses of Julie only brought up the following prognosis from even the most legendary of surgeons and scientists: “Patient is female, age 12, and British. Her skin condition is largely abnormal, is scientifically unexplored, sugar-based, and utterly delicious. Come on in and we’ll let you lick her for 8 shillings!! This girl is going to make us filthy rich! ...Wait, did I just say that on-camera?”

Things only went downhill for Julie herself, however, as her sugar-coated flesh condition only worsened over time. All those SWEET donuts they gave her did not help. One morning a nurse walked into Julie’s ER, and screamed at the sight of her, practically covered in sugary lumps, and starting to look like a giant Sour Patch Kid. The poor little scared nurse could only run screaming down the halls to alert the whole staff to Julie’s attention, and thus they decided that too much sugar isn’t exactly a good thing for a hospital full of sick people, so they decided to let the maidlady take Julie home. Julie could just barely walk in her new form. It was quite freaky and saddening to watch from the maidlady’s point of view. But Julie, on the other hand? She has become fully convinced that she is the most lovely-looking human being ever, and she now demands more candy from the maidlady’s already-suffering wallet’s expense! The maidlady absolutely refuses now. She has at last put her foot down. But that does not stop Julie. Julie was big now. Big enough to angrily run up to the maidlady, tackle her against the wall, and force her to go the candy store to pick up some more SWEETs for Julie to stuff her face with by threatening to crush her beneath all of her SWEET, sugary weight!! The maidlady, now with her very life threatened, has no choice but to follow orders, running out the door, tears in her eyes, as Julie has now transformed into a giant, gluttonous, selfish abomination of SWEET sugary goodness, and nothing is going to get in her way of eating even more SWEETs until she becomes even more monstrous. What is the poor maidlady to do?!

Giant, mean, hungry sugar addict Julie stuffs her face as the maidlady could only look on and question her own life choices. And also whether or not this is all just some kind of strange, sick sugar-induced dream on her end. Sadly, it is not. The maidlady has desperately pinched herself on the cheek in vain. Multiple times. All she can do now is drink liquor.

Julie is now a blob of SWEET. Pure, unadulterated SWEET. Why, as the maidlady who is now her very own maidlady to bring her all the SWEETs in the world, who is there to stop Julie? The British army?! Ha!! Their weapons are completely ineffective on Julie. Don’t even ask. They’ve already tried. The soldiers just gave up and hung up their weapons in embarrassment. Julie is invincible. Even the maidlady, now at last at the edge of insanity from being treated as a slave by Julie, has asked the Queen if there were any possible way to kill Julie and end her reign of terror. Heaven forbid the Americans found out about this! They would all laugh their bums off at us!!

~~~To Be Continued...

#Story #Funny #Sweet #Candy #Donuts #Sugar #Puberty #Surreal #fa #Frosting #Julie

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computerguideworld-blog · 5 years

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How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY

New Post has been published on https://computerguideto.com/awesome/how-i-learned-to-stop-worrying-and-love-diy/

How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY

” Oh good ,” Kim said when I rolled out of bed yesterday morning.” I’m glad you’re up .” She gets up at 5:30 for work most days, but I tend to sleep in. Especially during allergy season.

“Huh?” I grunted. It was 6:10 and I was very groggy. My evening allergy meds kick my butt. Plus, I hadn’t had my coffee yet.

” Something’s incorrect with the bathroom sink ,” she said.” Look. It’s leaking. The floor is soaked .” She wasn’t kidding. The bathmat was drenched. When I seemed under the vanity, I was greeted by a small lake.

“Ugh,” I grunted. This wasn’t how I wanted to start my day.

Kim kissed me goodbye and hastened off to work. I pulled on a pair of gasps, poured some coffee, pulled out the vanity drawers, and got to work.

I was worried that I might have caused the leak when I replaced the sink’s pop-up assembly last month, but no. The problem was obvious: The hot water line to the bidet( which I installed in October) had worked itself loose.( By the route, I love my bidet. Too much information, perhaps, but it’s some of the best sixty bucks I’ve ever expended .)

Fortunately, the fix was simple. I reattached everything, then added a light layer of videotape to prevent similar problems in the future.

Note: As a safety measure — to make sure I wasn’t missing anything — I took photos of the issue and made a trip to the hardware store to ask their advice. They told me everything should be fine.

This might seem like a small thing to some folks but it’s a big deal in my world. You see, I’ve never actually been a DIY type of guy. I used to get overwhelmed by home improvement. I felt unprepared, incompetent.

More and more, though, I’m learning that I can do it myself. It just takes patience and perseverance. And the more projects I complete, the more confidence I gain.

Learning to Love DIY

When I was younger, I avoided do-it-yourself projects whenever possible. As a son, I never learned how to be handy around the house. I could program( or construct) personal computers. I could write. I could do accounting or analyze literature. But I couldn’t replace a violate window or repair a leak.

My ex-wife and I bought our first house in 1993. Fortunately, it was in great shape. During our ten years in the place, there weren’t a lot of things that needed to be repaired.

And when things did require run, they were obviously beyond our abilities. The water heater exploded on Christmas morning. The electric wall heater caught flame. We discovered an infestation of carpenter ants. These were problems I was never going to fix myself. We hired experts to address them for us.

In 2004, we moved to a hundred-year-old farmhouse. The previous owned had lived there for fifty years and had done a lot of lazy mends himself.

Because buying the place tapped nearly all of our financial resources, we were forced to handle some of the repairs and remodeling ourselves. We hired somebody to hang drywall for us, but we tore down the old walls ourselves. To fix the faulty wiring, we asked an electrician friend to help us find problems and make mends. And so on.

Still, I didn’t feel entirely comfortable with DIY projects around the house. I did them when I had to, but mostly I tried to set them off — or to pay somebody else to solve the problem.

After our divorce, I deliberately sought a place where I did not must be addressed home improvement. I bought a condo. All exterior run was handled by somebody else. Sure, I was on the hook for problems inside my division, but those were easy to foist on contractors. For five years, I totally avoided home mends and home improvement.

When Kim and I bought our present country cottage, we had a chat.” You know you’re going to have to do lots of DIY projects ,” she said.” There’s a ton incorrect with the house — and that’s merely the stuff we know about .”

” I know ,” I said.” But I’m older now, and I’m actually looking forward to developing my DIY abilities. I have a better posture. I suppose I’ll be fine .”

You know what? I have been fine. After paying a small fortune to get the major things handled — roof, siding, floors — we’ve intentionally been taking on the day-to-day stuff ourselves. It’s much slower this route, but it’s also cheaper. Plus, it’s more satisfying.

In the past eighteen months, we’ve :P TAGEND

Painted several rooms in the house, and have plans to paint the others. Installed new molding and trim in several rooms. Painted the kitchen cabinet and installed new hardware. Replace the kitchen faucet( on Super Bowl Sunday ). Repaired the bathroom sink pop-up assembly. Replaced our only lavatory. Install a bidet attachment on the toilet. Construct out the inside of a Tuff Shed to make it my writing studio. Construct a porch for the writing studio. Stained our new back deck( which we did not build ourselves ). Begun work on a fire pit for summertime gatherings. Installed raised beds for vegetable horticulture. Removed a cedar tree and planted a small orchard. Hung lighting in the laundry room. Install a car stereo.

Some of these projects( the writing studio, for instance) were major. Some( like the laundry-room illuminating) were minor. All of them have helped me gain confidence that yes, I can do things myself.

It’s still no fun when I wake up to find that a leak has inundated the bathroom. But at least now I don’t feel overwhelmed. I’m able to pause, think about what needs done, and then tackle the job. It’s a totally different feeling than I had even three years ago. Three years ago, stuff like this would overwhelm me. Now, I almost love these DIY projects.( For real !) Perhaps it’s because I’m old .~ ATAGEND

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Nine Steps to DIY Success

Yesterday as I was crawling under the bathroom sink, I thought about how I’ve learned to love DIY, how I’ve changed from viewing these tasks as chores to viewing them as opportunities to learn.

As I fixed the leak, I made a mental listing of the things I’ve learned over the past couple of years, the guidelines I follow to make sure my home-improvement projects are productive and fun instead of something I dread.

I believe these nine “rules” have helped me embrace the do-it-yourself mindset :P TAGEND

Read the instructions. This point is obvious enough for some folks that it ought not even be listed. But for others, this is a vital first step. I know too many people who rush into DIY projects without bothering to read the directions that come with the portions, tools, or kits that they’re employing. Instruction sheets and handbooks are tedious, yes, and they don’t always make sense when you read them without context, but they also offer a vital framework for the project you’re about to undertake. Don’t skip this step! Tap your social network. While you may have never tackled a particular project, you probably have household or friends who’ve done something similar in the past. Draw on their experience and expertise. Ask questions. Seek advice. While replacing our kitchen faucet, I texted Mr. Money Mustache for help. When installing my car stereo, I asked my brother lots of questions.( He’s an audio nerd .) When Kim and I work in the yard, I often ask my ex-wife for advice. And, of course, I’m not shy about posting to Facebook to draw on the power of the hivemind. Practice patience. DIY projects can be long and tedious. They can be frustrating. When I replaced our kitchen faucet, I was stymied from the start. The space was small. Tools didn’t work or didn’t fit. We had schemes with the neighbours that put a time limit on the project. The old me would have been angry and irritable. The new me stayed soothe. I forced myself to practise patience, to pause and think about the situation from a variety of angles. I had to induce three journeys to the hardware store. Ultimately, my patience paid off. I replaced the faucet and stimulated it next door in time to watch the big game. Be methodical. Another reason DIY projects been applied to frustrate me stemmed from my absence of organization. As I disassembled things, I set them in a common piling. When it came time to put things back together, I was lost. Nowadays, I’m smarter. I set small parts in ziploc suitcases and label the containers so I know what they are and where they go. If it’s not obvious what large proportions are for, I label them too. At each stage of the project, I take photos with my phone so that I have a reference when I set things back together. I take notes in the manual to provide clarity in the future. Then I store the manuals in a drawer. Being methodical induces the process so much easier.

Think outside the box. Sometimes you’ll encounter situations where the instructions don’t apply. Normal solutions don’t run. When this happens, you’ll have to be creative. You’ll need to think outside the box. Utilizing the kitchen faucet as an example again , none of the recommended methods would work to remove the old faucet. It was stuck, and there was no space working in cooperation with typical tools. In the end, I had to purchase a Dremel and cut into the collar, then hammer at it for five minutes before it came loose. It took a long time( and was frustrating ), but it ran. Decide on rules for buying tools. The unfortunate reality of DIY projects is that they often require specialized tools. When I replaced the kitchen faucet, I needed a basin wrench. Then I required a Dremel. When Kim and I re-seeded our lawn, we needed an aerator. Sometimes it constructs sense to simply buy the tool( s) you need.( I know I’ll use the Dremel again in the future .) Other days, it stimulates much more sense to borrow or rent.( I’m never going to need a $1500 aerator again, so I rented .) Do things right. It’s seducing to cut corners when you do projects yourself. It’s tempting to skip steps, to not work to code, to do the minimum required to get things running right now. Please, do your future self a favor: Do things right the first time. Yes, it takes longer and costs more, but it also means you shouldn’t have to repeat the project. Plus, it’s nicer for whoever inherits your work. The folks who owned our house before us seemed to live by the motto,” Why do something right when you can do it half-ass ?” Kim and I inherited a stack of shitty fixings that have made life miserable for the past two years. When you’re stuck, take a break. One reason I’ve avoided DIY projects in the past is that I unavoidably get stuck. I reach a tricky and/ or confusing step and become thwarted. This used to be a disheartening deal-breaker. Now, though, I accept this as part of the process. When I do get stuck, I take it as a sign to slow down — or stop. I go do something else for a while. I do more research on the interwebs. I re-read the instructions. I contact somebody I know who has done a similar project. I devote time for the frustration to fade, then return to the project with fresh eyes. Have fun. Most importantly, enjoy the process. Accept it for what it is. Yes, you’ll have moments of annoyance. Yes, it sucks to build repeated trip-ups to the hardware store. Yes, most tasks take two or three times longer than anticipated. Once you agree that this is part of what DIY is all about, you’ll have a better stance and be better able to enjoy the work instead of resent it. Plus, remind yourself that each time you tackle a task yourself, you’re constructing a library of knowledge that can be applied to future undertakings.

Here’s another guideline: Keep the end in mind.

Home repair and home improvement can be annoying because there are other things you’d rather be doing. You could be hanging out with friends. You could be reading a book. You could be playing a game. The last thing you want to do is replace a broken window.

I’ve learned to consider the reason I’m doing the run. I know that when I replace the kitchen faucet, we’ll no longer have to worry about leaks. Plus, we’ll have a better, most attractive fixture. After we’ve expended six hours staining the deck, we’ll get years of pleasure from the space. Once I build out the writing studio, I’ll have an ideal space to work in.

Don’t focus on the drudgery of the moment. Remind yourself of the ultimate payoff.

Choosing DIY Just for Fun

Last weekend, I tackled a DIY project for fun( gasp ). I installed a car stereo.

Three months ago, I bought a 1993 Toyota pickup for projects around our little acre. Fittingly for the epoch, the truck came with a videotape deck. Unfortunately, I don’t own any videotapes. I purged the last of them over a decade ago.

Still, I couldn’t defy an indulgence.” I wonder if you can get Taylor Swift on cassette ,” I thought to myself. I checked Amazon. Sure enough, if you’re dumb and ascertained like I am, you can order Reputation on cassette for 30 bucks. So I did.

When the videotape came, I was disappointed to discover that while the radio ran fine, the tape player was busted. What to do? What to do? Should I write off the T Swift tape as a $30 loss? Or should I go all in, take the risk of buying a new videotape deck?

I think you all know the( irrational) course of action I chose.

I discovered a $70 videotape deck on Amazon and ordered it. Last weekend, as a birthday present to myself, I spent an entire day installing the thing — despite having no clue what I was doing.

The project was fun!( Frustrating but fun .)

I got to take apart the truck’s front console, puzzle out the messed up wiring( a previous proprietor had spliced new speakers incorrectly ), connect the new videotape deck, then set everything back together. On my drive to work at the box factory Monday morning, I cranked up the Taylor Swift. The dog was unimpressed but I had fun.

The post How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

Read more: getrichslowly.org

#diy #frugality #home & garden #homeownership #mindset #psychology

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andrewdburton · 5 years

Text

How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY

“Oh good,” Kim said when I rolled out of bed yesterday morning. “I’m glad you’re up.” She gets up at 5:30 for work most days, but I tend to sleep in. Especially during allergy season.

“Huh?” I grunted. It was 6:10 and I was very groggy. My evening allergy meds kick my butt. Plus, I hadn't had my coffee yet.

“Something’s wrong with the bathroom sink,” she said. “Look. It’s leaking. The floor is soaked.” She wasn't kidding. The bathmat was drenched. When I looked under the vanity, I was greeted by a small lake.

“Ugh,” I grunted. This wasn't how I wanted to start my day.

Kim kissed me goodbye and hurried off to work. I pulled on a pair of pants, poured some coffee, pulled out the vanity drawers, and got to work.

I was worried that I might have caused the leak when I replaced the sink's pop-up assembly last month, but no. The problem was obvious: The hot water line to the bidet (which I installed in October) had worked itself loose. (By the way, I love my bidet. Too much information, perhaps, but it's some of the best sixty bucks I've ever spent.)

Fortunately, the fix was simple. I reattached everything, then added a light layer of tape to prevent similar problems in the future.

Note: As a safety measure — to make sure I wasn't missing anything — I took photos of the issue and made a trip to the hardware store to ask their advice. They told me everything should be fine.

This might seem like a small thing to some folks but it’s a big deal in my world. You see, I’ve never really been a DIY type of guy. I used to get overwhelmed by home improvement. I felt unprepared, incompetent.

More and more, though, I’m learning that I can do it myself. It just takes patience and perseverance. And the more projects I complete, the more confidence I gain.

Learning to Love DIY

When I was younger, I avoided do-it-yourself projects whenever possible. As a boy, I never learned how to be handy around the house. I could program (or build) a computer. I could write. I could do accounting or analyze literature. But I couldn't replace a broken window or repair a leak.

My ex-wife and I bought our first house in 1993. Fortunately, it was in great shape. During our ten years in the place, there weren't a lot of things that needed to be repaired.

And when things did need work, they were obviously beyond our abilities. The water heater exploded on Christmas morning. The electric wall heater caught fire. We discovered an infestation of carpenter ants. These were problems I was never going to fix myself. We hired experts to solve them for us.

In 2004, we moved to a hundred-year-old farmhouse. The previous owner had lived there for fifty years and had done a lot of lazy repairs himself.

Still, I didn't feel completely comfortable with DIY projects around the house. I did them when I had to, but mostly I tried to put them off — or to pay somebody else to solve the problem.

After our divorce, I deliberately sought a place where I did not have to deal with home improvement. I bought a condo. All exterior work was handled by somebody else. Sure, I was on the hook for problems inside my unit, but those were easy to foist on contractors. For five years, I completely avoided home repairs and home improvement.

When Kim and I bought our current country cottage, we had a chat. “You know you're going to have to do lots of DIY projects,” she said. “There's a ton wrong with the house — and that's just the stuff we know about.”

“I know,” I said. “But I'm older now, and I'm actually looking forward to developing my DIY skills. I have a better attitude. I think I'll be fine.”

You know what? I have been fine. After paying a small fortune to get the major things handled — roof, siding, floors — we've deliberately been taking on the day-to-day stuff ourselves. It's much slower this way, but it's also cheaper. Plus, it's more satisfying.

In the past eighteen months, we've:

Painted several rooms in the house, and have plans to paint the others.

Installed new molding and trim in several rooms.

Painted the kitchen cabinets and installed new hardware.

Replaced the kitchen faucet (on Super Bowl Sunday).

Repaired the bathroom sink pop-up assembly.

Replaced our only toilet.

Installed a bidet attachment on the toilet.

Built out the inside of a Tuff Shed to make it my writing studio.

Built a porch for the writing studio.

Stained our new back deck (which we did not build ourselves).

Begun work on a fire pit for summer gatherings.

Installed raised beds for vegetable gardening.

Removed a cedar tree and planted a small orchard.

Hung lighting in the laundry room.

Installed a car stereo.

Some of these projects (the writing studio, for instance) were major. Some (like the laundry-room lighting) were minor. All of them have helped me gain confidence that yes, I can do things myself.

It's still no fun when I wake up to find that a leak has flooded the bathroom. But at least now I don't feel overwhelmed. I'm able to pause, think about what needs done, and then tackle the job. It's a totally different feeling than I had even three years ago. Three years ago, stuff like this would overwhelm me. Now, I almost love these DIY projects. (For real!) Maybe it's because I'm old.

youtube

Nine Steps to DIY Success

Yesterday as I was crawling under the bathroom sink, I thought about how I've learned to love DIY, how I've shifted from viewing these tasks as chores to viewing them as opportunities to learn.

As I fixed the leak, I made a mental list of the things I've learned over the past couple of years, the guidelines I follow to make sure my home-improvement projects are productive and fun instead of something I dread.

I believe these nine “rules” have helped me embrace the do-it-yourself mindset:

Tap your social network. While you may have never tackled a particular project, you probably have family or friends who've done something similar in the past. Draw on their experience and expertise. Ask questions. Seek advice. While replacing our kitchen faucet, I texted Mr. Money Mustache for help. When installing my car stereo, I asked my brother lots of questions. (He's an audio nerd.) When Kim and I work in the yard, I often ask my ex-wife for advice. And, of course, I'm not shy about posting to Facebook to draw on the power of the hivemind.

Practice patience. DIY projects can be long and tedious. They can be frustrating. When I replaced our kitchen faucet, I was stymied from the start. The space was small. Tools didn't work or didn't fit. We had plans with the neighbors that put a time limit on the project. The old me would have been angry and irritable. The new me stayed calm. I forced myself to practice patience, to pause and think about the situation from a variety of angles. I had to make three trips to the hardware store. Ultimately, my patience paid off. I replaced the faucet and made it next door in time to watch the big game.

Be methodical. Another reason DIY projects used to frustrate me stemmed from my lack of organization. As I disassembled things, I put them in a common pile. When it came time to put things back together, I was lost. Nowadays, I'm smarter. I put small parts in ziploc bags and label the bags so I know what they are and where they go. If it's not obvious what large parts are for, I label them too. At each stage of the project, I take photos with my phone so that I have a reference when I put things back together. I take notes in the manual to provide clarity in the future. Then I store the manuals in a drawer. Being methodical makes the process so much easier.

Think outside the box. Sometimes you'll encounter situations where the instructions don't apply. Normal solutions don't work. When this happens, you'll have to be creative. You'll need to think outside the box. Using the kitchen faucet as an example again, none of the recommended methods would work to remove the old faucet. It was stuck, and there was no space to work with typical tools. In the end, I had to purchase a Dremel and cut into the collar, then hammer at it for five minutes before it came loose. It took a long time (and was frustrating), but it worked.

Decide on rules for buying tools. The unfortunate reality of DIY projects is that they often require specialized tools. When I replaced the kitchen faucet, I needed a basin wrench. Then I needed a Dremel. When Kim and I re-seeded our lawn, we needed an aerator. Sometimes it makes sense to simply buy the tool(s) you need. (I know I'll use the Dremel again in the future.) Other times, it makes much more sense to borrow or rent. (I'm never going to need a $1500 aerator again, so I rented.)

Do things right. It's tempting to cut corners when you do projects yourself. It's tempting to skip steps, to not work to code, to do the minimum required to get things working right now. Please, do your future self a favor: Do things right the first time. Yes, it takes longer and costs more, but it also means you shouldn't have to repeat the project. Plus, it's nicer for whoever inherits your work. The folks who owned our house before us seemed to live by the motto, “Why do something right when you can do it half-ass?” Kim and I inherited a stack of shitty fixes that have made life miserable for the past two years.

When you're stuck, take a break. One reason I've avoided DIY projects in the past is that I inevitably get stuck. I reach a tricky and/or confusing step and become frustrated. This used to be a disheartening deal-breaker. Now, though, I accept this as part of the process. When I do get stuck, I take it as a sign to slow down — or stop. I go do something else for a while. I do more research on the interwebs. I re-read the instructions. I contact somebody I know who has done a similar project. I give time for the frustration to fade, then return to the project with fresh eyes.

Have fun. Most importantly, enjoy the process. Accept it for what it is. Yes, you'll have moments of frustration. Yes, it sucks to make repeated trips to the hardware store. Yes, most jobs take two or three times longer than anticipated. Once you agree that this is part of what DIY is all about, you'll have a better attitude and be better able to enjoy the work instead of resent it. Plus, remind yourself that each time you tackle a task yourself, you're building a library of knowledge that can be applied to future jobs.

Here's another guideline: Keep the end in mind.

Home repair and home improvement can be annoying because there are other things you'd rather be doing. You could be hanging out with friends. You could be reading a book. You could be playing a game. The last thing you want to do is replace a broken window.

I've learned to consider the reason I'm doing the work. I know that when I replace the kitchen faucet, we'll no longer have to worry about leaks. Plus, we'll have a better, more attractive fixture. After we've spent six hours staining the deck, we'll get years of enjoyment from the space. Once I build out the writing studio, I'll have an ideal space to work in.

Don't focus on the drudgery of the moment. Remind yourself of the ultimate payoff.

Choosing DIY Just for Fun

Last weekend, I tackled a DIY project for fun (gasp). I installed a car stereo.

Three months ago, I bought a 1993 Toyota pickup for projects around our little acre. Fittingly for the era, the truck came with a tape deck. Unfortunately, I don't own any tapes. I purged the last of them over a decade ago.

Still, I couldn’t resist an indulgence. “I wonder if you can get Taylor Swift on cassette,” I thought to myself. I checked Amazon. Sure enough, if you’re dumb and determined like I am, you can order Reputation on cassette for 30 bucks. So I did.

When the tape came, I was disappointed to discover that while the radio worked fine, the tape player was busted. What to do? What to do? Should I write off the T Swift tape as a $30 loss? Or should I go all in, take the risk of buying a new tape deck?

I think you all know the (irrational) course of action I chose.

I found a $70 tape deck on Amazon and ordered it. Last weekend, as a birthday present to myself, I spent an entire day installing the thing — despite having no clue what I was doing.

The project was fun! (Frustrating but fun.)

I got to take apart the truck’s front console, puzzle out the messed up wiring (a previous owner had spliced new speakers incorrectly), connect the new tape deck, then put everything back together. On my drive to work at the box factory Monday morning, I cranked up the Taylor Swift. The dog was unimpressed but I had fun.

The post How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

from Finance https://www.getrichslowly.org/learning-to-love-diy/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

0 notes

michaeljtraylor · 5 years

Text

How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY

“Oh good,” Kim said when I rolled out of bed yesterday morning. “I’m glad you’re up.” She gets up at 5:30 for work most days, but I tend to sleep in. Especially during allergy season.

“Huh?” I grunted. It was 6:10 and I was very groggy. My evening allergy meds kick my butt. Plus, I hadn’t had my coffee yet.

“Something’s wrong with the bathroom sink,” she said. “Look. It’s leaking. The floor is soaked.” She wasn’t kidding. The bathmat was drenched. When I looked under the vanity, I was greeted by a small lake.

“Ugh,” I grunted. This wasn’t how I wanted to start my day.

Kim kissed me goodbye and hurried off to work. I pulled on a pair of pants, poured some coffee, pulled out the vanity drawers, and got to work.

I was worried that I might have caused the leak when I replaced the sink’s pop-up assembly last month, but no. The problem was obvious: The hot water line to the bidet (which I installed in October) had worked itself loose. (By the way, I love my bidet. Too much information, perhaps, but it’s some of the best sixty bucks I’ve ever spent.)

Fortunately, the fix was simple. I reattached everything, then added a light layer of tape to prevent similar problems in the future.

More and more, though, I’m learning that I can do it myself. It just takes patience and perseverance. And the more projects I complete, the more confidence I gain.

Learning to Love DIY

My ex-wife and I bought our first house in 1993. Fortunately, it was in great shape. During our ten years in the place, there weren’t a lot of things that needed to be repaired.

In 2004, we moved to a hundred-year-old farmhouse. The previous owner had lived there for fifty years and had done a lot of lazy repairs himself.

Still, I didn’t feel completely comfortable with DIY projects around the house. I did them when I had to, but mostly I tried to put them off — or to pay somebody else to solve the problem.

When Kim and I bought our current country cottage, we had a chat. “You know you’re going to have to do lots of DIY projects,” she said. “There’s a ton wrong with the house — and that’s just the stuff we know about.”

“I know,” I said. “But I’m older now, and I’m actually looking forward to developing my DIY skills. I have a better attitude. I think I’ll be fine.”

You know what? I have been fine. After paying a small fortune to get the major things handled — roof, siding, floors — we’ve deliberately been taking on the day-to-day stuff ourselves. It’s much slower this way, but it’s also cheaper. Plus, it’s more satisfying.

In the past eighteen months, we’ve:

Painted several rooms in the house, and have plans to paint the others.

Installed new molding and trim in several rooms.

Painted the kitchen cabinets and installed new hardware.

Replaced the kitchen faucet (on Super Bowl Sunday).

Repaired the bathroom sink pop-up assembly.

Replaced our only toilet.

Installed a bidet attachment on the toilet.

Built out the inside of a Tuff Shed to make it my writing studio.

Built a porch for the writing studio.

Stained our new back deck (which we did not build ourselves).

Begun work on a fire pit for summer gatherings.

Installed raised beds for vegetable gardening.

Removed a cedar tree and planted a small orchard.

Hung lighting in the laundry room.

Installed a car stereo.

Some of these projects (the writing studio, for instance) were major. Some (like the laundry-room lighting) were minor. All of them have helped me gain confidence that yes, I can do things myself.

It’s still no fun when I wake up to find that a leak has flooded the bathroom. But at least now I don’t feel overwhelmed. I’m able to pause, think about what needs done, and then tackle the job. It’s a totally different feeling than I had even three years ago. Three years ago, stuff like this would overwhelm me. Now, I almost love these DIY projects. (For real!) Maybe it’s because I’m old.

youtube

Nine Steps to DIY Success

Yesterday as I was crawling under the bathroom sink, I thought about how I’ve learned to love DIY, how I’ve shifted from viewing these tasks as chores to viewing them as opportunities to learn.

As I fixed the leak, I made a mental list of the things I’ve learned over the past couple of years, the guidelines I follow to make sure my home-improvement projects are productive and fun instead of something I dread.

I believe these nine “rules” have helped me embrace the do-it-yourself mindset:

Tap your social network. While you may have never tackled a particular project, you probably have family or friends who’ve done something similar in the past. Draw on their experience and expertise. Ask questions. Seek advice. While replacing our kitchen faucet, I texted Mr. Money Mustache for help. When installing my car stereo, I asked my brother lots of questions. (He’s an audio nerd.) When Kim and I work in the yard, I often ask my ex-wife for advice. And, of course, I’m not shy about posting to Facebook to draw on the power of the hivemind.

Practice patience. DIY projects can be long and tedious. They can be frustrating. When I replaced our kitchen faucet, I was stymied from the start. The space was small. Tools didn’t work or didn’t fit. We had plans with the neighbors that put a time limit on the project. The old me would have been angry and irritable. The new me stayed calm. I forced myself to practice patience, to pause and think about the situation from a variety of angles. I had to make three trips to the hardware store. Ultimately, my patience paid off. I replaced the faucet and made it next door in time to watch the big game.

Be methodical. Another reason DIY projects used to frustrate me stemmed from my lack of organization. As I disassembled things, I put them in a common pile. When it came time to put things back together, I was lost. Nowadays, I’m smarter. I put small parts in ziploc bags and label the bags so I know what they are and where they go. If it’s not obvious what large parts are for, I label them too. At each stage of the project, I take photos with my phone so that I have a reference when I put things back together. I take notes in the manual to provide clarity in the future. Then I store the manuals in a drawer. Being methodical makes the process so much easier.

Think outside the box. Sometimes you’ll encounter situations where the instructions don’t apply. Normal solutions don’t work. When this happens, you’ll have to be creative. You’ll need to think outside the box. Using the kitchen faucet as an example again, none of the recommended methods would work to remove the old faucet. It was stuck, and there was no space to work with typical tools. In the end, I had to purchase a Dremel and cut into the collar, then hammer at it for five minutes before it came loose. It took a long time (and was frustrating), but it worked.

Decide on rules for buying tools. The unfortunate reality of DIY projects is that they often require specialized tools. When I replaced the kitchen faucet, I needed a basin wrench. Then I needed a Dremel. When Kim and I re-seeded our lawn, we needed an aerator. Sometimes it makes sense to simply buy the tool(s) you need. (I know I’ll use the Dremel again in the future.) Other times, it makes much more sense to borrow or rent. (I’m never going to need a $1500 aerator again, so I rented.)

Do things right. It’s tempting to cut corners when you do projects yourself. It’s tempting to skip steps, to not work to code, to do the minimum required to get things working right now. Please, do your future self a favor: Do things right the first time. Yes, it takes longer and costs more, but it also means you shouldn’t have to repeat the project. Plus, it’s nicer for whoever inherits your work. The folks who owned our house before us seemed to live by the motto, “Why do something right when you can do it half-ass?” Kim and I inherited a stack of shitty fixes that have made life miserable for the past two years.

When you’re stuck, take a break. One reason I’ve avoided DIY projects in the past is that I inevitably get stuck. I reach a tricky and/or confusing step and become frustrated. This used to be a disheartening deal-breaker. Now, though, I accept this as part of the process. When I do get stuck, I take it as a sign to slow down — or stop. I go do something else for a while. I do more research on the interwebs. I re-read the instructions. I contact somebody I know who has done a similar project. I give time for the frustration to fade, then return to the project with fresh eyes.

Have fun. Most importantly, enjoy the process. Accept it for what it is. Yes, you’ll have moments of frustration. Yes, it sucks to make repeated trips to the hardware store. Yes, most jobs take two or three times longer than anticipated. Once you agree that this is part of what DIY is all about, you’ll have a better attitude and be better able to enjoy the work instead of resent it. Plus, remind yourself that each time you tackle a task yourself, you’re building a library of knowledge that can be applied to future jobs.

Here’s another guideline: Keep the end in mind.

I’ve learned to consider the reason I’m doing the work. I know that when I replace the kitchen faucet, we’ll no longer have to worry about leaks. Plus, we’ll have a better, more attractive fixture. After we’ve spent six hours staining the deck, we’ll get years of enjoyment from the space. Once I build out the writing studio, I’ll have an ideal space to work in.

Don’t focus on the drudgery of the moment. Remind yourself of the ultimate payoff.

Choosing DIY Just for Fun

Last weekend, I tackled a DIY project for fun (gasp). I installed a car stereo.

Three months ago, I bought a 1993 Toyota pickup for projects around our little acre. Fittingly for the era, the truck came with a tape deck. Unfortunately, I don’t own any tapes. I purged the last of them over a decade ago.

I think you all know the (irrational) course of action I chose.

I found a $70 tape deck on Amazon and ordered it. Last weekend, as a birthday present to myself, I spent an entire day installing the thing — despite having no clue what I was doing.

The project was fun! (Frustrating but fun.)

The post How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

* This article was originally published here

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8312273 https://proshoppingservice.com/how-i-learned-to-stop-worrying-and-love-diy/ from Garko Media https://garkomedia1.tumblr.com/post/183753220979

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garkomedia1 · 5 years

Text

How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY

“Oh good,” Kim said when I rolled out of bed yesterday morning. “I’m glad you’re up.” She gets up at 5:30 for work most days, but I tend to sleep in. Especially during allergy season.

“Huh?” I grunted. It was 6:10 and I was very groggy. My evening allergy meds kick my butt. Plus, I hadn’t had my coffee yet.

“Ugh,” I grunted. This wasn’t how I wanted to start my day.

Kim kissed me goodbye and hurried off to work. I pulled on a pair of pants, poured some coffee, pulled out the vanity drawers, and got to work.

I was worried that I might have caused the leak when I replaced the sink’s pop-up assembly last month, but no. The problem was obvious: The hot water line to the bidet (which I installed in October) had worked itself loose. (By the way, I love my bidet. Too much information, perhaps, but it’s some of the best sixty bucks I’ve ever spent.)

Fortunately, the fix was simple. I reattached everything, then added a light layer of tape to prevent similar problems in the future.

More and more, though, I’m learning that I can do it myself. It just takes patience and perseverance. And the more projects I complete, the more confidence I gain.

Learning to Love DIY

My ex-wife and I bought our first house in 1993. Fortunately, it was in great shape. During our ten years in the place, there weren’t a lot of things that needed to be repaired.

In 2004, we moved to a hundred-year-old farmhouse. The previous owner had lived there for fifty years and had done a lot of lazy repairs himself.

Still, I didn’t feel completely comfortable with DIY projects around the house. I did them when I had to, but mostly I tried to put them off — or to pay somebody else to solve the problem.

“I know,” I said. “But I’m older now, and I’m actually looking forward to developing my DIY skills. I have a better attitude. I think I’ll be fine.”

In the past eighteen months, we’ve:

Painted several rooms in the house, and have plans to paint the others.

Installed new molding and trim in several rooms.

Painted the kitchen cabinets and installed new hardware.

Replaced the kitchen faucet (on Super Bowl Sunday).

Repaired the bathroom sink pop-up assembly.

Replaced our only toilet.

Installed a bidet attachment on the toilet.

Built out the inside of a Tuff Shed to make it my writing studio.

Built a porch for the writing studio.

Stained our new back deck (which we did not build ourselves).

Begun work on a fire pit for summer gatherings.

Installed raised beds for vegetable gardening.

Removed a cedar tree and planted a small orchard.

Hung lighting in the laundry room.

Installed a car stereo.

Some of these projects (the writing studio, for instance) were major. Some (like the laundry-room lighting) were minor. All of them have helped me gain confidence that yes, I can do things myself.

youtube

Nine Steps to DIY Success

Yesterday as I was crawling under the bathroom sink, I thought about how I’ve learned to love DIY, how I’ve shifted from viewing these tasks as chores to viewing them as opportunities to learn.

I believe these nine “rules” have helped me embrace the do-it-yourself mindset:

Be methodical. Another reason DIY projects used to frustrate me stemmed from my lack of organization. As I disassembled things, I put them in a common pile. When it came time to put things back together, I was lost. Nowadays, I’m smarter. I put small parts in ziploc bags and label the bags so I know what they are and where they go. If it’s not obvious what large parts are for, I label them too. At each stage of the project, I take photos with my phone so that I have a reference when I put things back together. I take notes in the manual to provide clarity in the future. Then I store the manuals in a drawer. Being methodical makes the process so much easier.

Decide on rules for buying tools. The unfortunate reality of DIY projects is that they often require specialized tools. When I replaced the kitchen faucet, I needed a basin wrench. Then I needed a Dremel. When Kim and I re-seeded our lawn, we needed an aerator. Sometimes it makes sense to simply buy the tool(s) you need. (I know I’ll use the Dremel again in the future.) Other times, it makes much more sense to borrow or rent. (I’m never going to need a $1500 aerator again, so I rented.)

Here’s another guideline: Keep the end in mind.

Don’t focus on the drudgery of the moment. Remind yourself of the ultimate payoff.

Choosing DIY Just for Fun

Last weekend, I tackled a DIY project for fun (gasp). I installed a car stereo.

I think you all know the (irrational) course of action I chose.

I found a $70 tape deck on Amazon and ordered it. Last weekend, as a birthday present to myself, I spent an entire day installing the thing — despite having no clue what I was doing.

The project was fun! (Frustrating but fun.)

The post How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

* This article was originally published here

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8312273 https://proshoppingservice.com/how-i-learned-to-stop-worrying-and-love-diy/

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garkodigitalmedia · 5 years

Text

How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY

“Oh good,” Kim said when I rolled out of bed yesterday morning. “I’m glad you’re up.” She gets up at 5:30 for work most days, but I tend to sleep in. Especially during allergy season.

“Huh?” I grunted. It was 6:10 and I was very groggy. My evening allergy meds kick my butt. Plus, I hadn’t had my coffee yet.

“Ugh,” I grunted. This wasn’t how I wanted to start my day.

Kim kissed me goodbye and hurried off to work. I pulled on a pair of pants, poured some coffee, pulled out the vanity drawers, and got to work.

I was worried that I might have caused the leak when I replaced the sink’s pop-up assembly last month, but no. The problem was obvious: The hot water line to the bidet (which I installed in October) had worked itself loose. (By the way, I love my bidet. Too much information, perhaps, but it’s some of the best sixty bucks I’ve ever spent.)

Fortunately, the fix was simple. I reattached everything, then added a light layer of tape to prevent similar problems in the future.

More and more, though, I’m learning that I can do it myself. It just takes patience and perseverance. And the more projects I complete, the more confidence I gain.

Learning to Love DIY

My ex-wife and I bought our first house in 1993. Fortunately, it was in great shape. During our ten years in the place, there weren’t a lot of things that needed to be repaired.

In 2004, we moved to a hundred-year-old farmhouse. The previous owner had lived there for fifty years and had done a lot of lazy repairs himself.

Still, I didn’t feel completely comfortable with DIY projects around the house. I did them when I had to, but mostly I tried to put them off — or to pay somebody else to solve the problem.

“I know,” I said. “But I’m older now, and I’m actually looking forward to developing my DIY skills. I have a better attitude. I think I’ll be fine.”

In the past eighteen months, we’ve:

Painted several rooms in the house, and have plans to paint the others.

Installed new molding and trim in several rooms.

Painted the kitchen cabinets and installed new hardware.

Replaced the kitchen faucet (on Super Bowl Sunday).

Repaired the bathroom sink pop-up assembly.

Replaced our only toilet.

Installed a bidet attachment on the toilet.

Built out the inside of a Tuff Shed to make it my writing studio.

Built a porch for the writing studio.

Stained our new back deck (which we did not build ourselves).

Begun work on a fire pit for summer gatherings.

Installed raised beds for vegetable gardening.

Removed a cedar tree and planted a small orchard.

Hung lighting in the laundry room.

Installed a car stereo.

Some of these projects (the writing studio, for instance) were major. Some (like the laundry-room lighting) were minor. All of them have helped me gain confidence that yes, I can do things myself.

youtube

Nine Steps to DIY Success

Yesterday as I was crawling under the bathroom sink, I thought about how I’ve learned to love DIY, how I’ve shifted from viewing these tasks as chores to viewing them as opportunities to learn.

I believe these nine “rules” have helped me embrace the do-it-yourself mindset:

Be methodical. Another reason DIY projects used to frustrate me stemmed from my lack of organization. As I disassembled things, I put them in a common pile. When it came time to put things back together, I was lost. Nowadays, I’m smarter. I put small parts in ziploc bags and label the bags so I know what they are and where they go. If it’s not obvious what large parts are for, I label them too. At each stage of the project, I take photos with my phone so that I have a reference when I put things back together. I take notes in the manual to provide clarity in the future. Then I store the manuals in a drawer. Being methodical makes the process so much easier.

Decide on rules for buying tools. The unfortunate reality of DIY projects is that they often require specialized tools. When I replaced the kitchen faucet, I needed a basin wrench. Then I needed a Dremel. When Kim and I re-seeded our lawn, we needed an aerator. Sometimes it makes sense to simply buy the tool(s) you need. (I know I’ll use the Dremel again in the future.) Other times, it makes much more sense to borrow or rent. (I’m never going to need a $1500 aerator again, so I rented.)

Here’s another guideline: Keep the end in mind.

Don’t focus on the drudgery of the moment. Remind yourself of the ultimate payoff.

Choosing DIY Just for Fun

Last weekend, I tackled a DIY project for fun (gasp). I installed a car stereo.

I think you all know the (irrational) course of action I chose.

I found a $70 tape deck on Amazon and ordered it. Last weekend, as a birthday present to myself, I spent an entire day installing the thing — despite having no clue what I was doing.

The project was fun! (Frustrating but fun.)

The post How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

* This article was originally published here

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8312273 https://proshoppingservice.com/how-i-learned-to-stop-worrying-and-love-diy/

0 notes

nicholerestrada · 5 years

Text

How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY

“Oh good,” Kim said when I rolled out of bed yesterday morning. “I’m glad you’re up.” She gets up at 5:30 for work most days, but I tend to sleep in. Especially during allergy season.

“Huh?” I grunted. It was 6:10 and I was very groggy. My evening allergy meds kick my butt. Plus, I hadn’t had my coffee yet.

“Ugh,” I grunted. This wasn’t how I wanted to start my day.

Kim kissed me goodbye and hurried off to work. I pulled on a pair of pants, poured some coffee, pulled out the vanity drawers, and got to work.

I was worried that I might have caused the leak when I replaced the sink’s pop-up assembly last month, but no. The problem was obvious: The hot water line to the bidet (which I installed in October) had worked itself loose. (By the way, I love my bidet. Too much information, perhaps, but it’s some of the best sixty bucks I’ve ever spent.)

Fortunately, the fix was simple. I reattached everything, then added a light layer of tape to prevent similar problems in the future.

More and more, though, I’m learning that I can do it myself. It just takes patience and perseverance. And the more projects I complete, the more confidence I gain.

Learning to Love DIY

My ex-wife and I bought our first house in 1993. Fortunately, it was in great shape. During our ten years in the place, there weren’t a lot of things that needed to be repaired.

In 2004, we moved to a hundred-year-old farmhouse. The previous owner had lived there for fifty years and had done a lot of lazy repairs himself.

Still, I didn’t feel completely comfortable with DIY projects around the house. I did them when I had to, but mostly I tried to put them off — or to pay somebody else to solve the problem.

“I know,” I said. “But I’m older now, and I’m actually looking forward to developing my DIY skills. I have a better attitude. I think I’ll be fine.”

In the past eighteen months, we’ve:

Painted several rooms in the house, and have plans to paint the others.

Installed new molding and trim in several rooms.

Painted the kitchen cabinets and installed new hardware.

Replaced the kitchen faucet (on Super Bowl Sunday).

Repaired the bathroom sink pop-up assembly.

Replaced our only toilet.

Installed a bidet attachment on the toilet.

Built out the inside of a Tuff Shed to make it my writing studio.

Built a porch for the writing studio.

Stained our new back deck (which we did not build ourselves).

Begun work on a fire pit for summer gatherings.

Installed raised beds for vegetable gardening.

Removed a cedar tree and planted a small orchard.

Hung lighting in the laundry room.

Installed a car stereo.

Some of these projects (the writing studio, for instance) were major. Some (like the laundry-room lighting) were minor. All of them have helped me gain confidence that yes, I can do things myself.

youtube

Nine Steps to DIY Success

Yesterday as I was crawling under the bathroom sink, I thought about how I’ve learned to love DIY, how I’ve shifted from viewing these tasks as chores to viewing them as opportunities to learn.

I believe these nine “rules” have helped me embrace the do-it-yourself mindset:

Be methodical. Another reason DIY projects used to frustrate me stemmed from my lack of organization. As I disassembled things, I put them in a common pile. When it came time to put things back together, I was lost. Nowadays, I’m smarter. I put small parts in ziploc bags and label the bags so I know what they are and where they go. If it’s not obvious what large parts are for, I label them too. At each stage of the project, I take photos with my phone so that I have a reference when I put things back together. I take notes in the manual to provide clarity in the future. Then I store the manuals in a drawer. Being methodical makes the process so much easier.

Decide on rules for buying tools. The unfortunate reality of DIY projects is that they often require specialized tools. When I replaced the kitchen faucet, I needed a basin wrench. Then I needed a Dremel. When Kim and I re-seeded our lawn, we needed an aerator. Sometimes it makes sense to simply buy the tool(s) you need. (I know I’ll use the Dremel again in the future.) Other times, it makes much more sense to borrow or rent. (I’m never going to need a $1500 aerator again, so I rented.)

Here’s another guideline: Keep the end in mind.

Don’t focus on the drudgery of the moment. Remind yourself of the ultimate payoff.

Choosing DIY Just for Fun

Last weekend, I tackled a DIY project for fun (gasp). I installed a car stereo.

I think you all know the (irrational) course of action I chose.

I found a $70 tape deck on Amazon and ordered it. Last weekend, as a birthday present to myself, I spent an entire day installing the thing — despite having no clue what I was doing.

The project was fun! (Frustrating but fun.)

The post How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

* This article was originally published here

Source: https://proshoppingservice.com/how-i-learned-to-stop-worrying-and-love-diy/

from Garko Media https://garkomedia1.wordpress.com/2019/03/27/how-i-learned-to-stop-worrying-and-love-diy/

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streamingthruamerica · 6 years

Text

As if straight out of a horror film, our Airstream had been overrun by ghost ants. This wasn’t the first time we’ve seen bugs in the trailer, because bugs are an undeniable consequence of living outdoors, and a way of life. However, while occasional spiders, love bugs, moths, gnats, no see-ums, and mosquitoes had all managed to infiltrate our home at one time or another, it’s not until recently, that so many unwelcomed six-legged insects had made themselves comfortable without an invitation.

Long considered a well-established resident of South Florida and other tropical and subtropical environs, Tapinoma melanocephalum workers are thought to have illegally immigrated from Asia or Africa–where to this day, as an affront to our democracy–they continue to worship their queen, while spreading their vermin and contaminating our food.

Despite their small stature, at 1.3 to 1.5 mm long, I’m certain that had there been a border wall to protect us from this infestation, these pests would never have gone on to infiltrate the foundation of our trailer, and rob us of our American dream.

And had the FBI taken notice and properly profiled these larvae from the beginning, none of this would have ever happened. To be sure:

They have 12-segmented antennae with the segments gradually thickening towards the tip. Antennal scapes surpass the occipital border. Head and thorax are a deep dark brown with gaster and legs opaque or milky white (Creighton 1950). The thorax is spineless.

The gaster (swollen part of abdomen) has a slit-like anal opening which is hairless. (Smith and Whitman 1992). The abdominal pedicel (stalk-like structure immediately anterior to the gaster) consists of one segment which is usually hidden from view dorsally by the gaster (Creighton 1950). Stingers are absent.

The small size, combined with the pale color, make ghost ant workers hard to see (Smith and Whitman 1992).

At the very least, these ants have been extremely annoying, invading every part of the Airstream in a matter of days. We discovered them in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in the closet, in the bedroom, and ON MY PILLOW! EWW! Leah has been reflexively swatting phantom bugs from her arms and legs at the the very thought of our new colonists. Quickly, ants were now to blame for every miscellaneous skin bump, itch, or irritation on her body.

While camping at John Dickinson State Park in Jupiter, it was hard to ignore the many ant hills throughout the sites. I backed the Airstream into stall #43, and soon located several small cones of sand with limited ant traffic. Being careful to not disturb them, I thought they might return the favor, but the ants had a different agenda.

“Oh my God!” shrieked Leah. “They’re everywhere! They have to be stopped!”

Leah laid into the ants like they were ISIS terrorists. Her flip-flop was a particularly effective weapon in her campaign to eradicate the enemy. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

“Gotcha!” she bellowed.

She came down hard on the ants, but there was no quit in their little legs as they they rebounded in their crazy dance, scurrying around in all directions at once, before darting into their hiding places–provoking her ire and igniting her wrath.

“We’ve got to do something!” she vowed.

A trip to the garden section of Home Depot offered several interesting choices that promised instant relief, but we opted for Raid. Somehow, the notion of killing ants with a lightning bolt stirred our sado-masochistic sensibilities.

After returning to the Airstream, Leah tore into the packaging with a vengeance. Out popped eight plastic bait traps, looking like a mini Buster Keaton pork pie hats.

Declaring all-out war on ants, we strategically scattered them around the Airstream, often debating the locations of the most effective kill zones. For the most part, I acquiesced to Leah’s judgement, so long as I secured rights to wage war in the bathroom, which I considered my domain.

I closely observed the ants racing inside the aluminum channel along the wall, and knew exactly what I had to do. I wedged one of the little white poison pucks behind the soap dish, and waited for the feeding frenzy. After a minute or so, a curious ant came to inspect the trap, as if the Sirens were luring it to its certain death…

…and swallowed it whole.

“Yes!” I exclaimed. “One by one, you will eat the poison and die!”

I launched into my end-zone victory dance with a firm belief that we were now winning the war on ghost ants like never before. And that there will be so much winning, that we will tire of winning so much.

**Feature Image: Ghost ant worker, lateral view. Drawing by Division of Plant Industry**

Home Invasion! As if straight out of a horror film, our Airstream had been overrun by ghost ants. This wasn't the first time we've seen bugs in the trailer, because bugs are an undeniable consequence of living outdoors, and a way of life.

#ants #insecticide #insects #Raid

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carolinesgrandadventure · 7 years

Text

Everything is going great! | culture shocked

That is a big, fat lie.

This post is long overdue. In which I talk about what’s been happening these past two weeks in Vietnam and try not to lose my mind retyping x3 a post that I accidentally deleted x3 because I’m working on my phone and the Tumblr app is very glitchy.

A guide because this post is so long: Basics covers my homestay famiy and daily schedule. The City covers my thoughts on Hanoi. Challenges describes my misfortunes of travel and lessons learned.

Disclaimer: This post might seem a little over-dramatic. Let’s begin.

Basics

I share a homestay with one roommate, Frankie. My host family is friendly, comprising of a professor father, accountant mother, a 13-year-old host sister (our main translator), and a 10-year-old host brother. We live in a 5-story tube house in an back alleyway of a network of alleyways. It is so tucked away that even my local Uber drivers get lost trying to find it!

Frankie and I share a room with two hard mattresses on the floor, two mosquito nets, two fans, one shower toilet bathroom, and no AC. Despite Hanoi’s heat and humidity, it hasn’t been too much of a problem to sleep without AC. However, those mattresses are incredibly uncomfortable despite supposedly being good for the back.

Taking a shower has become my favorite time of day. What I mean by a “shower toilet bathroom” is a bathroom the size of a small walk-in closet containing a sink, shower head, toilet, and drain with no dividers. One must take care not to get the sink or toilet wet while showering. This type of bathroom is incredibly space efficient, but one must be okay with a wet bathroom floor for the next several hours after showering. There’s also no hot water, but it’s refreshing to take a cold shower after a long, humid, and sticky day.

Everyday I wake up anywhere between 6:30-7:00 a.m. usually because of loud jack hammering from the active construction site next door. Whether I’m rudely awakened by construction, cats meowing, babies crying, or motorbikes, I always am delighted to enjoy a breakfast prepared by my host mother. At around 7:50, Frankie and I leave the house and walk to the bus stop where we take a short 10 minute ride to our classroom at Hanoi Medical University. We then attend class more or less 8:30 a.m.-4:00 p.m., our exact schedule varying day to day. Our local instructor and country coordinator are both members of Vietnam’s Institute of Population, Health, and Development. They have been very informative, teaching us about Vietnam’s health challenges and system. Some interesting topics we have covered include the prominence of traditional medicine, the health differences between rural and urban Vietnamese populations, and the inaccuracy of government reporting. One of the main takeaways for me from these past two weeks is the issue of development on health outcomes in Vietnam. Many rural populations have poorer health outcomes than urban populations because they lack equal access to healthcare due to the limited number of clinics and resources (among other things). After classes end, I’ve done everything from shopping to getting a massage to going back home to study (read: nap). I return home by 7:00 p.m. to have dinner with my host family, which is always fun to see what we get to eat. After dinner, my host family, Frankie, and I chat for a while. Sometimes the neighbors come over to chat, too. The neighborhood kids enjoy running in and out of the house to say hello and stare at Frankie and I. The parents like coming to practice their English and bring their kids to force them to practice their English with us, too. In school, grammar and written skills are prioritized, and, as a result, many Vietnamese’s English speaking skills are not as developed. I admire their desire to practice speaking English with native speakers because I’m scared to do so with Chinese speakers… It’s quite a lot of work to communicate with people who do not speak the same language because even though you don’t understand, you make an effort to understand by processing the many context clues available. When Frankie and I get upstairs to our room, it’s often 9:00 p.m. or later and I am exhausted. I’ll take a shower and then try and do some work before falling asleep. I haven’t really been successful in doing homework after dinner… (hehe yikes) Last weekend our host family took Frankie and I out to the night market in downtown Hanoi to eat ice cream and walk around. Personally, I expected more of the night market, but it was still nice to walk the streets around the lake without motorbikes and cars whizzing by. We also paid a visit to the Vietnam People’s Air Force Museum.

Ice cream at Kem Trang Tien in Old Quarter. I got a yummy “rice flake” flavor.

Frankie and I also made spaghetti for our host family, the one American dish they occasionally cook at home. My host sister sprung this upon us saying, “Ok, you can make us spaghetti tomorrow night, right?” And Frankie and I were just like, “Oh, okay.” I don’t think we had a choice; it turns out our host mom had already bought the spaghetti noodles before our host sister asked us to cook! We went to the grocery store, found some canned pasta sauce, and made damn good spaghetti, if I do say so myself. Thankfully, our host family loved our cooking. I thought it was pretty hilarious to be eating spaghetti in Vietnam in rice bowls with chopsticks for dinner. My host sister keeps mentioning how she wants to try eggs Benedict…

Let two American girls cook you the best spaghetti of your life! :)

Lastly, a shoutout to Shom, my Duke friend also on an SIT IHP program, who I was able to get lunch with in Hanoi. I’m so glad we could follow up on our 5 month plans to meet up. It was really nice to see a familiar face. :’)

This weekend we are in the midst of typhoon Daksuri so our planned weekend activities are more low key. Possibly a movie, possibly a trip to Hanoi’s silk village, and with any luck, a day trip to see some scenery outside the city.

The City

Hanoi is the capital of motorbikes. It is humid, hot, noisy, dirty, and in my opinion, not particularly charming. There is the constant grumble of motorbikes. The air always smells of gasoline. Hanoi's got a lot of rough edges such as its ceaseless traffic, lack of public trash management, and pollution. The small river in my neighborhood is navy and its odor of rotten eggs and feces can be smelled 10 feet away.

I think Hanoi is best described as organized chaos. For the most part I cannot discern the order that the Hanoiians maintain except when I cross the street. Crossing the street is quite the adrenaline rush.

Start by stepping out from the curb. You can't choose a good moment to start crossing, you just have to do it. Turn to look in the face of oncoming traffic. Stare down the motorbikes that barrel towards you and shake an outstretched hand at them. Walk slowly. The honks are only to communicate that they see you. Get to the middle of the road. Look the other way and do the same thing: stare and shake. And when you finally get to the other side, don't forget to breathe. In those moments of crossing the street, anyone simultaneously becomes part of the order and chaos that is Hanoi.

Downtown Hanoi, also known as Old Quarter, is cleaner and is home to many of the best restaurants. Old Quarter surrounds Hoan Kiem Lake. Some parts of Old Quarter remind me of Shanghai's French Concession, with tree covered streets. But this is unsurprising given that both cities have strong French influences. Again, I can't romanticize about Hanoi too much though... One afternoon while enjoying a view of the lake, I noticed an old man peeing on a tree right next to me, out in the open.

Hanoi is also a city of alleyways. There are so many alleys to get lost in but there are no dead alleys; something is always happening whether that be a waiting trinkets seller or another pho stand. I have also never been to a city with such a dense concentration of food stands. Every family in Hanoi must own a food stand, there are so many of them!*

Challenges

In the past two and a half years that I've been in college, I have never experienced a serious case of homesickness... until now. This was unfortunately spurred by a stressful situation of multiple technology failures. This past weekend my perfectly working laptop spontaneously broke. Like broke broke. Like serious, needs-a-motherboard-replacement broke. At first I thought I couldn't turn my laptop on because of an ant infestation. It just so happens that when my laptop broke, I also had a mild ant infestation. Sugar ants were crawling out of my keyboard and I was panicking, recalling a similar story of a broken laptop and a bunch of ants. Then I went to a computer store that night with my host family and it started working again. And then I put it away for the night. And then it really wouldn't turn on anymore.

I took my laptop into Hanoi's top rated computer repair store on Monday. Against my better judgement, I left my laptop at this small, unprofessional looking shop for them to look at further. It was a great test of believing in the good will of people for me. 48 hours later I was devastated to learn that my computer was seriously broken and would need a $330 fix.

This ordeal was rather stressful for me because every graded aspect of my study abroad program relies upon a computer and I was without one. I actually finished an assignment on my phone using Google Docs. It also didn't help that the day after my laptop broke, my phone started acting up, possibly because of the humidity. I had to stick it in rice; thankfully my phone still works except I now have a dead area on my touch screen. I'm guessing part of my phone's digitizer broke. Don't ask me why my important tech decided to all break without warning in the span of 3 days because it is beyond me.

I decided not to get my laptop repaired here in Hanoi. I'm in this awkward transition time right now relying upon other people's laptops. I probably can't get a replacement laptop/tablet until I get to South Africa because complicated customs processes. I guess we'll just have to see how things work out, but for now I'm making do and trying not to think about my broken laptop.

Going through this episode of intense stress really highlighted to myself my discomfort in Hanoi: it's dirty, loud, I don't fit in, and I can hardly communicate. I really, really wished to be at home this past week for the convenience and familiarity of going to an Apple Store, receiving comfort from my family (and dog), and sleeping in a soft bed.

I'm mostly over that now. I’ve realized that it is what it is and I am handling the situation to the best of my ability. In the end, I can't really change much; I can only be resourceful and rely upon the generosity of my host family and classmates. C'est la vie. I'm grateful I still have the support system that I have available. I knew to expect some challenges and discomfort but I did not realize it’d be like this!

St. Joseph’s Cathedral, a late 19th-century Gothic cathedral in Old Quarter.

This next week my group travels to Lac village in rural north Vietnam. Next weekend we're taking an excursion to Ha Long Bay, a UNESCO world heritage site. I'm excited to get out of the city and explore other parts of Vietnam!

Bus count: 11

*By the way, of course I will write about the food in Vietnam within the next two weeks.

#Hanoi #Vietnam #travel #culture shock #long post #reflection

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