life has been lifein’ haven’t been posting for a while but hopefully i’ll have stuff to post soon.
without getting into the full rollercoaster of misery, health problems abound in my loved ones and every year for the last 3 years we’ve lost at least one family member. my gramma Rosezina died on July 1st after 83 years of being A Problem. her funeral was on the 8th during a day so hot that we couldn’t be at the graveside for more than a few minutes, fitting weather for a woman nicknamed Hot for her good looks and spicy temper. i loved her very much, i love her very much, and the emotional strain of everything that came after the Big Stroke fucked me up a little bit.
here’s one of my favorite stories about her, stop me if you’ve heard this one:
my gramma was schizophrenic, a fact i didn’t figure out until i was told by a family member at some time during my preteen or early teen years because the way schizophrenia was depicted on tv or movies was so different from what she was. she was an amazing quilter, gardener, cook, baker (i’ll never have a caramel cake that rivals hers), and general gold star deep country grandmother who was always sweet to me, her first born granddaughter, even when she stopped remembering who i was exactly in her later years.
also, she never liked being told what to do.
also, also, she hung out with the devil for a while.
she said he’d just show up sometimes, the most beautiful, angelic, enchanting man you ever did see. he’d come to her when she was feeling overwhelmed, upset, or lonely, and offered words of comfort and a gentle listening ear. she had a hard life, and that comfort was very valuable to her even if it was coming from the devil, so over time he became her friend and she trusted him right up until the day he told her to kill her kids and free herself from all the problems constantly weighing her down.
need i remind you, she did. not. like. being told what to do. (especially when the thing she’s being told to do is murdering her own children)
so of course, she told all her kids to walk up the road to my great gramma’s house, and when they were gone Hot dragged the couch the devil was sitting on outside into the front yard and set it on fire with him sitting on it.
from what i was told he seemed very irritated but didn’t get up as she stared him down and watched him burn.
afterwards some other family members put the fire out and she returned to her chores like nothing happened. as far as i know the devil never talked to her again.
and that’s why i grew up knowing that the, ‘the devil made me do it’ defense is some bullshit. if the devil is real he can’t make you do shit. he flounces off if told no (and set on fire) once.
weak bitch.
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[9:17 PM]
"no." you close your eyes and force yourself to take a deep breath. "nononono."
you thought the worst thing that could happen already happened—you discovered your favorite noodle place wasn't open today, and you were forced to make your peace with that. (albeit with tears. and utter devastation.)
turns out that didn't even scratch the surface of terrible, no good things that could happen today, because now, your roommate junhui is at the front door and he's the absolute last person you want to see today.
on any other day, this would be fine. good, even.
when you first moved in with junhui, you never expected to become good friends. really, you were just happy to have a place to sleep—at first, he was just some guy, and the fact that he was a medical student was a cool bonus.
that is, until you sprained your ankle going down the stairs four months ago. he wrapped it on the futon in the living room and then proceeded to keep you company for the rest of the night while you wrestled with an ice pack. it was then when you learned what it felt like to fall in love, hopelessly and instantly.
you hear him jiggle the door handle again. he likely forgot his keys, and you would let him in until you consider the fact that you look no better than a mole rat at the moment. you woke up this morning with a fever and a wicked headache, and neither of those have gotten better since then. you don't even think you've left your room yet today.
"please don't tell me you're taking a nap," he whines, muffled by the door. "i got pizza."
fuck.
you peel yourself out of bed and catch a glimpse of yourself in your vanity. not good. if you had a choice, you would want to greet him in something other than your two-day pajamas. unfortunately, your only option at the moment is slapping on some lip gloss and calling it a day, and it's now that you begin contemplating the absolute death of a possibility of having a shot with junhui. hot guys like him don't date mole rats, even if they're wearing lip gloss.
finally you reach the front door, resigned to your fate. maybe you really should get back on the apps, as much as you hate to say it.
"sorry," you say as you let junhui in. "i was in bed."
he's in his scrubs, stethoscope round his neck. he must have had a long day today, but he still smiles at you with as much warmth as always. it makes your heart actually hurt, as if you aren't feeling sick enough.
"i figured— 's ok. it's pizza time," he chants. "you eat yet?"
you hide your face as you grab him a plate. the answer is no (soup or bust was your earlier conclusion), but you don't want to risk getting him sick, especially after he spent a whole day in the hospital. it's then when you feel a hand on your shoulder, turning you around.
"hey, you good?" you're met with junhui's eyes, now squinty as he looks you over. "are you sick, or are you just happy to see me? 'cause you look warm."
"um." you swallow hard, feeling bare. if you knew you would be this close to his face, you would have at least run a comb through your hair. "i might have a teeny, tiny little temperature. maybe."
that's all you need to say. he immediately brings the back of his hand to your forehead, and if you weren't already doomed, you sure are now.
"maybe a little more than tiny, huh?" he chuckles. "let me get you some meds."
you like how he doesn't scold you for not telling him sooner or guilt you for causing trouble after work. you watch him rifle through the cabinets, muttering to himself about this and that, and you start to feel a little silly about worrying what he thought of you.
"take these," he says, putting a couple of pills in your palm before opening a water bottle for you. "and follow my finger."
you watch him draw a square with his pointer finger before he brings it in between your eyes so they cross.
"i-is everything ok?" you squeak.
"yeah," he laughs. "it's just cute when you do that."
cute?! you thank god he wasn't using that stethoscope on you, because he definitely would have diagnosed you with something right on the spot. instead, you take your meds, grateful that he didn't ask whether or not you had more than a tablespoon of water today (spoiler alert—you didn't).
you're still mentally scrambling to decode what he could possibly be talking about when he bends down to meet your eyes.
"you're lucky. it's not terminal." you try to fight the corners of your mouth from turning up at his incredibly lame joke, but it doesn't work—instead, you smile, and you watch him smile back. "but you should get some rest. i need you alive this weekend."
"w-why?"
you feel your stomach drop to your knees, even though that's anatomically impossible, and you're not sure what a heart attack really is, but you think you just had one.
he needs to stop looking at you like that, or you will do some damage.
"you wanted to go to that new restaurant down the street, right? i have the day off."
"you mean, like a d—"
"like a date." he hands you your water bottle. "i'm asking you on a date. now get some rest, okay?"
you feel like a walking skeleton as he turns you around to face the door to your room. you want to fall to your knees and jump for joy all at once, but you plan to save that for when your bedroom door is shut tight behind you. if the bedhead wasn't enough, acting like even more of a fool in front of him would definitely scare him off.
"i like the lip gloss, by the way," he hollers after you. "nice touch."
you turn back to glare at him, because now he's just bullying you. you wonder how long he knew about your little problem, which would be humiliating if you weren't so down bad.
"what? you love me."
but he's right. you do, you really do. and you guess he just might love you back too.
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