#started two different journals in january!!

[officialkendallroy]

journaling is so awesome you guys you should try it

#started two different journals in january!! #one is more focused on movies etc and has all my cinema stubs and such and lil reviews on all the movies i watched #and little drawings too #and the other one is more personal and life related and !!! it's great :-) #mine aren't like aesthetically pleasing or something bc my handwriting is ugly as shit #but even with my barely readable chicken scratch it's such a lovely thing to do

[catboybiologist]

Transition journal and documentation: Jan and Feb of 2024

Measurements for January are up, and February will be soon to follow! Tagging @whalesharkcat and @trans4hire here. If you want to be tagged when I post these, let me know! The advice for injections is in the journal below.

Some quick notes to clarify things:

I'm consolidating qualitative observations into my journal. Oftentimes these haven't been easy to cleanly classify into different categories of observation, so I'm not really gonna bother.

As I'm sure you've realized, the timing of these observations isn't consistent. I have a private document with exact date stamps for everything, and these are mostly right at the end of the month. But my levels checks don't match up to this cleanly, so I group them with the closest set of other measurements. Sometimes I don't have one that cleanly fits.

I can't trust myself to measure height anymore, to be blunt. I want to ask the doctor every time but chicken out about it easily.

But anyways.

And now, as a journal, a brief summary of my thoughts on the past two months:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

*deep breathing*

fuuuuuuuucccckkkkkkkkkk

Okay. So. I'm not gonna list off everything that's happened since the year started. So many independent things started happening, one after the other, that I had to start formatting it as a bulleted list to tell people I know irl what's been going on. Each one has been a crisis on its own- massive emotional events, health problems, health problems in people close to me, transphobic drama with former "friends", academic&research problems, and a resulting mental health spiral. And all of this leading up to my qualifying exams at the end of February, for which I barely scraped by and passed.

But. With all of this. There's silver linings.

The biggest one is that the start of this year has been a stress test of my overall emotional state since starting HRT. I'm not gonna lie- if all of this had happened a year ago, I don't think I would be here now. I either would have completely snapped and done something I regret, or... yeah. But as it stands? I cried. A lot. I isolated a bit. I had mood swings and anxiety and anger and excitement and relief and highs and lows beyond my wildest dreams. It was intense. It was not pretty. But it was cathartic, and healthy. Before this, I would've processed all of this as a generic, stressful, anxiety-ridden malaise, that would've weighed down on me until a breaking point. As it stands, however, I made it. Not in a neat way, not even really in an emotionally stable way, but I made it. And there is no fucking way that would be true pre-HRT. I think I can genuinely say at this point that estrogen has been life saving for me.

In the middle of all this, I switched to injections, right at the start of February. A mistake? Maybe, but I'm too fed up with delaying my progress because "the time isn't right", so I stubbornly refused to delay that change any further. It's a goal I worked out with my provider ahead of time and I stuck to it. So how's that been?

It's been an incredible and WILD experience. I'm on estradiol valerate. For those that don't know, estradiol is conjugated with another compound, which is then cleaved over time in your body to release it. For injections, that results in a peak irculating levels about 1-3 days afer injections. Some people feel it more than others- and holy shit, do I feel it. This has given rise to "the Sundays", because on Sundays, I'm going fucking nuts. My senses are heightened, and I start craving and reacting to physical touch in intense ways. It's not always sexual- while arousal comes easier to me the closer I am to peak, mostly I just become a cuddleslut. It is WILD. I'm also more emotional and cry more easily. Some cis female friends I have confirmed that it mirrors the feelings they get at a certain point in their monthly cycle, so essentially the fluctuating levels are giving me the sensory and emotional effects of a period every week.

The flip side of this is that I feel like shit on Thursdays, like I missed a sublingual dose when I was on that. After the first two weeks, I started taking 2mg sublingual on Wednesday night and Thursday mornings to avoid this, which helped a lot. My provider specifically said this was a good idea, so if you're dealing with that yourself, consider trying it out. I might move to a 5-day injection interval instead, but we'll see.

I've only had one problem with injections so far, which I'm dealing with right now- on my fifth self injection ever, I had unsteady hands and hesitation before stabbing myself, causing a not-great needle stick. Currently, I have a nasty looking injection bruise. Not painful, and healing pretty well, but not fantastic to look at. Self injecting has been intimidating and scary, moreso than I thought it would be. But the actual physical pain is much, MUCH less than I thought it would be, its just that the lizard brain refuses to stab yourself.

If you're thinking of switching to injections, here's a bit of my advice:

keep as many oral/sublingual pills on hand as you can anyways. These will be helpful if you feel your injections aren't carrying you emotionally for the entire interval, or if you don't have an environment where you can inject regularly

If you have a provider, they should provide a nurse tutorial and consultation for you to inject properly. If they don't, try to insist on one. They'll give better advice than I can.

think less, do more. Ideally, the actual moment of the stab should be painless. Be quick and steady about it. The fluid entering feels like pressure and slight burning, but nothing more than that.

vary your injection sites. A doctor or nurse should explain this to you, but this reduces risk of doing what I did and bruising yourself.

be extremely sterile about things. All of the wiping down and sterile technique you'll hear? Don't fuck around with it. Infection is no joke, and absolutely can happen.

Purchase spare needles and syringes from a pharmacist or online. Several reasons for this- one, if you make a mistake and a needle is no longer sterile, you don't want to hesitate about throwing it away. And two... well, let's make a second point about this.

If you want to stock up on estradiol for the future (if you're worried about future access to HRT), this can be easier with injections- but you have to be careful, and you'll need extra needles (for the love of fuck, do not reuse needles). Vials will always have excess medication, because it allows standard volumes to fill and distribute, and it also ensures that needle draws will always be able to be fully submerged. Do NOT try to run your vial out. You WILL run into sterility and contamination issues. That said, vial expiration dates are typically measured from time of first puncture. This will vary, but for me, I was told that the vials are good for 4 weeks after the first puncture. This is overcautious, but not egregiously so. My recommendation would be to use each vial for 1-2 extra punctures, and open the next vial a bit later. Still get prescription refills as frequently as you can. That way, you can stock up on unpucntured vials in case anything happens to your supply. THIS SAID- if you notice ANYTHING wrong with the vial- if the seal isn't containing the fluid properly, if bits of the seal are falling into the medication, if you can see a noticable hole in the seal, DO NOT USE THAT VIAL. Look me in the fucking eye. Do. Fucking. NOT. get sepsis. Do not fuck around with this. The flexibility to be cautious about your vials is a great reason to stock up on a bit extra in the first place.

To anyone in the US, if you're comfortable with doing this to stock up, I would highly, HIGHLY recommend starting this now. Slowly start using your vials for 1-2 punctures extra, stock up unbroken vials. Just in case something bad happens after the elections.

Typically, your medication will come with two sizes of needles- a draw needle (puncture the seal and draw medication into the syringe) and an injection needle. You might want to consider going *slightly* smaller on one or both of those needles. Estradiol is dissolved in a viscous oil as medication, and can be difficult to draw and dispense as a result. But, if you're patient, a smaller gauge might help. For the draw needle, it can help do less damage to the seal and preserve it a bit longer. For the injection needle, if you have a bit more sensitive skin, it might be comforting. Don't deviate too much, though, ESPECIALLY without a medical professional involved.

Remember that I'm not a medical professional, please consult one whenever possible.

I'm still on spiro for now, and I'm continuing it until my next levels check comes back clean. I don't want to erase months of progress getting my levels up by dropping it too early.

Measurement-wise, there hasn't been much change. But I'm starting to realize that the measurements aren't really telling the full story. My breasts look so much larger and, for lack of a better word, breast-like than they did even a couple months ago, but that hasn't been coming through in the measurements very well. I think what's happening is that my fat around my sides is shrinking at the same time my breasts are growing. This is reflected a bit in terms of underbust and waist measurements, but it still seems more dramatic than those are letting on.

Face wise, I think I'm really seeing some changes now. It's hard to put into words, but I'm starting to look more and more androgynous or femme by default, especially if I shave. I'm estatic, honestly, and I hope the trend continues. My chin and nose continue to be problems, but as the structure of the face around them changes, that's becoming less and less true.

I've been getting laser, but so far it's done pretty much nothing. There's lag time, and some of my health issues meant that I had to delay a session and get both sessions at a much lower power than I would've like. I was really hoping to have visible hair removal by June or so, but it looks like that's not happening. That kinda stings, and is a huge blow to my ability to pass by the one-year mark, which has been my target.

I think my boymoding has been holding, for the most part, although its been harder. Even with my sports bras, small bumps are visible under a t shirt, and the face changes won't be unnoticable forever. I've def been more loudly bisexual, and I think most people just write it off as me being fruity. Cis people can also be pretty oblivious, especially when changes are gradual. That being said, I've been coming out slowly to people, giving my usual speech of "I'm still presenting as a man for now, but just so you know this is what's going on", which removes a lot of the pressure and anxiety from boymoding. Still, I haven't told everyone (notably, labmates and family), and my timeline of social transition between June and August seems to be holding steady.

So uh, yeah. If you're curious about anything specifically, I'm an open book, although I may move it to DMs if it gets too personal. Hope that my progress updates are helpful to at least someone!

#trans #transitioning #transgender #trans journal #trans progress #trans documentation #transfemme #trans HRT #trans woman

[atlafan]

1963 - Part 1

a/n: I have been dying to share this with yall and I'm so excited to finally be doing that. As per usual, this is the only part that will be posted here on Tumblr.All other parts will be posted on Patreon. In fact, Part 2 is already up! And Part 3 will be posted Friday.

Please consider joining my Patreon. It's only $5 a month, and it charges you the following month on the date you joined. So, if you signed up today, you wouldn't get charged again until January 10th. I post 2-4 times per month. If anything is under 10K words, that's usually when I'll post more. I depend on this extra income to help pay bills for essentials. The community there is also incredible and I write and post some of my nastiest smut on there, so if that's what you're looking for, you'll get it!

Warnings: mentions of infertility

Words: 3.8K

Patreon I Patreon Masterlist I Tumblr Masterlist I Ask

“Every month I keep hoping I’ll have different news for you two,” Doctor Simmons sighed, “unfortunately, I have the same news. Beverly still isn’t with child.”

“We’ve been trying for five months, we’ve been doing everything you’ve said. Beverly drinks the teas, she lays with her legs up after we’re done, I don’t know what else we can do.” Robert was exasperated at this point. He was squeezing his wife’s hand, desperately trying not to let any tears escape his eye ducts.

“You two have exhausted all natural remedies, so I think it’s time we consider IVF.”

Beverly’s eyes widened, and she squeezed Robert’s hand back. She looked at him, panicked.

“Beverly is terribly afraid of needles.”

“You don’t need to decide on anything right now. Take these pamphlets and look over the information. If you two want to have a baby of your own, then this may be the next step.”

“We’ll look it over and have an answer by our next appointment.”

Robert and Beverly are silent on the drive home from the doctor’s office. They’re silent on their way back into their home. Beverly goes right to the kitchen to get started on dinner. Robert comes up next to her and puts her hand over hers.

“We should read the literature on IVF.” He said.

“I have friends who have done it, and all it has done is make their hormones crazy, and not in a fun way. I really don’t want to, Robert. I’ve done everything else, please don’t make me do this.”

“It feels like sometimes I’m the only one who wants to have a baby.”

“How could you say something like that to me? If I’m infertile-“

“You’re not, though. Doctor Simmons has run every type of blood test on you.”

“I know, I was there when the nurse was drawing it after you accused me of secretly taking birth control pills.”

“Well, with how apprehensive you were about having your diaphragm removed, I had to make sure you weren’t doing any self-sabotage.”

“Maybe I’m not getting pregnant because my body knows you don’t trust me.”

“I do trust you, you just weren’t exactly thrilled to start trying.”

“You sprung it on me, I was surprised. We never really discussed having kids before we got married.”

“Sweetheart, why would two people get married if not to have kids?” He chuckled.

“That’s not why I married you. I married you because I love you and I want to be with you.”

“I love you and want to be with you too. But if I hadn’t wanted kids, we could have just shacked up in an apartment in the city. I bought us a house in the suburbs so you could keep house and raise our kids. You like being a housewife, you’ve told me as much.”

“I do. I like making your meals and keeping things tidy, but I also like my free time. I like to go have brunch with the other ladies, and I like going to the library to check out new film analysis journals, and I like being able to go to the movies in the middle of the day. Having a baby means I can’t do those things anymore. At least, not until it’s old enough to go to school. That’s five solid years I’d be putting on hold. And within that five years, I could have at least two more kids. So, now I’m thirty-one with three kids under the age of five, and oh yeah, I’ll still be expected to keep the house clean and cook all your meals and pleasure you even though everything between my legs will feel like sandpaper.”

Robert eyes his wife, then puckers his lips in thought. “Is that how you’ve really been feeling? You haven’t said a word.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you. You’re not easy to talk to these days. Every time I reach for my clip-belt for my sanitary napkins, I can see you watching with such sadness in your eyes. Motherhood is scary. My friends tell me these horror stories about childbirth. Their husbands barely take a week off from work to be home with them and the baby. So, we’re expected to push these kids out, then get up the next day and get back to our usual routines.”

“Beverly, you’re worried about things women have been doing since the beginning of time. Don’t be such a child. The fear of needles I can understand, but the fear of being a mother makes no sense. I know you and your mother have a strained relationship, but that doesn’t mean history will repeat itself.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “If we’re not pregnant by our next appointment with Doctor Simmons, then I would like us to start IVF. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Good.” He looked at the ingredients on the counter and grimaced. “I don’t want meatloaf tonight, make something else instead.”

“Yes, dear.”

“I’m gonna go to my office, have a beer, and listen to the ball game. Let me know when dinner is on the table.”

���Yes, dear.”

Robert smiled, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, and walked out of the kitchen. Beverly took a deep breath and rummaged through her cabinets to see what else she could possibly whip up for dinner. It needs to be something heavy enough that Robert won’t feel like making love before bed. Beverly doesn’t have it in her to put on a performance tonight.

**

Most people get married to have kids. Beverly married Robert because she loved him. He wanted to take care of her. But when the honeymoon phase ended, and he stopped saying thank you to her for all of the things she did to take care of him, she grew resentful. She never let on about it. Robert didn’t need to know how she really felt. Opening up the way she did the day prior wasn’t normal. Things had been good between them for a long time. Beverly didn’t mind stepping into the role of a stay-at-home wife. She was college educated, but it wasn’t like she’d ever be able to carry a position in the profession of her desire. And since she didn’t want to be a schoolteacher or a nurse, Robert asked her to stay home to tend to the house he had bought for them.

At twenty-three, she really hadn’t minded. They met in college, as so many young couples do, and it was love at first sight. Their courtship was disgustingly romantic, and their wedding was a dream come true. The honeymoon phase was so sickly sweet. Beverly enjoyed making breakfast for Robert before he left for work. She enjoyed sending him on his way. She had the whole day to herself. She’d tend to her various gardens, and she’d make sure the house was clean. She’d meet up with friends for brunch. She did everything a good wife was supposed to do.

At twenty-six, Beverly feels like she’s on autopilot. She can’t help but wonder if the reason why older couples have designated sex nights is because the wives must need the six days in between to psych themselves up. She also can’t help but wonder if this is why so many older couples opt for twin beds that can be pushed together or pulled apart.

And it’s not that Beverly doesn’t want kids, she thinks it could be fun, but she’s petrified of essentially raising a child by herself. Robert will stroll in from work, bounce the baby on his knee for all of two minutes, and call it a night. She’s scared for all the reasons she tried to explain the day prior. Robert also didn’t give Beverly a choice five months ago…

“I was thinking of maybe enrolling in graduate school.” Beverly brought up one morning over breakfast. Robert had nearly choked on his toast. “I know what you’re thinking, but you wouldn’t have to pay for a thing. They have stipends for students. I could teach while I learn.”

“I thought you didn’t want to teach.”

“I didn’t want to teach children, but something about having high level discussions with college students makes teaching sound like fun. I miss being in school.”

“What’s the point of a graduate degree in film and media? It’s not like you can do anything with it.”

“A graduate degree could lead to a doctorate, and I could keep teaching. I know female professors are few and far between, especially in the world of film, but it is possible.”

“So, you want to be a career woman, is that what you’re saying?”

“Not exactly. Classes wouldn’t take up all my time. I’d still be able to cook and clean and do everything I’m doing now. Except now when I go to the library, I’ll be doing schoolwork instead of reading for leisure.”

“Seems like you have it all figured out already.”

“Well, I wanted to show you I had thought it all through, that I was serious. You got your graduate degree. If you hadn’t, we never would have met.”

“Exactly. What if some older professor comes on to you? You’d have no way to protect yourself.”

“Oh, Robert, I’ve gone this long without something horrible happening to me on a college campus, I think I’d be fine. Besides, all I’d need to do is show off the lovely rings on my finger.” She grinned. “No one would mess with a married woman whose husband can afford a diamond like this.”

“Did you already sign up for a course?”

“Of course not. I wanted to speak with you first.”

“Good.” He finished his breakfast. “Let me think on it.”

“Alright. Anything in particular you want for dinner tonight?”

“Actually, I was thinking we could go out tonight. I wanted to take you somewhere nice.”

“Oh? For what?”

“Does a husband need a reason to treat his wife to a romantic evening?”

“No.” She giggled. “I’m just excited at the prospect of a spontaneous date night. I’ll pick out a dress I haven’t worn in a while, so it feels like new.”

“I think that’s a great idea.” He stood and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll call you before I leave work, so you’ll know when to expect me.”

“Okay, have a good day, dear.”

Beverly was excited. A night out was a positive sign. Robert wouldn’t take her out just to give her bad news. He was going to say yes to her going back to school.

The restaurant Robert took Beverly to was ritzy. He danced with her, ordered an expensive bottle of wine, and kissed on her shoulder and neck while he sat next to her in their booth. That sickly sweet feeling Beverly thought might be gone was sparking again. When the cheesecake came out, they fed each other bites. It was adorable.

“Are you having a good time tonight?” He asked.

“Yes, this has been such a wonderful evening. Thank you for taking me here.”

“You’re welcome, Bev.” He put his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. “I’ve been thinking about a lot of things lately, and our conversation this morning was the kick in the pants I needed, so I’m really glad you brought up graduate school.”

“I’m glad it was a positive conversation.” She smiled. “What’s been on your mind?”

“I think it’s time we started trying for a baby.” All of the color drained from Beverly’s face, but her smile never wavered. She couldn’t let on how disappointed she was. “You’re clearly bored with the amount of free time on your hands. I know school seemed like a fun thing to do to pass the time, but I think we’ve waited long enough. We’ll be married almost four years soon, I think we know what we’re doing in the bedroom by now. So, next week, I’m taking you to the doctor to have your diaphragm removed-“

“You called my doctor about something like that?”

“I know it’s a bit awkward, but it’s not a secret that you have one. I went with you when you got it, I should be with you when you have it taken out.”

“Robert…I don’t like that it feels like you’re not giving me a choice. What if I’m not ready?”

“It’s not that you don’t have a choice, I’m just stating that it’s time. You take care of me just fine, you’ll be a great mother. This is what I would rather you do than go back to school. Besides, think of the fun we’ll have while we’re working at it. I got excited at work today thinking about it. I was hoping tonight could be a test run.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I love you so much, Bev, I wanna turn that love into a physical being.”

“Yeah, um, that makes perfect sense. Let’s…let’s make a baby.”

“Really?” He asked, elated.

“Yes, dear.”

Robert kissed his wife. He kissed her in the car. He kissed her on the way into their home, up the stairs, and into their bedroom. He made love to his wife, then called it a night.

After getting her diaphragm removed, they waited until after her next period was done to start trying. This gave Beverly plenty of time to figure out how she could avoid pregnancy. She needed to keep some semblance of control over her own body. Robert wasn’t going to tell her when she was ready. She could decide that on her own.

Lysol douching didn’t work, she knew this. Her sister told her as much. Some of her friends offered her their birth control pills, but she knew they’d show up on a blood test, which Robert made sure she had after the second month of her still not having gotten pregnant. Beverly may have studied film, but she was an excellent student in biology and chemistry as well. She knew how condoms worked. They were coated in spermicides. She just needed to figure out how to coat her vagina with it. She bought condoms and squeezed all of the lubricant and spermicide off them and got a good amount into a bottle. She mixed it with olive oil, what ancient Greeks used to use, and douched with that before having sex with Robert. She knew it would be a long shot if it worked, but she had to try.

When the third month came along, and she still wasn’t pregnant, she took solace is knowing her little concoction was working. And because Robert never went down on her, he’d never smell or taste a thing. When he used his fingers, he just thought she was extra wet, which made him feel proud of himself.

She was perfectly content with her plans until the topic of IVF came up. Even the harshest of solutions couldn’t stand up to IVF injections. She never felt bad for lying to Robert because she didn’t like that he had become so controlling, but she also didn’t think she’d be doing this for so long. The thought of her giving her body up didn’t sound any more appealing five months later.

What was she going to do?

**

“I really think that one is gonna be a winner.” Robert sighed happily as he relaxed into the bed, looking over at Beverly as she lay with her legs in the air. “I’m glad we waited a couple of days in between, feels like my boys swam stronger.”

“Yes, dear.” Beverly closed her eyes and tried to breathe steadily, counting down the minutes until she could go use the bathroom and cleanse herself.

“I had an idea today. I really want to spare you from having to be injected with needles. I’m a good husband, and good husbands protect their wives. So, since we have about five weeks until our next appointment, I thought we could try one last natural method.”

“I’m listening.” She turned her head to look at him, intrigued.

“I overheard some ladies talking in the break room this morning. It’s the one good thing about having so many female secretaries. Anyways, they happened to be discussing various issues with conceiving. One of them said they had a friend who got pregnant the second she and her husband stopped focusing so much on it. The wife threw herself into different projects, and a month or so later, she was pregnant.”

“Wait.” She sat up on her elbows. “Are you saying I can enroll in a graduate course after all?”

“What, no.” He laughed. “No, I was thinking we could finally redo the patio and have that pool you’ve wanted put in. You’ve been talking about wanting to host more parties for our friends. You always do so well with the workers when we have something done here, and you love gardening. I think you’d really enjoy overseeing a landscaping project.”

“Let me get this straight: you would rather pay thousands of dollars to have our backyard redone, than pay a couple of hundred for me to enroll in a course?”

“I think school would be too stressful. If you’re stressed, then you definitely won’t conceive. Overseeing a project that puts you outside in the sun will be a win-win. Not to mention an old friend of mine is willing to give us a deal on the work.”

“You have a friend that’s a landscaper?”

“Yeah, this guy from my old neighborhood took over his father’s business. He said he could swing by Saturday to take a look at things.”

“It sounds like you’ve already decided that this is what we’re doing.”

“That’s because I have.” He grinned proudly. “Bev, when we got married, I promised to take care of you. This is me taking care of you. Not all husbands would do something like this for their wives. You could at least pretend to be grateful.”

“I am grateful, I’m sorry if my tone suggested otherwise. What time Saturday is he coming over?”

“That I left up to you. I didn’t know if you had any errands or plans with the ladies.”

“Oh.” Well, at least he was trying to be considerate. “Maybe around three? That would give me time to pick up the dry cleaning and stop at the market.”

“Three is perfect. I’ll give him a call tomorrow to let him know.” He looked down at his watch. “You should be good to use the bathroom now.”

“Yes, dear.” Beverly lowers her legs and slings her robe on. Once she’s in the bathroom, she locks the door and flips on the fan. She rummages around in the back of the sink-cabinet until she finds her douching solution. She used some prior to having sex with her husband, but she likes to use it after for good measure. She bites into the heel of her palm as she cleanses herself. It tends to sting from time to time. When she’s done, she looks at herself in the mirror. She knows she can’t keep doing this to herself. She just doesn’t know what else to do.

**

Beverly loves her weekend clothes. There’s something so freeing about slipping on a pair of high-waist capris, a sleeveless button-up that ties in the front, and a pair of flats. She usually gardens after running her errands, and this is what she typically wears to garden. Robert hates it when Beverly wears pants, or anything form fitting, in public. Why should anyone else be privy to how round her bum is, or how full her thighs are? She’s got a body like Marilyn’s, and that’s something he prefers to keep under wraps.

When the landscaping van pulls up out front, Beverly is in the front yard, planting and mulching. She has the radio going, so she doesn’t pay any mind to the sound of an engine turning off. The man in the landscaping van tilted his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, getting a better glimpse of Beverly. Robert starts walking over, so the man gets out of his van, rounding it to meet his old friend.

“Harry.” Robert smiled and shook the man’s, Harry, hand. “Can you believe it? Got a nice house in a suburb just like the one we grew up in.”

“I never doubted you’d get everything you wanted.” Harry smiled back.

“Seems like the Navy treated you well.”

“Yeah, I can’t complain too much. I didn’t get blown up or lose a limb.”

“And now you own your father’s business. Sorry for your loss, by the way. That’s the drawback of inheritance.”

“Yep. You working for your father?”

“Yes, and proud of it. I’ve got an office with a view, and I can afford to live more than comfortably. Got a beautiful wife, too.” Robert looked around. “Beverly, c’mere!” Beverly stood and dusted off her trousers before making her way over to the two men. “Harry, this is my Beverly.” He put his arm around his wife’s shoulders.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Clark.”

“Likewise, Mr…”

“Styles.” He points behind him with his thumb. “Of Styles Landscaping.”

“Right, of course.”

“Your husband told me you were hoping to have some work done in the backyard.”

“Yes, we’d like the patio redone and to have a pool put in, if possible.”

“Let’s show Harry to the back.” Robert said as he led his wife to the back. Harry followed close behind.

As Beverly observes Harry observing her yard, she can’t help but feel confused. How is this man a friend of Robert’s? Harry’s t-shirt is stretched tight over his chest, not to mention how beefy and muscular his biceps are. His arms are also littered with tattoos.

It takes about twenty minutes for Harry to look around, take some measurements, and get a feel for the land.

“Alright, I can come back on Tuesday with some different mockups of what can be done back here. I can bring my portfolio too, so you can look at some of my past projects. Does Tuesday work for you, Mrs. Clark? I’m assuming you’ll be the one home.”

“Yes, the early afternoon works for me, Mr. Styles.”

“Perfect.” Robert clapped his hands. “H, come in for a bit. We can have a couple beers and catch up while Bev does her gardening out front.”

“Sounds good to me.” Harry nodded, and Robert started to make his way inside. For a split second, Harry tilted his sunglasses down to look at Beverly. “It was nice meeting, Mrs. Clark.” He winked and smirked before catching up with Robert.

Beverly felt her cheeks heat up. She turned and watched Harry walk into her home. Why did he wink at her like that? And why did it make her feel like she just got a B-12 shot?

She shook it off and made her way out front. Gardening will help her clear her head. She’s a married woman. A friend of Robert’s wouldn’t flirt with a married woman…would he?

#harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles y/n #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #harry styles x oc #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic rec #1963

[centrally-unplanned]

I love deconstructing 'lifestyle' articles like these, they are such a gold mine of biases and narrative formation by the chattering classes. Here we have a wonderful premise:

Now, Ms. Margo is living a dream of many American women who are seeking relationships abroad, some of whom cite the toxic dating scene in the United States

Well, no objection from me that the US has toxic dating norms. But, hm, idk, 'many women' - is this a true trend amoung the American Female? Lets see who this article features:

Ms. Margo fell in love with the city (and its men). She found a gig teaching English in Paris and moved there after she graduated from Sarah Lawrence College in May 2019.

Okay, not *that* crazy but I do think I know what kind of Sarah Lawrence grad gap years in Paris before her law degree;

For Cindy Sheahan...At the end of 2017, she quit her job and traveled throughout Southeast Asia for leisure, and she started using Tinder.

That isn't...most people can't list as their full time job "Dating in Thailand";

For Frantzces Lys...she started a podcast called “Chronicles Abroad” with her co-host, who had met Ms. Williams, 40, in Malaysia. In 2018, Ms. Lys interviewed Ms. Williams, the founder of a consultancy, and the two kept in touch. They started dating years later.

Oh yeah the extremely relatable situation of a podcast host and boutique consultancy founder travelling to Mayalsia!!

“When you decide to just live your life for yourself, you actually end up stumbling upon people that match your energy and the same ideals and values,” said Ms. Lys, a 42-year-old founder of a wellness company.

Oh a wellness company, who hasn't founded one of those!!! And a link to their company, wow thanks NYT, that was definitely gonna be my follow-up for Ms. Lys:

Cepee Tabibian, who moved to Madrid at 35 from Austin, Texas, felt similarly.

Okay that could be normal, what do she d-

In 2020, she met her partner, who is Spanish. Now, she is the founder of She Hit Refresh, a community that helps women over the age of 30 move to a different country.

Jesus fucking Christ none of these people are real. They are full-hog in the industry of packaging and selling their Life of Insight & Discovery for $500 an hour over zoom sessions to non profits hosting leadership seminars, their dating isn't dating its brand management. I don't doubt they authentically love their life but this, shockingly, is not a trend, is not a sample, is not ethnographic data, this is an ad buy by a sliver of globe-trotting wealthy woman masquerading as journalism.

Absolutely the only relatable person is:

Alexis Brown, for example, noticed a lack of “effort and intention” from the men she was dating in Atlanta, where she attended Spelman College.

When she traveled across Europe for vacation from October 2022 to January 2023, however, the people she dated made it clear that they wanted to spend time with her.

Who takes way more words than is necessary to tell me she had a polycule stretching from Paris to Prague during her study abroad, which, good for her, that is what study abroad is for. Shockingly, this is not a new development in the collegiate experience!

Buried amoung the branded bullshit is Alexis's real gem and the only true 'thesis' of the article:

“The dating culture in the U.S. is that it’s cool and normalized to be indifferent to someone and not really express how you genuinely feel,” Ms. Brown, 23, said.

Which is essentially that in Europe people will "express emotion" unlike the cold, busy America. I don't doubt this, but I would hope a writer at the NYT's could have slightly more social awareness; the 'reason' Americans do not "express emotion" is that if they did you would dump them right on their ass on the first date.

Someone telling you, to quote Ms Margo:

“This one guy was like, ‘I ran through traffic just to look into your eyes once, and if you don’t want to go on a date with me, I can die happy knowing that I just met you,’” said Ms. Margo, a 28-year-old English teacher from Los Angeles.

As an opening line is cringe and uncomfortable, because they do not know you. They are lying and you know they are lying, it is a horrible foundation for a long term relationship. American dating norms have been hammering this lesson home on every participant (but if we are being honest, its primarily women hammering this home on men) and it is probably right to do. Anyone who does this lacks credibility.

But when you are in ~*Paris*~, you don't care about their credibility, because you lack it yourself. You are on vacation, you have no future, just a sequential present. If the guy who tells you your eyes are his world turns out to be a clingy failson who requires at least a blowjob a day to keep his mood stable, you can just *get up and leave the country*, you cannot be trapped because nothing is keeping you there. By placing an ocean between yourself and your social standing you can radically change your standards.

And you know what, there is something to that! Maybe the 18-point-checklist you mentally process every Tinder swipe through as you plan out your dream wedding on Cape Cod to a status-swollen ghost in a Tom Ford speckle-gray blazer while on lunch break from your quant analysis job at a digital marketing start-up in Chelsea isn't the best baggage to bring into a first date! Through radically shifting your social context it might be possible to jar your brain out of what is holding it back. Its not what you found in Paris, but what you left behind in America, that could actually make a difference... and that reality could give this article some heft.

But then say that instead of trying to sell me on the idea that:

For Ms. Margo, a Black woman who attended predominantly white institutions throughout her school years, she felt ignored in the United States, as if she “was not an option,” she said. In Paris she felt seen.

France is less racist than the campus of Sarah Fucking Lawrence against black people. No wonder the humanities are dying if they are teaching this level of self awareness.

#haven't stretched that Last Psychiatrist muscle in a while - good times #mini-essay

[la-merlaison]

Louis XIII and his cooking adventures 🍴🥞

When it comes to our Louis XIII cult, I often refer to the king's iconic omelettes, but what about his other stuff? For example, he really loved sweets (like beignets or jams), but could he also cook them? The answer is YES, and that's not even all yet!

Louis was a curious child who's head was already filled with various interests and cooking became one of them when he was only ten years old at the time (which is quite unusual for a king). First ever case of the king cooking was recorded on february 11th of 1611, when he was preparing milk soups for the Duchess of Guise / Catherine of Cleves. So milk soup, most likely, could be Louis' very first dish made by himself!

Of course many kids have a sweet tooth and our precious omelette king was not an exception which I guess is why he started to learn how to cook mostly from recipes of sweets. Also, take a shot every time I say "sweets" or "cooking" (don't..) 🕊️

So, among 17th century royal sw- *ahem* DESSERTS we had in our menu – a jam, quince jelly, beignets (basically french donuts) and marzipans. In a well-known, among many of y'all Louis stalkers, journal of his doctor Jean Héroard I found some clear evidence of Louis XIII cooking some of these himself, so here it is feat. me periodically panicking over my own translation because my half-french friend is too busy atm and I don’t wanna bother them:

June 6th, 1611 — «He walks through the corridor from the study to the paneled gallery where he had an oven for making jams, he is amused to see how it's done.» I know it's not exactly him cooking, but I just wanted to leave it here :")

October 15th, 1612 — «Madame comes to see him; he has fun making jam with Mademoiselle de Vendôme»

January 29th, 1613 — «He often has fun making almond milk and marzipans at Madame's house.»

March 6th, 1615 — «It was very cold; he goes to the kitchen, makes omelettes, beignets, fried eggs; it was he who made them and ate a little of that he tasted.» Pretty sure the last few words could be translated better because it's always rather my terrible french or a little confusing way of Héroard's writing, so feel free to correct me.

February 3rd, 1616 — «He is preparing a small snack of dry jam for the queen, who must come to him at two o'clock. After going back to bed, he happily forms various battalions of his little silver men.»

February 5th, 1622 — «He leaves Saint-Germain, goes to Pontoise, where he enjoys making and eating beignets; while dining at Cormeille, he suddenly goes to the goblet in which he makes little cream puffs.» The original text says «petits choux au lait» and I have no idea what could that exactly be, but it seems like some sort of little éclair-like buns made of milk? Little cream puffs?? Maybe by «choux au lait» Jean meant «choux à la crème» which were invented back in 1540 in France.

I know you've been waiting for the quince jelly too, but unfortunately I couldn't find anything about the jelly :c Though, judging by what we've got here It's still quite possible Louis could cook quince jelly as well, hmm... Anyways, if you know something I don't know of the jelly mystery, hit me up!

In the future, this great love for desserts will be inherited by his son Philippe I, Duke of Orléans (brother of Louis XIV), who is also a very interesting character in history!!

In conclusion I must say that Louis not only had a sweet tooth, but also a big love for trying out different things, all this curiosity and pure excitement, even when it comes to something so simple and familiar like food, will never ever stop to fascinate me :"D

Btw speaking about Louis 'trying out different things', I of course still have a lot to share on this as well! Stay tuned and have a good day/night 💘💘💘

#I can't believe I wasted more time on the picture than the post itself #But at least now I can go make more Louis content :“”D #In my next post I will most likely cover something that is not food because he had A LOT of other talents obviously hahahaah #Honestly I could talk about him 24/7.... I just can't always be online to flood you with all this :“( #17th century #louis xiii #history of food #louis xiii le juste #king louis xiii

[fallout-lou-begas]

lou/ikroah updates

spending a lot of time with my girlfriend including softball games on sundays

meeting up with other lovers on occasion

watching wrestling mostly every week with andy

running a tournament blog on a whim (@fnvminorcharacterpoll!)

getting back on my elden ring bullshit bigtime mostly by doing a taunter's tongue playthrough with friends of mine over discord voice chat and all of us hooting and hollering as they try to chase and kill me

getting back on my video editing bullshit bigtime because i've got a youtube channel mostly for elden ring stuff (check it out!)

journaling privately and extensively every day (this is why i don't make as many personal posts anymore lol)

going on a trip out of state with my girlfriend this weekend

planning a different trip out of state with a few friends for about a week next month

turning 28 in two weeks

recovering from strep throat

I don't usually feel like making posts like "sorry for not updating @ikroah lately!" and it still blows my fucking mind that when I first started that comic back in 2020 (it turns three years old soon...) I was pushing myself to make a new issue every two weeks. But @ikroah definitely went on hiatus when, one month after the previous issue was published in January, I got extremely divorced and that fucked my whole shit up for a while on every level of my life, including a creative level. That also led to a genuinely beautiful and almost unbelievably positive and serendipitous new lease on life for me, but this lease has made me more socially and personally busy than ever, which means less time to draw despite how rewarding my life has felt otherwise. And then on top of that I've also been on a "do whatever I want, whenever I want" kind of mindset lately where I'm flitting between various hobbies and interests kind of sporadically and hedonistically which has also been really wonderful but isn't making me put pencil to paper. there are two wolves inside me, one wants to Work On The Comic so I can have something complete and long awaited to finally show around but the other one thinks it's no big deal if I'm occupying myself with X or Y or Z other rewarding fun thing instead. you know how it is.

thank you all for hanging in there on @ikroah's current active cliff-hanger, I know better than to make promises about when a hiatus is ending but I miss agnes and I do wanna draw more/again and I'll probably get back on that bullshit with intent once I'm back from my weekend trip. ciao ilu mwah

#louposting #ikroah meta

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Desmoulins was the most famous journalists in the history of the French Revolution, and despite the intense competition (Hebért and Marat), Desmoulins remained at the top of his profession because of his writing talent, and the newspaper "Le Vieux Cordelier" was his masterpiece..but Did Desmoulins have competitors and enemies? (apart from his famous problem with the Committee and with Robespierre) Was there really someone who wanted to overthrow him for one reason or another? Was anyone else strongly opposed to his views other than the committee? If so, who is it ? And was this opposition one of the reasons that ultimately implicated him and led him to the end of his path in life? And who was really his opponent? (if he existed)

Throughout his career as a journalist, Desmoulins came to release four different papers — Révolutions de France et de Brabant (86 numbers released between November 1789-August 1791), La Tribune des Patriotes (4 numbers released between April-May 1792), Révolutions de France et de Brabant: Second partie (October-December 1792) and finally Le Vieux Cordelier (six numbers+one unfinished released between December 1793-January 1794).

The first one of the papers — Révolutions de France et de Brabant — saw the light of day on November 28 1789, three months after freedom of the press had been declared by the National Assembly via the Declaration of Man and of the Citizen. According to Press in the French Revolution (1971) by John Gilchrist, as many as 250 new newspapers appeared between July and December 1789, of which the majority were friendly to revolution. It goes in other words without saying that the competition to get people to listen to what exactly you had to say was big. Camille and like-minded journalists did however not turn against one another in an attempt to take subscribers for themselves, instead they viewed each other as collegues and brothers in arms that fought (or I guess wrote) side by side for their principles. Throughout Révolutions de France et de Brabant you can find Camille giving shout-outs and republishing parts from a multitude of other likeminded journalists (try searching for the names of the authors within the digitalized journals and you’ll see), most frequently l’Ami du peuple by Marat, Orateur du peuple by Fréron, Le Patriote Français by Brissot, Annales Patriotiques by Mercier and Carra, Révolutions de Paris by Prudhomme and Courrier de Provence by Mirabeau. Many of these journalists were also not only brothers in arms but personal friends, as can be seen through for example Camille telling his father that ”my two collegues Brissot and Mercier, the elite among the journalists” had been among his wedding witnesses, this letter from Fréron to Camille telling him to publish a letter of his in the next number of Révolutions de France et de Brabant and this letter from Mirabeau to Camille. While from time to time they disagreed and called each other out on certain topics, it was not until they started to really devide on a political level that their relationships completely fell apart (see for example Brissot and Desmoulins).

If rivarly between like-minded journalists was something it would appear never really was a problem, Camille still had to bear with attacks/slander from journalists who disagreed with him, his loved ones being caught up in the crossfire, as well as straight up murder threats. Some of examples of this can be seen below:

M. Desmoulins, after having done so much for his glory, thought he could think of his honor, and he resolved to marry. He was sure to create the happiness of the one he would choose for his company, and out of respect for the blood of his masters, he wanted to give preference to one of the aunts of his king. This project is worthy of the highest praise. By allying himself with the royal family, he wanted to give himself a defender, and conform to the decrees of the assembly, which says in its declaration of the rights of man: All men are equal in rights. According to this principle, M. Desmoulins believed as much as anyone else that he had rights over Madame Adélaïde, and he sought to assert them. The journal Chronique du Manège mocking Camille in an article titled Faits et Gestes de Sieur Camille Desmoulins (1791)

Yet I am still writing, someone will tell me. Yes, but I learn that on Tuesday evening, until midnight, four assassins were waiting for me, Danton and the Orator of the People (Fréron); the next day at the Palais-Royal, for having replied to people who had provoked me with insulting words, that I returned his contempt to Lafayette, I saw myself surrounded by aposted rascals who showed me their fists in the midst of patriots in silence, and awaited only the slightest defensive movement on my part to reply with daggers to my accusations against Lafayette. On Easter day in the middle of noon, aide-de-camp Parisot had knocked out Carra, in the presence of a patrol of 12 grenadiers from his section who did not say a word. […] On the evening of the 18th, in an infinitely large crowd of snitches and satellites of Mottier, a motion was made to hang us, Audouin, Fréron, Marat, Prudhomme, me, and all the writers who did not bend the knee before the idol.  Camille in number 75 of Révolutions de France et de Brabant (May 2 1791)

I left the de Vaufleury's literature cabinet with my veni mecum, that is to say, with a sturdy cane and pistols, as inseparable from the journalist as the king is from the National Assembly, and which are our veto. The same bookstore clerk who told me fifteen days ago that M. Lafayette despises me too much to try to assassinate me, dissatisfied with the account I had given of the conversation in my number 74, followed me with the number in his hand, and, pointing to the article, asked me if I recognized it. I replied that there was the law and the courts, if he thought he had cause to complain. Then the fellow gave me the customary compliments of these gentlemen in such a meeting, that I was a rascal, etc. etc that he would like to meet me in a suitable place, that he would do his best to cut my throat; that if we were only outside the Palais-Royal, he would knock me out, that he feared neither my pistols nor my cane; and to prove it to me, he finished his harangue by hitting me in the face with the number as hard as he could. I had endured insults as did Pericles, Cicero, and many other great personages who were well worth me, and who were not lacking in heart, as they showed in stronger circumstances; but feeling myself colaphised with my works, I could not stand it; I remembered the beautiful exclamation of Demosthenes, apropos of the slap given to him by Midas, being slapped on the cheek, slapped in a public place, slapped in the presence of the Athenians who had honored him with their suffrages, etc. I looked with pity, not on this Midas, but on the Midas in front of me, who only had my number in his hand, and I admired his audacity to hit me with a patriotic paper, in the same place where I had first called to arms, where I had first taken the cockade. I could, I told him, blow your brains out, but at the same time I thought that, thanks to the revolution, a citizen was no longer obliged to go and get himself killed at Kevrein, by the first rascal who had insulted him. I reflected that a blow with the cane would suffice to repair the injury, and as a form of retaliation, I applied weight and measure to his shoulders. My assailant went back to insult ​​and provoke me. I answered that I was not unaware that for the past two years, I have been crossing a forest where I am exposed; that consequently I was always provided with the precautions which a traveler should take against assassins; but that I did not accept their appointment. Camille in number 77 (May 16 1791) of Révolutions de France et de Brabant 

What a terrible quarrel I had the other day with Jean-Paul Marat about a misprint, having written l’apostat in place of l’apostolate! In spite of these disagreements, to which an incorrect impression exposes me, seeing a wife as interesting as mine be the butt of the most atrocious defamation for having attached herself to my fate; to the extent she cannot go for a walk in public with her mother without being told: what a pity that this pretty woman belongs to a hanged man? Camille in number 78 (May 23) of Révolutions de France et de Brabant

So Desmoulins sure had enemies (I mean, you could basically say that about anyone who has ever chosen to make his political opinions known to the public, now as then). However, it’s hard for me to get an impression regarding if he was more hated (or loved for that matter) than any other successful journalist of the time, conservative or radical alike.

The second of Camille’s papers, La Tribune des Patriotes, was co-founded with his friend and fellow journalist Stanislas Fréron. However, it only ran for a month before it had to shut down, making it hard to say if it gathered any particular enemy. The same thing goes for the fourth paper Révolutions de France et de Brabant: second partie that ran for only two months and is so unknown it hasn’t even been digitalised yet.

For the fourth and final paper, Le Vieux Cordelier, you’re right in that it ended up making Camille unpopular with the Committee of Public Safety. However, what is often not underlined as much is that he started the journal very much in support of the committee (I mean, he even got Robespierre — more or less the figurehead of it — to proofread his first two numbers before sending them to the printer). If he in later numbers would deplore of some of the things currently going on and bring forward new ideas, his goal was never to overthrow the committee or even change its direction in a particulary radical way.

A bigger enemy was Jacques René Hébert, and it was to conbat him and his ”ultra-revolutionaries” that Desmoulins started the journal and Robespierre helped him with the first issues. After it got going, Hébert denounced Desmoulins three times at the Convention and/or Jacobins (December 21,  31 and January 5), three times in his journal Père Dushesne (number 328, 330, 332) and even in an entire pampleth — J. R Hébert, auteur du Père Duchesne, à Camille Desmoulins et compagnie, always with some variation of Camille being a moderate who was after him. That’s way more than the total of four times Camille was denounced by a CPS member due to his journal (Collot d’Herbois on December 23and January 5, Barère on December 26 and Robespierre on January 7) and in all those cases, the speaker was still trying to see in him a man of good faith. Hébert was not the only person to hold these opinions regarding Camille, but he was the most outspoken. Camille was not late to answer his attack and the Vieux Cordelier and the Père Dushesne were often compared and pinned against each other during the short lifespan of the former. In that way Hébert might be the closest Camille had to a ”nemesis” if I may use such a silly term — which it’s why it’s so ironic that they were both executed within less than a two week gap anyway, while their widows became friends while in prison and the last thing they did before being executed was hug each other. 

I don’t know if I would say Hébert was responsible for Desmoulins’ demise, but I suppose the increasing bickering between the two contributed to the CPS decision to just eliminate both of them.

#camille desmoulins #desmoulins #hébert #i wish camille being slapped in the face with a paper was a more famous image… #ask

[blueberry-lemon]

[lmfao i realized after posting this that, visually, this accidentally looks like some sort of ad or blazed post on the dashboard. im so sorry hahaha] I've always wanted to keep a journal.

In high school, I was really into reading journal comics (they're still one of my favorite genres of comic by far), and started drawing one myself. I drew a comic once a day, every day, for all of 10th grade and kept it in a binder to show friends at school.

I did scattered little journal comics after that, just a strip here and there. Then, in college, I had a storyboarding professor who had us draw on an index card on each day of class to mark how we're feeling. Inspired by that, my roommate and I drew a post-it of what we did each day and stuck it on the wall for two semesters. In other words, 1-panel daily journal comics.

I like journaling because it helps put the good days and bad days into wider perspective. Even the deepest pits of anxiety or sadness are eventually faded away and joined by really happy and mundane days.

Since then, I've tried a Hobonichi Planner. I've tried poems on Cohost. I always fall off. I've tried the Daylio App and Notion. I feel too guilty and embarrassed once I've missed too many days.

Then I heard about "5-Year Journals."

Each page is a day, for example "January 5th." No days-of-the-week listed. It's split into 5 sections, for different years. You write in it each day. Then when the year comes around, you keep using the same journal, writing underneath your previous year's entry.

This really appealed to me for two reasons.

It won't be a huge deal if I miss a day, or a week, or a whole month. I won't feel guilty because it doesn't really matter. It's not putting the book to waste, there's no day-of-the-week listed to make the page feel obsolete the year after, and I'll just get those days I missed when I come back around in 2025 or 2026. So even if certain years have gaps, each page will eventually have something.

It'll be fun to read the entries from previous years as I keep going, and see how I've changed.

So far I'm having a good time! I recommend them. Brand-wise I got a Levenger although I'm sure there are cheaper versions. Or just do it in a spiral notebook, who cares? With my handwriting I can fit like 4 or 5 sentences per entry. The fact that I'm not posting them publicly, or drawing anything, will probably help me.

#journal #journaling #5-year journal #diary #blogofkylelab

[handeaux]

Cincinnati Barbers Of Old: Shave And A Haircut, Plus Dentistry, Surgery & Leeches

There are not many old-time barbers left in Cincinnati, probably none at all. Before you start pointing out some venerable tonsorial establishment boasting a marble counter, leather chairs, a stack of vintage magazines and a painted barber pole out front, ask just one question: Is there a jar of leeches in the front window?

Back in the day, your barber did a heck of a lot more than shaves and haircuts. Barber shops were very much like urgent care centers. The inimitable Edwin Henderson, who wrote under the penname “Conteur,” described [Enquirer, 10 July 1919] the experience of a German immigrant barber named Peter Muschler:

“In those days, many of the white barbers cupped and leeched and pulled teeth in addition to shaving and hair dressing. Muschler used as many as 6,000 leeches in a year. For several years after their arrival the broils of rival fire companies of the old schools of volunteers and of the contending factions of the ‘Brighton,’ ‘Mohawk’ and ‘Texas’ districts, and the use of fists generally in all sorts of personal differences were so frequent that leeches were in general demand all over the city.”

A generation raised on the belief that the best cure for a black eye is a bag of frozen peas probably can’t understand that paragraph. To clarify: Leeches were applied to black eyes and other bruises to drain the accumulated blood and to reduce swelling. Cupping, popular today as an alternative therapy, was practiced by barbers as a cure for fevers and general aches and pains. Minor surgical tasks such as these provided solid income at a time when, as the old knocking rhyme has it, a shave and a haircut cost two bits, or just twenty-five cents. An old-time barber told the Enquirer [19 August 1900]:

“The revenue derived from this work also provided quite a substantial amount in our pockets at the end of each week during those days. I remember that frequently I made not less than $25 cupping, bleeding and leeching while the proceeds from teeth extracted also provided a nice little sum.”

Conteur reports that barber Peter Muschler also did a fair amount of tooth pulling. When Muschler moved his shop in 1865, he disposed of a peck (about two gallons) of extracted teeth by tossing them into the furnace.

So closely were barbers associated with surgery that, according to the Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine [October 2001], it was Henry VIII of England who in 1540 recognized the Worshipful Company of Barbers and Surgeons, affirming the right of barbers to perform bloodletting and tooth extraction, while prohibiting surgeons from cutting hair or trimming beards.

Of course, dealing with rowdy patients fresh from barroom brawls must have tried the patience of many a barber, no matter how royally worshipped. A Cincinnati barber named Christopher Eberle discovered this one fateful night. According to the Cincinnati Gazette [25 January 1879]:

“Wm. Nielis, a hostler living on Boal street, and James Toale, living at 434 Sycamore street, came into Dr. C.C. Eberle’s barber shop, No. 388 Broadway, about 9 o’clock last night. Toale was in a pitiable condition. Both of his eyes were closed, his face cut up and bloody, and his lips swollen so big as to prevent the man from speaking. They asked for some leeches, but when Eberle asked for his pay the couple assaulted him and made trouble all around. Eberle called in the police, who took the men to the Bremen Street Station. They fought the officers all the way to the lockup. The charges against the men are disorderly conduct, personal violence, and assault and battery.”

The connection between barbering and blood is memorialized in the traditional barber pole with its red, white and blue stripes. According to lore, the red symbolizes arteries and the blue represent veins, while the white indicates skin. It’s more likely that the stripes are a sanitized version of the ancient barber signs that showed a realistically bleeding arm. Some really old barber signs were topped by a golden bowl of the type once sued to collect blood.

Eventually, barbers got out of the surgical line. The Cincinnati Post [1 December 1927] reported on an emergency appeal for leeches to save the life of a sleeping-sickness victim in Somerville, Ohio. The physician treating the patient believed that applying leeches would keep the patient’s blood circulating until the effects of the disease had subsided. Boy Scouts in Cincinnati took up the cause and sloshed through every creek and river around the city in a fruitless quest for blood-sucking annelids. Having exhausted the natural habitats of the creatures, the scouts turned to their urban haunts.

“In Cincinnati Scouts scoured local drug stores for leeches. Late Saturday ‘ran down’ some in a small downtown barber shop, where they were kept as reminiscences of the old days when barbers also were physicians, and are still used occasionally for blackened eyes. The leeches were sent by special delivery to Somerville.”

The patient’s condition improved remarkably.

Some barbers extended their services into less bloody ministrations, according to William C. Smith in his delightful 1959 memoir, “Queen City Yesterdays”:

“Barber shops of the better class provided another service in addition to their regular vocation of shaving and haircutting. These shops displayed signs in the window reading ‘Baths Twenty-five Cents.’ The regular price for shaving was fifteen cents; for hair cutting, twenty-five cents; and tips were unknown.”

There were certainly a lot of barbers in old Cincinnati. An article in The Penny Paper (later to be known as the Cincinnati Post) [5 July 1882] provided a census broken down by the ancestry of each proprietor. According to that article, Cincinnati had 1,000 barbers, of which 795 were of German extraction, 91 were African American, 50 were Irish, 46 were “Americans by blood and birth,” five English, four Jews, four Italians, three Scots, and two Frenchmen. The city population that year was just over 225,000.

Some of these tonsorial practitioners were very curious indeed. An old-timer told the Penny Paper that he knew of an excellent barber who was totally blind but had learned his trade as his sight was failing and was renowned for his skill. There was a one-armed barber working in Covington who also had a sterling reputation.

#cincinnati barbers #barber surgeons #leeches

[shiftingpath]

Exalted Secret Santa, 14th Edition

Hello again, all!

Apologies for starting a little late this year; things piled up unexpectedly. However thanks to feedback from last year, you’ll have some extra time and a later due date, so I hope that’ll help make up for it. So let’s get going with our official welcome. If you are an artist and Exalted fan, here’s what you’ll need to participate in this year’s exchange:

1) A working tumblr account. RSVP to me in an ask, message, reply to this post, confirmation in the reblog tags, etc. so I will know to add you to the list. If you submit under a new handle but have participated before, or if your tumblr name has changed, please note the name of the account you will be posting with for the exchange. I like to make sure repeat participants get different assignments and gifts every year; if you have changed names please just remind me a little, so I can update the giant excel sheet of secret santas past make sure you get a new partner.

2) Post a journal to tumblr by December 10th with the descriptions of the character you would like drawn. Include two or three if you have them, to give the person drawing for you more options. Please provide all the physical and relevant details needed to draw the character, and provide a reference picture if at all possible. (A piece of your own art, a commission, a play-by picture, etc.)

Also, if you have any strong aversions or phobias that might be important for a stranger drawing your character, please note that in the journal. (For example: “Silent Vortex of the Storm’s left eye is brilliant white-blue like her anima, but her right eye is lost and that side of her face scarred badly. She always wears her eyepatch and a close-fitting hood. (I’d prefer not to see any graphic eye trauma.)”

Just try to make it as easy as possible for your gifter to draw your character!

Tag your journal with #exalted or #exalted secret santa so I can find it (or message me with a link). Once all the journals are up, I’ll make a post compiling the links to them all so they’re easy to find. I will also send you a message through asks or messages with the name of the person you are assigned to draw for. Please try to get your journal up by the 10th so your gifter will have plenty of time to draw for you.

2) Check your messages or ask box for your assignment.

I will have this to you on December 11th if at all possible. Let me know if you’re planning to be unavailable for any major length of time just in case I need to get ahold of you for further details. If you have an emergency and cannot finish the trade in time (for example, your tablet or scanner breaks), let me know asap so I can arrange a replacement. Thank you!

3) Submit a piece of finished artwork by January 15th. Thanks to those of you who provided feedback last year; as a result I’ve extended the due date. Hopefully those of you who are busiest during the holiday season can use the extra time after New Years to help get your submission finished! 

Please tag your submission with the secret santa tag and your giftee’s name if you wish, or I can notify them once it’s up. When all the gifts are posted, I’ll compile them into a single post so we can all get a good look at them.

Let me know by December 10th and I will have your assignments to you within 24 hours if at all possible. Feel free to message me at any time with any questions.

Sorry, I do not accept writing or mechanics submissions for this Secret Santa (though you are welcome to accompany your picture with some text, and of course welcome to host a writing exchange of your own!)

Happy Calibration,

-Path.

#exalted #exalted secret santa

[darielivalyen]

PROGRESS UPDATE

I'm back with a bit of a progress update. I know I've been rather quiet in the last few weeks, especially if you exclude answering asks, and there were two reasons for that. First, I didn't have any big news for you, as I'm still working on Chapter 2, and second, I had a dry week last week, and I didn't make much progress in terms of adding actual words to the game. (5k instead of 10k)

The total word count for The Elder Crystals is about 64.000 words, but you can add another 3000 if you count the journal.

CHAPTER 2 CHANGES & STRUCTURE

When it comes to structure, Chapter 2 will be much wider than the first one, and you will get two sequences of slots that will lead you to a couple of mandatory scenes, which will then lead you to the end of the chapter. In practice, it will look like this:

You get a scene with Grandma Telana and Astra/Asteria.

You have a day and four empty slots, and you can choose what you want to do with these slots. Each slot leads to a different scene, and these are already available in the alpha build. There are ten possible scenes. This is also where you unlock crafting skills.

The day ends, and the next two days remove a certain restriction that was put in place for the previous sequence.

Another sequence takes place, and you get two days with two slots per day. These slots lead to longer scenes that might lead to side quests, which can then lead to the first romance scenes.

The first romance scenes for N, A, C, and D, happen in these slots. (If you miss the scene with your chosen LI, you will still be able to start a romance later.)

One of the side quests will let you use magic for the first time.

After these four slots, there will be a scene that will introduce a new love interest and that scene will lead to another scene that will close the chapter and set the stage for Chapter 3.

When it comes to other changes, the update will include more racial interactions. Ciriennian Elves had plenty in Chapter 1, but I recently added some for the Crystal Elves and the Unliving. Also extra bits for the Sunborn. There will be more!

PATREON UPDATE

Currently, the alpha build includes the first portion of Chapter 2, and that means the first scene with Grandma Telana, the first sequence, and the first slot that leads to a side quest and an optional romance scene with Darion/Daria.

The second slot with another side quest and a romance scene for N will be added next week.

There's also some extra content.

There are lore posts about dragons, love interests, magic, and winter festivals on Sekherion, there's a childhood flashback for Cerien/ina, and there's also a post about plans and goals for TEC.

CHAPTER 2 DEMO UPDATE

I should be able to reach about 40-45% of Chapter 2 in December, and that means I might be able to finish it around the third week of January. If that's the case, the update for the demo will come near the end of the month.

Happy Holidays!

FORUM | DEMO | TUMBLR | PINTEREST | PATREON

#The Elder Crystals #TEC #Progress Update

[tortured-gaylor]

from the journal of ava: so long, london notes

the intro reminds me of church bells

wedding bells?

regardless, i want it on repeat forever

i saw in my mind fairy lights through the mist

links back to lover: "we can leave the christmas lights up till january"

the choice of british language (fairy lights) is interesting

i stopped trying to make him laugh

links back to mirrorball: "i'm still trying everything to keep you laughing at me"

i stopped cpr, after all, it's no use

links back to you're losing me: "i can't find a pulse, my heart won't start anymore for you"

the relationship is truly dead with no chance of revival

she might've had hope for better days for a long time, but eventually realised trying to keep it alive would not mean it'd go back to how it was, like how people who've been in comas sometimes come back paralysed or the like

i'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free

links back to would've, could've, should've: "give me back my girlhood, it was mine first"

while likely about different muses or different times in her life, the theme of her youth being stolen by her lovers comes back

is it because it's not real? her young years stolen away by time wasted on fake love or love that doesn't last?

stiches undone

links back to glitch: "five seconds later i'm fastening myself with a stitch"

two graves, one gun

murder-suicide?

two graves imply they didn't end up together, as lovers are often buried together

and you say i abandoned the ship, but i was going down with it my white knuckle grip holding tight to your quiet resentment

links back to this love: "in losing grip on sinking ships"

links back to evermore: "and when i was shipwrecked, i thought of you"

you swore that you loved me, but where were the clues?

links back to exile: "i gave so many signs"

i died on the altar waiting for proof

links back to false god: "the altar is my hips"

once again, we have the religious imagery

seems to allude to a wedding, but she's on the altar rather than in front of it, meaning she's a sacrifice

and i'm just getting color back in my face

links back to you're losing me: "my face was gray but you wouldn't admit that we were sick"

we had a good run but i'm not the one

links back to the 1: "it would've been fun if you would've been the one"

#so long london #the tortured poets department #ttpd #taylor swift

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Doomed pair of supermassive black holes the closest to collision ever seen Astronomers have spotted two ghostly Goliaths en route to a cataclysmic meeting. The newfound pair of supermassive black holes are the closest to colliding ever seen, the astronomers announced on January 9 at an American Astronomical Society meeting in Seattle and in a paper published in The Astrophysical Journal Letters. While close together in cosmological terms at just 750 light-years apart, the supermassive black holes won’t merge for a few hundred million years. In the meantime, the astronomers’ discovery provides a better estimate of how many supermassive black holes are also nearing collision in the universe. That improved head count will aid scientists in listening for the universe-wide chorus of intense ripples in space-time known as gravitational waves, the largest of which are products of supermassive black holes close to collision in the aftermath of galaxy mergers. Detecting that gravitational-wave background will improve estimates of how many galaxies have collided and merged in the universe’s history. The short distance between the newly discovered black holes “is fairly close to the limit of what we can detect, which is why this is so exciting,” says study co-author Chiara Mingarelli, an associate research scientist at the Flatiron Institute’s Center for Computational Astrophysics in New York City. Due to the small separation between the black holes, the astronomers could only differentiate between the two objects by combining many observations from seven telescopes, including NASA’s Hubble Space Telescope. (Although supermassive black holes aren’t directly visible through an optical telescope, they are surrounded by bright bunches of luminous stars and warm gas drawn in by their gravitational pull.) The astronomers found the pair quickly once they started looking, which means that close-together supermassive black holes “are probably more common than we think, given that we found these two and we didn’t have to look very far to find them,” Mingarelli says. The newly identified supermassive black holes inhabit a mash-up of two galaxies that collided around 480 million light-years away from Earth. Gargantuan black holes live in the heart of most galaxies, growing bigger by gobbling up surrounding gas, dust, stars and even other black holes. The two supermassive black holes identified in this study are true heavyweights: They clock in at 200 million and 125 million times the mass of our sun. The black holes met as their host galaxies smashed into each other. Eventually they will begin circling each other, with the orbit tightening as gas and stars pass between the two black holes and steal orbital energy. Ultimately the black holes will start producing gravitational waves far stronger than any that have previously been detected, before crashing into each other to form one jumbo-size black hole. Prior observations of the merging galaxies saw only a single supermassive black hole: Because the two objects are so close together, scientists couldn’t definitively tell them apart using a single telescope. The new survey, led by Michael J. Koss of Eureka Scientific in Oakland, California, combined 12 observations made on seven telescopes on Earth and in orbit. Although no single observation was enough to confirm their existence, the combined data conclusively revealed two distinct black holes. “It’s important that with all these different images, you get the same story — that there are two black holes,” says Mingarelli, when comparing this new multi-observation research with previous efforts. “This is where other studies [of close-proximity supermassive black holes] have fallen down in the past. When people followed them up, it turned out that there was just one black hole. [This time we] have many observations, all in agreement.” She and Flatiron Institute visiting scientist Andrew Casey-Clyde used the new observations to estimate the universe’s population of merging supermassive black holes, finding that it “may be surprisingly high,” Mingarelli says. They predict that an abundance of supermassive black-hole pairs exists, generating a major amount of ultra-strong gravitational waves. All that clamor should result in a loud gravitational-wave background far easier to detect than if the population were smaller. The first ever detection of the background babble of gravitational waves, therefore, may come “very soon,” Mingarelli says. TOP IMAGE....This artist’s conception shows a late-stage galaxy merger and its two newly-discovered central black holes. The binary black holes are the closest together ever observed in multiple wavelengths. CREDIT ALMA (ESO/NAOJ/NRAO); M. Weiss, NRAO/AUI/NSF LOWER IMAGE....Telescope observations of two newly discovered supermassive black holes on a collision course. Their host galaxy, left, is a mash-up of two galaxies that have collided. The pink box shows the location of the supermassive black holes. Close observation of the pair, right, reveals two distinct black holes (white spots) only 750 light-years apart. CREDIT M.J. Koss et al.

#space #science #Astronomy #physics #news #black holes

[hoe4destiel]

Who Pissed In Your Lucky Charms?

Word count: 1.1k 

Overall Warnings: John being a neglectant POS dad, Strong language, graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions of injuries, eventual smut.

Chapter Warnings: Strong language, mentions of violence, if you squint some of it can be read as homophobic, descriptions of injuries, and John being a neglectant POS dad.

Pairings, Dean Winchester x Fem!reader, Sam Winchester x Platonic!Reader, slight Sam Winchester x Jess (Mentioned) And John being a sad, lonely, dick wad that can’t get any.

Plot summary: Exhibit A of How Dean Winchester Was Royally Fucked Up By John Winchester.

A/N: I co-wrote the most part of this with @hoe-for-fictional-men, and she posted it on her blog as well!

My world ended on Dean Winchester's 17th birthday. See, instead of having a normal birthday, he went on his first solo hunt. On January 24, the day after my own birthday, his dad told him that it was time, that he was old enough, and mature enough to do it without him there.      

That was bull. 

I knew that.

Dean knew that, but he still went. 

When he came back, he was a different person. His green eyes no longer sparkled when he heard a classic rock song, and his smile that was once brighter than the sun became a shadow of its former self.

The only time he seemed like his old self was when he was with Sammy. I think that he reminds Dean of when he was that naive. When Sam was younger, Dean would take care of him while their dad went to hunt Yellow Eyes. 

I think that Dean spent more time raising Sam than John ever did. I remember one time, Sammy wanted a few books, but John was too busy to notice or remember.

 That night, Dean snuck out, and went to a pool hall. He played all night so that he could have enough money to buy those three books. 

The next morning, everyone was startled awake at 6:00 by a loud scream from Saean, Dad, and I came sprinting, expecting some form of monster to be attacking.  John didn’t give an fuck, and stayed in bed. Obviously sleep is more important than his son possibly being in danger.

Instead of a threat, there was a stack of books, sitting on the table, encased in Scooby Doo wrapping paper.

I wonder what that was like for him, having that pressure on him 24/7. I know what he told me, and I know what it was like when my Dad went to help Bobby and I had to take care of my siblings. 

Sometimes, my dad would have us stay with Dean and Sammy while helping John hunt Yellow eyes.  Then I could see what the life of a hunter’s boy was really like. 

On paper it sounds like one huge adventure, where it’s nothin’ but a good time,and you never know where you will wake up. But in reality it was the worst torture that you could condemn a child to.

Where each night was a new motel bed, and your only true home was a 1967 Chevy Impala. Never knowing if your family would come back, or if they would be on the 12:00 news. 

I always thought that hunters were noble people that could do no wrong, but on January 17, I was proved wrong. 

I thought that there was another reason for Dean going on his first hunt on his own, and I was right. 

⚡Flashback⚡

See, tonight John was lazy. He left his journal out, and I was gonna be nice and put it by his bed, so he wouldn’t lose it. But, when I was walking, I didn’t have a very good grip on the leather, and it slipped.

John has a lot of bookmarks, but he had today marked with a thick envelope. When I dropped it, it opened.

I couldn’t help it, and started to read. 

Dean turns seventeen today. We went shooting. Then I sent him out on his first hunt. I've let him take the lead before, but I was always there to back him up. This time he’s on his own. Partly it’s a test, and partly I wanted to spend some time with sammy. Should be no problem for dean. Ghosts of two nuns haunting st. Stephens Indian mission in riverton, wyoming. Simple salt-and-burn mission. Nuns in love with each other, then were discovered. Killed themselves. We scoped the situation out, figured that something must be left behind thats now a focus for the haunting. Bible, rosary beads, some small article that’s hidden somewhere in their room. I figured that dean would be fine, but I still stayed close with sammy.

That worthless little-! How could he? I understand wanting to spend more time with your other child, and yes, that's good. BUT NOT ON HIS BIRTHDAY!!!! 

Is it a good thing that he is trusted to go on hunts by himself? Yes. Is it a good thing to have to go kill dead people on his birthday, on his own for the first time, SO THAT YOU CAN SPEND MORE TIME WITH YOUR OTHER SON??? Not OK.

I power walked over to where John's bed was and said, “WAKE THE FUCKITY UPPITY SWEETHEART!” 

He bolted upright, a silver blade in one hand, a gun loaded with witch killing bullets in the other. 

John spotted me and lowered the weapons, letting out a sigh of relief. “Jesus Christ kid, are you trying to give me a heart attack? Holy shit.” 

He looked at my face and said, “Damn, who pissed in your lucky charms?”

Glaring at him, I made an attempt to lower my voice so that I wouldn’t wake Sam up,“Why in the name of Hell would you do that shit to Dean? Today of all days?” 

He looked like a kid that got caught stealing a cookie, but still tried to play dumb. 

“What are ya talkin’ about? Is Dean OK?” 

ARE YOU- Stopping myself from screaming at him, I whisper hissed, “John Eric Winchester, do NOT pretend like you don’t know exactly what you did.” 

If looks could kill, we would both be dead.

John just seemed to notice his journal open in my hand. “Why do you have that?” It was as if he thought that I had stolen it from his pocket when his back was turned.

“Maybe because you left it out??? AND I DIDN’T WANT IT LEFT BEHIND BECAUSE I KNOW HOW MUCH IT MEANS TO YOU??” At this point we were both quietly screaming at each other.

With that, Sammy yelled from the other room, “Dean’s back!”

Giving John one last glare, I turned on my heel to go check on Dean.

As I walked into the living room area, my breath caught in my throat, and my heart stopped beating for a full second. 

Dean was being held up by Sam, barely holding on to consciousness. Every visible inch of him was covered in blood, bruises, and grime. Dean gave me a half-hearted smile, then winced from pain.

“What the hell happened?” I asked while rushing to his side. There was a shallow slash across his left cheekbone, and a dark purple bruise on his jawline. His head lolled to one side, passing out on Sam's shoulder. “Shit! ”

#dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x Fem!reader #Sam Winchester x Platonic!Reader #Fuck you John Winchester

[thewonderingwench]

Well, I've returned to the fold I suppose.

My first time here, I found intense joy at finding a place I could talk about myself authentically and what I was up to. I left for personal reasons after a short time here, but found myself here again. That time, I treated it too much like the face in the book we don't like to talk about. I found myself not actually talking about myself or my journey, no matter how hard I tried. I left again, for that and other reasons.

And now, I'm back again. With a different approach. I've really missed having this outlet. And the book of faces is just.... blehhhhh. I don't aim for this to be a collection of re-posts. I truly want this to be MY blog. MY space (no, not THAT my space!) Where I can spill my thoughts out when I can't properly journal. Where I can scream to the void when I feel frustrated. Where I feel a little more free talking about my life and showing it.

So now, I suppose, I should set my stage.

I live in the midwest of the US. It's hot here right now, being the middle of summer. I work in retail at a gift shop. We still sort of identify as a metaphysical shop, but even as an employee I feel the store has gone in the direction of "love and light knick-knacks" but that's a different story. I'm glad I have the day off and can mostly stay in the cool of the apartment. I've spent most of the day hanging with my sister and reading Lord of the Rings again.

It's the big copy with all three books, 1031 pages. As a kid in middle school, I tried to read it but struggled. In high school I tried again, but still struggled. I loved the movies. And I really wanted to read them at some point. When I met my partner, who is one of the biggest Tolkien fans I've met, I knew I had to try again. We visited one of his favorite book shops on one of our dates and I got the copy I have now. Once I got home and started it, it took me a week. I sped through, staying up late, reading on my break. Every spare moment I had, I was reading it.

This read through I started in January, when I was in the hospital with nothing else I could do but read. My partner brought me my copy and I read at every spare moment I could. I was in there for 3 or 4 days and almost finished The Fellowship of the Ring. After getting out of the hospital, I pick it up and put it down again, sometimes for weeks. I just finished the first book in The Two Towers.

I'm still the same person who read this very book in a week. But things change, life gets chaotic. You can always pick it back up. And that sorta goes with anything I suppose. If things get too heavy, it's okay to set down your burdens to take a breather. You can always pick it back up when you're ready.

#wonderings #journal #personal #my life

[frustrated-researcher-diary]

#1 Introductions

Hello everyone,

It seems a little bit strange to write my thoughts and make them public, but here goes.

Ever since I started university back in 2012, I sort of knew that I wanted to stay in academia and become a researcher. The thought of studying and learning being the main tasks of my job made me feel very privileged. That, and also the possibility of being a teaching assistant and helping students out. All of this has led me to pursue a PhD. Boy, I did not know what I was going on in for. Doing PhD and a Master of Science are two completely different things - and I really underestimated the challenges that were ahead of me.

In the latter, you are basically walking on a threaded path, so to speak. You get assignments, study on textbooks you are given, pass exams that you need to take within specific deadlines, and the grades should give you enough of a validation of the good job done. Everything has been organized for the students, whose sole requirement is to ... """basically""" (I am using many quotes to stress the fact that I know it is not easy - been there, folks) follow the path laid out for them and study, I guess.

On the contrary, when you start a PhD, you are walking in uncharted territory. Of course, your supervisors make sure that you do not fail spectacularly, but at the end of the day you are the master of your fate. (Almost) Nobody gives you a schedule, a list of things to do, or a set of deadlines. You need to build them on your own and stick to them. You need to work on your research, devote some time in the middle to side activities (teaching, projects, contracts with industries), publish papers, and yadda yadda yadda.

Although it was pretty rough, I actually managed to finish my PhD in January 2022. Then, my supervisors (I also call them bosses from hereafter) asked me to my surprise if I ever considered pursuing a post-doc. My instantaneous reply was that I had to think about it.

And I really did. It took me some months to actually convince myself that research was "still" the path for me. I am using the quotes because, sure, during the PhD you learn a lot and build many useful skills, but you also grow to hate what you do from time to time. This can happen for different reasons. In my case, sometimes the research was too complicated, and I realised I was not as smart as I hoped I was. Oftentimes, imposter syndrome kicked in, and I believed that everybody but me had what it takes to deserve to stay in academia. In multiple occasions, I just wanted to know where Reviewer #2 (who heavily criticized the n-th paper that I submitted to a journal) lived, reach their house and hurt them with every fiber of my being. Other times, I just thought that I could have avoided the hassle of doing the PhD in the first place and started working right away in the industry to save enough money to get a house - or save myself at least multiple headaches and recurring episodes of me questioning my life choices.

I knew that becoming a post-doc implied accepting an unsteady job that might not lead to me becoming a professor. I also knew it meant having a lower wage than the one I would have gotten if worked in industry, which inevitably makes the purchase of a house much harder. I also knew it meant mostly anybody around me among my friends and family would have understood what I really do for a living. Nonetheless, I decided to go for it. Despite all, I felt that I was a somewhat decent teacher and that I could have improved in the research department in the future.

So, I applied for the post-doc call in November 2022, which I luckily ended up winning. And boy, even in this case, despite me thinking about it for months, I did not expect it was going to be so hard. Just as a Master of Science is different from a PhD, also being a post-doc is different from being a PhD candidate. During the Phd, my bosses made sure that research was going well, that it was scientifically sound and feasible. On the contrary, during this first year as a post-doc they have given me more freedom in this regard - perhaps because they expect me to become independent and learn that I will not always have them by my side. I think their "experiment" failed. Very much. Indeed, it is almost the end of my first year as a postdoc now, and I can not stop feeling unmotivated and disappointed. I am also afraid that my bosses, who put so much trust in me, feel the same.

I submitted two papers to different journals. One of them got rejected: reviewers said that the paper was not novel enough, which is ironic, considering that it required me one year to actually finish it. I think the other paper is doomed as well. Some might think that, after a Phd, I should be accostumed to paper rejection, but it sadly seems that I have not reached that level of maturity. Now I just think that whatever I do is pointless and will get rejected anyway, so why bother?

To make things worst, there is this constant reminder that in order to have good chances of becoming a professor I need to have as soon as possible a good H-index, get awards, do some side activities (that I could not be less interested in). There is a conundrum. On the one hand, you are privileged to do research, and people understand that research is a risk-related activity - meaning that its outcomes may not always be valuable. On the other hand, you are expected to give valuable research results to become an academic.

As you might understand from this excruciatingly long rant (sorry), I am not feeling very well (and you may also believe that I am overdramatic - which may be true). I am questioning my choice of pursuing a post-doc and my whole life as well (I said I am aware of being overdramatic). I am 30 now, and I hoped that by this age I had everything figured out, from my working life to my romantic one (which is a whole other story). Instead, I am none of the sort. I still live with my parents trying to save enough money to eventually get a house, still trying to find a partner, and still trying to figure out what I really want to do in the future. A true testament to this is the fact that I am writing this on a Saturday night, as if I had nothing better to do.

I wanted to talk with someone about my feelings over this last couple of weeks, but I could not find somebody who could relate that much. As I said before, friends and family do not exactly understand what I do. I could talk to my bosses at Uni, but I am afraid of their reaction. There are my colleagues, but I feel everybody has a lot on their plate, and I do not want them to give them another issue. In any case, I do not want to give up. I need to find by myself the spark that pushed me to go on with this job. Eventually, I will find again the motivation and excitement that convinced me (and also my bosses, apparently) that becoming a post-doc was not a bad idea after all.

I decided to write this post (or should I say rant?) for two main reasons. The first one is to use this as a reminder in the future of the things that I felt. Maybe this post could be followed by other ones on a regular basis as an entry for a diary to keep track of my progress, I don't know. The second one is to be hopefully of aid to whoever reads it. If you, too, are a frustrated researcher (be it a PhD or a post doc) you are not alone. It may sound cheesy, but I believe that there are not enough posts and websites dealing with this. Everybody in academia goes through similar struggles and if they say otherwise.. they are lying. Hardly nobody has everything figured out, even in their 30s.

D.

Ps: English is not my mother tongue, so I apologize for any mistake. Doing my best here 😅

#university #postdoc #research scientist #rant post #phd life