The Eeyore and the Piglet

Content Warning: I open up about my own mental illnesses, including suicidal ideation 

Introduction

My main vessel for libations (of the non-adult variety) at home has been a really great Eeyore mug I got in I want to say high school or college from the Disney Store. It's yellow-orange, and features a cute picture of Eeyore smiling, surrounded by white flowers. I had two of them, and as far as I'm aware, my mom still has the purple one, in the same shape, with the same gloss, but a different picture of Eeyore, at her house, and I use it when I visit. I'm using said yellow-orange mug as I write this, having just snacked on a bunch of Cheez-Its (extra toasty, of course) and in need of some hydration.

Eeyore and Piglet were always tied for first place in my heart in the Winnie the Pooh Pantheon when I was a kid. And while I know it's been proven that A.A. Milne didn't intentionally write these characters (and all the others) as having mental illnesses, as I got older, I realized I liked, no, cared for these two specific ones so much because I would see them struggle- watch Eeyore try so hard to be happy, watch Piglet worry and obsess over the multitude of possibilities due to a single decision or occurrence; I would see this, and think, to put it in modern terms,

"It me."

Seeing what looked like depression in Eeyore and anxiety in Piglet was sometimes hard, sometimes cathartic, but always real for me. I didn't know what these things were until I was older, and it wasn't until three years ago I was officially diagnosed with either, but I think I've felt this way my whole life, or at least once I was past the bobbing toddler phase.

(And before I stray too far from Winnie the Pooh, I want to reiterate that yes, I get that Milne didn't mean to depict a bunch of DSM-certified stuff in his characters. BUT. I also want to emphasize that if you ever want to find out how to be close to someone with any of the various disorders that can be seen in the characters, just read the books or watch any of the series or movies, because everyone is always supportive, accepting, understanding, and unquestioning of the others' worth in the world of Winnie the Pooh, in any incarnation. When I have kids someday, they're going to be one of the staples in our household in order to teach kindness and love.)

Part One: The Eeyore In Me, Otherwise Known As Depression

A friend of mine posted a link about chronic suicidal ideation yesterday, and it spoke to me, too. I don't think my feelings are quite as "strong" (in the sense as persistent) as that of the author, but I do remember when they were, not too long ago. For a long time, I would waffle around from actively wishing it would end to thinking it would be easier to quit to wondering what the point was to thinking everyone around me would be better off if I was out of the way. Thinking of this last one in the opposite direction, much like the author in that piece above, was what always brought me back from the darkest times, the times I came closest to acting on anything.

I haven't felt that way consistently in a few years. But I see myself falling closer to where I was when it started, sometimes feeling the lesser extent of all of it for a little, and it frightens me somewhat. I have a plan, but can't act on it because of work stuff  (therapy requires, y'know, time in an office, and I have no way to consistently have that, but I have a PCP that can prescribe meds, at the very least). But before I continue here, if you're someone that knows me personally, know I'm okay and not in any danger, just like that author. I have a good support network, both near and far, and it isn't my person I'm frightened for, but rather my heart and habits, my general emotional well-being and overall state of mind. I'm frightened because I thought I had moved past those feelings, and I see myself getting closer to them on a consistent basis again.

Right now, I have a lot to be grateful for, reasons to be "happy." I have a roof over my head, an amazing boyfriend that loves me better than I ever thought I deserved, two awesome cats, tons of board games, internet, food, transportation, the aforementioned support network, a stable job (and another one that while it's retail and the schedule changes, I feel as loved and supported by everyone there as if I was family, and I'm not exaggerating- I genuinely tell my boss, "I love you," as we hug goodbye every time (if she doesn't say it first)), and I'm in a program that will get me into the disability field in one of the most on-the-ground ways, as a special ed teacher.

That doesn't mean it's easy. Honestly, I don't think my life is more stressful than average. But I struggle. I can't play a friggin' card game without bursting into tears on a bad day (true story; in response, that great boyfriend checked in with me and when I said, "I'm just having a hard time just being happy," he didn't miss a beat. He's good like that, and I'm lucky like that). I have to actively fight against crying every waking moment some days, because it hurts so much.

Some days, I can hold it in, keep it together, and if I'm lucky, I'll feel a little better the next day- enough that it isn't so hard, at least. But others, it goes more like this:

Thank you, Nathan Pile, for making such
delightful comics. 

Seriously, raise your hand if ever you've been on the struggle bus all day and keeping your cool, when something as innocuous as your gorram pen falls out of your hand and rolls under the fridge and you start ugly-crying so hard someone would think your cat died. I have days like that. Lots.

But that's not the whole of it. See, what I think gets missed a lot in talks about depression is also just that straight inability to enjoy things, especially things that normally would bring joy. It isn't always feelings of sadness or pain, but more like a lack of feeling that goes beyond neutrality. An active hole inside, a vortex you can on some level perceive sucking your emotions out. It can lead to a sort of indifference, a "whatever" feeling, inability to give a damn about anything. A weird, not-quite-passive indifference to everything. (And I think what happens to some of us is this indifference to the things around us can lead to indifference to life itself, and the aforementioned suicidal thoughts.)

There are days where I feel like a ghost, like I'm made of air and mist and could walk through the wall or float through the floor downstairs to the parking lot of my second-story apartment. And not in some fancy, magical, "I'm lighter than aaaaaair!" way. No, as in I feel insubstantial, and that's about as much as I can "feel" at all. I go through whatever motions need going through, if there are any, but those are the days I'm most likely to binge a whole season of something on Netflix if I don't have to work; if there's anything else I should be doing (laundry, grocery shopping, calling my mom or a friend I've been playing phone tag with), it ain't happenin'. 

And let me reiterate: It isn't like it actively hurts on days like this. I'm not on the verge of tears at all- the opposite, really. In fact, even though I'm pretty prone to crying on the regular, days like this, stuff that would normally get the waterworks going (like a poignant moment in the show I'm binging) don't do more than maybe make my eyes get a little hot. And dude, I'm The Gal That Cries. I am. But on days like these (I've come to call them, aptly, my "ghost days," in my headcanon about my life), I pretty much can't. 

This is my reality.

Part Two: The Piglet In Me, Otherwise Known as Anxiety

Misconception: "Having anxiety means you worry about literally everything." While it's true, some people can have anxiety that is severe enough that yes, it fits this description and thus becomes debilitating, not every case looks like that. Let me explain, with an example.

I always have to have at least six tubes of Burt's Bees beeswax lip balm in my possession, while not necessarily on my person, at a given time. I keep one in my car, one in my purse, one beside the bed, one in the living room by my usual seat on the couch/somewhere easily accessed in the living room, one for sticking in my pocket for during work, and a "spare" I keep on my dresser for "emergencies" (I honestly call it my "emergency" tube). That way, no matter where I am, I will always, always be able to whip out a tube of B'sBs and soothe my aching lips. Just the thought of needing one and not having access to one makes my heartbeat go up, it genuinely makes me nervous. While I recently switched to B'sBs about two years ago, before that it was mint Chapstick; and before that it was C.O. Bigelow's Rose Salve; and before that it was Carmex; and before that it was REGULAR Chapstick... It's something I did my best to hide from my parents, and granted, when I was a kid and didn't own my living space, I had fewer visible at a given time, but there was always something in my backpack, on my headboard, in the duffel bag I kept my Barbies in, in my desk at school (when I had a desk), and a floater I would put in my lunchbox (when I had one). I'd steal them from my dad, save change from when I was given money to do something with friends, even use birthday or Christmas money from relatives to buy them for myself without my parents knowing. I knew it was weird all along, but I was in Las Vegas, where it was reeeeeeeeeally dry, and so I needed something, right? 

And while this may sound a little obsessive-compulsive, it's the closest I've ever been, so it's not that. I keep so many tubes/pots/whatever around because I'm afraid of my lips hurting too much. I don't have a bunch of tubes because I need a specific one for a specific place or something, it's purely for the "preparedness" angle. I want to be prepared so I can avoid my lips getting too dry. I have a high tolerance for pain, usually, but my lips are the one part of my body I don't tolerate it and actively try to prevent it by having such a huge arsenal. I pretty much always have a headache, and I don't take anything for it until I reach a certain threshold; but the moment my lips start to tingle, I'm all about that lip balm.

This is the most extreme-on-paper example I have. Writing about it, I feel kind of nuts. But I've figured out how to not worry about my lips: just have a shit-ton of lip balm lying around and fuggedduboudit. 

I have my own social anxieties, but I wouldn't say I have "social anxiety" in the way you're thinking. I'm fine meeting new people, provided I have some context or reason to; I freak out over things, with people I already know, like, "What if I picked the wrong restaurant?" "What if he doesn't really think I'm beautiful?" "What if she's only laughing because she feels sorry for me?" "Does he/she hate me?" I worry about upsetting people, being misunderstood, seeming clingy, seeming aloof, sounding dumb, sounding elitist...

A lot of it comes down to "I just want errbody to like me." With the people I'm closest to, like aforementioned Awesome Boyfriend, I'm terrified of doing something to change how they feel about me. On our first date, over two years ago now, I was more at ease talking to him than I am some nights in our apartment. It's almost like a reverse-typical-social-anxiety thing: The more I know you/you know me, the more worried I am about what you think of me, how I come across, etc. 

And of course, I worry about things, too. From how shitty other drivers are (somewhat reasonable) to how evenly I chop an onion (pretty unreasonable), I can get caught up in fretting and stressing over things that are part of a regular person's life. 

Like right now, Awesome Boyfriend has confirmation a package was delivered to the leasing office like ten minutes after I left it, and we have a package slip from our mailbox from earlier that day saying said leasing office should have it (it didn't when I went). He's not worried about it, but who has two thumbs and is terrified the board games he ordered are lost/stolen/etc?

And there's a part of me that knows it's probably fine, that it's safe in the leasing office and it'll be there in the morning when Awesome Boyfriend goes to retrieve it. But I. Can't. Help. It.

But I'm sitting here now, writing this thing. I made dinner (frozen burritos, but still, I fuckin' ate, aight?), I'll go to bed soon, and I probably won't have any more problems sleeping than usual. So it's not debilitating, and so no, I wouldn't say I have severe anxiety, but I have enough of it that ridiculous stuff like if the super old Forever stamps I have are still good, nevermind the whole "Forever" part, makes my stomach plummet to my ankles.

This is also my life.

Part Three: So What?

This doesn't mean I'm "miserable" in the sense that I don't ever experience happiness or joy. I've ruminated on what "happiness" means to me before. I still believe it, that happiness isn't a constant, and sometimes we have to make our own joy, seek out and find ways to experience happiness, since it won't last on its own. So I try. So fucking hard sometimes. And there are days where I've tried hard enough that it worked, I sort of made myself believe it, if you will.

I'm not saying I think depression can be "overcome" with the "right state of mind" or some ableist bullshit like that. Fuck your walks through the woods and your yoga.

What I mean is that, sometimes, I can find some light in the dark, and that's worth living for, too. 

As uncomfortable as my life may be sometimes, it's still my life, and I'm going to keep on living it, to the best of my ability.

"The things that make me different are the things that make me me." Quoth Piglet.

Fin.

"Not Like That"- A Compendium of Thoughts on That Thing That Happened

I'm going to keep updating this as new info comes out, so if you're someone that gives a damn, maybe check back in a couple days. But I'm going to just sort of spat thoughts on the thing with the Catholic kids and the Native American elder. So there's no thesis or main point, here, just venting. I've been festering over this, and reached the point where the zit needs to be popped.

This article by Indian Country Today is a good compilation of videos encompassing the whole thing. The super long one, the one by those guys who identify themselves as Hebrew Israelites, hasn't really been given enough attention, and I want to start there- makes sense, chronologically, but also because what these guys were doing was pretty awful, too, and the reason all this shit went down to begin with.

So these assholes showed up to the Indigenous People's March, to protest it, apparently. And they were shouting all sorts of racist, disparaging things at the people marching. If you listen to the beginning of their (again, long) video, you hear them yelling at the Native Americans about how they knew Native history better than the Native Americans do- there's some garbage about how "before Natives worshipped totem poles," they had worshipped "the true God," or something like that. And that because of this "idol worship," their "land was taken from them."

I have to say, it's pretty vile to protest against indigenous people marching peacefully. Like, what are you really protesting to begin with? I guess, based on the shit they were saying, it was to "save" them? But, as people try to talk to them, they're entirely uninterested in dialogue and just talk over them, being super rude every time. If they were there from a place of genuine love and compassion, they would want to talk. No, they were there to pontificate, not to really help anyone or save any souls.

Something that confuses me: at 38:18ish, the guy with the phone starts mocking one of the students for wearing a MAGA hat to a Native American protest- and like, what? You've been standing here, telling Native Americans it's their own fault they're the victims of genocide, and now you're going to "call out" a white kid for being disrespectful? I mean, the thing is, within the first two minutes minute, they completely dismiss/talk over one of the Native Americans that is... wait for it... trying to point out that they're being disrespectful. I mean, seriously, I don't think the dude is able to finish a full phrase because the guy in the Hebrew Israelite group wouldn't shut the fuck up. So like, who the actual fuck are you to care about respect for the Indigenous march? "I'm just here to tell you what you have to do," he says to the Indigenous man. I guess the boarding schools didn't try hard enough.

Point there is, these guys are hypocrites. And they incited the whole thing, and their part in it hasn't been explored enough, as far as I can se.

(At about five minutes, a Black woman who has been visible for pretty much the whole video starts trying to talk to them and they say shit like, "Where's your husband?" as if to say he shouldn't have to listen to her because she's a woman- so like, dude, obviously these guys prescribe to some pretty regressive shit.)

Because after they mock that first kid, they go all-in at mocking the whole crowd of teenage boys. Sure, it's true the Catholic church has done some deplorable shit, but they're fucking teenage boys for crying out loud- if these Hebrew Israelites are half as smart as they think they are, they should have known that asking if they have "one nigga" in the group and calling them stuff like "dusty crackers" was going to create a huge kerfuffle- honestly, if Phillips hadn't stepped in, there would have probably been a riot (and I strongly suspect they were hoping the rich white kids would get physical with them, based on how they kept going). 

Which is exactly why he did what he did. He says he saw something about to happen and wanted to pray, to calm things down. No, he didn't realize how bad it was until he was in the thick of it, but dude, that's the point. It was that bad.

So then you have those shorter videos in the ICT article, and you see the progression of the behavior of the boys. For starters, it's clear there's space between Phillips and the boys, a space that gradually gets tighter and tighter, with fewer and fewer of the boys on the stairs- indicating the whole crowd was swarming Phillips and his fellow indigenous singers. Some of the boys do mock-Indigenous dances (apparently, some were attempts at the haka, according to Al Jazeera), the whole crowd engages in a mock-chant (more on that later), and there's this Nick Sandmann asswipe.

I first found out his name reading this NYT article, and it led me to his statement. And that. Oh, that. This kid is full of shit. In the first of the shorter videos from ICT, he isn't even visible- which means he deliberately positioned himself in front of Philips. In other words, in order to appear so close, had to push past his classmates. So duh, he was the one "invading personal space." And there's no reason to get that close to someone except in an attempt at intimidation.  As for that ridiculous smirk he had pretty much the whole time, it was obviously one of mockery, the same smirk guys in fake warpaint and war bonnets wear when confronted by indigenous people outside the stadiums where the Braves and Redsk*ns play. His statement is nothing but lies, passive-aggression, narcissism, and backpedaling. I suppose Trump would be proud.

I don't believe the diocese when they say they'll do anything. I just don't. The Catholic church was an active participant in the cultural genocide practiced against indigenous people on this continent up until the 1980s. I've mentioned before that my great uncle was beaten so badly by a priest for speaking Lakota at boarding school that he went to the hospital- what I didn't mention then, was it was a Catholic priest. Stewart Indian School, the last boarding school in the U.S. to stop operating as such (in 1980), was a Catholic school. If they continually sweep molestation under the rug, why would they care if some rowdy teenagers were rude to a Native American elder? I'll believe it when I see it, but for now, I don't.

Also, about that mock-chant in the videos ICT included in that article. It's the same one you hear at, like, Braves and Redsk*n games, or in the scene where they do "the chop" in Robin Hood: Men in Tights. Some even do the hand motion. (I feel like it's in Major League or one of the sequels, too, but this was easier to find, so here's the one from Men in Tights.)

So I don't see how anybody can still get away with saying they weren't mocking- then again, look at what our president gets away with every gorram day?

(As an aside, I'm pretty disappointed with that NYT piece- it's basically pulling an "on all sides" in its reporting, and it's pretty offensive they'd give credence to the claims that the indigenous people were somehow the aggressors, here.)

And yeah, the guy that calls Phillips "Grandpa" shouldn't have engaged with that teenager, but I get why he did it- he was angry, and hurting, and the kid was obviously painfully ignorant (or one of "those" debators, the kind that studies Schopenhauer's ways to win an argument)- whether or not indigenous people crossed a land bridge from Asia is entirely irrelevant to the fact that our lands were stolen from us and his ancestors committed genocide to do it. Aside from that, though, it's pretty clear that, despite the picture Sandmann and supporters are trying to paint, the indigenous people were the only ones that weren't being assholes. 

It's just heartbreaking to watch Phillips at the end, shouting, "RELATIVES! RELATIVES!" and watch as nobody gives a shit. It reminds me of another great uncle, one that taught me about humility and forgiveness. He was a lobbyist for Indian Country, and I remember a conversation we had when I was around thirteen. It went something like this:

"Uncle Gerald, how can you be so kind to these guys that are making laws that hurt our people?"

"Because without grace, we're no better than them."

"But why forgive them? It's not like they've really done anything to make things right."

"Forgiveness isn't for them, it's for us. If we don't forgive, we carry hate in our hearts, and again, that would make us no better than them. We have to forgive and move on, and hope that eventually they'll listen and help us. With, of course, some forceful convincing on our part." [wink]

[He then taught me the Serenity Prayer.]

After all the mockery and meanness, Phillips says, "Yeah, let's make America great! Let's do that!" In earnest. Not sarcastically, not to be funny. In earnest.

One of the kids shouts, "How?"

And the guy that had called Phillips "Grandpa" says, "Not like that!"

And that's kind of perfect.

Nothing is going to get better if all this hate continues. And the kind of bullshit these kids (and those assholes that antagonized them to begin with) were acting out is just making it worse. And I wish I could talk to my Uncle Gerald about how to deal with these zealots- these MAGA-wearing, Trump-loving bigots. Because I strain and twist myself, trying to be compassionate and open like he taught me. But it gets harder all the time. And in the face of stuff like this? I just can't. And I wish I could ask him what to do.  He's gone, so I can't, and that hurts about as much as everything else right now.

And another thing that makes this so painful is the shit Phillips and his companions were dealing with? It's more like an everyday occurrence. I'm glad this one is getting attention, but what I need you to understand, reader, is that this kind of shit happens every day to indigenous people. And to people of color now that Trump is in office. And it's not just elders. It happens to kids at school. Trump gets quoted by fucking teachers being racist to their students. 

And yet, snotty little brats like Sandmann go unchecked when they play the victim. Major news outlets like the New York Times don't call him and his ilk on their bullshit.

And what that does, is it silences us. Those of us whose identities are being attacked. Whose very personhood is being called into question. How can we stand up for ourselves if lies about us, about what these people are doing to us, go unquestioned? If when we call for peace, we're depicted as the villain? If when we try to reach out, we're mocked and ridiculed, then turned into the scapegoat and have angry fingers pointed in our direction? So we remain silent. Because you can't reason with irrationality and delusion.

It reminds me of a quote from retired Senator Barney Frank: "On what planet do you spend most of your time? Having a conversation with you would be like trying to argue with a dining room table."

It's impossible. So I don't have any answers. I don't know what to do. 

I guess I'll just pray to my totem poles that things will get better somehow. 

This is Halloween

I've talked about holidays I used to love that now are at the very least a little uncomfortable for me before. But one holiday that never got ruined for me is Halloween.

I remember a Halloween from when my little sister had just been born, before our brother was, where Mom was Raggedy Anne and Dad was Frankenstein's monster. It sticks out for me because Dad had a very Frankenstein's monster-esque scar on his forehead from tripping and hitting his head on my little sister's bassinet, and Mom was just so damned cute with the little red dot on her nose and the red wig. I don't even remember what anybody else was, but we all went trick-or-treating and then went home and listened to a record of "scary" stories for kids before bed. It was just a really, really great night.

I don't remember when, but it wasn't long before Halloween became another holiday Dad kind of took charge of, and he had this whole, methodical process to it.

September: Start thinking about costumes. He'd sporadically stop one of us kids and say, "Know what you wanna be for Halloween yet?" as we were doing something mundane like getting a snack or going to the bathroom (I remember one time he did this and I really had to pee). Eventually, Mom and my older sis stopped going, and Dad and I stopped dressing up, so the focus became what the two young-uns were going to do. My little brother was Buzz Lightyear at least twice (I feel like it was more, though), in this exact costume, inflatable wings and all:

First week of October: Buy a bunch of pumpkin carving books and kits, almost always from Pumpkin Masters. Then he would take them to work with him illicitly make a bunch of copies of every pattern. After long enough, we had so many pumpkin saws and those little pokey-things that they filled a whole gallon-sized Ziplock, and so many patterns that they filled a whole filing box. So, y'know, this eventually evolved into "get the box with all of the pumpkin shit out of the garage and start looking through the mountain of patterns." We would also put up our decorations. Nothing too outrageous, but we had a respectable amount of stuff outside to show we were a Halloween Family, if you know what I mean.

Second week of October: Buy the costumes. I only remember one year where we waited until within a week of Halloween; Dad was usually super on top of it, even when I was in high school and most of everything else was starting to crumble. This was also the week we needed to finalize our picks for the pumpkin patterns we wanted to carve, as well. I specifically picked the skull pattern in the background in this shot from Hocus Pocus at least twice simply because it was in that shot and that movie is everything:

Third week of October: Buy candy and pumpkins. The candy and pumpkins were almost always retrieved on the same trip to the grocery store, but what's special (to me) about this is Dad would bring a copy of every pattern being carved that year, and he and I would take turns being the one to hold a potential pumpkin and the person laying a pattern on it to see if it would fit nicely. Once I got older and stronger, he'd hand me a few of the patterns and let me find some by myself while he did likewise, but we always double-checked each other's matches to make sure. If we needed more tea lights, he'd get them at this time, too.

Within a week of Halloween: Carve the pumpkins and bake the seeds. This was always a Big Thing. Dad would spread newspaper on the table and do all of the hollowing out himself; I sometimes helped him wash the seeds clean, but he always seasoned them himself. When I was a teenager, I suggested he make some chili pepper ones for himself and cinnamon-sugar ones for everybody, and that year was particularly great- things were starting to go downhill, but it made him genuinely happy to see how much everyone liked the sweet ones, and it made me really happy to see how much he liked the spicy ones. 

Halloween: Go trick-or-treating. Like I said before, the lineup kind of changed, but towards the end of my time living at home, when I was in high school and it was me and Dad taking the young-uns around, it felt special. Dad was more his old self on Halloween, and even though he didn't need me there with them, I insisted on going because I was covetous of that temporary change in him- I wasn't about to miss a chance to spend time with the Dad of the Year from my youth, so I went under the auspices of "helping out" with the young-uns. I think he knew that, too, because we'd sometimes walk holding hands and he'd hug me in a way he hadn't since I was younger than the young-uns. It hurts to remember, but in a good way.

There was one time where an older gentleman in the neighborhood, a widower, noticed me standing more at the back of the walkway up to the door and shouted, "One for Mom, too!" and tossed a bag of the little pumpkin-shaped pretzels he was giving out to me. I caught it, mortified, as Dad, who had gone up to the door with the young-uns, laughed and said, "Oh, no, that's Gab, remember? One of the older girls!" But he called me "Mom" the rest of the time we were out that night, and I lost track of how many times I pushed and punched him for it. 

I think that was my junior year of high school.

Then I went to college. As I write this, I realize I've never thought to ask how much of that faded away, and when. I'm sure it did. But since I was never home for any Halloweens after high school, in my own head canon, Halloween never changed. 

So I think that's why it became my favorite holiday as an adult. I've been rather transient because of school and moving around, so I haven't really been able to come up with my own traditions, but in a perfect world, I'd build off of what we did when I was a kid. I would carve a pumpkin, bake the seeds, and have a costume. But I would also decorate the shit out of wherever I live, since I know Dad would have loved that, and the idea of that makes me super happy and excited. I'm talking, like, flashing lights and animatronics and motion-sensors everywhere. The analogy I use is similar to the one about fireworks and Christmas displays. I would have the absolute scariest, coolest mothereffing house on the block- but I would have at least one cutsie thing to try to keep the littler, more easily frightened kids at ease. And if I could afford it, I would rotate through a few different setups/have enough stuff that it wouldn't be the same within two or three years. Props like this, that look kinda cheesy up close, but from farther out would be creepy af:

Or stuff like this; I'm a huge fan of these light effects that look like ghosts and stuff- it's really awesome what people have come up with the past couple years, and I bet my dad would have loved this crap:

Holy cow, and how fun would it be to go from a Nightmare theme for October

I'd be way more elaborate and get, like, creepy trees and stuff
from a Halloween store, but this is the gist

to something like this for December

I would just love to be able to do that. 

I know none of this house decor stuff will ever happen. I want to be a special ed teacher, and I live in Seattleish where COLA is ridiculous; there's no way I'll be able to afford this much stuff, let alone the house I would need to do it. But it's nice to dream, and to think of how proud my dad would be of me if I pulled it off.

More plausibly, when I eventually have kids, I would, of course, take them in my own costume every year, and if their dad was with me, leave candy out with a note about the honor's system and such. And I'd stay in costume once we got home so that I could give candy out to kiddoes, dressed up in whatever. I particularly like the idea of bonding with kids over their costumes, like, "I was that when I was a kid!" or, "Look, we're both superheroes!"

And if I don't have kids, I would at least attend, if not host a party with spooky music and a costume contest and dry ice in the fake cauldron with the punch; if I hosted, for sure there would be spooky board games like Betrayal at the House on the Hill and Elder Sign* and stuff. Hell, maybe we'd watch Hocus Pocus or Nightmare Before Christmas and have a drinking game of it, too. 

What's also made getting anything of my own really going nigh impossible is I've been working retail for so damned long, even while in school, that this is the first Halloween in years that I can remember where I won't be working for at least the start of the evening. I did get to hand out candy to like four kids a few years ago, but they had been stragglers, kids at the end, since I had been working earlier and got home after sunset. But anyway, I've been so busy lately with a thing that had me in the hospital a few times (I'm fine, nothing even remotely life-threatening, just SUPER annoying) and working two jobs and school, I haven't had the time to get any decorations, a pumpkin, not even candy. And it disappoints me. Like this is my one chance in so many years, and I've pretty much blown it.

Maybe I'll just get a couple mini pumpkins and some candy and put the former on the porch so kids know they can come up to our apartment and get the latter from me. Since I'm nowhere near ready to have kids (situationally- I want them, yeah, but I know I can't right now, not for some time), my best bet is to absorb what I can from the ones that would come to my door. But also, being in an apartment, I highly doubt more than one or two kids will show up, anyway. That makes me sad, too.  

So even though Halloween hasn't been ruined for me by family drama, it's certainly been disappointing, and I have no idea when I'll be able to actually make it better. But what I do know is as soon as I can, I will, and it's going to be amazeballs. Even if just for me. And that's worth smiling about.

*Not Arkham Horror. Fuck that game and its ridiculously complex rules and its nigh impossibility of actually winning. 

*Don't* Shut Up, Wesley!: When Hypocrisy, Vitriol, and Social Justice Collide

I've been sitting on whether or not to write about this for a bit now, ever since the news broke out, but given how much it bubbles in my brain and how much of an emotional response I feel when it does, I figured I should just get this out there.

This showed up in my news feed the day it went live, and it... Made me angry. Like, so angry I had to ask for a few extra minutes on my break because I had read it while at work, angry. It, along with the anger directed at Wil described there, are perfect examples of a phenomenon I have observed on the Internet, one that I think is completely self-defeating and outlandish. But allow me to explain here, in my own words.

Wil Wheton  started getting big on the Internet after showing up in niche nerd properties like The Guild and by his involvement in Geek and Sundry, especially with his show Tabletop, the latter of which I was one of the first subscribers on YouTube. So, y'know, full disclosure, I've been a fan for a long time. I especially appreciated how his motto of "Don't be a dick" was used on Twitter and the like by both him and his fans- he consistently decries the misogyny and hatred of the nerdboiz during Gamergate and Comicsgate, and all this recent Star Wars bullshit from the toxic minority (I feel like I saw something from his Twitter account or something, but I can't find it- he at least alludes to it here), and very openly supports (and calls for) attempts at diversity and inclusion within the various intersecting nerd-doms out there through his Twitter account and blog. 

So, naturally, he became a target. The nerdboiz he was calling out did some of the exact stuff he was highlighting to him, namely the ridiculous vitriol and bullying. Crucially, during the Gamergate stuff, he posted a block list created by Randi Harper under the auspices of a simple, hassle-free way to block misogynists and Nazis. It was later revealed that Harper is a hot-tempered terf, going so far as to encourage Gamergaters, the supposed enemy and problem, to dox trans rights people, and her list had in fact included myriad trans activists. As soon as he found out, Wil apologized, did his best to remove all of these people from the list and, when he couldn't, got rid of it and stopped promoting it altogether. 

Let me reiterate that last point: As soon as he realized the list he had promoted was secretly transphobic, he did his utmost to rectify the situation, by both unblocking trans people/activists and by getting rid of it. 

In other words, he did something in good faith, realized it was a mistake, and then tried to make up for it.

But that wasn't enough. He was continually being called transphobic and anti-LGBT and such, and was a consistent enough target of harassment and bullying by social justice advocates that he deactivated his Twitter, instead setting up shop on the purportedly ultra-liberal Mastadon. He was immediately the target of harassment there (you can see his responses to it on what's left of his page), a behavior which is supposedly against the platform's code of conduct. And he left Mastodon after his account was suspended by the admin of that instance, the admin telling him they received 60+ complaints about him in one night- notably, then, not for committing any violations himself, but rather because this big unruly mob flooded the admin's inbox.

Except they weren't nearly as cute- or musical.

I highly recommend reading Wil's piece on this whole thing. 

So here's why that first article I linked made me angry.

The author openly states that Wil was the target of a trolling prank on Mastodon, and that the perpetrator was a trans woman. But she makes him out as the bad guy for reporting the prankster, based solely on the fact that the latter is trans, ignoring the fact that the prankster was violating Mastodon's code of conduct in the first place. The author makes it out to be evidence of his supposed "transphobic agenda" or whatever, but dude- that woman on Mastodon being trans doesn't change the fact that she violated the server's terms. I get where the author is coming from, that she (the prankster) may not "feel safe around" Wil anymore, but you know what? Let's be a little more honest in our reporting/statements of facts, here.
Also, as a staunch supporter of the #MeToo/#TimesUp movement, I'm not super pissed he never ended up giving a detailed statement in:re Chris Hardwick. And I've been raped twice and was in an abusive relationship, folks. If he and Chris were as close as it seems, I totally understand. It's painful, and private. He has a right to privacy. He doesn't have to say anything. It'd be cool if he did, but these people don't know how that whole mess affected Wil personally, and while I am in no way saying he's a direct victim of Hardwick's alleged behavior, it's kind of asinine to demand a condemnation from the guy. I know all of my ex's friends and family know how he treated me, but I don't expect them to give him the boot because of it; how can I expect a stranger to do the same in similar circumstances? I know that's just my personal situation, but relationships are complicated, and so are people, and without being right there with them, we can't profess to know what "should" go on between two close friends when one turns out to be abusive; and it's also borderline cruel to expect a person to bare such deep, personal things to a mob of people that will condemn them either way.

Plus, maybe if the vitriol hadn't been so fierce, he wouldn't have left Twitter when he did and, yeah, maybe he would have made some sort of statement- we'll never know because he left, but I can't help but think that he didn't get a chance before the pitchforks got close enough to his jugular that he had to call it quits.

And basically, the way I see it, Wil isn't the one with the "listening problem," it's all of the people attacking him. Because they ignore all of the positive stuff he's done before, and refuse to accept his apology for his mistake. 

And herein lies the problem: If marginalized communities can't listen when an ally apologizes, they aren't going to keep their allies. When they engage in the kind of behavior they decry and aim it at people that previously were on their side, all they're doing is adding fuel to the fire of their detractors.

I'm probably pissing loads of people off, but hear me out.

Wil's response when he realized the list was bad was what should be ideal for an ally- he apologized and tried to make amends. It's classic Ally 101 behavior, stuff I read about when studying in grad school (remembe the time I was almost an academic? Jeez...). Destructive allies don't apologize; ones that can help enact change do.

But that's just it- I can't say he actually made amends, because, like I said, it wasn't enough. A bunch of social justice advocates stuck their fingers in their own gorram ears and crucified him. And that's entirely counter-productive to "the cause," so to speak. Who the flip are you preaching to, if you condemn anyone outside your circle that makes the slightest mistake? I'll give you a hint:

It may be sacrilege, but I liked this one more.

And I say this as a woman whose own intersectional identity leads to all sorts of internalized discrimination. 

Allies are people, too. We have to let them make mistakes. We have to listen when they apologize. We have to be there with, and for, them when they learn and grow into better allies. We can't expect to keep allies when we don't allow them to just be human. I'm focusing on this treatment of allies, here, but Sarah Lynn Michener addresses this in her own piece about some of the problems of the ultra-left:

It's fine to call out a celeb if they've genuinely done something problematic. But if you then never forgive them, bring it up every time they are invited to speak at a rally, and routinely say they have no place in the resistance because of things they have long since apologized for, then you will have a very small and ineffective resistance. 

I couldn't agree with her more! By attacking current, imperfect allies, you're alienating potential ones. TURNING ON MEMBERS OF YOUR TEAM ONLY MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE PART OF THE PROBLEM. Or at the very least, it reinforces the crap right-wingers say about "social justice warriors" and the like. 

And it proves how that holier-than-thou attitude is nothing but snake oil. I'm not going to go down the path of discussing the implications of sending the lions after someone that legitimately, earnestly espouses discriminatory beliefs. That's its own post.

But. Doing so to someone who has consistently, adamantly, and thoroughly demonstrated to genuinely be on your side is disgusting. And yeah, I do think it makes those doing it look as bad as the people they're supposed to be "fighting" against in the first place, the people whose identities are so integral to their own- because without someone to not be like, they have no idea what to be like. And they have no idea how hypocritical it is to say conservatives are "closed-minded" when they literally cannot listen to anything that's remotely outside their exact idea of what any bit of discourse should look like. It's its own, messed up form of hegemony that just makes me ashamed.

And no. I'm not saying the trans movement is for cis white dudes like Wil (let elone ones less enlightened than him- because he admits whole-heartedly he has all sorts of privileges because he's a cis white dude, y'all). Or that any movement at all is "for" allies. I'm not that stupid, either. But what I am saying is that you can't have a successful uprising without help from those in the most advantaged positions. In other words, allies.

And you can't expect those allies to be perfect. I mean, for Pete's sake, even official members of the in-group aren't always perfect. But we have to take them seriously when they try to make it right, walking them through what was wrong, why it was wrong, and how to go about that fix.

On a super personal note, someone very dear to me, a cis white male, has said he's often terrified of opening his mouth in situations related to marginalization, be it in person or online, because he's afraid of being attacked by the very people with which he wishes to express solidarity. Because what if he accidentally "says the wrong thing" or "gets misinterpreted" or whatnot. And I think this is why this issue pisses me off so bloody much- I know damn well he would fight, literally and figuratively, with every last ounce for every cause I would, but he feels powerless to do so because of some damn ASSHOLES that can't chill out and are so damn territorial and unwilling to even consider the possibility that someone from the majority can mess up but still be sincere. I know it's anecdotal, but it speaks to the bigger issue- this person I care about refrains from helping for fear of backlash. And c'mon, he's not the only one. Obvi.

So, Wil, if you're reading this (which I highly doubt you are), remember that small, loud minority of people doesn't speak for everybody. There are those of us that already miss your presence on the intertubes. That are sorry those arsehats scared you off. And wish we could bake you cookies.

And my advice to my fellow liberals: Get your act together. Stop vilifying people that can and want to help for making mistakes, especially if they express a desire to reconcile. If you can do this, there's hope for the future, for the change you, we, so passionately want. The more you can, the more credibility you'll build up, too. 

 If you can't, or rather won't, well, I have absolutely zero inclination to join your particular team- I'm good on my own, thanks. So in that case, you can just

Video Game Nostalgia

I started this post at 1:30 am a few nights ago. 

I can't sleep, and my mind is racing, so I figured I could waste some time here. But I don't know what to write about (there are like ten topics right now I could rant about, actually, but I don't want to think too hard, since this is supposed to help lull me to sleep), so I'll just tell you some good memories.

I miss (video) gaming. I used to do it a lot in elementary-high school, during breaks in college, and even in graduate school. I still like keeping up with news about upcoming titles and releases, but I haven't played through a newly-released game on my own, without someone else there the whole time, since 2013 (The Walking Dead,  Journey, and Injustice). My new Beaux has encouraged me to play some games with him present, and I finished one but have basically given up during the final boss battle of another. And since, as I mentioned already, I like keeping up with what's new, he bought me Horizon: Zero Dawn for my birthday last year, knowing I was super interested in it (as pretty much every female gamer was). But I couldn't finish that one, either- I played for a few hours, and liked what I got through, but since I was playing on his PS4 and we weren't living together, and my roommates were playing through it on theirs, and then he started playing it, too... 

Not me. Not me in the slightest.

But I also was reeeeeally struggling with the whole joystick thing. I've always been terrible at FPS, and preferred my games to be third-person, with a camera that follows you, and maybe you do some tweaking, if the environment is 3-D. Like what Journey did, or Resident Evil 4. Having to constantly move the camera with me, especially during combat was something I just couldn't adapt to. And I was embarrassed because my Beaux would watch me play and screw up SUPER STUPID BADLY because the camera wasn't in the right spot. Sure, he was never mean about it, but I was just so ashamed that this professed "gamer" that I was couldn't even shoot a gorram arrow at a slow-moving target, let alone survive intense, quick combat. And I am fully aware that most games have a camera system like that nowadays, so I know getting back into games is going to be really difficult for me. He's got me playing Portal, a game I've been interested in for a decade, which he says will help me get better at the camera thing, but it's sometimes really hard to focus because he's right there and I don't want to look stupid, and I feel like no matter how hard I try not to, when I respond to something he says while I'm playing, I sound angry or mean because I'm so tense.* 

Anyway

The fact that I used to be pretty okay at video games and am now an utter N00b is painful. And there's no way to express my disappointment without either sounding whiney or curmudgeony. I think it's great that games have evolved! I'm just sad I didn't evolve with them. 

I don't remember if I talked about it specifically or not before, but video games were a way for my family to "come together" when I was a kid/teenager. Sure, I'd play through stuff Mom and Dad rented or managed to buy for me on my own, but there were a few series we would play together, meaning Dad, my older sister, and I (and later with the addition of my younger sister) would take turns holding the control while everybody else (including Mom and my younger brother) watched. They were mostly survival horror, but the Spyro series was one distinctly not "scary" series I remember we enjoyed. While I remember needing to do some camera work in that game, it was so much slower than the intense stuff that's around nowadays. And with it being re-released in November, I worry I'll still be too shitty of a player to even bother getting it because it's going to be too "updated" for me to handle. (Same goes for this Resident Evil 2 Remaster.)

But anyhoo.  

Video games were some of the few luxury items Dad was willing to splurge on, when they were the right titles. Whenever a new game in a series our family liked playing together was coming out, he would leave work early enough to pick it up on the way home and still get there before my older sister and I did that Thursday. We would start it that afternoon, sometimes with a pause for dinner in the evening, other times not (and actually, I think I remember later the tradition became ordering Chinese takeout from our favorite place). And Dad, my older sis, and me would stay home the next day to keep playing. We'd sometimes play through a game twice over the weekend, if it was one we liked that much. I even remember one time, Dad actually picked me up from school early on Thursday so I could go with him when he went to Blockbuster to rent the system (GameCube) after we bought the game (back when that was still a Thing) (also it may make no sense we rented the console but bought the game, but 1) Dad wanted us to purchase the game "so the'll keep making these fuckers," and 2) at that point, it was the only game we were interested in on that system, and we weren't sure if any others would come out; we bought one eventually because yeah, we wanted other stuff on it, but a console is a much bigger investment than a game, and when bills may or may not be on time, you have to prioritize, is all I'm sayin', yo).

Video games were Serious Business in our household. What's interesting is Dad, older sis, and I all played NES and Genesis, but never with each other. I'd sometimes watch Dad play stuff, but for the most part, gaming was a solo act for us. Until we got the Playstation. After that, we started the whole "play hooky," everybody's involved thing. I think because we got the system, along with the first RE, Tekken 3, and the Die Hard Trilogy on Christmas, and so we were all available to hang out as we watched Dad play Die Hard, and since I had always liked horror/scary/spooky shit, he wanted me there when he tried Resident Evil, and it just kind of evolved into this whole family thing. And over time, it became somewhat of a refuge when things were rough. 

Ah, memories. It led to some pretty great moments. Some highlights:

Resident: Evil

MOM: *From the dining table where she's putting on makeup or something* Do you really have to kill the dogs?

GAB: Yes, Mom, they're zombie dogs.

ZOMBIE DOG: AAAAAAAARGH! *snarls, goes after JILL*

JILL: AGH! *bleeds* 

GAB: See, Mom?! They're going after my jugular!

MOM: Well, it's just sad.

JILL: *shoots ZOMBIE DOG*

ZOMBIE DOG: *yelps, falls over*

MOM: See? They scream in pain!

ZOMBIE DOG: *big pool of blood forms underneath, indicating it's dead for realz*

JILL: *limps away, health in red now*

Yeah, I feel SOOOO BAD about it.

MOM: Why are you limping?

GAB: *pauses, turns to stare at MOM*

MOM: WHAT?!?!

Silent Hill

DAD: *after messing with the PIANO for almost an hour* I'm not musical, maybe that's it. Here *shoves control at OLDER SIS* you do this shit.

OLDER SIS: Sure! I'll get this nice and quick.

*an hour later*

OLDER SIS: I have no idea.

DAD: Gab, you try.

*OLDER SIS hands GAB control*

GAB: Okaaaaay, but if you two couldn't get it, I-

DAD: Just try it, we gotta get past this shit.

*an hour later*

GAB: Daaaaaaad, I really don't think-

DAD: Fine! Yeah! Whatever! I give up for now! Jesus!

*the next day, DAD is all business*

DAD: Okay, girls, we're gonna get this shit. *tries a few things, none work*

OLDER SIS: Maybe if-

DAD: I DON'T KNOW! It's like this piano is laughing at me!

PIANO: *does nothing*

*DAD keeps trying for another two hours or so, then rage quits again*

*the next day, OLDER SIS isn't home*

DAD: *serious tone, stage whisper, in the kitchen* Okay, Gab.

GAB: Yeah?

DAD: They have, like, walkthroughs and shit on the Internet, right?

GAB: Yeah, so?

DAD: *normal tone* So? *marches over to Playstation, boots it up* So you're gonna go upstairs, go online, and print me some kind of Goddamn walkthrough so I can get past this FUCKING piece of shit piano, and you aren't gonna tell your sister about it. Got it?

GAB: Y-y-YES! Got it!

*two hours later, OLDER SIS gets home*

OLDER SIS: Oh hey! You made it past the piano!

GAB: Well-

DAD: Fuck YEAH, we did, right, Gab?

GAB: Yeah! Yeah, right!

Dino Crisis

GAB: OHMYGOD, THAT'S SAILOR VENUS!

DAD: The fuck are you talking about?

OLDER SIS: I think you're right, Gab, that sounds like her!

DAD: Oh, you mean the girl doing Regina's voice?

BOTH GIRLS: OHMYGOD! THAT'S SO COOL!

DAD: QUIET, DAMNIT! I don't wanna get jumped by a-

RAPTOR: *leaps out and attacks*

DAD: MOTHER FUCKER!

*later in the game, OLDER SIS is playing*

GAB: At least they don't open doors in this game like they do in Jurassic Park.

*ten minutes later T-REX smashes head through big window and starts chomping at Regina*

DAD: AAAAAAGH!

OLDER SIS: SHIT YOU DO IT! *throws control at GAB*

GAB: WHY ME?! *fumbles control, it goes under the coffee table*

DAD: Cuz you JINXED it, you idiot!

T-REX: ROOOOOAAAAAR!!!!! *bites Regina's head off*

GAB: *emerging from under table, holding control over head* GOT IT!

OLDER SIS and DAD: *glare at GAB*

GAB: *looks at screen* Oh... *control goes down slowly into lap* Sorry...

Resident Evil 3 

NEMESIS: STAAAAARS! 

DAD: Okay, so we obviously can't run from this, shit. And I don't even have the shotgun!

GAB: I dunno, Dad, I think the Magnum is better.

DAD: Well I'll just let him kill me so I can get to the box and grab a shotgun. 

NEMESIS: STAAAAAARS!!

*DAD loads from the last save point, loads up on healing items, and takes the shotgun to the fight*

OLDER SIS: Don't you think you should save again with all of your stuff, just to make it easier?

DAD: It'll be fine.

NEMESIS: STAAAAARSS!

*DAD enters the fight and empties two shotgun cartridges into NEMESIS*

DAD: Why isn't the fucker down yet?

NEMESIS: STAAAAARSS!

DAD: *closes eyes, breathes in deeply through nose, exhales slowly through mouth, blinks* Okay, I just need more bullets. I'll save after I add them to my inventory.

GAB: Are you sure you don't wanna try the Magnum?

DAD: Sweetie, listen, I ran out of bullets last time, that's it. The shotgun is fine. There's no way we're even half done with the game yet, I want to save the Magnum for the final boss.

GAB: Okay, Dad.

NEMESIS: STAAAAARRRRSS!

DAD: Son. Of. A. Bitch! Well, how 'bout one of you try?

OLDER SIS: I can! *takes control*

GAB: Sis, will you try the Magnum?

OLDER SIS: Nah, I can probably dodge better. I'll use the rest of the B gunpowder and make more bullets, too.

DAD: Magnum bullets are too hard to make, the shotgun is fine.

OLDER SIS: Yeah, we just need to be careful not to miss.

DAD: And we can try the grenade launcher next.

GAB: Okaaaaay.....

OLDER SIS: Let's go, then!

NEMESIS: STAAAAAARRRSSS!

OLDER SIS: Okay, grenade launcher it is, then.

NEMESIS: STAAAAARRRRSS!!!

OLDER SIS: Okay, well, I wasn't careful enough to dodge, I'll do better this time.

NEMESIS: 

,

!!!!!!

GAB: *holds out hand* May I?

OLDER SIS: *glares*

DAD: Oh, for Christ's sake, just let her. 

GAB: *starts from last safe point, loads up on as many Magnum rounds as I can make* Just one try with this, okay? I won't save that I used all of the C powder, and if it doesn't work, I'll switch to the grenade launcher.

DAD: *grumbles* I still like the shotgun more, on principle.

NEMESIS: STAAAAAARSS!

GAB: *unloads entire clip of rounds into NEMESIS without getting hit, runs for cover* OKAY! *reloads* So I know that was a lot of rounds, but let's see what happens.

OLDER SIS: *scoffs*

GAB: *unloads all but last bullet into NEMESIS*

DAD: Aw, shit, it's your last shot!

GAB: Oh my GOOOOOOD! *last shot*

NEMESIS: *staggers, falls down, whispering now* Staaaarrrss....

DAD: Holy shit, did you get 'im?

GAB: *panicked* I dunno!

OLDER SIS: He's not moving, the boss music stopped, you did it!

GAB: *jumps up, fist pumping* I TOLD YOU GUYS TO USE THE MAGNUM!!!!!!! *offers control to DAD*

DAD: *while standing and walking around his recliner toward his bedroom and bathroom* No, no, obviously you're smarter about this shit than me, you're in charge for a while. I need to take a shit and eat some TUMS, this shit is stressing me the fuck out. Pause it until I get back, will ya?

GAB: *beams at OLDER SIS*

OLDER SIS: *rolls eyes*

Code: Veronica X

YOUNGER SIS: Okay, but like dolls creep me out. *tries to offer control to GAB*

DAD: Oh no, you need to get in on this more. Keep going.

YOUNGER SIS: *whimpers, keeps playing*

GAB: Anyway, it's a zombie game, the dolls won't come to life. They're just... atmosphere, ambience. 

YOUNGER SIS: I'll "atmos" your "sphere".

DAD: *sighs*

*both girls giggle*

ZOMBIE: UUUUNNNNNGGGGGH!

YOUNGER SIS: SHIT! 

*later*

DAD: Oh don't tell me he's just a fuckin' cross-dressing nutjob?

*it's revealed Alfred has been dressing as his sister*

DAD: Son. Of. A. Bitch.

*later*

YOUNGER SIS: STEEEEEVE! 

STEVE: 

YOUNGER SIS: Dyammit. Don't say you love her, please, oh for the love of GOD, don't do it, it'll break me.

STEVE:

YOUNGER SIS: NOOOOOOOO I SAID DON'T DO THAT YOU ASSHOLE! Don't die on me now!

STEVE:

YOUNGER SIS: NUUUUUUUUUOOOOOOO!!!

Limbo

DAD: SHIT, why's this so fuckin' hard!

YOUNGER SIS: Uh, Dad, I think that's kinda the point. Like you're supposed to die a bunch?

DAD: Well I don't appreciate that.

GAB: You're supposed to figure out how to solve the puzzles by dying.

DAD: I shouldn't have to die to sove a fuckin' puzzle.

YOUNGER SIS: What are those? 

DAD: Fuck if I know!

GAB: They look kinda like insect legs.

YOUNGER SIS: Or tree branches?

BOY: 

DAD: *growels*

*later*

YOUNGER SIS: Okayokayokay, I can't believe we didn't die back there. What do we do now?

DAD: Try pushing that boulder into that tree?

YOUNGER SIS: Okay, Imma do it. And I am NOT going to die this time!

BOY: 

YOUNGER SIS: DYAAAAMMMIIIIT!

+++++++

I have tons of others, but I've gone on long enough. And it's time to watch my Beaux play something. Memories, though.

*That tension is probably mostly related to some other general mental health garbage- which is why I can't sleep, so HI! You're reading this because I'm a MESS! YAY!.