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breezeshadowSo, um... Hello. Been a while.
I don't have much to say right now. Sure I will someday but for now it's just kind of awkward and nerve-wracking. Social phobia is a beast.
As a sort of summary of my life the past five years:
- I don't have an autoimmune disease. WHAT I have, god knows. Fibromyalgia, hypermobility syndrome, and some sort of unknown musculoskeletal disorder.
- I moved to upstate NY. I have a fireplace. It's pretty sweet.
- I still haven't finished my bloody rewrite of Abandoned Gardens.
I'll probably be trying to get back into using prompts and the like here, in the hopes of getting my creative juices flowing a bit more. There's been a mental block on my creativity for years, and my therapist thinks it's a couple of things: being in survival mode for years, and not a lot of people I feel I can share my writing with. Despite the motherfucking madness that is COVID, I'm not so much in survival mode, and maybe rejoining this site can help with the latter. We shall see.
So yeah. I'll leave you with something I wrote a few weeks ago.
"Of course I agreed, I'm not saying I didn't." Jacob's wife ran her hands through her hair, pushing breath out. "I just... I figured it would be another woman, not a man."
Duff stayed on the sofa, hands in his lap, watching Jacob's face redden. His pajama shirt was still a bit wrinkled from them cuddling a minute before. That was one saving grace -- with any other man, Jacob's wife might have walked in on them naked and grinding. That was one shame Jacob and his wife need never worry about.
At that point, it was just one more way Duff didn't fit in, anyway. By the time he revealed his preferences for love -- not marrying a high-class woman, actually not marrying any woman, instead pining for romances with men, chaste ones, but romances indeed -- he had already turned away from business, turned away from rich clinics and universities, turned away from sitting in ornate chairs wearing ornate clothes sipping ornate wines. All revealing he liked men did was allow his parents to sigh in relief that they had made the right choice to kick him out.
Truthfully he had no idea why he even wrote to them about it at all. They might not have even opened the letter at all. He hoped they did, though, if only so they knew that their son was surviving, even thriving, outside of their prim and proper home.
Jacob was new to that world, though, and shame was painted on his face in erratic strokes. "I... We have never done more than kiss."
"You think that's why I'm upset?" [Wife] sighed, rubbing at her forehead. She strode past her humiliated husband and sat down, keeping a polite distance from Duff. "YOu didn't tell me you had found someone! How long has this been going on?"
"Three months." Duff nodded at the woman while Jacob shrunk away. "Duff Acheson."
"You know my name?" Another nod, and from her another sigh. "I don't know if that makes this better or worse. Well I would say nice to meet you, but not under these circumstances. Three months, Jacob?"
"I'm sorry--"
"I know you are, but you haven't even figured out what the problem is." She patted the empty space between them, but Jacob did not move. "How did you meet?"
"Mack's." Duff provided the answer, as Jacob had evidently turned to stone.
[Wife] looked confused at first, furrowing her brow. Then her eyes widened. "The gay bar."
The best known of Io, in fact; it was under the demi section, belonging to a blacksmith werewolf who kept the place an open secret through a mixture of a legitimate front and pure intimidation. The hours were based upon whenever he finished smithing, meaning some nights they were open right at dinner and other times only for a few hours. His son worked as a delivery boy of both smithed goods and opening times; Duff was one of the men who got the latter, hiding it through the occasional order of new window bars for his asylum. He couldn't always get out to Io to scope the scene, but the first time he had in two weeks was when Jacob was also there.
Typically one would say the rest was history, but apparently, it was still in the making.
"Is this at least the first time you've brought him home?" Jacob muttered an affirmative as Duff nodded. "Well that's something. Honestly, Jacob, why didn't you just tell me? Here I was, wondering what it was about me that wasn't good enough that you needed another woman, and it turns out you needed a man? I would have felt so much better."
That stirred Jacob from his stupor, and he looked over with wide eyes. "[Wife], no, you are perfect. It was never about you not being good enough... It was... I was afraid of what you might do or say..."
"Love I had already allowed that you needed another person to share your heart. I had already accepted you. I still do."
"We don't hear that often." Duff imagined his father reading the letter, face becoming nearly purple, before tearing it into tinder for the fireplace. "
See you later, perhaps.
I don't have much to say right now. Sure I will someday but for now it's just kind of awkward and nerve-wracking. Social phobia is a beast.
As a sort of summary of my life the past five years:
- I don't have an autoimmune disease. WHAT I have, god knows. Fibromyalgia, hypermobility syndrome, and some sort of unknown musculoskeletal disorder.
- I moved to upstate NY. I have a fireplace. It's pretty sweet.
- I still haven't finished my bloody rewrite of Abandoned Gardens.
I'll probably be trying to get back into using prompts and the like here, in the hopes of getting my creative juices flowing a bit more. There's been a mental block on my creativity for years, and my therapist thinks it's a couple of things: being in survival mode for years, and not a lot of people I feel I can share my writing with. Despite the motherfucking madness that is COVID, I'm not so much in survival mode, and maybe rejoining this site can help with the latter. We shall see.
So yeah. I'll leave you with something I wrote a few weeks ago.
"Of course I agreed, I'm not saying I didn't." Jacob's wife ran her hands through her hair, pushing breath out. "I just... I figured it would be another woman, not a man."
Duff stayed on the sofa, hands in his lap, watching Jacob's face redden. His pajama shirt was still a bit wrinkled from them cuddling a minute before. That was one saving grace -- with any other man, Jacob's wife might have walked in on them naked and grinding. That was one shame Jacob and his wife need never worry about.
At that point, it was just one more way Duff didn't fit in, anyway. By the time he revealed his preferences for love -- not marrying a high-class woman, actually not marrying any woman, instead pining for romances with men, chaste ones, but romances indeed -- he had already turned away from business, turned away from rich clinics and universities, turned away from sitting in ornate chairs wearing ornate clothes sipping ornate wines. All revealing he liked men did was allow his parents to sigh in relief that they had made the right choice to kick him out.
Truthfully he had no idea why he even wrote to them about it at all. They might not have even opened the letter at all. He hoped they did, though, if only so they knew that their son was surviving, even thriving, outside of their prim and proper home.
Jacob was new to that world, though, and shame was painted on his face in erratic strokes. "I... We have never done more than kiss."
"You think that's why I'm upset?" [Wife] sighed, rubbing at her forehead. She strode past her humiliated husband and sat down, keeping a polite distance from Duff. "YOu didn't tell me you had found someone! How long has this been going on?"
"Three months." Duff nodded at the woman while Jacob shrunk away. "Duff Acheson."
"You know my name?" Another nod, and from her another sigh. "I don't know if that makes this better or worse. Well I would say nice to meet you, but not under these circumstances. Three months, Jacob?"
"I'm sorry--"
"I know you are, but you haven't even figured out what the problem is." She patted the empty space between them, but Jacob did not move. "How did you meet?"
"Mack's." Duff provided the answer, as Jacob had evidently turned to stone.
[Wife] looked confused at first, furrowing her brow. Then her eyes widened. "The gay bar."
The best known of Io, in fact; it was under the demi section, belonging to a blacksmith werewolf who kept the place an open secret through a mixture of a legitimate front and pure intimidation. The hours were based upon whenever he finished smithing, meaning some nights they were open right at dinner and other times only for a few hours. His son worked as a delivery boy of both smithed goods and opening times; Duff was one of the men who got the latter, hiding it through the occasional order of new window bars for his asylum. He couldn't always get out to Io to scope the scene, but the first time he had in two weeks was when Jacob was also there.
Typically one would say the rest was history, but apparently, it was still in the making.
"Is this at least the first time you've brought him home?" Jacob muttered an affirmative as Duff nodded. "Well that's something. Honestly, Jacob, why didn't you just tell me? Here I was, wondering what it was about me that wasn't good enough that you needed another woman, and it turns out you needed a man? I would have felt so much better."
That stirred Jacob from his stupor, and he looked over with wide eyes. "[Wife], no, you are perfect. It was never about you not being good enough... It was... I was afraid of what you might do or say..."
"Love I had already allowed that you needed another person to share your heart. I had already accepted you. I still do."
"We don't hear that often." Duff imagined his father reading the letter, face becoming nearly purple, before tearing it into tinder for the fireplace. "
See you later, perhaps.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-25 12:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-02-25 01:21 am (UTC)And my cat just stretched dramatically while sleeping in front of the fireplace. What a show-off.
no subject
Date: 2021-02-25 01:23 am (UTC)And cats are awesome at showing off like that. Little furry divas. :D