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from Being Ashley

A Meditation on Chamge

Wake up. Decide to change. Try really hard. Have lunch. Screw up. Cry in your car. Fix your make up. Go back to work. Go home. Have dinner. Go to bed. Wake up. Repeat.

 
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from TuffQuestionsGal

He did it! He accepted tube feeding! I am so relieved! And I think that he is relieved as well ...

He texted me earlier about the tube feeding, so we went to the hospital where he was admitted. He’s just going to be here for a couple of days. I’m happy about it.

I held his hand when he got the tube. It didn’t go great the first time and it ended up coming out through his mouth. I’m still chuckling. It’s not funny, I know. But it is. I’m one of those people and I’m not proud of it. It was so unpleasant for him and it looked ridiculous and I can’t handle that. Clearly.

I’m sitting by his bed, knitting and listening to music (The other patient in the room is snoring. A lot. My music can’t drown it out. I’m a metal head. I would be impressed if I didn’t hate the sound so much). My father is watching a movie on his smartphone. I look at him sometimes, and he looks at me and smiles a little. Not the polite smile or the “grin and bear it”-smile. He looks safe and glad to have company. He tries to hide his smiles sometimes. He does that. I don’t know why he does it but I think it’s sort of cute. These are the good times.

I’ve named the tube “the trunk”, and told him that it was about time he got a trunk to match his memory and thick skin. Luckily, he’s ok with me making a joke of things. He even joins in ... when he can. Not being able to speak makes it difficult for him. Last week I teased him by saying that now was the time for him to learn sign language – “No problem, dad. One day should be plenty of time for you to learn”. He made his signing skills very clear to me, while laughing a little. Well ... I say laughing. Squeaking would be more correct. Still quite funny.

I like these days, where things seem to work out.

 
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from fiona

it's almost 6am, I have four hours until 10am. I've written more words than code. I have a meeting at 2pm.

I want to do quality work and then do some focused research on what I can build for the LGBTQ community.

 
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from fiona

hey.

I just paid ten dollars for this. so it better be worth at least two matcha lattes.

I want to use this space to talk about tech and the LGBTQ community.

More to come.

 
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Anonymous

Dear 💙💙💙💙,

Today I took ownership of my blue hearts , I took ownership of my past. Blue Hearts, a reminder of vulnerability. Today I tattoo vulnerability [💙💙💙💙] on my knuckles, the right ones to be exact. Never again allowing [💙💙💙💙] the power the punch me in the face. [💙💙💙💙] now a visible reminder to be strong.

From

A new beginning

 
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from kittyfireball

#my best hook-up ever

Steve and I flirted online for about a year before we finally met up. We had logistical issues keeping us apart (distance, work schedules, hosting difficulties) and perhaps a bit of a lackadaisical attitude from us both. He wasn't quite my physical type but he seemed like a cool guy; sexual and sexy without being a pig, attracted to me in all my hot mess glory...

Generally, if you've been messaging someone for too long without managing to take it to the next level, your window of opportunity will slam shut. I'm not sure why that is. Perhaps too much texting, even with naughty pics, isn't enough to sustain the motivation for a New Meet (or is that New Meat. lol). At least for a hook up. It can be different, I think, if emotions and gut-spilling are involved. That's what Catfish the TV show would have us believe, anyway.

Apparently, Steve was an exception. We touched base maybe every couple of months, flirted, agreed we needed to hook up soon, then nothing until six to eight weeks later (I rarely message first so my timeline was in his hands). Finally, finally! about a year ago we managed to be on the same page. He got a nice hotel room about halfway between us, and we had the hook up to end all hook ups.

I was pleasantly surprised to find him taller and thinner than I thought he'd be with a wiry, tight little body that I adore. And physical type or not, I felt immediate chemistry. I was also attracted to his manner; a bit of a low-talker, rather laconic but with a quiet confidence and a dash of introversion and mystery.

We had a drink, smoked a joint, then I proceeded to show him all the toys in my bag of tricks. Vibrators, butt plugs, lube, condoms... I started with my trusty super-turbo massage wand while he began to explore my body. Soon I had to have him in my mouth and I nestled between his open legs to devour and worship his hard, slender cock. Soon, he grabbed a condom and was fucking me from behind. I don't usually cum without clitoral stimulation but I did with him. He asked if he could fuck my ass and I was so super turned-on, (btw, this is a good way to make me amenable to many things...) I said yes. He had the perfect cock for anal: slim, small head, long but not too long. It barely hurt going in and then it was all naughty, sensual bliss and anal orgasms. At one point he thoughtfully tried to get my vibrator on my clit but the lube we used got everywhere and made it impossible to get a grip on it. Afterwards, in the bathroom to clean up, I went to take a whiz and almost flew off the toilet I was so slippery.

This was one of the few times that sex almost hijacked my brain by tempting me to feel too much for a guy just because he was spectacular in bed. I had to mentally shake myself for a few days afterward. I was hoping Steve and I would manage to hook up semi-regularly, but alas, we more or less repeated our previous pattern: every couple months we flirt, agree to hook up, then don't follow through for various reasons. Until last night.

Next time: candy corn in the ointment...

 
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from TuffQuestionsGal

A thing happened today. I almost lost my s***. With a parent. One of my parents and not some random parent.

One of my parents has cancer. Which sucks. Of course it does. We're hoping the treatments have helped but it's too early to tell.

He is losing a lot of weight. A lot. The doctors are worried. The nurses are worried. The dieticians are worries. I'm worried. He is worried. We're all worried. ... But he is not worried enough. He is not worried enough to accept tube feeding. The pain is preventing eating and drinking. But losing this amount of weight is apparently better than accepting tube feeding for a week. One week. ... And there is nothing anyone can do about it.

I'm not saying that he should be force fed. He is a grown man. It IS his choice. And I can respect that. Mostly. I do find it difficult sometimes, and this is one of those times. I get to see him wither away – not because of the cancer but because of the side effects of the treatments. Or, to be more precise, because of his pride and fear AND side effects. And I hate that. I don't want to look away to shield myself from his pain. That is my choice. It is, in a weird way, a privilege to be allowed to take part in this part of his life. He doesn't owe me to accept tube feeding. I don't want to be angry or impatient with him. It's not my place to scold him, and I don't have the right to decide anything on his behalf. I want to be present. I want to do all the things I already do, and not take my frustration out on him. To be fair – I'm not the one with cancer ... or the one in pain or fear.

Having two ill parents, I've gotten used to seing them scared and angry. I've seen them cry and shout, and I've been yelled at and blaimed and scolded, and hugged and thanked and kissed, and I am mostly fine with all of it. I have cared for them physically and psychologically and I still do ... but this is one of those times where I just have to accept that it is out of my hands. Where the only thing I can do is to find a way to accept it. I find it very difficult this time because this weightloss problem could be temporarily solved with tube feeding for a short period of time. Medically speaking, this is a small thing compared to chemo and radiation and surgery ect. But to him, it's the worst one. And I'm at a loss when it comes to understanding this. I would ask him, but aside from currently not being able to speak much, he isn't a man who can express such things. Or wants to. He has made it very clear that he doesn't want tube feeding no matter the consequences. He also doesn't want help with transportation which also sucks. He is sufficiently underfed for me to worry about wether it is safe (enough) to let him transport himself to and from the hospital. He could get hurt but he could also hurt someone else ... I don't even know who to ask about this ... But I think I know where to ask, and that counts, I guess.

I've asked him to consider when enough is enough when it comes to the weight loss. I don't think he has thought about it. I think that maybe his fear (and hate and disgust ect.) of the tube has blurred the lines of common sense for him (and maybe also for me). It would make sense. It also makes sense that he doesn't want to be “that ill” or want to accept needing the treatment. I get that I don't understand what it's like to have cancer. I don't understand the depth. I get that it's scary to accept a tube. But that scary? I haven't asked him what he thinks about it. Just to think about it. I guess I have to think about it too ...

I almost lost my s*** with a parent today. One of my parents and not some random parent. Because he isn't doing what I think he should do. And I should know better. I understand that I don't understand. It's my “job” as a relative to make room when he needs it. To accept that I don't understand what is going on and to NOT act like I know better. Even when I think I do. That his body is his and that he is the master of it. That he is the one going through all of this and that I am a bystander. I want to accept that the tube may be a symbol or a turning point for the worse (in his mind) and most impotantly, I want to accept that it's not up to me. Not just understand it but accept it. I think he deserves that ...

 
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from Being Ashley

72 Hours

I’m done I say as we sip our drinks on the balcony of the opera house. It’s intermission. I am going over my latest week of hilarious stories and disappointments from the affair dating site with one of my first catches, the Professor that won’t fuck me. He is both amused and alarmed as I explain counseling a man through an HPV diagnosis, and then provide a thorough lesson on HPV. Note to our female readers, get the fucking vaccine, that shit sucks.

I managed to stay off of the website post my disappointing break up with Daddy Warbucks for spproximately 72 hours. I spent last night at the opera with the Professor, who likes to lament that he may be a pedophile by virtue of our relationship. I drank too much and ate decadently. Now it is Sunday and by 8am I am back on the website. By 9am I have 3 new friends.

“Maybe I have Daddy issues?” I text the Professor mid day. “Maybe” he texts back.

Most, but not all of the men, are older. Some quite a bit. This is normal for me. I don’t get it, I had a great Daddy. There is something I find comforting in men that have seen more life, something that I find often comes across as generosity in bed. All of my learnings of myself as a sexual being as an adult have come from relationships with older men, who handled me firmly and slowly, and always seemed to deeply appreciate my own enthusiasm for everything. This has not changed even as I am now solidly mid-life myself.

It’s 6pm and I now have two dates this week. I feel both a sense of success and failure equally. I never thought fit could be so hard. I’m branching out, date number two is the same age as me! Date number one on the other hand, well I have a type... I love everything about his description. I love the anticipation. Some times I think it may be better to never meet them at all.

Maybe fantasies are better if they remain so.

 
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from TheGoodBits

Today, my boyfriend and I decided to give a close friend of ours an early Christmas present.

My friend and I have been looking at shoulder bags for months. She has been looking for the right bag and found it a couple of months ago. The bag, however, was quite expensive, so we kept looking. A few weeks later, we were looking again, and she said: “It shouldn’t be this difficult! I just want a bag I haven’t had drugs in”. My friend is a former addict and she is slowly getting rid of things from “that life” bit by bit. It never occurred to me that that was why we kept looking for a new bag for her. When I got home I told my boyfriend about it. He hadn’t thought about it either (phew) but we agreed that it makes perfect sense and that we should help her find one.


A couple of weeks ago I noticed that the store we saw the bag in was having a sale, so we decided to look for it. It wasn’t in the store but it was in their webshop. I looked at my boyfriend and he looked at me, and we agreed. We bought the bag for her with the money put aside for Christmas presents for each other. The good thing about Christmas for us is that we can spend money we don’t really have on presents for people we love. It’s both ridiculously irresponsible and joyous at the same time.

Today, we gave her the present. Mostly because I couldn’t stand having it at home and not giving it to her, knowing it would brighten her day (and mine). So we invited her to a café. I told her that my boyfriend needed to see people who weren’t co-workers because he had been working a lot lately, and needed a break from … well … life. In response she said: “I’ll be there! I may bring the baby but I’ll figure it out”. And she did. And brought the baby. He’s not really a baby. He is one year old but we still call him baby. That, however, is a different story. Anyway, my boyfriend wrapped the present and brought it with him and I ran from work as soon as I could.


I handed her the present and said: “Merry early Christmas”. She looked surprised and just sat there with the gift in her lap for a while, and then asked if she should open it right away or wait until Christmas. I think our response went something like: “That’s up to you but maybe now?”. So she opened it. The present was wrapped in paper but the bag was also wrapped in plastic, so she couldn’t tell what it was until she took it out of the plastic. And then she started smiling and making the sweetest irritating squeaking noise I could’ve imagined. She just sat there staring at the bag for a few seconds while still smiling and squeaking louder and louder and eventually also moving in a sort of slightly jumping manner. Her baby looked inquisitively at her and smiled slightly, and she looked at him and said: “Yes, mummy is really happy!”. They both smiled and the baby chuckled a little. And then she seemed to find herself again. She is a noisy person. I mean this is the warmest possible way. She is a relatively small woman but she has a sharp voice and a very clear body language. She started jumping a little where she sat, stroking the bag and then looked at us. She looked like she couldn’t decide wether to put down the bag to hug us or just stay where she was and hold onto the bag. She eventually decided to hug us and thank us. A lot. And it was great. I think I managed to hide almost crying.

Buying the bag for her was one of the best decisions this year. Seeing her this happy is probably the thing that has brought me most joy in many months – only a certain gift I received this summer, and one I gave, has come close to this.

I know I am being sentimental. I don’t care. Today was great.

 
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Anonymous

End Game,

The past haunts me and screaming my truth into the empty void of nothing might help me move forward.

My Truth starts Christmas 2016; your family. A part of me knew the truth in the moment but was desperate to be loved , I ignored my truth. You fly me out to spend the holidays with you the day after Christmas and very little time was spent with your family. Your sister and her family leave the minute I land. Your sister was the next boarding flight out. Brother-in-law hung out for a few minutes to see who the new fool was, I hope expectations were met. The drive home took longer than expected, we even stoped for the night at a hotel. We were an hour away. Less time your family has to deal with me.We finally arrive and your brother isn't even there to meet us. When we get up to the mountain, your family doesn't even snowboard with us. Very little interaction with your brother and his family. Your brother avoided eye contact with me , looking back I noticed. Brothers Wife didn't even ask me one question. Brother and his family leave the next morning . Quality time with the parents is dad telling me crazy stories, late breakfast, early lunches, wasting time at empty malls, dive bars, an hour drive to shoot 8 bullets into nothingness. the truth: I had become that mistress you hide from people.

My truth will be different from your truth. My truth sounds a bit paranoid and far fetched, but Its what I know to be true deep down in my bones. Moving forward doesn't mean I forget about the past, moving forward means I have to accept what happened and continue living. Am I upset about my truth? No, because when I take myself back to those paranoid-far-fetched moments, I remember being with you and how happy you made me feel in that moment and I will always be grateful for those happy moments.

From Crazy

 
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Anonymous

Dear Johnny,

Stop overthinking. Stop playing out worst case scenarios. Stop thinking everyone hates you. Stop.

Live. Be Present. Be happy.

If you don't have any friends , less drama to deal with. If you never find the one, you kind of already knew that would happen. If you get fired, you'll find a new job. If you die , you won't have to worry about overthinking things.

From Johnny

 
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Anonymous

It is said that we need to define everything and everyone, but do we? Can we? How do you define something that has infinite definitions? There are labels for everything and everyone, but why? Why must we diminished to singular definitions when we mean more than that? Why is it that the color of your skin, sexual orientation, social class, etc. define who you are? Why am I allowed to be defined by other people with no knowledge of me as a person? Why are we defined? In the end there is no need for other people to define you. As long as you can understand yourself you do not need other people to define you. Instead you must teach them who you are.

 
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from A self destructive girl

Well.... That went amazingly well. I kept up with what I said... Yeah. I failed, again. I couldn't write because I didn't know what to write eventhough, it says my thoughts. Sometimes my thoughts are too fucked up to be shared.

I stabbed a yoga ball multiple times to get my anger and frustration out, punching myself on the head and smacking my head against walls is a new fave. I do this to myself, so I shouldn't even be dwelling on “why am I like this?” I'm fully aware of what I'm doing. I'm fully aware that I may need help. But will I? Possibly, not.

Being a walking contradiction isn't that great either. You say one thing and then you say another and change your mind. Indecisiveness. Wait. I lost my trail of thought there Sigh sometimes I think it's the world that makes me miserable. But that could also just be me wanting something/someone to blame for my misery. There really is no-one to blame for this, but myself. I was born this way and I gotta accept it. As hard as it is to accept my pathetic self, I gotta do it sometime, right?

 
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Anonymous

Someday I will Tama na Nagooverthink na naman ako Kahit wala naman talaga to dapat Stop doing it to yourself E Nothing really matters now Focus your energy on the things that really matters Lord please help me

Huh!

 
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