I will be starting farrier school next summer and I have some questions to prepare for that. Little bit of a background I am a 30yo Female, Army Vet. I have some minor hip problems, but managing it currently.
My questions are:
Is there any material I should start reviewing before class that current farriers or students think would be helpful? Equine Anatomy? Learn more about equine industries, etc? I have been around horses for about 15 years, but by no means an expert. Just love to be around them.
Should there be anything physically I should start training for? Should I start building up strength in my back and shoulders?

I was reading an article today about James Gunn's new design for Superman's iconic outfit and how they think that he shouldn't be reinventing his outfit so much. Although they said the new design wasn't terrible, it also wasn't anything outstanding to look at. So this got me thinking on how they could possible redesign his outfit, while still keeping the same color scheme and his iconic S symbol on his chest, while also changing it up some and keeping it new. I tried Googling this and nothing came up and I'm no Superman lore expert, so please tell me if this goes against everything for his character. Basically my idea for Superman's outfit shouldn't be an outfit at all. Instead of him using his superspeed to change into his iconic blue and red outfit, he now has the power of changing his skin color to the blue and red colors and then regarding his iconic S shape, he now has this ingrained into his chest anatomy, maybe the chest bones are kind of S shaped, but turn a golden yellow color once the rest of his skin changes color to highlight this area. Regarding his cape, I'd assume it just sort of grows out of his shoulders or appears sort of like he's manifesting it onto himself. And then of course the whole gential area comes into question, obviously he can't be slinging D like Dr Manhattan, so I'd just assume he sort of goes full Ken mode and it's just not there, unless you really wanna go R rated then by all means turn that area into the mighty Red Son. So yeah, that's my idea for a redesign of his outfit. The closest character that I could think of that was like this was again Dr Manhattan, but I couldn't find any pictures of Superman with blue and red skin and no outfit, and I'm not a great artist to draw this up, so I apologize. But I was just curious if this sounds like a good idea for a costume redesign or if it's just a silly thought.
TL:DR. Superman doesn't change into his outfit anymore, but instead changes his skin color to match the red and blue color scheme while his chest bones form the shape of the S, they glow golden-yellow in color, and his cape grows out of him or just appears.

~First~
(Got up Early to talk about the CPAP machine and such. Only to be given an appointment on friday. So yeah, in trying to solve a sleep issue I’m giving myself more of one. Incidentally Friday will be late due to well, the CPAP retrieval and tutorial)
The Pirates
“So, they’re here.” Agenda says contently as she finishes feeding her fussiest little girl.
“Yep!” Jingay chirps happily as her freshly hatched little children are happily playing on the glowing, shimmering platform that her rattle has brought to life. She can’t do anything complicated, but a soft shiny platform for her little slithers to play around in? She can do that, but it takes some focus. The tiny fluffy child of Vuni is cuddling the strong Jungle Nagasha tail that wraps around her own tail.
“How formal a call do you think we should make?” Miles asks in an amused tone.
“Not especially, after all the babes ensure it will never be properly formal, they’re too happy and healthy.” Agenda notes.
“I blame you for that.” Miles says and Agenda laughs.
“If you don’t want the blame I’ll take it.” Vuni remarks.
“You’re just as guilty.” Miles says and Vuni laughs in response.
“What’s going to happen?” Jingay asks and Miles is pensive for a moment.
“I don’t know.” He notes as his hand gently rubs the handle of his revolver. The constant rubbing had necessitated him re-burning the names of his family back into it. “But no amount of waffling about will let me know. So if you don’t mind. I’ve been... getting something a little ready.”
“Is this what you’ve been sneaking around to do for the last three days?” Agenda asks.
“Something like that. It’s a bit of a treat I wanted to give you girls so... care to join me?” He offers.
“What have you done?”
“Me and the boys got together a great big feast so that we can all talk The Inevitable at once. It took a bit of doing, but when the boys and I get moving, we really get moving.”
“Are you including Red Squadron and Biran in that?”
“And a lot of cadets too. Markus gave them a proper mission in setting up the area.” He says.
“How is that a mission?”
“It involves deploying a military force to secure and prepare an area for higher ranking officers to approach and remain there for a time.” Miles says before offering his hand. “There’s plenty of space for all our little ones, and for all our allies. Give them all a big impression. How does that sound?”
“Well, if you’ve been planning this for days.”
“I have. All of us have.”
“Then I suppose we HAVE to show up, don’t we?” Agenda says in a luxurious tone. “I’ll get my coat.”
•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•
The hall that Miles leads them to is a massive refurbished hanger that has all kinds of carpets put down, tapestries hanging from the ceiling and tables upon tables of different treats of all sorts already out. The Undaunted Cadets are all rushing around putting down more meals and treats and between the richness of the carpets, the crystal bowls and platters and expensive drinks and foods. But the sort of... scrambled way it’s been put together by the cadets lends it an earnestness that bleeds through. More important though are numerous floating platforms where a child can be safely put down and be right beside their parent.
“Oh this is a treat. I haven’t even been one of you guys for long!” A four part harmony says as Moira walks in with little Liǔ Shù napping in the arms of the four bodies that didn’t speak. The toxic little girl not only has numerous of the protective pendents on her and woven into her clothing, but is in a dark jumper that lets her bright skin stand out as if for presentation.
“Well, as their novels say, all for one, and one for all.” A new voice says as a pair of Cannidors lead in their own family. More and more and more people pour in from all entrances, many in uniform, many of them her own girls. Some of them she barely recognizes. Every single one of them that notices her looking raises a glass, nods, salutes or somehow pays their respects to her.
Her little one squirms ever so and is softly comforted. For a moment there is almost a feeling of vertigo. There was a time where all this wasn’t even a dream of a dream. She could remember the feeling. How could she forget it? The sensation of something gripping your very mind and soul and stopping you from even thinking of disobeying. Then so long trying to get things right, trying to be in control of her own destiny, before finally achieving it and learning just how hard that was. How many sacrifices and concessions she made before what seemed to be one of her final concessions... turned out to be final in the best of ways.
“Alright! We have a connection to The Inevitable! Who wants to say hello to the next batch of humans in the galaxy?” Ryu calls out.
“My Lady?” Miles asks as he smiles up at her. She gives him a raised eyebrow at that.
“My lady is it? Well then, I better live up to it.” She says.
“Connect us!” She commands and there is a cheer through the room before a massive projector uses one of the tapestry covered walls as a screen. “Good Ship Inevitable! Can you hear me?”
“We can, you are on a friendly frequency.” A man of Asian Descent says sitting stiffly in his command chair. “I am Observer Wu, sent from Earth to conclusively determine what is going on outside our corner of the galaxy. Identify yourself please.”
“I am Duchess Agenda Lilpaw! I am the ruler of the Vucsa System an Undaunted World! I greet you, because I have long learned my lesson to stay on the good side of humans!”
“Have you now? If I’m not mistaken that is a fully grown human right next to you. You look like you could take him fairly easily.” Observer Wu says in an amused tone.
She looks down to Miles before shaking her head.
“I made that mistake once. My entire ship was not enough.” She says fondly before pulling him close. “Then I was offered a deal, and he used it to help make me a duchess. So you’ll forgive me if I think humans are a good thing to have around.”
“Did he now? I didn’t realize galactic conquest was the intent of The Dauntless and her crew.” Wu notes.
“Well, as one of the conquered, I would like to say I prefer this result. After all, being able to walk about the city without a bodyguard is a welcome change of pace.” Vuni says drawing attention to herself with a slight bow. “Ambassador Vuni Luxed at your service.”
“So this world prefers to be conquered?” Observer Wu asks.
“This world was a slum at it’s best. A hellscape at worst.” Mari Horny states as the Carib woman waves to the camera. “Mari Horny. I was here to witness it all. I’ve seen slaves freed, monsters hunted down no matter what kind of power or influence they have, be they person or beast. With them I’ve seen the children I worked so hard to protect grow stronger and thrive. Doom has come to this world time after time, and they met it each time. If you’re here to observe, then observe this room! Everyone here saved, aided or inspired by the people you’ve come to evaluate! There are ten pure blooded humans in this room, but beyond it is nearly a billion souls who will vouch for them from the first to last! And so will I!”
“No need to be so dramatic ma’am. I’m an observer, not a judge. I am here to see and hear without bias or illusions. Things are odd, and odd things have happened. The governments and officials back home need to understand clearly and without any doubt. So that is why I am here. There was confusion in the first message sent back. The second furthered the confusion due to multiple parties having separate interests. I have been tested, tried and guaranteed numerous concessions and payments for an utterly neutral perspective.”
“So your word is going to be how all is, then they decide if we committed treachery.” Franklin notes as he floats up with several bundles around him, many of them laughing. “Behold this then. My children. All healthy, with myself as the only human parent. My daughters take after their mothers, my son takes after me, but has his mother’s strength.”
“He is nearly transparent.” Observer Wu notes before Franklin gives the little boy a tickle and he flickers in and out of visibility while laughing. “Most interesting. This Vucsa world of yours, before I do my research upon it, is there something you would like to say about it?”
“This is a world on the edge of Wild Space. Which means that it’s often been used in the past as a place where experiments happened.” Miles says.
“Interesting. Such as?” Observer Wu asks.
“Such as my daughter here. I am Moira Octalliry, I will cut through the details and simply state that my anatomy allowed me to be experimented on a great deal.” She says and Observer Wu looks at her oddly.
“Are you one, or many?”
“I am one, but I am eight as one.” She says. “As is my daughter, I have named her Liǔ Shù. She was a piece of myself remade to produce a weapon. She and I were both rescued. I was forgotten in darkness for thousands of years, as was my daughter. Held in a single moment in time and left to rot.”
“And... is she a weapon?”
“I am told you have creatures similar to her new ability back on your homeworld.”
“We do? What is the name of this creature?”
“The Poison Dart Frog.” She says and Observer Wu’s eyebrows go up.
“Don’t forget about the fact that we fought off that robot witch!”
“Robot Witch?” Wu prompts.
“A weapon of war created by a very large, dangerous and expansive criminal family. A death robot known as Mother Massacre.” Moira says. “So consider that. Without them going... I don’t even know what to call it, I saw the contradicting orders, without them going sane for lack of a better term, I would still be in a slowly failing stasis capsule, buried and forgotten in the darkness.”
“And so, in summation, and from the mouths of those that clearly trust them what is your opinion of The Undaunted and the humans that make it up?”
“When I was brought to this world it was as a slave, my dignity ripped from me, my home destroyed and in less than a day I had my freedom, dignity and a new home.” One of the Erumenta that Agenda cannot recognize out of hand announces.
“And my own. My whole family, those that were enslaved are freed, those that were indoctrinated into that wretched way of life have been allowed time to recover.” Biran says grandly.
“They took me in.” A smaller voice says as Karim rises up. “I’m a Hlo’Shab. Death Born. I could have reasonably only expected to have my core shattered, or shunned for my entire life. Instead I have a home.”
“And... to be Death Born means what?”
“I am a Slohb. By blood I have only one true parent. I was broken off of them far too soon and they died as I survived. Death Born. Or... well, I don’t have blood but... you get the idea right?” Karim asks.
“I understand.” Observer Wu notes. “I have more calls incoming. Is there more from Vucsa for me to see or hear?”
“Over here!” A jubilant voice calls out and the room turns to see Hewhew standing on the shoulders of Heffer to tower over everyone with the Agela’s height added to his own. “Red Five calling it in! The Vucsa Defence Fleets fly fast and proud to keep our home safe!”
The crowd around him, pilots all, throw up their right arms and cheer along with Hewhew. “Welcome to the Galaxy Observer! We’re ten tons of awesome in a two pound bag! Let’s rock!”
Observer Wu smiles as he looks around. “I look forwards to discovering the truth of things.”
“That’s the fun part of the galaxy sir, it’s so absurd we don’t need to lie.” Miles states and Observer Wu turns back to him with a smirk.
“Well, we shall see, won’t we?” He asks. “Is there anything more?”
“I take it you’re not in the mood for a display of flight prowess? We’ve been working on a new routine.” Hewhew calls out.
“Perhaps later. I have numerous calls waiting.” Observer Wu states. “Now if you’ll excuse me...”
~First~ Last Next

I cant seem to get rid of a chair seat when riding dressage. It can happen in a jump saddle but far less severe or frequent.
I really struggle with a lot of dressage saddles having too wide a twist requiring my thighs to grip like a barrel. My current lease horse has a lovely AP saddle that’s a better fit for my anatomy (still too big) but no matter what I did today I couldn’t get my leg under me for the heel hip shoulder straight line.
Is it influenced by saddle? Do I have an odd body that just can’t do long dressage legs? 😅 or what am I doing wrong?
Thank you!

Other stories by TheMaskedOne2807: The Oil Chapter 1 (Getting Back)
[First] [Previous] [Next] [Wiki]
“How magnificent, wouldn’t you agree?! Jasha asked with excitement, swinging on a trapeze line. “I must say, when you fought that golden turd, and I made you see some sense in your idiocy, I had been hoping for this.
“No more lies of morality to hide behind. Just raw brutality as you fight for your life and, of course, so I won’t make you feel too bad since I think you deserve it, the lives of others.”
Sitting in the audience seat surrounded by shadowy figures, Kenneth let out a tired groan, hoping she’d fall. “Hey! Cirque du Soleil! Is there a point to this dream, or can you just let me sleep?!”
Smirking, Jasha picked up momentum and flipped toward another trapeze. With her arms outstretched, she only managed to scratch the trapeze with her claws as it became clear she mistimed her jump.
Falling toward the ground the crowd gasped while Kenneth yawned. However, from the obscured and shadowy big top of the circus tent, appeared on a trapeze line of his own, Kenneth’s younger self.
Reaching out his hand, he caught Jasha and tossed her toward the trapeze she’d failed to catch this time making it. “If you want to sleep, that can be arranged, but I thought it would be nice for the two of you to talk since it’s been so long.”
Eyes locking, Kenneth watched his younger self vigilantly like a hawk as he swung toward him. It may have been a while, but he still remembered their previous interaction, and he wasn’t looking forward to this one.
Letting go of the trapeze, his younger self hurled toward him as the crowd gasped with distinct screams of women and a few cries from a baby. With a heavy thud that destroyed the seat in front of him, his younger self glared at him.
Glaring right back, Kenneth couldn’t help but notice his younger self looked a bit older than the last time he’d fought him.
“Hey sucker, you are not as dumb as I thought, his younger self said in a surprisingly calm tone of voice. “You finally taught all of them a lesson they won’t forget. I might not have to lock you away at all.”
Leaning forward in his seat, Kenneth got right up in his face. “We both know what happened last time you tried that.”
His younger self narrowed his eyes as he stuck out his tongue. “Stupid frog-sucker, didn’t you hear? I said I might not have to. Just don’t forget they should fear us.”
“Is there anything more you want to say?” Jasha asked, hanging onto the trapeze with her knees. Grunting, his younger self ran off, disappearing into the shadows.
Arching her back, Jasha once again picked up momentum. The crowd held their collective breath as she let go of the trapeze and flipped through the air. However, her destination wasn’t another trapeze but Kenneth.
As the shadowy audience members that surrounded him fled, Jasha landed with a heavy thud.
“Was that supposed to scare me?” Kenneth annoyedly asked.
Standing above him with her legs spread and feet on the seats next to him, which were utterly destroyed, Jasha smirked. “So, how would you rate me on a scale of one to ten?”
With disdain, Kenneth rolled his eyes and adverted his gaze so as not to blatantly stare at her crotch. “It was shit.”
Placing her hands on his shoulders, Kenneth’s eyes went wide as Jasha straddled him. “Realy, only two? I’ll admit my form wasn’t the best, but the suspense and execution should at least award me another douche and a tinkle.”
Glancing at his shoulder, Kenneth’s heart raced. For the first time, he could feel her touch. Balling his hands into fists, he’d like nothing more than to punch her.
“Surprised? Jasha asked as she leaned back and started tracing her claw across his jaw. “To be honest, I think this is the first time I’ve been so close. You want to hit me, don’t you? Your eyes tell me as much.
“But I can also see you know it’s pointless, just like every other time you’ve tried. However, believe it or not, I was so entertained by the last episode that I’ll give you one for free. A bit of positive reinforcement.”
‘I-is she telling the truth? Kenneth wondered for the briefest of moments, his fists shaking with rage before falling limp. ‘Yeah, right. She’s just lying.’
“hm… nothing, really? Perhaps I need to annoy you a bit more?” Jasha smirked as she brought her finger to his lips, slowly pushing past them and wiggling it inside his mouth.
Regardless if she was lying or not, Kenneth wouldn’t take this from her as he slowly focused on her hand. With a sudden chomp, he bit down as hard as he could.
“AAAARRRGGG!!!” A sudden scream of pain erupted in front of Kenneth. In utter shock and disbelief, he was overcome with a sense of jubilation he’d never felt before. However, to his sudden confusion he could hear laughter.
Suddenly feeling himself slumped over, Kenneth sat up and rubbed his eyes through his mask, alleviating some of the blurriness that filled his sight. ‘Guess I woke up. Still tired as hell, but it’s better sleep than I expected.’
As everything came into focus, the first thing Kenneth noticed was Kila hunched over with a few people standing behind him. The second was something hairy in his mouth.
Suddenly realizing what he was biting down on, Kenneth eased up on his bite at which point Kila pulled his finger out of his mouth and subsequently yelled. “By Akina, how can dull teeth hurt so much?!! What's wrong with You?!! You don’t just bite someone!”
“What's wrong with me? Kenneth rhetorically asked. “Probably a lot, but at least I don’t go around putting my finger in people’s mouths while they sleep.”
Stepping forward, Fenik padded Kila on the back while she barely held back her laughter. “Don’t be so angry; your idea to wake up Kenneth worked, you brilliant genius. Now, wasn’t there something you wanted to ask?”
Groaning, Kila held up his other arm, showing Kenneth a decently deep wound. “Could you heal it?”
At a glance, Kenneth could tell it needed stitches to be closed, which wasn’t a problem, but he was a bit taken aback since if he remembered correctly, this was the first time someone had approached him to be healed as opposed to Kica. “Sure, no problem.”
Reaching into his bag, Kenneth got the tools he’d need. He was about to inject Kila with some local anesthesia when all of a sudden, he said. “Wait. I don’t want the pain to go away, pointy thingy.”
Feeling tired, having a headache from just waking up, and tasting a few hairs in his mouth, Kenneth didn’t see any point in arguing. “Just don’t complain about the pain, and try not to move.”
Getting to work, Kila made more facial expressions than he thought an Aki was able to while Kenneth’s mind had slowly begun the process of waking up.
With his dull senses getting a bit sharper as time went on, Kenneth, for the first time since he woke, realized he wasn’t home but in the great hall. ‘Oh right, I’m here. Hmm… why do I feel like I’m forgetting something?
‘Let me think. I woke before the sun rose from Nokstella biting me in her sleep. Forced myself out of bed and went to the well to get some water to clean my clothes. On the way back exchanged pleasantries with Hali, who was on his way to the great hall to prepare breakfast.
‘Then I got back home and accidentally woke Nokstella and ended up giving her a bath before washing my clothes. Still tired, I tried to get some sleep, failing miserably. Then Nokstella’s stomach started to growl, and I thought, why not? And took her to the kitchen.’
'I gave Hali a hand by cracking a few bones while telling him about how to smoke meat. We ate at which point the sun started to come up. Looking thirsty, I took Nokstella to the well to get her some water, where I met Selisio, who was bringing some to Jinki. We talked and walked while I tried to keep my eyes open.’
‘I don’t even think I remember what we talked about, but I’m pretty sure I ended up dropping Nokstella off at the nursery and then made my way back here before I fell asleep on the table. But then why do I still feel like I’m forgetting something…? Hmmmm… well, it couldn’t have been that important if I can’t remember it.’
Tieing the final stitch, Kenneth cut the threat, at which point Kila, who looked about ready to cry, jumped up in celebration, showing off his stitches to the people behind him. “Ha! Who’s tougher now?! I got one, too!”
Looking slightly pouty if Kenneth read the expression correctly, Fenik crossed her arms, turning her head away. “Fine, you are not a coward.”
To Kenneth's slight bewilderment, when he was about to put away his tools, the Aki that accompanied Fenik and Kila suddenly stepped forward with wounds of their own.
As any good doctor would, he stitched them right up, but just like Kila, they refused local anesthesia and celebrated when he was done.
Looking more so annoyed than anything else, Fenik stared at Kenneth, asking, “Did you do something different with me when you healed my wound? Because I know that liar couldn’t handle that. Why not do that pain sound thing again and see who lasts longer without shielding their ears?”
“Why so angry? Kila smugly asked. “It isn’t his fault. I’m just able to handle pain better than you.”
“Oh, I’ll show you pain, Fenik replied with a rather angry and annoyed look in her eyes. “You! Me! Sparring arena! Now!”
Before Kila even had a chance to reply, Fenik grabbed him by his neck hairs and dragged him away while he muttere “ow” over and over again.
“Guess I’m a way of proving your toughness now… It’s a step in the right direction, at least,” Kenneth muttered as he noticed Kica walking passed the small group toward him.
Sitting down right across from him, it was clear she looked just as tired as Kenneth felt. “I see you finally managed to give those three the slip. It must be annoying having…”
Looking at Kenneth, her eyelids halfway closed, Kica reached over and gently grabbed his hand. “Before you say anything more, I want to say thank you.
“I don’t remember much of what happened, but I know that without you, I’d be dead or worse. For that, you have my eternal gratitude… and my deepest apologies for putting you in danger.”
While her soothing words comforted him Kenneth couldn’t stop feeling a pang of guilt for what she had to endure by healing him. “Listen, that Nok just appeared out of the blue and took you. I might have taken a beating, but--”
“No, Kica interrupted, lowering her head and growing a bit teary. “It was after the Nok when I woke up. I told everyone I had lost my ability to heal, and Kiki started talking about killing you, calling you a traitor who worked for the Nok, and I said nothing.
“If Commander Jinki hadn’t appeared when he did, I don’t know what would have happened.”
“Woah… woah… woah,” Kenenth said gently, caressing Kica’s hand, trying to calm her down. “Listen, a lot of things happened one right after the other, and you can’t blame yourself; I certainly don’t. If anyone is to blame, it’s me for giving you that caffeine pill.”
“What do you mean you are to blame? Kica questioned as she raised her head and dried her eyes. “That little white thing made me far better at healing. I was almost done with everyone before you returned.”
“I only realized this when I was lying in bed, and my head wasn’t filled with a thousand thoughts, but the caffeine must have kept you energized and awake; Kenneth explained, “You always fall unconscious when you heal too much, but the caffeine must have prevented that.
“And if I had to guess, the reason you couldn’t heal while still being awake was because you just reached your natural limit or at least as close as you can come to it. At that point, you probably just needed time to rest like always before you could start healing again.”
“Time and rest, Kica repeated in disbelief. “Was that really all I needed? Did I make everyone worry, put you in danger, and make Zilika hurt herself over and over all because I couldn’t wait? By Akina, how stupid can I be?”
“Kica, you shouldn’t call yourself stupid, Kenneth said in a reassuring tone of voice. “How could you have known this when every time you’ve approached your limit, you just passed out? This was new territory for both of us in the fields of medicine and magic.”
Looking at him, Kica gave a slight chuckle and smiled halfheartedly.“You sound so hap--"
“There you are!” Pilu yelled as she stomped across the room over to their table with her entourage in tow. “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten healer, but the commander’s orders were for us to escort you and ensure your safety!”
“Oh dear lord above, Kenneth sighed in pained frustration as he rubbed his head to reduce the Pilu-sized migraine he’d just gained. “Haven't your duties been made redundant after I fought off a Nok to save Kica?”
“Lie as much as you want; the commander is going to punish you eventually, Pilu replied with a smug expression. One which quickly faded into disbelief when one of the Aki standing beside her whispered into her ear. “Even so, that only proves we need to protect her at all times! Who knows what you’d do if given the opportunity.”
Wishing a mute button for people existed, Kenneth got to his feet. “I do think I’ve been given a fair few of those opportunities to do a lot, but hey, if you want to justify your lazy and redundant duties, be my guest.”
Growling, Pilu stomped over to the back room, kicked the door open while looking at Kenneth, and pointed inside. “I do my work, so go do yours right… YIiiiip!!!”
Jumping away in shock, Pilu drew one of her daggers and threw it into the back room. Landing on the wooden floor panting, her eyes lingered on what was inside as her tail stood standing twice its normal size.
Everyone rushed over with their weapons drawn, equally as shocked as Pilu to see a Nok lying inside the back room. All except Kenneth.
“Ohhhhh… that’s what I forgot, Kenneth said out loud in realization as everyone turned their eyes to him. “Honestly, how could I forget something like this? I must have been really tired.”
“What is this?! Pilu screamed, pointing at the Nok with her dagger. “Why have you brought a heretic inside these walls?!”
“Well, as you may remember, Kica and Aloko both expressed concern regarding their inexperience with anatomy. Kenneth replied. “And well, that was the most put-together cadaver I could find for today’s lesson.”
***
While Kenneth was being yelled at some more by Pilu for unintentionally scaring her half to death, something interesting was happening passed the thick foliage of the forest and a vast distance of land.
With gleeful excitement that only a child could ever experience, Kulo ran around inside the bumping wagon on all fours, yelling. “We are almost home! We are almost home!”
With a good eye and quick movements, Solk caught his son. “I know you are excited son, but only newborns still learning how to stand and beast traverse in such a manner.
“It’s important that you do not do something like that in front of anyone. We may be of the lowest standing among royals, but we must still present ourselves in a dignified manner.”
Still looking excited but also a bit saddened, Kolu replied. “Yes, Father, I won’t do it again.”
“That’s good, my son,” Solk smiled as he placed Kolu down on the wooden floor. Just as he did, the wagon went from bumping up and down to rolling smoothly. Overcome with excitement, Kolu started running around like before, this time on his feet. “We are here! We are here! The capital road!”
While he wasn’t being perfectly dignified, Solk couldn’t help but share his excitement, knowing they were so close to home. It wasn’t long before the wagon came to a complete halt, and Solk knew they’d reached the gate.
Stepping outside, he looked back at the line of wagons behind his. Of course, as per his instruction, the supplier wagons were just behind his, while the inventor and discovery guild’s wagon was all the way in the back.
Satisfied, Solk finally allowed himself to marvel at the gigantic wall that surrounded the capital. It was a feat of construction that had endured the test of time, spanning centuries before the war with the heretics.
Its stature was only rivaled by the king's castle as the only other construction tall enough to block the view of Ki when one stood before it.
As a child, he’d often wonder how many wagons he’d have to stack on top of each other to see above it, and even as an adult, each time he made it home, he couldn’t help but ponder that very same question.
“So you made it back in one piece again!” The green-furred and red-spotted city guard at the gate yelled. Like every other city guard, he wore a helmet with holes big enough for his ears to move around, along with a breastplate and two sets of Vambraces and Cuisses.
Meeting him with a friendly smile, Solk walked over to Heebee and exchanged the standard greeting, a formality more than anything between the pair. “And I see you are still guarding the gate. I’ll sleep far easier knowing you are still in charge.”
Heebee gestured for his surrounding men to move ahead and inspect the wagons. “I’m guessing you must have a few stories to tell. If I remember correctly, you used to have one more wagon and that Qsiosija wasn’t with you when you left.”
Chuckling, Solk glanced back at the massive creature pulling the wagon, feeling a slight bit of pride. “It was my son's idea. He somehow made friends with it and managed to convince it to pull one of our wagons.
“But would you believe it if I told you that was only the least interesting thing I’ve experienced on this journey?”
Raising an intrigued eyebrow, Heebee wiggled his nose. “Now, this I must hear.”
Gesturing for him to come closer, Solk whispered into his ear. “I met a man that had nipples.”
Pulling back in slight surprise, Heebee gauged Solk’s facial and tail expressions before he had to ask. “Like a woman?”
Reminiscing, Solk kept going. “He was quite the strange one and very slow to anger, but it was quite a sight to see him fight after being challenged to combat in the name of Giga’s blood.”
Going from surprised to shocked, Heebee exclaimed. “The goddess’s blood! You are not pulling my tail right now, are you?!”
Stroking the underside of his jaw, Solk smirked. “I dare not say any names, but it’s true, and I might tell you the whole story when the light of Ki leaves us at one of the local establishments.
“Of course, the more time I spend waiting here, the sooner the light will leave us, and who might know when my mate will let me out of her clutches? It might only be when Di trades places with Ki.”
“That eager to see that mate of yours again, even after mating season? Heebee chuckled as he called his men back mid-inspection and yelled with bellowing might.“OPEN THE GATE!!!”
Watching as the massive wooden gate slowly opened, letting the light of Ki shine through the slowly growing crack, Solk let out a little relaxed sigh. “I’ll see you at the Sharp Fang Tavern then.”
“Afraid not. Heebee replied. “Someone burned it to the ground during mating season.”
“Really?! Solk responded in shock. “I know the only reason anyone put up with the barkeep was because he had the best floor juice, but even so, I don’t see anyone wanting to burn that place to the ground.”
“From what I know, it’s much more than someone finally having had enough of the old barkeep or some simple accident, Heebee replied with a solemn expression. “I was guarding the gate like always when I heard yelling and saw the flames. By the time I arrived, the fire was already out of control, and all we could do was make sure it didn’t spread.
“Afterward, we searched through the rubble since no one had seen the barkeep or his family. All we found was a body so badly burned we couldn’t even tell if it was a man or woman with a dagger through their chest.
“Of course, we tried to investigate, but whatever clues there might have been were destroyed by the flames. For some time, it was the talk of the capital, and everyone had heard a rumor or had a few to tell themselves.
“Most seemed made-up, like the barkeep's mate and his oldest son having a love affair and running away after killing the old barkeep. However, one particular… well, not rumor, but whisper caught my attention.
“Some down in Underfoot are saying that heretic cultists are responsible for the fire and the disappearance of the barkeep and his family.”
With a slight expression of unease, Solk took a moment to digest everything he’d just heard. “Heretic cultists…? Are you certain…? I thought all of them had been killed decades ago.”
“They were, Heebee replied as his tail went limp. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring back old ghosts. The disappearance of the barkeep and his family, the dead body, and all those rumors. All of it has been weighing on my mind.”
“Sounds like you need to drink some floor juice and forget your troubles, Solk suggested. “As a thanks for letting me through so quickly, why don’t I buy the first few mugs.”
“Only the first few,” Heebee smirked as his tail slowly swayed from side to side.
“I know you, Hibi, Solk laughed. “If I paid for it all, you’d drink until I was poverty-stricken?”
As the gate finally opened, the wagons started to move; Solk bit Heebee goodbye until later as he made his way back into his wagon and sat down on his bed just as it started to move.
“We are finally going home! I can’t wait to see mother and sisters!” Kolu yelled with gleeful excitement as he once again ran around.
Grabbing Kolu again, Solk lifted him up in the air. His fur was rugged and unruly, with tuffs going everywhere as he was swung around. “Is this what you called Ero-sykansis?”
“Areodynamis father. Kolu corrected while giggling. “Kenneth taught me it. He’s so smart and wise and a great healer. Father, do you really think Kenneth will be the next great healer?!”
“Only the king can decide that, but I’m certain that once he’s made aware, Kenneth's standing will be greatly elevated,” Solk replied as he placed Kolu in his lab and reached for a brush. “Now I know you are excited, son, but we have to make two stops before we return home.
“And in the meantime, that unruly and rugged fur of yours is in need of some brushing. We can’t let you meet your mother looking like a wild child raised solely by nature.”
Excitement slightly dimmed, Kolu allowed his father to brush him, evening out the rugged and unruly fur, making him look as presentable as any high-born should.
Removing his son’s shirt and brushing his back for some time, Solk couldn’t help but think. ‘Kolu, I hope you never have to see the true ugliness of this world.’
Just as he finished his thought, the wagon came to a stop. Placing Kolu on the bed and getting up, Solk redied his friendly smile and stepped out in front of the inventor and discovery guild.
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Part 1: Childhood Part 2: Oregon Part 3: Puerto Rico Part 4: Global Part 5: Iran Part 7: Retirement

Part 6: Elsewhere

The glass vial was unharmed, but now instead of transparent, there was something cloudy inside. As quick as anything I grabbed the stopper from my pocket and plugged it up.
I’d won! I’d fought a djinn and won! I had a bottle worth fourteen million dollars, and only a few scrapes and bruises as punishment! I sat down to a well-earned rest in the shade of the tent, and looked across the rocks and the red morning sky.
I’m ashamed to say it took me far too long to figure it out. Sat in the shade, I was facing west, and the sky should not have been such a deep red. And for that matter, what was I in the shade of? The tent should not exist in our world. I looked around at the craggy rock formations, where previously there had been sand dunes. And it gradually sank in.
The book! What was that last line? I quickly wrote what I’d spoken in a notebook, and then retrieved the spellbook from where it had fallen. I’d misspoke just one syllable. What was it Shamil said? “That rock exists in both worlds” - implying that other things did not.
Djinn are reputed to be almost invisible, insubstantial, like gas - but that’s only because they exist in another world, and only barely in ours when they are in their natural form. The incantation was designed to shift the djinn between worlds and trap it in a bottle. By messing up that last line, I conjectured, I had shifted myself between worlds. And now what? I was alone, trapped in another world, with only a few weeks’ food and water.
Another thought hit me then. I could barely bring myself to believe it, until I looked. The Jeep was gone. Or rather, it was still exactly where I had left it; it just wasn’t in this reality. I had only the supplies in my pack, maybe two days if I rationed myself.
Hunting in the desert is slim pickings, even for an expert. Hunting in a desert of an unknown world? Even if I found food, there was no guarantee it would be good for me to eat. I had little food, little water, no shelter, and no way back home.
Actually, I did have shelter. I carefully opened the tent, without the faintest idea what I expected to find there.
It was surprisingly ordinary. The furniture and decor was alien, but there was a bed, and even a table and chair, though all a bit big for me. A lamp hung by a string from the ceiling, emitting a constant orange light, though I could not figure out the source of its power. A bookshelf contained about thirty books, all written in a language I didn’t recognize - no human language I’ve ever seen. And there was a large chest, made of a strange gray wood with metal fastenings.
I opened the chest, and found it filled with food fit for a djinn. But djinn prefer rotting meat and bones. I quickly closed the chest as the stench threatened to overpower me. Aside from shelter, there was nothing for me here. I had a day, maybe two, to find either food or a way back. Three decades of hunting and wilderness experience might not be much use here, but it was better than nothing.
I don’t know how they found me. Perhaps they brought supplies to the outcast hermit; perhaps they have a psychic link and knew what I’d done. Whatever the reason, as I sat in the oversized chair, reading my notes and the spellbook, I heard voices. This was the first time I’d heard a djinn, but I knew instantly what they were. At the same time deep and shrill, several voices pierced the air from the slope up to the tent. They were getting closer and I had no intention of being there when they arrived.
You learn to keep things close when you’re a hunter, and everything was in my pack. I stuffed my books into a pocket, went to the back of the tent, and quickly slipped under the leather walls. With the tent between myself and the advancing djinn I crept towards the edge of the rock and began the sixty foot climb down to the desert floor.
The climb was more difficult than I’d hoped. The rock was sharper in the world of the djinn, presumably because without the desert sand of our world, it had seen less weathering. I was nearly at the bottom, with painful lacerated hands, when my foot slipped. I reached out for a handhold and grasped a sharp rock; as it dug into my flesh, I yelped like a wounded animal, let go, and fell the last ten feet onto my back.
The fall winded me, but I was more or less unharmed. The sudden cry of pain before the fall was worse. The voices above me grew louder and more excited, and as I picked myself up I saw three djinn staring down at me.
Thirty-two years as the hunter, yet I was unprepared to be the hunted. All I could think to do was run. And run I did. Humans are the best long-distance runners in our world, and I hoped that this applied in that other world too. If the djinn went down the slope, rather than climbing the cliff or turning ethereal, I would also have a good head-start.
I’ve since learned that djinn can shape-shift at will, but can only become invisible or insubstantial in our world. They also seem unable to assume the form of a flying animal, and humans are indeed better at long-distance.
The trouble is, our phenomenal distance running is because we have so many sweat glands. I covered about fifteen miles before I felt it was safe to stop and take stock of my situation. Fifteen miles running for my life, with my heavy pack, under the sweltering orange alien sun. My clothes were soaked through, and I used up a third of my water supplies just to stop feeling dizzy.
I wouldn’t say I was comfortable in the distance I’d put between us, but I was exhausted. I rested until my heart no longer felt like it was going to burst out of my chest, then explored the area. I had found myself in a canyon, cliff walls rising about thirty feet either side, and a relatively smooth floor, most likely the path of an ancient river. I found a large cave, checked that it seemed unoccupied, and took shelter there to consider my options.
The mirror was gone. Perhaps it could still have shown me our side, but the shards were back near the tent, so it simply wasn’t an option. The vial, which I’d cushioned in clothing in my pack, was intact, the captured djinn still swirling around inside. The talisman was a weapon, but a clumsy one, and not much use for finding food or water.
I had one change of clothes, which I used while waiting for my sweat-drenched clothing to dry in the sun. I had enough food for a couple of days, but water was a problem. The cave was cool so I could stretch out my water to two or even three days by staying in there, but that was hardly a long-term solution. My weapons were fine; the GPS seemed functional, but I was unsurprised that it could locate no satellites.
That left the spellbook and the pouch.
The book contained twenty-four spells. Shamil had explained only a few, as most were apparently not useful. I knew the protection spell, the bottling spell, and something he had called a “joining incantation”. He had been quite cryptic about what it was supposed to do; something about returning things that were separated but meant to be together, whatever that meant. Shamil had told me even less about the pouch of sand, only that “I hope you won’t need to use it”.
I’m an intelligent and well-read woman, but I’m no wizard, or priest, or theologian. I’d believed in magic for only a few hours at that point. Still - I could give it a go.
Sand from the desert. I was in a desert, for sure, but one with very little sand, and that little was coloured a deep reddish-brown. This was sand from our world. A spark of an idea came into my head - could the joining spell return the sand to the other side?
I opened the pouch and poured a small amount of sand onto a large flat rock. Sitting over it and holding my hand just above the sand, as the notes in the margin told me to, I read the incantation.
As I reached the last few words, the sand started to glow faintly. The moment I reached the final syllable there was a bright flash - and the sand was gone.
I had hoped, I’d really hoped, that I would return to our world. But I guess I just didn’t have the same attachment to the Iranian desert that the sand did. The spell worked perfectly - it just didn’t do what I wanted. I slumped back in despair, and started to cry.
After a while I dozed off. I think I slept for a few hours, and it was dark in the cave. Outside, however, the light of a moon shone down. I went out to look; it was not our moon, but it was bright enough. It would have to do. Now would be a good time to explore. I found a route up to the top of the cliffs and began to climb.
I made for the highest point nearby without too much trouble, and surveyed the landscape. It was alien but beautiful. Huge rocky spires shone in the moonlight like obsidian. The cloudless sky displayed the stars, and I was relieved to recognize many constellations. Same planet, different world, it seemed. And off in the distance, further along the direction I’d run, I could make out what I believed to be a city. Black rock walls rose fifty feet above the ground, parapets and minarets gleamed white or silver in the moonlight, and above it all, in the center, stood what I believe to be a palace larger than any I’ve seen in our world. Some windows were lit from the inside, and in many ways, this looked like a human city. But I knew it wasn’t.
Djinn can shift into human form, but I can’t do the reverse. The city held no sanctuary for me. I turned back the way I came, and thought I saw the village Shamil had mentioned. It was harder to make out, as there were no lights, but even from this distance I could make out shapes that looked like houses or tents. This would be my destination. I needed food and water; perhaps I could scavenge from there in the night.
So I set off, working a path across smooth rock and between crags and spikes, sometimes meandering through valleys, other times climbing cliffs, and gradually making my way back to the place I’d fled just hours earlier.
It was still night when I arrived, and there was no sign of stirring in the village. The hunting party must have come from here, less than a day earlier; they knew I didn’t belong, probably knew I was human, and hopefully knew my chances of survival were slim to none. With luck they’d given up on me, assuming I’d die alone in the wilderness. There were no lights or movement, and I scouted around. This was difficult, as the moon had already set. I had a few chemical glowsticks for emergencies, and cracked a yellow one.
In the eerie light of the glowstick I managed to find a cave. Actually the tall rocks were riddled with them, so I chose one about five hundred feet from the nearest tent that looked out onto the village. It was smaller inside than the RV, with an entrance that even I had to crawl through, and I settled as comfortably as I could on a bed of spare clothes, looking out to the camp.
Around sunrise the djinn started to move out of their tents. I have no idea what errands or duties they occupied themselves with - but, I thought to myself, they’d probably have an equally difficult time understanding the comings and goings of humans in Chicago or New Delhi. I watched for the entire day, until they went to sleep, making notes on their movements. Alien as their faces were to me, I started to recognise individuals, by their clothing at first, then by their individual features, which seemed as varied among the djinn as among humans. There were about fifty djinn in the village, including about ten children. I understand from what I’ve read that there are males and females, but I could not yet tell the difference.
In the early afternoon I saw two children - teenagers in human terms - leave the camp and head north. I lost sight of them until they returned, carrying large leather bags. They were hailed as they reached the middle of the village and emptied the bags into a large bowl. Water! Somebody rang a bell and the djinn each came up, one by one, with their own bowl and filled it, sipping some and taking the rest back to their tent. If there was any left at night, I could take some.
And so I waited. In the dark of what I estimated was about 2am, by the last light of the moon, I crawled out of the cave and slowly crept into the village, my heart pounding and my ears peeled for the slightest sound. I heard nothing, and reached the earthenware bowl.
It was empty. Of course it was. Water was a scarce resource here, and if any was left over it would surely have evaporated in the afternoon heat. I crept back to the cave and reviewed my notes. The children had headed into the hills, and taken about two hours to return. They were about my size, and walked about as fast as me. I gathered my gear and struck out in the same direction.
Out on the lifeless plains to the north, travel was a little easier. And even as the moon set I could see just enough. People generally assume that a moonless night away from a city is pitch dark, but the stars do provide enough light to make out shapes, silhouettes. I cursed myself for not bringing a compass - not that I knew whether it would have worked here. After about an hour, when I should have been nearing the children’s destination, I reached the hills.
This was a problem. I had no idea where to go, and the landscape limited my visibility even further. Having no better plan, I decided to climb a hill and try to look around. Maybe I would just have to wait for sunrise.
I got a lot luckier than that. As I reached the top of the second hill I heard something! The landscape had been so eerily quiet for two days that it took me a moment to recognize the sound. It was a stream! Elated, and feeling genuine hope for the first time since my encounter back at the rock, I followed the sound.
The stream was tiny. It came out of a crack in the rocks between the hills, ambled downwards for about twenty feet, and then settled into a small pool where I assume it drained back into the ground. I drank, filled everything that could contain water (except the glass vial of course), and even washed my hands and face.
Now, with proper rationing, I could last … I did some quick calculations. Perhaps a week. My water would last a couple of days, and I could always return for more, but food simply wasn’t available. The djinn ate rotted meat, entirely unsuitable for even short-term human survival.
A question, then an answer, came to me in rapid succession.
The question was: where did the djinn get the meat that they left to rot?
The answer came in the form of a deadly coincidence. Or perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence, I don’t know. The coincidence sounded like the shriek of a creature from hell.
I quickly turned my head this way and that. It was so pitch-dark, I couldn’t make anything out. Then I saw it. A shadow blotted out the stars overhead. Before I could react a searing pain ripped through my temple. I fell over, lying prone on the ground, as it landed and stood over me.
I could barely make out any features, but it was big. Bigger than a human. Its wingspan must have been fifteen feet, and it had a vicious beak and talons the size of kitchen knives. I could see its eyes glinting in the dim starlight, which meant they must have been large - it could see better than me. I’ve hunted plenty of beasts, and even in the dark I could tell what it was thinking. It was waiting, trying to decide if I was a threat, and working out the best way to take me out without losing too much of my flesh.
I whimpered like a fox in a trap. I held my bleeding head with my left hand, and whined. I rolled over onto my left side, wounded by the fall, crying out in pain.
The bird stepped towards me. Its head bent down, taking a close look at me. The monster raised a foot, and gently prodded my leg with what seemed like curiosity. I howled in agony. It moved its talons to my waist, and unhurried, knowing that I was helpless and too injured to fight back, clasped them around my waist.
I knew from decades of experience what a defeated animal looks like, how it sounds, how it behaves. Was I in pain? Of course I was. But I had exaggerated my injuries. I had made myself bait - and it had worked. My right hand was just where I wanted it. I drew the knife from my belt, grasped the bird’s skinny leg above the foot, and struck with all my might.
The cry of pain pierced my ears like an ice pick through the skull, leaving me almost deafened. The creature threw itself into the air and flew upwards, leaving its severed foot around my body. It circled a couple of times as I got to my feet, then made right for me, its remaining talon ready to strike with all the force it could muster.
BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG - BANG - click - click - click - THUMP. My pistol was empty. I was on the ground again, the bird’s body pinning me to the floor. It was dead.
As I gathered my breath and my wits, I found it easier to wriggle out from under the bird’s corpse than to heave it off me. I sat in silence, listening, not knowing if it had been alone. But I didn’t hear or see another that night, and come sunrise I found yet another cave-home and dragged the beast in. This was now my food for the next week. I’m adept at skinning and butchering animals, and the anatomy of the bird was similar enough. In a couple of hours I had strips of meat curing in the sun, and I spent the rest of the day turning the skin into a rather poor substitute for a bedroll.
With the food I already had, the meat would last me a couple of weeks. I couldn’t afford to hunt like that again; I had only enough spare ammo to refill the pistol once, and I had fifteen cartridges for my rifle. The knife was beginning to dull, although at least I had a spare. I did make myself an additional makeshift weapon: I cut the bird’s talons off, and strapped them into my left-hand glove. I had absolutely zero confidence in its value in a fight, but hey - what else was I going to do with my time?
“What else” was, of course, reading the one book I had with me. Most of the spells were not relevant to my situation, or so Shamil had told me. It was a mass-produced book for various purposes. Well, “mass-produced” meant a few dozen, and it was copied by hand, but Shamil had only written his notes against the three that I’d used. I tried to decipher them, but I understood only a few spoken words of Farsi, and had no chance with written Old Persian. I tried to match up words from other spells with the transliterations of those three, but remembering what happened when I simply mispronounced one syllable, thought better of trying them out loud. I did try the joining incantation a few times, but only the sand ever reacted to it.
A week came and went. I had experienced no strange otherworldly disease from eating the overgrown chicken, and decided to hunt another. With preparation perhaps I wouldn’t have to empty my gun this time.
I knew next to nothing about the birds’ habits or behavior. It had tried to carry me off, so I guessed it had a nest somewhere, and possibly young to feed. I had encountered it in the hills, so most likely I would find others high in the hilltops. Not much to go on - I already knew it was a bird (more or less), so hardly a revelation there. Still, this was all I had, and I needed to eat. I got a good night’s rest and set off at sunrise.
I spent a couple of days climbing the hills, searching the horizon, and wishing I had a pair of binoculars. On the afternoon of the second day I heard a screeching sound, and knew I was closing in. I couldn’t see it from where I was, and honed in on the sound, keeping as much as I could to the shadows between the rocks.
And soon enough, there it was. A little smaller than the first one. Good, I thought - an easier fight. I hid myself between a couple of crags, watched it circle around overhead a few times, and then it landed about fifty feet away, the other side of a small plateau. It didn’t look particularly alert, presumably not expecting trouble, though it’s hard to tell on those emotionless bird-faces.
I quietly retreated, and circled around the plateau, taking care to stay hidden. When I reached the creature’s resting spot I peered carefully over a rock. It was facing away from me.
The beast’s neck was too high to reach easily, but its heart was at my chest height. I checked my pistol, readied my knife, and crept toward my prey, about to strike, when -
Two djinn leaped from above, where they’d been hiding behind a rock. The bird, hearing their landing, turned. And for what felt like an age, but can’t have been more than a second, the four of us just stared at each other.
Then the bird squawked loudly and flapped its great wings. It rose about ten feet into the air before one of the djinn threw a spear, piercing its heart. I turned to run. I heard the bird thump to the ground behind me. And then everything went black.
I came to in a tent, I don’t know how long later. I guess the second djinn had clocked me round my head, which was pounding like the worst hangover I’ve ever had. I groaned and tried to make sense of what I saw. The furniture was a similar design to the outcast’s, but better made - a bed, a food store, lamps, a desk with what looked like writing implements. Glass and earthenware jars held items I couldn’t even guess at identifying. And three djinn sat on chairs nearby, one with black skin, and two dark gray, talking in their own language.
My moaning had attracted their attention. They turned to me and watched. Why was I alive? Why had they captured me?
I found out soon enough. The larger one spoke to me. The voice was that of a djinn, but the language was human. It was hopeless, though; my grasp of Persian was even less than the djinn’s, and I didn’t understand a word. I tried talking in English, but it was clear that it didn’t understand. It seemed to be getting frustrated, and after a short time it grabbed me, easily lifting me from the floor where I’d been lying.
It put me at a second desk, one I hadn’t seen earlier. It was covered in human artifacts - a fedora here, a can of beans there, a vinyl record, a spark plug from a car … it looked like the strangest thrift store you’ve ever seen. I guess sometimes, things fall between worlds, and this djinn collected them but had no idea what they were.
The djinn continued to bark what I now understood to be commands. It wanted me to explain the items to it.
Well, if they weren’t attacking me, I’d prefer to keep that state of affairs going as long as I could. I picked up the fedora, slowly so as to avoid any perception of threat, and placed it on my head.
The djinn looked pleased. It took the hat from my head and placed it on its own, making two holes for its horns to fit. I’m grateful that their vocalizations differ so much from ours, since the sight a seven-foot semi-naked black-skinned demon wearing a pink fedora made me sputter out a laugh before I choked it back.
I moved on quickly. The desk was large and cluttered; there were hundreds of items there. I couldn’t open the can of beans, so I held it in my hand and mimed eating it. The djinn took the can, cut a hole with a single sharp claw, and sniffed. It put the can down with a look of disgust. I shrugged, not knowing if it would understand the gesture.
I did not recognize all the objects. Many of those I did were simply impossible to explain with gestures - how do you demonstrate the operation of a spark plug, or a computer mouse, just by waving your hands? But I worked my way through a dozen or so of the items before the djinn said something to me, and I understood that we had done enough for the day. It motioned to the floor. I lay down on the uncomfortable surface, the djinn’s friends left, and my djinn - if you’ll pardon the expression - lay down on its bed. It said a single word in the djinn language and the light above us winked off.
That night was not the most restful of my life. Trying to sleep next to the person who has taken you prisoner is a task made even harder when that person is a monster from another world. I considered running, but how far would I get? And what would they do to me when they inevitably caught me? I resigned myself to staying, at least for now, and somehow I did eventually drift off.
I was woken by the loud grunts of an alien attempting to speak Persian. Derek (as I’d decided to call him, despite having no idea if it was a “him” at all) had fully opened the can of beans, and gave it to me. Cold baked beans? Well, I’ve eaten worse. And after breakfast we continued our tour of human bric-a-brac. We worked our way through various items, some more successfully than others, until I found a car key.
The key fob was a distinctive red color, and an unusual shape. I recognized it immediately. It was the key for a Gladiator Rubicon. How many can there be? What are the chances? I remembered I’d taken it with me up the rock when I battled my first djinn. It must have fallen on the ground up there. Thoughts raced through my mind, and I tried to push them down. There would be time for this later. I must give no indication that anything was amiss, not while Derek was watching over me. Pushing the key to the pile of items I couldn’t easily explain, I moved on.
In the late afternoon I heard a bell ring. Derek gave me a small clay bowl and led me outside. This was when I knew where I was - the same village I’d spied on all those weeks ago. I collected water along with all the other inhabitants of the village, had a sip, and took the bowl back to Derek’s tent.
That, apparently, was the day done. Derek spent an hour or so at his writing desk, leaving me alone to think. My pack, still unopened, was on the table with the other artifacts, along with my guns, but I knew I stood no chance against the entire village. I hadn’t seen the knives; presumably their function was obvious, so they hadn’t made it to the collection. I had no intention of showing Derek how a rifle worked unless I had no other choice. Not that he would need mechanical aid to kill me if he wanted to.
What about the key? I had seen no indication that the djinn had vehicles, and I knew the Jeep could outrun them, but I only had the key. The Jeep was in another world.
Then it hit me. The key and the car belonged together. The joining incantation! Yet again I gulped down an outward expression of excitement, and soon enough the djinn went to bed and turned the light off.
I waited, silent, for hours. In the middle of the night, when I was as certain as I could be that Derek was fast asleep, I rose and moved, silent as a mouse, to the artifact desk.
The most important thing was the key, and I quietly slipped it into my pocket. I considered taking the guns, but they would be no use on my journey, and would only slow me down. I reached for the pack, gingerly picking it up, and knocked over a jar of Marmite.
My heart raced. Derek stirred, but did not wake up. After standing silent as a statue for over a minute, I retrieved my pack and slowly, ever-so-slowly, walked out of the tent.
It wasn’t far to where I’d parked, only about a twenty minute walk. But it wasn’t close enough. With the village barely behind me, the ground in front of me lit up faintly. I turned around; the lights in the village were coming on. I heard loud voices. Four or five djinn were outside, and then one pointed in my direction and yelled.
I slung the pack on my shoulders and ran. Long-distance endurance was all well and good, but right now I simply needed speed. I sprinted through the alien night at break-neck speed, and very nearly did break my neck when I tripped in the poor light. Somehow I righted myself and kept going, not looking back, but hearing voices getting louder. They were gaining on me.
With my head-start I might make it. What then? I reached in my pocket for the spellbook, but couldn’t find it. The joining incantation was only five lines, and I’d tried it several times - could I remember it?
I pulled the key fob from my hand, holding it tightly. The key belonged to the car. I could return it to our world. What about me? I liked that car. No - I loved that car. The Jeep was basically a part of me, I tried to convince myself. We had spent weeks together. Months, I told myself. Years. I was the driver. I needed it, and it needed me, to be complete.
I was close. I imagined the look of the car, the tire tracks through the desert sand. The gear in the back. The coffee cup in the cupholder.
I chanced a look behind me. Six djinn were nearly on top of me. I said the first line of the incantation. I was at the spot now, I was sure of it. I slowed, and stopped. I said the second line.
One of the djinn barrelled into me, flinging me to the ground. With a death grip around the key, I said the third line.
Two djinn pulled up to my side, and turned me to face the sky. I said the fourth line.
Derek stared at me with eyes burning fiercer than I’d ever seen. He reached back his fist and swung it with all his strength at my face. I said the fifth line.
The djinn’s fist filled my vision. And as the outstretched claws ripped through my face, they turned to smoke. Expecting death, I felt nothing more than a gust of wind on my skin and a chill in my brain, as though something insubstantial had passed through my head.

This is long, I'm sorry. TIA for those who get through it. I made a throw away account to make this post as I did not want my mental health struggles associated with my main. There's a TLDR version at the bottom.
BACKSTORY Started seeing the psychiatrist in Oct 2022. Between then and now I have been diagnosed with CPTSD, ADHD, and reactive depression. I will be seeing a neurologist in the next few months to further determine the presentation of cognitive processing deviations and confirmation of Autism.
JUMP TO JULY 2023. Issue 1. I often feel like what I am saying is not being understood as I intend it. And, with new efforts to not self abandon, instead of submitting and telling people they're right and understood what I meant, I started trying to re explain when I felt people weren't getting what I was saying. This lead to a lot of friction sometimes because people are adamant they understand what I am saying and I am clear that they are not when they repeat back what they think I meant, because what they repeat back is not what I meant. I know I am the common denominator. I know I process things differently (or I must). Anyways, we had a session where this became very obvious in July 2023. She was getting flustered, said the phrase "Never in my 30 years of practice have I ever had a patient tell me they don't feel heard"- my response was like, I'm not sure what to tell you apart from what I am experiencing from our conversation and that is that you are not understanding what I am trying to say about how I am feeling. We ultimately had to drop what we were talking about and move on which felt not great.
She sent me an email after that session, suggesting Autism. Except, it took 6 months before I received the email. -after July 2023 Session, she sends me an email regarding her thoughts on me having Autism -Sept 2023 Session she asks if I receive the email, I say what email. She stresses that she spent an hour on the email and that it had some really good points so she wants me to read it. I go home, check my email, don't have it. I text her to let her know (this is how we schedule), she says she'll resend -Oct 2023 Session, I say I still haven't gotten the email. After the session, I email her so she can just hit reply and send me what she wants to send me -Nov 2023 Session, still no email, she hasn't responded to my email, I don't say anything. I struggle with advocating for myself. In my mind, she's already helping me in other ways, so for her to not send me the email after that much back and forth must mean it's not important, plus I don't want to burden her (x.x) -Dec 2023 Session, still no email.
So the Jan 2024 session, I enter the room and sit down. I have a very difficult time standing up for myself. I tell her I have something to say and I need to say it before we get into anything else or I wouldn't be able to. I tell her I feel that me not receiving this Autism email that goes over her perspective on me having a condition for 6 months was inappropriate and made me feel very stressed and very dismissed. She goes to say that the email was not overly informative, which contradicts what she said about it initially. But if I feel so strongly about needing it she'd send it. I said because of what she initially described the email as being, and because she, as my practitioner, sent it to me as a part of the treatment, I did want to receive it.
She then asks me if I really expected her, a physician, to go through her inbox to find an email she already spent time to write and send, to find it again, to resend to me. I said yes. She said physicians can't afford the time it takes to do that(she can bill for this time, I have no idea why she said this. Completely out of pocket imo as a practitioner myself, I would never speak to patient this way).
I also took this session to ask if we can increase frequency of sessions. As much as there is friction, I am aware that I need help navigating and untangling all my junk and I know it's not going to be a simple task, I figured what I was going through was more or less normal. But considering the fact it took me 6 months to say I didn't like how something was handled suggested to me I might need a little more of SOMETHING. Plus, she gives me some things to work on/think about for the next session but when that session comes it's like she forgot what she told me to do/ what we were working on. So the month I spent going over what she wanted me to, when I bring it up she's not sure about what I'm talking about, has to go back to her computer and look at her previous notes to confirm or negate what I'm saying. So if it's not in her notes, she tells me she isn't sure where I got what I'm saying from. Which makes me feel like she's low key gaslighting me ("hey I did the stuff you told me to work on" "I didn't tell you to work on that, why would you think I did?").
Anyways, in response to asking about the possibility of more sessions per month she used the phrase that 'my expectations for therapy are too high.' That her other patients are happy with the frequency and they are seeing positive outcomes from her interventions. She said she knows what she does works because all her other patients are improving.
I felt so dismissed and invalidated.
She told me I was being critical of her and I was the one being dismissive of what she has done for me to that point. My time between being referred to her and actually having a session with her was maybe a month. I had no pull on this. She made it seem like she did me a favour taking me in faster than normal saying most people wait a year or two before seeing a psychiatrist (this I was not familiar with, but how is it on me if they decided to expedite me through?) and that I was not being grateful.
I told her that me standing up for myself was very difficult and all I was trying to do was say that I did not appreciate waiting 6 months to get an email that to me had very pertinent and pressing information based on what she said the email contained, and I felt I would benefit from having more sessions. That did not mean I was upset with how things have went, just that I am looking for more/ alternatives. I was struggling finding words, I started getting teary/ crying (hello dysregulation). She said she did not want to see me that way and said we should stick to speaking about the medications exclusively as she felt that talking about things outside of meds was causing more stress for me than anything.
I do not know how to segregate discussing how I feel the medications are or are not working without discussing how things are impacting me in my day to day. I get really stressed out and dysregulated when she asks me, for example, how my interactions have with people have been going- I freeze, struggle to communicate and try to give information in a way to go avoid getting overwhelmed but it doesn't work very well.
ISSUE 2 I am naturally lean. I work out and am strong, but I am an ectomorph. Due to my education, I am well versed in anatomy and physiology (It's what I'm paid to be an expert in). She sites BMI as the metric she uses to determine when a medication should be stopped. I am 5'6 and weigh 118 lbs (normally I'm at 127-130 however STRESS). It took some time and a lot of convincing from her for me to regularly take the three different medications she's prescribed on the daily, one being a stimulant for ADHD.
We take my weight during a session and she says due to me BMI score, if I don't increase my weight, she'll take me off the medications. She did not offer an alternative. I was very thrown off by this considering how much convincing she did for me to take the medication. I challenged her, she knows what I do/did for work at the time. BMI was developed in the mid 1800s. It is a screening tool not diagnostic. It should not be used based on its own merit and certainly not be used from inclusion/exclusion criteria, rather a screen to give you an idea when you don't have access to anything else since it does not take into consideration body composition. I conveyed this to her and she replied, that she feels maternal towards me and wants to protect me. I did not know how to respond to this.
So- then I started getting overwhelmed with taking medications. I love the gym. I used to go 6 days a week. If I don't work out I get really small- I lose muscle. I have to eat a lot. The ADHD medication, I don't know if it's because of the dose I'm on, upwards of 80 mg, but it completely erases my appetite to the point when I realize I haven't eaten all day, I try and eat but often I would gag after trying to eat (no ghrelin produced means there's no signal for my body to eat). So I take the medication, I can function better, but eating sucks and I work out hard so I lose weight. I don't take the medication, I struggle with functioning, I can eat, but have little time for the gym/ going to the gym becomes a huge task and I miss out on something that actually helped with taking care of myself (benefits of exercise for mental health/ autism/ self love/ all of the things)
Ultimately I stopped taking the ADHD meds because I was getting overwhelmed. I cancelled my last session with her because I did not want to experience a session where I get dysregulated telling her about the ADHD meds/ risk having her take the meds away (even tho I'm not taking them) / I don't feel I can talk to her without her internalizing things and thinking I am criticizing her.
TLDR- Summary: I feel so dismissed and invalidated. I understand if her other patients are doing great, but the interventions should be patient specific, not make your patients fit to your one intervention. My biggest issues are:
-her saying the Autism email would be informative, that she spent a lot of time on it so she hoped I would read it, is in complete conflict with her resistance to resend me the email and what she said when she finally sent the email 6 months later. Her asking me if I actually felt a physician should spend time looking for an email they already sent in their inbox to resend also really struck me wrong. Yes, I do in fact expect that.
-telling me my expectations for therapy are too much (I told her I did not know what my expectations were, which is why I asked about the possibility of more frequent sessions, instead of saying my expectations are too high, making me feel like I was asking for too much, she could have made other suggestions)
-saying what she does works for her other patients ( It's like she's reassuring herself it's not her fault for what's happening, it's on me).
-saying her other patients are seeing positive changes from her interventions (as above).
-when we get to a point in a session where I feel she is not understanding me, and she feels she is, she now will effectively shrug her shoulders and says she knows I have trouble communicating and leaves it at that, she just moves on to something else.
-saying she feels maternal over me as rationale for her clinical decisions
I know this was long. I'm sorry. I know moving forward with a complaint is fairly damning for a practitioner. Especially in this context. Writing everything out I feel like it could be spun that I am going through a lot and am very stressed and that could be the reason I am receiving her sessions the way I have been but I strongly feel there is no situation the above statements made by her are ever appropriate, especially in the context she said them.
I am just at a loss. I feel like I can't tell her how I feel without her taking it like criticism. I can understand if she feels criticized but that doesn't overshadow me feeling dismissed or invalidated. The session after she said I was being critical of her and not acknowledging what she had done for me, I said I thought a lot about what she said and I understand how she felt that I was being critical and I apologized for making her feel that way but that doesn't mean my experience also does not exist and is not true- she did not apologize. We did not discuss it further.
I wish there was an actionable step that wasn't as severe as a college complaint. I've been messed up for up to a week after seeing her sometimes, making me ineffective at completing things I NEED to get done, I just get so dysregulated (deer in headlights, impulsive discussion, brain fog, cannot make decisions especially if there's a sense of demand/ urgency, etc).
Thanks for letting me vent. Please let me know your thoughts.

Hello! I am 23F and have had weird very dull soreness seemingly behind my left breast. So I always always wear a sports bra, even to sleep, and the other day I decided not to wear a bra all day. Well by the evening whenever I was slouched at my computer I started to feel a weird dull soreness by the outer edge of my left boob, kind of where it’s connecting with my shoulder. So if I sat up and stretched my shoulder back, it would relieve it. The actual breast/nipple itself doesn’t feel sore or tender, just the outside.
I’m no anatomy expert so I don’t even know if this is a thing, It feels like the tissue connecting the boob to my chest got stretched and is sore. Its so dull that if I’m up and doing things I forget about it, but if I’m sitting down relaxing I feel it. I started to feel it a little bit on my right boob as well, but left moreso. What in the world is this and has anyone else experienced??? I should also note that this started the day after my predicted ovulation as well. Do I freak out, or is this pretty normal?

At one point as a student, the doctor had just finished taking the scope out of the patient we'd done a cystoureterogram with C-arm fluoro on. And then he insisted on me leaving the pictures up and using the camera in the scope to take pictures of the pictures. (There was a lot of unusal anatomy). I felt weird at the time but hust kind of went along with it and the tech i was with shrugged their shoulders. Was that wrong? Should I have spoken up?

Introduction:
Orthopedics, the branch of medicine dedicated to the diagnosis, treatment, and rehabilitation of musculoskeletal disorders, plays a crucial role in maintaining mobility, function, and overall well-being. From treating sports injuries to managing degenerative conditions, orthopedic specialists employ a diverse range of techniques to help individuals overcome challenges and regain optimal musculoskeletal health. In this comprehensive guide, we’ll explore the fundamentals of orthopedics, common conditions treated, diagnostic approaches, treatment options, and the importance of proactive care in preserving mobility and preventing injuries.
1. Musculoskeletal Anatomy and Function:
- Bones: The structural framework of the body, bones provide support, protection, and anchorage for muscles and organs.
- Joints: Articulations where bones meet, allowing for movement and flexibility.
- Muscles: Contractile tissues responsible for generating force and facilitating movement.
- Ligaments and Tendons: Connective tissues that stabilize joints and attach muscles to bones, respectively, enabling coordinated movement and function.
2. Common Orthopedic Conditions:
- Osteoarthritis: A degenerative joint disease characterized by the breakdown of cartilage, resulting in pain, stiffness, and reduced mobility.
- Fractures: Breaks or cracks in bones caused by trauma, accidents, or underlying medical conditions.
- Tendonitis and Bursitis: Inflammation of tendons or bursae (fluid-filled sacs) due to overuse, repetitive motion, or injury, leading to pain and swelling.
- Rotator Cuff Tears: Tears or damage to the muscles and tendons surrounding the shoulder joint, often resulting from trauma or repetitive overhead movements.
- Spinal Disorders: Conditions affecting the spine, such as herniated discs, spinal stenosis, and scoliosis, which can cause pain, numbness, and limitations in mobility.
3. Diagnostic Techniques:
- Imaging Studies: X-rays, MRI scans, CT scans, and ultrasound are utilized to visualize bones, joints, and soft tissues, aiding in the diagnosis of orthopedic conditions.
- Physical Examination: Orthopedic specialists conduct thorough physical assessments, evaluating range of motion, strength, stability, and neurological function to identify musculoskeletal abnormalities.
4. Treatment Approaches:
- Non-Surgical Interventions: Conservative treatments such as rest, physical therapy, medication, bracing, and injections are often recommended for managing orthopedic conditions and injuries.
- Surgical Procedures: When conservative measures fail to provide relief or in cases of severe trauma or degeneration, surgical interventions may be necessary to repair, reconstruct, or replace damaged tissues or joints.
5. Prevention and Rehabilitation:
- Exercise and Conditioning: Regular physical activity, including strength training, flexibility exercises, and cardiovascular workouts, can help maintain musculoskeletal health, improve strength, and reduce the risk of injuries.
- Injury Prevention Strategies: Proper warm-up, technique modification, use of protective gear, and gradual progression in physical activities can minimize the risk of orthopedic injuries.
- Rehabilitation Programs: Following surgery or injury, structured rehabilitation programs guided by physical therapists focus on restoring mobility, strength, and function, facilitating a safe return to daily activities and sports.
Conclusion:
Orthopedics encompasses a vast spectrum of conditions and treatments aimed at preserving and restoring musculoskeletal health. By understanding the principles of orthopedic care, recognizing the importance of early intervention, and embracing proactive measures for prevention and rehabilitation, individuals can optimize their mobility, function, and overall quality of life. Whether seeking treatment for an injury, managing a chronic condition, or striving for peak performance, orthopedic specialists stand ready to support and guide individuals on their journey to musculoskeletal wellness

So I was hoping to get some eyes on this, and see if anyone has suggestions. Also just hoping to get general thoughts on the whole thing.
Groth, the White Death, The Walking Blizzard, let out a low growl and gingerly dabbed at his head wound, as he made his way towards the ship’s bridge. With XO Gwip, and Chief Security Officer Diroon, still stuck in medical; after the events of the most recent raid. It fell to him as Captain, to shut off the ship’s proximity alarm. In his haste, and still half asleep, he had once again smashed his head into the low doorframe of his quarters. He was unsure if a piece of metal had finally worked its way free from the constant blunt force trauma of skull meeting metal; or if he had simply slammed into the door with enough force to cause his skin to split open. Either way, he now had a streak of magenta blood staining his otherwise pristine white face fur.

Groth was by no means the smartest or most friendly looking Aolthundian; which said quite a bit, since the Aolthundians as a race were not well known for their intellects or charming visages. Aolthundians were known for their massive frames, immense strength, and durability/resistance against most forms of small to medium caliber weapons. These traits made them some of the most sought-after mercenaries within the Galactic Union. It also made them some of the most dangerous pirates, that the GU had to contend with.

Groth was a prime example of his race, standing at a massive 30 Galactic Standard Units [12.835 feet] when bipedal, and a still respectable 11.3 GSU [4.83451667 feet] while quadrupedal. Groth was descended from one of the largest and most powerful sub-species of his race. Hailing from the farthest northern cotenant of Aolthun, his ancestors had evolved to both blend in with their frozen environment, while also having grown massive to better fight against their ancestral opponents, the Bif. While it had been several millennia since the Aolthundians had gained sapience, and the Bif had long since died off, some ancestral traits still manifested within the bloodlines of families like Groth’s.

Groth didn’t know many things, he’d left much of that “big picture” stuff in the hands of his XO, and lifelong friend, Gwip. The only things he knew for sure at the moment; was that he absolutely hated being stuck on this third hand shoebox sized Nimean1 rust bucket; he absolutely despised the high pitches screaming of the proximity alarm; and that the last four [weeks] were somehow all Gwip’s fault.

Groth could still hear Gwip’s words from all those [Years] ago. “Man, screw fighting and dying for someone else’s petty squabbles. Let’s become privateers! Think of the fame and fortune... What are you stupid? Don’t buy new. Might as well throw your credits into the void? Save some chits, and get a used ship... No, no! Not an Aolthundian frigate, they’ll turn most of the ship to slag before risking getting within a light hour of us if they think they’re up against Aolthundians. Our best shot is to catch them by surprise, as they say “No one expects the Aolthundian Inquisition” ... Get this one, no one’s going to except a bunch of Aolthundians to be on a Nimean freighter. It’s the perfect cover”

Groth had to begrudgingly admit that at least some of that advice had proven correct thus far. Every single ship they had encountered, had vastly underestimated them. But who could blame them? A ship design so old, that it hadn’t seen production in over 30 [years]. No doubt crewed by a group of Nimeans. Nimeans who were so strapped for cash they couldn’t even afford to hire a security corvette, despite needing to travel through such a dangerous patch of grey space. Clearly, the Nimean captain had to be up to their eyestalks in debt if they were risking not only their own life, but also the lives of their crew, on an “all or nothing” run like this. Traveling through grey space, could often cut [weeks] off your travel time. It also meant one could avoid the costly travel permits, and toll fees, you were required to pay if you used the GU controlled space lanes. Surely such a run meant a ship filled to the brim with easy to move loot. Or perhaps it was a group of Nimeans who were running illegal goods. They hoped that the age of their ship, and their race’s pacifistic reputation would shield them from being accosted. Either way, the whole thing screamed “easy score” to the pirates who trolled these back alley short cuts. It was also well known that Nimeans went for a high price on the slave markets of the Outer Rim.

Everything had been going great for 4 [years]. Near constant raids by pirates, slavers, and the other low lives of the galaxy, meant that the crew wanted for little in regards to food or entertainment. The bounties Groth collected from dealing with these groups, along with the profits from selling off their illegally gotten goods, allowed for an immense amount of custom work to be done on the freighter. Modified smuggler hatches, enhances shield arrays, retrofitted heavy armor that doubled as prevention against internal scanning, not to mention the upgraded ‘asteroid defense system’ were but a few examples of the modifications Groth and Gwip had made since buying the rust bucket. All the upgrades meant that the ship could punch well above its weight class. Not that all those upgrades had mattered during their last raid.

It had all started off as it normally did. The enemy ship had “caught them by surprise”, Groth’s crew had hidden away in the modified smuggler hatches. The enemy boarded the ship and began to fight their way through the automated defense system. Once they were a good distance into the ship, Groth and the crew exited their hiding spots. Gwip and his team would flank the enemies from behind, while Groth and his team would secure the enemy ship.

Everything was going like clockwork; at least until the enemy’s combatants decided to self-detonate rather than be captured. Groth had lost half a dozen crew in the blink of an eye, as their prey literally exploded underneath them. Another dozen, including Gwip and Diroon, where only critically injured during the chaos. Saved the worst of it by either being further away from the detonating invaders, or simply happening to be behind a crew member who bore the brunt of the explosive force and super-heated shrapnel.

The enemy ship had tried to flee, only to find that when they had latched onto the freighter; the freighter had latched onto them as well. High intensity Grav-beams made sure that no ship could escape once they docked, at least not without tearing a massive chunk out of their hull and superstructure.

Their hopes for escape dashed, the enemy captain had chosen to do the unthinkable. Rather than surrender or even go down fighting, the cowardly bastard had scuttled his ship. The resulting explosion, coupled with the proximity of the two ships, had caused massive damage to the Nimean freighter. The containment fields on the FTL engines where cracked, meaning the ship risked catastrophic system and structural collapse anytime it made a jump. The weapon systems were FUBAR. Even the impulse engines were down to sub 50% efficacy. The only silver lining was that by some miracle, the electronic warfare suite (EWS) had managed to come out of everything relatively unharmed.

Groth finally reached the bridge, and turned off the alarm. As he scanned the incoming data, the rest of the crew, most of whom had been hibernating, slowly check in. It seemed there was a ship that had just come into sensor range. It wasn’t broadcasting any identification signal, and its make doesn’t match anything Groth had seen before. Preliminary scans indicated that the ship was damaged, but still held multiple life signs. Given the damage reports and the ship’s current location, it stood to reason that it had recently been engaged in a raid. Though if it had been the aggressor or victim remained unclear.

Taking a risk, Groth hailed the ship using a high end Nimean VI/VR program he had installed to mask who was really on the freighter. Seconds seemed to pass like hours as he waited for a reply. Eventually the opposing ship responded, seeming to finally acknowledge the presence of the Nimean ship. The creature that responded was not one that Groth was familiar with, it appeared to be bipedal with two arms that sprouted from near the top of its chest. The arms were neither overly long nor stubby, seeming to have a joint about half way down. Each arm ended in a five-digit grasping appendage. They were clearly of mammalian ancestry, but for some reason lacked almost any hair. What limited hair Groth could see, seemed to be focused around the top of their skulls and for some around their primary consumption / communication orifice.

Doing a quick data search, Groth was finally able to pull up a species name. Apparently, the beings had many names for their race, but the two most common ones seemed to be Human or Terran. Apparently, their race had only recently, about 15 of their [years], made contact with the Union. The data logs held little information about the race; only some basic anatomy charts, a rough translation of a few of their more prominent languages, and some rough design documents about Terran ship styles.

As the human captain greeted the Nimean avatar Groth used, it spoke of happiness at having found another friendly ship in this sector. The EWS sent a silent message to Groth’s screen, it had managed to break through the, frankly juvenile, security protections that the human ship had used. The EWS had identified that the “human” ship was using their own form of VR overlay. This revelation set Groth on edge, a feeling made worse when a moment later the EWS identified that ship was not actually being piloted by humans. The EWS informed him that it detected no human life signs still aboard the ship. Groth pressed a button, and the EWS projected the image of the ship’s bridge onto a new screen.

The sight that met him, caused him to thank the Ancients for his own VR overlay. The bridge of the enemy ship was splattered with dark crimson blood. Dozens of human corpses still floated where they had been shot. Scattered around the room were various Anstenii2, Groth watched as one of them tore the arm off a human corpse, before shoving the bloody limb into its toothy muzzle.

Groth had no love for the Anstenii, hell he doubted anyone loved the Anstenii. Groth could understand pirates and slavers. He didn’t agree with what they did, but he could understand why some of them did terrible things. When you had no other options, you’d do damn near anything for money or simply to survive. The Anstenii though, no, those monsters didn’t attack ships out of need or even greed. They raided ships for the sheer enjoyment they found in ending other sapient life.

A small part of Groth was happy they had found this group of Anstenii. Groth was not a good person; one does not become a privateer if they are a “good person”. The job required its practitioners to be willing and able to kill at the drop of a hat. Those who did this job needed to be able to end dozens of sapient lives, and still go to sleep with a clear conscience. No, Groth was not a good person, that said he could at least make the universe a little better by purging some true evil.

The “Human” ship had begun to approach the freighter, by some twisted luck their engines seemed to have been damaged when the Anstenii had assaulted the craft. With the human ship moving at limited impulse, Groth was afforded precious few extra minutes to prepare. While Groth had never been a “big picture” or “plan for the future” kind of guy, he had always excelled at combat and battle planning. With his crew already down more than half their numbers, he would have to be extra careful engaging the Anstenii. Sure, the little bastards could never hope to match him or his boys in one-on-one combat. However, he highly doubted the Anstenii would call for honorable single combat; no, the monsters would use their numbers. Hell, even a group of Nimeans had been known to take down an Aolthundian before. All they had to do was swarmed their opponent with enough beings, and be willing to suffer heavy losses.

Groth made the call, all able hands to the hatches, double time. Anyone too injured to move freely, needed to grab a weapon and report to medical. If his plan failed, they would be the last line of defense between the Anstenii hoard and their comatose companions. Anyone not in their assigned position after 5 [minutes], risked being marked as a hostile by the automated defenses or suffocating as Groth sealed bulkheads and depressurized several sections of the ship. He specifically left a path that led deeper into the ship under ‘minimal’ defense. Careful to balance ease of access, with enough mechanical defenses to give the illusion that the crew had fled down the twisting corridors. Too much defense, and the enemy were like as not to simply cut their way through the bulkheads, as they made a direct line for the mass of life signs deeper in the ship. Too little defense and even a fool could smell this for the trap it was.

It ended up taking the “human” ship about 15 [minutes] to finally reach the Nimean freighter. Time Groth was happy to use moving around what various defense systems he could. He had just finished setting up a particularly devious trap when the sensors informed him of the imminent arrival of his “guests”.

Before heading to his personal hatch, he had the system send out a wide band sensor pulse. such pulses were common procedure when ships docked with each other. It allowed for the automated systems of both ships to sink up and calculate an optimal connection solution. The pulse however had another effect, due to proximity, it allowed each ship to scan the other much more thoroughly. Such a deep scan would have been enough to alert the Nimean captain, that the “human” ship was infested with Anstenii. The problem was, that at such a close distance there was no way to cancel the docking program. Groth knew that the human ship would report the use of the pulse, thus alerting the Anstenii captain that the ruse was up... But if luck was on Groth side, it would not make the enemy captain question the lack of resistance he and his crew would face at the docking bay.

Groth had just made it to his hatch when he felt the docking claps latch onto his ship’s hull. Slipping inside he shut the door as he heard the telltale sounds of the airlock cycling. Moments dragged by as he waited for the airlock to finish. Then he was forced to wait as the Anstenii flooded into the cargo hold. Taking deep breaths, he slowly counted down from 300. As he reached 89, the system begun to send him reports about the automated defense system opening fire on the invaders. 40 seconds passed, and the system sent him an updated report; the Anstenii had managed to clear the first 4 compartments. 40 more seconds and the system reported that the Anstenii had cleared an additional 2.5 compartments. Only 3.5 more compartments till they reach medical.

They were moving way too fast; the defenses shouldn’t have fallen so quickly. Had he made the path too easy? No, the data was clear, a normal assault force would not have had the numbers to make this kind of progress. It took only a moment for the thought to form.

“Computer, how many hostiles are there compared to projected calculations?”

“Accounting for losses among the enemy, hostile force deployed 237% more troops then originally projected.” came back the cold voice of the ship’s VI.

Groth both winced and cheered at the news. His projection had been wrong, he had expected the Anstenii leader to send a normal amount of his people to claim the freighter. If he had, the defenses should have stopped them by the 3rd or 4th compartment. The assault leader would have then called for back-up. Instead, the crazy bastard had sent damn near every one of his people in the initial assault. Something deep in Groth’s gut told him that the Anstenii leader would not be the kind of Captain to lead from the front. No... Attempting to hide behind the VR overlay and trick Nimean merchants, said that this Anstenii wasn’t the type to risk his own hide. But committing this many troops also meant he was sure of his inevitable victory and was simply impatient to reap the spoils of conquest. A plan took shape in Groth’s mind.

Groth issued new orders to his men. He would infiltrate the enemy ship by himself, while the rest of the crew pincered the enemy force. The increased size of the enemy assault force had allowed them to puncture much deeper than expected into the freighter. But it also meant that the enemy’s troops were likely exhausted from the speed of the push, bogged down by the worst of the defenses, and lacked reinforcements to threaten the Aolthundian flanks.

As Groth made his way through the human vessel. As he hurried through the human storage bay, he couldn’t help but notice how little sign of struggle the humans seemed to have put up. Wall after wall was coated in the thick dark red blood of the humans. Human corpses littered the floor, most of whom looked like they had been killed from behind. All of the bodies were without weapons. As the passed through storage and followed the direction towards the bridge, he noticed the strangest thing. Despite the general lack of Anstenii corpses; the few times he did find them, there was always a pile of at least half a dozen. Always in close proximity to a human or small group of humans that looked like they had gone down fighting.

As he rounded a corner, Groth run straight into the object of his search. An Anstenii who was flanked by a pitiful two lackeys; the same Anstenii Groth noted, that he had seen using the human VR avatar. The subsequent fight, if one could even call it that, was a one-sided bloodbath. Groth used his massive size and strength advantage, along with his [5 inch] claws, to rip and tear the Anstenii scum limb from limb. The Anstenii fought like cornered [rats], but their plasma bolts and energy blades barely broke Groth’s skin, mostly they just burned his fur.

Groth made sure to cripple the leader by crushing one of his legs, before he turned and mauled the lackeys into a fine violet paste. The chaff dealt with, Groth took his time with the sniveling captain. [Section redacted due to graphic nature of events]. The monster’s punishment was unfortunately cut short as Groth received a message from his crew. They had just finished mopping up the Anstenii invaders. They enemy assault team had decided to fight to the last. Not that it had mattered much. While an Anstenii could make quick work of a Nimean; they had been ill equipped to deal with even a single Aolthundian, much less the tidal wave of tooth, claw, and kinetics that had crashed into them.

This message was shortly followed by the EWS informing him that it had managed to finally gain complete control of the human ship. Groth waved away the message, opting to finish playing with the Anstenii, but stopped when a follow up message appeared. Apparently, there were unaccounted for life signs that had been hidden in the captain’s quarters. Due to various security programs and the reinforced design of the cabin, the EWS had been unable to identify the life signs. Even with its control of the human ship, it could not manage to get a proper sensor reading of the beings inside. It was however, 98.756634% sure that the readings were not those of an Anstenii.

A couple [minutes] later, and Groth was standing in front of the locked door. Its face was pot marked with various plasma and laser burns, Groth was pretty sure he also noticed the remnants of a breaching charge where he expected the hinges should be; despite that, the door looked none the worse for wear. He sent a mental command to the EWS to open the door. With an almost silent hiss, the door depressurized and swung open to reveal a lavishly appointed room. Sitting on a couch on the far side of the room, facing away from him, sat what Groth assumed to be a human in a pink space suit. On a table just behind it, sat some sort of space helmet. The helmet was strange though, Groth was pretty sure that humans didn’t have massive ears that grew up from the top of their head like a Plaxian3. He was also pretty sure that Plaxians were not a common occurrence on this side of the galactic arm.

His unease lessened, as the human bobbed its head from side to side and its real ears poked through the long auburn hair of the human. Groth decided that the ‘ears’ on the helmet were simply a strange astatic design choice, instead of one aiming for functionality. Stranger still however, was the small fluffy creature that sat upon the human’s lap.

The human just sat there lightly spanking the strange small creature, singing to the beat of a ‘song’ it had made up. “Big man. A big big man. A big big stinky man”. The creature, for its part, just swished its tail back and forth. Groth could not for the life of him, tell if it was doing so in a display of anger or contentment. Having somehow caught sight, or perhaps smell, of him before the human; the creature turned and stared at Groth with a look stuck somewhere between boredom and displeasure. After a few moments of tense silence, as Groth stared at the creature and the creature stared back at Groth, it let out some kind of yowl. The noise hadn’t translated, but it had managed to shock the human out of its stupor, as if the small creature just used actual words.

“Stinky boy,” the human said, in the same sing song voice it had been using with the creature. The creature again yowled in the direction of Groth, swishing its tail with added intensity. Following the creature's eyes, the human finally noticed Groth standing in the doorway. The breath caught in her throat. At least Groth was pretty sure it was a female human; enlarged mammary glands were rare on male mammalians.

“Oh, looks like we have even more friends come to visit.” the woman commented in an offhand manner.

Groth wasn’t totally sure, but he thought he picked up a combination of confusion, fear, and... was that lust in the human’s words? No, he must have been mistaken with that last bit. He was not ugly, by his people’s standards, but that was by Aolthundian standards. Sure, he had met a few aliens he might have called aesthetically pleasing, but it was unheard of for one race to be attracted to another. At least outside of a few freaks.

“Are the other aliens still here?” the woman inquired. “I was just getting ready to go greet them, when the system glitched and I got stuck in here.” She got up, which caused the small fluffy creature to leap from her lap and start padding its way over towards Groth. “God, I’m glad the crew finally managed to get the door fixed; it’s been hell trying to relax, much less sleep, with them constantly trying different ways to force it open.” The small fluffy creature finished its slow trek over to Groth and began to rub its face and body against his leg. The human for her part looked towards her helmet and seems to decide against it, if this alien didn’t need a helmet, she shouldn’t either. She slowly began walking towards the massive Aolthundian; rolling her shoulders as she tried to work out the aches and pains of being cooped up for the last couple days. An audible *CRACK* and *pop* could be heard as she finally managed to work out a particularly nasty knot.

“Since you’re standing there, instead of any of the crew, I assume they must have eventually given up and called a professional. I suppose I should say thank you, Mister...” She let the question hang in the air.

“Groth,” Groth replied sheepishly. He silently thanked the fact that his massive frame was taking up so much of the door way. As he thought about how to break the news of what happened to her crew, something she had said bubbled to the surface of his mind. The way she talked about the Anstenii, it almost sounded like the humans had welcomed them aboard. But that was ridiculous, everyone knew that the Anstenii were sadistic sapient murderers. Then he remembered that humans had only joined the Union a scant 15 [years] ago. It was not beyond reason, that none of their people had encountered an Anstenii before. He needed answers, and he needed them quickly, lest he say something to traumatize the young woman.

“I’m sorry Mrs...?” He let the question hang in the air, trying to imitate the human’s calm demeanor.

“Oh god, how rude of me.” the woman flushed as she realized that she hadn’t even bothered to introduce herself yet. “I’m Tori Perez, but please just call me Tori.” She replied in a chipper tone. “Oh, and it’s Miss, not Mrs.” So distracted by each other, neither Groth or Tori noticed the small furry creature as it paced around their feet, until it yowled up at them. “Oh, and this is [name redacted due to copyright claim]. Also known as my Big Stinky Man.”

“If I may ask you some quick questions Miss Perez” she shot him a glare. “Sorry, Tori. If I could ask you a few questions Tori. Are you familiar with the other race of aliens that were on your ship? You see, they have a bit of a reputation; so, I'm curious how they ended up here.”

“What kind of reputation?” Tori looked mildly concerned at this reviolation. “As for how they got aboard, we found them stuck adrift and brought them on to the ship. From the reports I heard, once people got a good look at them, everyone simply fell in love. Who would have guessed that evolution could produce such an adorable hybrid of so many friendly Earth creatures.”

Groth sharply sucked in air, before letting out a sad groan. “Tori, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but those beings are known as the Astenii. And they are as far from friendly, as one can get.”

“But if they aren’t friends, why are they friend shaped?” Tori asked. Groth could see her mind starting to make connections.

“Tori... I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I don’t think you got locked in here by a glitch. The Anstenii appear to have taken advantage of your people’s generosity, and friendly disposition. From what I saw, I think your crew knew what was coming, and decided to lock you in to keep you safe... I’m sorry, but sensors say that you are the only human left on this ship.”

She turned away from him as teardrops streamed down her cheeks. “Those bloody idiots.” Several [minutes] slowly ticked by as Tori bawled her eyes out for her fallen crew. Groth did what he could to comfort the small human, holding her against his soft fur and awkwardly stroking her head with his massive paw. Eventually she managed to choke out a question.

“D... Did... Did they at least die well?” she finally managed to ask.

“The few not struck down in the initial ambush, managed to take down at least half a platoon between them. Looks like one of the crew even managed to sabotage the engines and distress buoy. Even knowing their end was coming, they must have wanted to protect anyone else from falling victim... The crew were eventually overrun, but they made those Anstenii bastards pay.” Groth replied in a somber growl.

“Good... Good.” she was silent for a while as she tried to process the new information. After what felt like an eternity of silence, Tori finally spoke again. “Groth? If the engines and distress buoy were down, then how did you manage to find the ship?”

“Honestly? Dumb luck. Our last raid went wrong and my ship has been limping along for the last couple [weeks] on impulse. Proximity system woke up the whole damn crew. With the lack of a signal at first, I thought I'd just found some wreck I could salvage to pay for repairs.” Groth chuckled at the absurdity of it all.

“Raid?” Tori scoffed. “Did I just get saved by a bunch of pirates?”

“I prefer the term ‘Privateer’, thank you very much.” He scrunched up his face in his people’s version of pride. “Anyway, after our EWS figured out that the ship was infested with Anstenii, I figured we could just kill them and take whatever booty the ship had.”

“Oh? The big space pirate wants to plunder my booty, does he?” Tori asked in a sultry voice.

Introduction:
Joint replacement surgery can be life-changing, restoring mobility and alleviating pain for individuals suffering from conditions like osteoarthritis, rheumatoid arthritis, or joint injury. When considering joint replacement, selecting the right surgeon is paramount to ensuring a successful outcome. This guide will walk you through the key factors to consider when seeking a joint replacement surgeon who can provide exceptional care and results.

1. Specialization and Expertise:

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1. Board Certification and Training:

Ensure that your chosen surgeon is board-certified in orthopedic surgery and has received additional training in joint replacement procedures. Board certification indicates that the surgeon has met rigorous standards of competency and expertise in their field. Additionally, inquire about their fellowship training, which provides specialized education in joint replacement techniques and advancements.

1. Surgical Approach and Techniques:

Discuss with your surgeon their preferred surgical approach and techniques for joint replacement. While traditional approaches are still widely used, advancements such as minimally invasive surgery and computer-assisted navigation can offer benefits such as smaller incisions, less tissue damage, and faster recovery times. Choose a surgeon who is proficient in a variety of techniques and can tailor the approach to your individual needs and anatomy.

1. Comprehensive Preoperative Evaluation:

A thorough preoperative evaluation is essential for ensuring a successful joint replacement surgery. Your surgeon should conduct a comprehensive assessment of your joint condition, overall health, and any underlying medical issues that may impact the surgery or recovery process. They should also discuss alternative treatment options, risks, and benefits to help you make an informed decision about proceeding with joint replacement.

1. Postoperative Care and Rehabilitation:

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Conclusion:
Choosing the right joint replacement surgeon is a critical step in your journey toward improved joint function and quality of life. By considering factors such as specialization, board certification, surgical approach, preoperative evaluation, and postoperative care, you can find a surgeon who is not only highly skilled but also dedicated to providing personalized care and support every step of the way. With the guidance of an experienced and compassionate surgeon, you can confidently pursue joint replacement surgery with the assurance of exceptional care and results.

"The theory of Divine Command, which predates Christianity, is the idea that all our ethical and moral questions, actions, and concepts are fundamentally dependent upon God, who is assumed to be the originator of all goodness and morality. Thus morality is wholly based upon God's commands, and the degree to which we behave morally is inexorably linked to how faithfully we have followed God's commands in response to any given situation. (...) Socrates: Does God command an action because it is right, or is it right because He commands it? Philosophers such as Immanuel Kant (1724-1804) say it is in our own best interest to believe in God, and therefore in the morality that comes from faith, because we try and live with the weight of morality's complexities would be too much for anyone to bear alone. Dilemma: that cruelty might be morally permissible indeed necessary, if it is pleasing to God. Thomas Aquinas (1225-74): God created us, he wrote, in possession of a likeness of His own inner nature, and that by listening to our inner natures we are able to seek that Narrow Path which helps subdue the immoral "devil on our shoulder"." Divine Command, Socrates, c. 450 BCE 1001 IDEAS, Robert Arp
With social anxiety - we have plenty of doubt and rumination and worry and inner critic and toxic shame. This appears as a devil on our shoulder - where angel on one shoulder is fighting with the criticism of the devil on the other shoulder. Devil tells us that something is wrong, it sees wrong and danger in everything - and it makes us feel sad, scared and pushes us to avoid life, to become agoraphobic and immobile - as the only way to cope with problems in life.
There are plethora of questions here. - If this devil of toxic shame and inner critic scares us into security and safety - why is it wrong? It wants good for us - it wants us to feel safe and that we have good quality life, without toxic stress, without pain, without suffering. - What exactly is good for us - and where these fears are coming from? Is our priority to be safe or to go after our goals which may entail facing rude, aggressive and demeaning people when we step outside of our comfort zone? This is called Trolley problem - where we must choose between two bad options - where the only difference is in the causalities and at what time we will pay the price. If we like junk food and prefer to enjoy in life - we will have fantastic time now. However with time - our arteries will be clogged and we might have serious medical problems like heart problems. Is more important our instant pleasure or long term health, feeling healthy in the future? - With social anxiety, our panic and fear tells us to avoid toxic people - but in real life - we cannot run and escape toxic people - eventually we will encounter them. Should our goal be to follow our fears and keep us safe - or be active in life and follow our goals - so that we learn and process reality, learn where are good people, what we like - and then create our future based on our experience - where we will avoid toxic people with time - because we know how to recognize them early on. This is where CBT is based its cure for social anxiety. CBT tells us that we must expose in order to heal social anxiety - that we will eventually desensitize ourselves and that we will learn what we like, and how to handle toxic people - with time, when we observe other people how they handle jerks. In reality - we might live in shame culture country - where observation of others leads to more anxiety and stress and where most people use dysfunctional coping mechanisms - so we get worse by exposing ourselves to toxic ambient.
This is why I see Looking-Glass Self as the priority to learn for anyone struggling with social anxiety. Broken Looking-Glass self tells us that we allow toxic people to form bad opinion about us, that we allow them to keep their wrong definitions about us in their mind. Just allow it. This does not mean taking any action regarding fawning to toxic people. We simply allow our brain, our common sense to guide us - once we allowed toxic people to hate us and to base their hatred on their own decisions how they label us in their minds. When we repair Broken Looking-Glass Self - we will have clear out the inner GPS to guide us - where we will learn from our experience. Social anxiety does not have solution in the form of removing panic and worry pain that toxic people cause us. HOWEVER healing broken looking-self glass helps us to contain this panic and pain withing the workable threshold, where we stay away from self pathologizing ourselves and paralyzing us with worry.
Let's repeat what is Looking-Glass Self:
Social media has added new complexities to the looking-glass theory as new mirrors have been made available. A new Self, known as Cyber-Self has been created. One gets pick and choose what they want to portray and can have several versions of themselves online, from professionalism linkedin to casual tic toc. They are also judged and criticized to a whole new level online which may drive to be online more often to continually reshape their image. 🟥 Looking Glass Self https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hiefWQ-7hBk
We change our appearances to impress other people all the time. We're going through this strange process of thinking about if I wear this or if I behave this way or I act this way, what's the effect of that going to be? “If I wear shirt and tie they'll probably think I'm professional”. I think that is how they going to see me if I wear shirt and tie. Likewise we would change our presentation. Shaping on premise people will react to us in another way. 🟥 Looking Glass Self https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ToYnMWsTlNs
Socialization is an important process that impacts who you become as an individual and the role you play in the society. Socialization is process of learning to become a member of the social world. So through the socialization process we learn who we are as an individual, we learn how to behave in society, impacts you from cradle to the grave, lifelong process. You learn different parts of your identity in different ways of being. 🟥 Looking Glass Self https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hctctEJG8ek
Socialization is not something that happens in a vacuum by yourself. It happens in the interactions you have with other human beings. Identity gets developed, interactions are the foundation of shaping who we become as individuals in our society. Socialization impacts what is acceptable in society. It shapes how we see and define our “self”. Who you are as individual is not just how you see yourself,but how you perceive other people seeing you as well 🟥 Looking Glass Self https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hctctEJG8ek
Our sense of who we are emerges from our social interactions with others. Through our everyday interactions society reflects back to us our own image, the looking-glass self. But how much of that self-image is what others actually think and how much is what we think they think? Our interactions with others can affect our self concept. Over time negative self reflections lead to negative self concept. What society tells about us may not be accurate. 🟥 Looking Glass Self https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDu5nc_uEPo
We might in fact see ourselves not as we really are, but rather how we believe others see us. This process starts in childhood and continues throughout our whole lives. Through the years we see our reflection change through the reaction of others. As we do so – we continually change. 🟥 Looking Glass Self https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDu5nc_uEPo
There's usually a different version of ourself that we present to people in our lives based on the relationship that we have with them. Therefore they see entirely different version of us in their own mind. Lover looking-glass self is the one where we might try to be better than we actually are as individuals to appear better than our average selves to this person. We may not have perfect reflection of ourselves. 🟥 Looking Glass Self https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vgf8qtpeCNY
Basically when we allow people to believe whatever they choose about us, no matter how much painful, wrong, distorted and unfair it is - when we relax our attitude towards other people who are hostile to us in the sense that their beliefs are allowed as whatever they may be - we have resolved social anxiety with amor fati.
"The phrase “amor fati” is Latin for “love of one’s fate.” It describes the attitude whereby one not only accepts everything that happens in life, including adversity and loss, but actually loves it." (what is stoicism)
The only difference is - that what we choose how to act, what to do about any social situation - is totally our own freedom in choice. This is something that CBT and self help industry and social anxiety coaches are not allowing us - they force us to "develop social skills" even though empathy is excellent and rare social skill, fading in modern world, and they force us to talk to strangers and to force ourselves to stay stuck in toxic ambient.
It is the client who knows what hurts, what directions to go, what problems are crucial, what experiences have been deeply buried. Carl Rogers
This is where Devil on the shoulder problems come in. With social anxiety - broken Looking-Glass Self - we experienced some kind of trauma in socialization - where people made us scared, feel insecure and in a state of shock when we're around judgmental, unfair biased people.
Our inner critic and toxic shame will try us to keep us safe by not taking risks and by avoiding living our life. Devil on our shoulder is like pro and con battle - where ideas, alarms, flashbacks, black scenario will pop on our head to keep us hypervigilant. In 2015 I discovered that this is also called Pure OCD, Pure O.
"Pure O stands for 'purely obsessional'. People sometimes use this phrase to describe a type of OCD where they experience distressing intrusive thoughts. But they don't have any external signs of compulsions, such as checking or washing physical things." (mind org)
I researched the cure for PureOCD - and techniques that worked for a while were ACT and Exposure - where we do exactly the very thing that our intrusive worry tells us that we must not do. It worked amazing for couple of months - until I experienced mobbing situation at job - where other person commanded me to do something I did not know how to do - and this person yelled and screamed and created hysteria. This is problem with Exposure therapy and CBT. Whom do we follow here? At one corner - we need to have job, we need to pay rent, we must be obedient and nice and kind to people. However at another corner - we need to be assertive, we need to stand up for ourselves and we need to warn and alarm people when they cross common sense boundaries - and risk getting fired and losing our income. In 2015 I did not know for Looking-Glass Self concept - even though I researched social anxiety since 1996 - no one mention this concept in any kind of resource - books, online, radio, teletext, therapy, talking to people - nobody knows about concepts from sociology that are 100 years old.
Theories of the Self
William James (1890): A person has "as many social selves as there are individuals who recognize him and carry and image of him in their minds"
Charles Cooley (1902): Views of self reflect the standpoints of significant others in our lives ("looking-glass self")
George Herbert Mead (1934): We imagine the perspectives of others and incorporate these into our self views - and that this occurs continuously as we interact with others on an ongoing, moment to moment basis.
Without Looking-Glass Self information - I worried what other person thinks about me when they are angry at me. How they imagine me being inept, stupid, dumb, abnormal, unmanly, shy.. whatever. This kept being my focus in my mind and I kept ruminating about it and I could not remove it from my head - and no PureOCD techniques helped me at all.
As I slowly learned psychology - and as I listened other people when I confided them with my fears - there is general consensus that worrying what other people think is childish and abnormal, that adults do not worry. Which only increased toxic shame, inner critic and rumination. CBT and DSM tell us that Borderline disorder is when we worry what other people think and then base our worth on other people's opinion.
Whereas sociology is teaching us - that this worry is totally normal and that our identity, self worth is based on other people - this is not sickness nor pathology.
IFS Model tells us that inner critic and toxic shame - are parts of our wounded partial identity - that we need to integrate and listen to.
No Bad Parts: Healing Trauma and Restoring Wholeness
Richard C. Schwartz
Listening to, embracing, and loving parts allows them to heal and transform as much as it does for people. parts are sacred, spiritual beings and they deserve to be treated as such.
parts carry extreme beliefs and emotions in or on their “bodies” that drive the way they feel and act.
finding blended parts and helping them trust that it’s safe to unblend is a crucial part of IFS.
Problem with toxic shame and inner critic - is Golem Effect. It means that when we have inner voices that tell us that we are failure and that we are going to fail - that this will end as self-fulfilling prophecy.
"The Golem Effect is a psychological phenomenon where low expectations placed on individuals lead to poorer performance." (simply psychology)
So even though inner critic is wounded and traumatized part of ourselves - it is doing domino effect issues- not only making us paralyzed but also it attracts negativity and pain. Inner critic tries to save us from pain - by causing us to feel pain, and then invites more pain with self-fulfilling prophecy. Then obviously - taking risks, feeling the pain when we go outside of our comfort zone - will be met with pain - but at least we will feel good about trying and living our life to the fullest. And risk does not necessary means pain - facing our fears and living our goals can also bring us fortune and happiness.7
Leonardo Da Vinci took his misfortune and turned it into his advantage. In his time anatomy was considered lower class occupation - and he enjoyed doing it. He didn't feel like snob who is following herd mentality - but he took advantage that as person who was stigmatized as child from unmarried parents - to follow his interest without being bothered what other people will talk about him behind his backs.
I noticed that in my case inner critic and toxic shame - most of the time I am not aware that I struggle with it. I only have by-products, later on, as a clue that something is wrong - being immobile and passive and isolating myself. In the same manner toxic people are also invisible most of the time - we only feel drained and unsettled and doubtful later on, after contact with them.
I would normalize social anxiety as normal reaction to toxic people in the present, as reaction to trauma in the past - and instead I would focus on dealing and managing toxic shame and inner critic as the devil on the shoulder factor that is causing all the rumpus.
It is not social anxiety that keeps us losing our opportunities, as CBT resources state - but it is actually Devil on the shoulder: inner critic and toxic shame being internalized. Social anxiety is normal reaction to toxic people and their manipulation and intrusion and coercive control - whereas toxic shame and inner critic are using toxic people's opinions, our trauma past experiences against ourselves - as a way to protect us - by keeping us blocked and immobile, paralyzed. Instead of worrying how to please toxic people into loving us - we need to investigate and be curious about our negative bias to check what is going on - since we are being inundated with lies mixed in with the truth.
wiki:
SAD is sometimes referred to as an "illness of lost opportunities" where "individuals make major life choices to accommodate their illness"
Inner critic and toxic shame appear as a pain - I imagine past pain or potential future pain - and this is enough to spiral into panic, avoidance, overstimulation and immobility. Similar to the movie Inception (2010) where certain ideas are implanted in someone's subconsciousness in order for them to come up with certain new insights and choices and decisions which are propelled and shamed and molded by the implanted idea:
"An idea is like a virus. Resilient. Highly contagious. And even the smallest seed of an idea can grow. It can grow to define or destroy you."
As I researched Complex Trauma I learned that inner critic and toxic shame are part of evolution and Darwinism - our brain is wired to protect itself and ourselves from the pain. This is mechanism that works for 300.000 years and it helped us to keep safe from predators and any kind of threat.
Toxic shame and inner critic are virus that stem from toxic people. Toxic complainers. Looking-glass self and theories of Self tells us that we form our identity via other people and how we observe others - we introject others and learn from them how to act and react in life. With ACE, ACoA, shame country ambient - we learned negative bias, to see only negative as a way to protect ourselves from the damage and the loss. Toxic people adapt this fear of pain and loss - and they project it on easy targets: children, traumatized adults and then feed on feeling powerful over scared others whom they shocked into state of trauma with micro-managing and error nitpicking and equating mistakes with the identity of person. In business world - such chronic complainers are seen as asset in patriarchy and Rat Race - because they appear as policemen who correct others into productivity with constant complaints and finding faults in others. But actually what they do is block progress - because in state of trauma, shock, shame - we become less productive and we contribute less to any organization or family of relationship. For toxic people - other people's fear is their narcissistic supply. And when we are coerced into fawning - we have perfect loop from hell - where toxic people keep trigger us into fear amygdala hijacking mode where we become obedient slaves - and then feel bad about being exploited and resentful - that ends up as toxic shame for believing we are inept and weak and cowards - which keeps on going as being passive and forming identity on this toxic shame belief. Which toxic people keep on triggering as we make mistakes - which we will make more when our cortex brain is offline due to abuse, bullying and mobbing.
Any action - can be always interpreted as bad and as mistake. As humans we are not perfect and we will always be imperfect - so toxic people, toxic complainers, professional nitpickers have easy task to find silent target and find errors all day long, all the time. Eventually bad things will happen - and toxic complainers will always place blame on the target - and we will end up believing that we are inept and worthless - since we fawn and suppress our anger - due to inner critic and toxic shame - that is suppose to help us to avoid pain - now we are stuck in loop of pain.
Toxic people are filled with bias and base rate fallacies - hence they scapegoat others based on fantasy and delusions - and when we release our anger - we can find holes in their solid walls. From their point of view - toxic people believe that they are gods. They believe that they have magical ability to actually see errors and recognize them, and they are convinces that this "ability" makes them special and superior. This gives them self-righteous attitude - and they see other people as toxic. They believe that they have full right to crush and hurt and harm and to be cruel to the others, similar to witch hunt and Spanish Inquisition. Their egocentrism doesn't allow toxic people to see big picture - and that normal and healthy people also see bad everywhere but they do not harass other people about it or make career on abusing others from the position of power. This loop must be broken.
Toxic shame and inner critic will make us perform Negative politeness tricks - and we will believe this is social anxiety. Like walking in the street and then moving ourselves aside so that other people can easily pass us by. Toxic people do not have this concern - they have Dog in the manger mentality and King of the hill mentality and Crab mentality - where life is competition and they must come on top or die. They are filled with insecurities which they hide with anti-social behavior.
Anger that we suppress - as result of ACE and ACoA conditioning - needs to be released. Healing the broken looking-glass self can help us to see conflict and arguing as performance - to talk freely and to alarm toxic people and cut them off from our lives.
Our own toxic shame / inner critic beliefs keep us hooked on toxic empathy - and we suppress the anger as the result. I would experiment with the anger - emotion that we automatically suppress. Without broken Looking-glass self - we are free to release the pressure vaults - and see what will happen when we do.
With broken looking-glass self - we try hard to appease toxic people with the hope that they will calm down and start to behave normally. They won't. They are automatic complaining machines who believe they are victims and we are the toxic ones. Our anger will prove their confirmation bias that we are toxic. With broken looking-glass self we end up blocked in protecting ourselves - with the false belief that if we are silent, immobile and if we make ourselves small and invisible and if we fawn to toxic people - that we won't be attacked and hence we won't experience so much dreaded pain and trauma. We shut up for the fear that toxic people will form unfavorable image of us in their heads. The solution is - let them. Let them believe whatever they choose.
Our inner critic and toxic shame will barrage us even when we choose healthy coping mechanisms and provide us with reasons why it doesn't work.
I believe that some modified version of Broken Looking-glass Self can be applied for toxic shame and inner critic issue, as well.
Toxic shame and inner critic - they also form bad opinion about us - and then we dance around it to correct it, and make decisions to overcompensate for the label of being wrong, inept, worthless, coward, stupid, embarrassing. I would apply Leonardo Da Vinci mentality - where we acknowledge the fear and labels and panic - and do what we need to do in spite of it. The only difference from CBT Exposure here is - that what we do, what our goals are - are aligned with our values. CBT tell us to expose to anyone and anything. I would filter this a bit - and remove toxic people and toxic ambient from our goals as much as it is possible.

For context the Forge World Columnus sits in the path of a massive Ork Weirdwaagh led by the powerful Ork Psyker Zagdakka. The Raven Guard have engaged the Waagh and have been harassing it to give the Forge World time to prepare its defences. When Clan Raukaan of the Iron Hands, led by Captain Kristos: a powerful and accomplished Iron Hands warleader renowned for his embrace of logic arrive to bolster the defences victory seems assured. However, as the Orks assault the fortress factory of Urdi the Iron Hands refuse to reinforce the defenders.
This excerpt is shown through an Iron Hands marine accessing a bank of data that allows him to relive the battle which is why there's a part mentioning some data being restricted. I think this excerpt is very interesting for showing a major incident within the Iron Hands when they were at their lowest point in-lore.

Having harried these orks for every metre they took towards Urdri, Stenn knew that this was no ordinary invasion.
He had heard in dispatches of the psychic energies that flowed through their Gargants – weapon grids, shields and piercing uncanny augurs – and that brought their lumpen drop ships to ground still. He had heard too of the court of warpheads with which the self-styled warpboss, Zagdakka, surrounded himself, and had lost two squads of his most experienced Scouts in a failed attempt at thinning their numbers. He saw now with his own eyes the weird energy that flowed through these greenskins in their battle-madness like some manner of psychic connective tissue, the brawn and sinew of some gestalt ork that drove them unto death with a single, overriding will.
The fire discipline of the Raven Guard and their mortal allies slaughtered greenskins every minute by the hundred, but they didn’t seem to care, hurling themselves recklessly against the Imperial guns as though possessed. Not that the blasted Iron Hands would allow for the slightest deviation from their precious calculus. Stenn sneered, his pistol emitting a final hiss as coolant jets sprayed from the weapon’s muzzle and the vents locked. He thumbed off the safety and selected rapid fire. He could teach the Iron Hands a thing or two about logic.
‘Kristos, you honourless shell, I’m talking to you.’ He raged into the vox as he seared the heaving mass of orks with plasma. Too soon, heat warnings blinked red on the pistol’s side and he was forced to flick back to vent. ‘I need reinforcements and I need them now. Now, Kristos! I want a creeping artillery barrage walking outwards from the outer wall over the southern highway and I want aeronautica backup. Kristos!’
‘Captain,’ shouted Yavid. His company standard-bearer was on one knee behind the low wall and blazing into the horde with tight semi-automatic bursts of his pistol. He jerked his beaked helm towards the wrecked loading yard to the northeast of haulage depot 764. Stenn looked to where his brother pointed.
A squad of Iron Hands Centurions, almost as well camouflaged as the Raven Guard themselves in their huge black warsuits and perfect stillness. Their hurricane bolters were unloaded and pointed at the ground or at walls, whichever direction they had happened to be facing when the strange malaise of inaction had taken them.
Stenn regarded them with fury. The few Iron Hands he had seen had been that way, ever since the unexpected psychic onslaught had levelled the south wall outright. At first he had wondered if it was a secondary effect of Zagdakka’s powers, but the Raven Guard and their mortal allies were unaffected. Yavid had a replacement eye as well as a bionic arm and he remained functional, as did the crew interfaces of their vehicles. As did the damned skitarii.
‘Kristos!’ he roared down the vox again, knowing he wasn’t going to be answered, but determined that his last words be heard just the same, even if it were only by a comatose machine. ‘And he had the nerve to tell me that the Raven Guard dragged his primarch down,’ he growled to Yavid. ‘Corvia, but I hate them. You hear that, Kristos? You think it was coincidence that found us both in the vicinity of this world? We too heard Dawnbreak’s mortis cry. The second one, the one they sent after you abandoned their world to the eldar!’
An ork ran at him. He tore its head from its shoulders with a slash of lightning claw, then incinerated two more with precise blasts from his pistol. With the meaty clash of butcher’s work, the bangs of bolter-fire diminished as orks thundered into the thin line of Space Marines. The Rhinos’ storm bolters flashed; the thudding reports dissolved into the meat of chainblades and knives and primal screams. Assault Marines leapt into the air on bursts of thrust, flung back to earth as though on elastic cords to send orks flying. Lightning claws sizzled and cracked. He was aware of men fleeing, skitarii jerking as they were cut down, but the melee had swallowed him whole.
All the feints and tricks and stratagems that had delayed the Weirdwaaagh thus far were done. Now it came down to the strength of his arm, the artifice of his armour – kill orks until there were no orks left and pray to the Throne that enough men survived to hold this line when it was done.
It was what failure looked like.

...

The Centurions moved!
There they were, silent as the blown-out repair shops through which they came, ghosts of the machine bound forever to a doomed cycle of destruction and repair. The firepower of the Centurions alone would have ripped a hole into the ork horde as wide as the gates of the Ravenspire, but six full squads of Tactical Marines also moved up through the rubble behind them. They spread out, taking fire-positions just beyond the chokepoint where Stenn’s efforts held the orks at bay.
What were they waiting for?
He saw a pair of hellfire Dreadnoughts lumbering into position either side of the smaller Centurions, and then heard the weary collapse of a pockmarked stretch of rockcrete as the glacis plate of a Redeemer pattern Land Raider drove through it. Its sponson flamestorm cannons traversed to track the flows of the ork horde, liquid promethium dribbling to the rubble floor. Stenn cursed as he punched his lightning claw through a charging ork’s ribs. Never expect an Iron Hand to commit until he was good and ready.
‘What are you waiting for?’ He shot an ork in the face as it made to barrel towards Yavid, and found himself in the sights of the nearest Iron Hands squad.
They had bolters locked and aimed, but for some reason held their fire. Their eye slits shone an ephemeral white, but they could have been decoy suits for all the urgency they showed. ‘Shoot, curse you!’

[Zagdakka's psychic powers begin to assault the Space Marines]

An ectoplasmic limb twice the girth of an armoured Space Marine manifested from the random snaps of energy and smacked down on a Raven Guard that had been about to deliver the kill shot to the ork at his feet. Stenn strained as his own adversary’s brute strength slowly pushed him towards his knees. The ork gave a roar of surprise as another great fist snatched it away and hurled it through a rockcrete wall. Stenn too cried out as, for the first few seconds of flight, the ork’s grip on his arms took him with it. He hit the ground like a grenade dropped from a Land Speeder, and clattered through wreckage until his helmet smashed into the keystone at the base of an ablutorial block and he was lumped bodily against the wall. He groaned.
Gauntlet fingers crunched through the rubble as he drew his hands under him and began to push. Then he looked up. He swore as the confusion of contradictory threat markers suddenly parted around the black shape of the Rhino that was somersaulting towards him. He dropped back to the ground, body flat, feeling the tremendous shift in air pressure as the tank turned overhead and smashed through the ablutorial wall like a rock launched from a trebuchet.
‘Kristos,’ he coughed. His helm’s respirator seals were damaged and blast debris from the demolished building was making his breath catch. ‘Engage, damn it.’
Screams penetrated the death haze. Urgent signals through vox and data-link lent it a crackling, chopped-up dimension: red lit, threat markers circling with malign intent. He discharged his pistol, full charge, then screamed aloud as something grabbed his ankle and dragged him through what was left of the ablutorial. He bumped and slid over broken tiling and then put another wild shot through a standing column as he was turned upside down and pulled into the air.
A greenish coalescence had him by the leg. A flurry of short-lived plasmic tendrils burst from his pistol, and through the force that held him as though it were a hallucination. He fired until the weapon emitted shrill overheat tones and then he fired once more.
The pistol exploded in his hand, a newborn star about half a metre across that turned his arm to a crisp and buckled his plastron with the ferocity of its birth. Yelling in delirious fury as bio-implants flooded his bloodstream with clotting factors and powerful neuralgics, he activated his jump pack. It roared, shuddered madly for several seconds, then burned out, having moved him nowhere. The force around his ankle hardened into the clear form of a fist as it dragged him over the battleground until he hung upside down in front of an enormous greenskin wreathed in psychic flame.
The ork regarded him quizzically through a pair of green-tinted goggles. It was encased in war plate of white bone, arcane sigils of alien design daubed in pink using, or so Stenn’s Scouts had reported, the mashed brains of its human captives. Its helmet was made of scrap metal and buckled tightly under its chin, a single massive spike coiled with razor wire rising from the crown like some breed of antenna. Green energy spat from the coils and swirled in the lenses of its goggles. It watched him writhe as it would a worm on its claw.
Stenn gave a grunt of pain as psychic fingers tightened around him and squeezed. ‘Damn you >> RESTRICTED DATA >> Just kill me yourself.’
His armour cracked like a sea-crustacean’s shell, blood spurting from ruptured seals as his body was crushed. He screamed, genhanced anatomy fighting a battle with pain that had been stacked well against it from the outset. ‘Emperor forgive you!’
With every scrap of conscious thought locked away in hardened centres of his brain structure he cursed the Iron Hands. He cursed the casual brutality, the bare calculation of risk versus reward. His last thoughts before those final redoubts succumbed to braindeath were not of the pain, nor of his brother Raven Guard that fell to the mind-blasts of the warpboss’ retinue, nor even of the Iron Hands themselves as they finally descended on the fray.
With the enemy leaders bottled up with the last of the Raven Guard, the Iron Hands opened fire. Tactical Marines, Centurions, Land Raiders, each warrior a cog in a war machine that sprayed fire to a perfectly choreographed maelstrom that consumed Warpboss Zagdakka, his retinue, the Raven Guard, and Stenn himself.

~[CONTENT WARNING] ~ Long post. (Grab some drinks and snacks if u wanna read)
[Introduction]:
Hi everyone, I am Wild Purple Beans (W.P.B for short). I am currently beginning my journey to become a successful furry digital artist (at first) and make a living from it. Therefore, I am writing this post as a beginning log for my series of journey logs up ahead. These logs mark milestones in my journey, including current situations and resources, impactful decisions, and consequences that led to success or failure. To anyone from now or the future who is reading these logs and knows about my experience, which could help them on their own journey too. At some point, I might want to go back here and see what I did that led to future situations.
Why did I choose to post instead of the others? I chose this subreddit because I am obviously a furry and aim to draw furry-related art. And I joined this community a few years ago. I've been a shadow lurker and never engaged much with the fandom. But I know one thing: this community is very friendly and supportive, and I find more comfort sharing my journal logs than other communities.
[Note]:
This is not a self-advertising post; this is more like an experimenting series of my journey in life that could help people who read these find supports and understandings, learn more about my journey, and maybe find motivation that breaks the walls on their artist path... Everyone is different, but I'd like to record myself in this post to see where it will take me.
[A bit about my background]:
I live in Asia. Therefore, English is not my mother tongue, but I try to write as grammatically correctly as I can. I am 23 years old (in a month from now). I am an introvert. I had a few close old friends, but we had been busy and rarely made contact. I don't have the passion to follow the programmer path, but I graduated from university with a bachelor's in computer science (average GPA). I am currently working as a game developer at a mobile game studio. I work 8–9 hours a day, 5 days a week (6 on Saturday when the date is even - company's policies, lol), and I make about $400 a month (average income in my country). I've been working there for about 2 years (1.5 years as part-time when I was a third year and currently 6 months as full-time after I graduated). I enjoyed my job when I worked part-time. But since I graduated and signed the full-time contract, everything has changed (mentally).
[[Prologue]]:
[Part 1]:
I have been practicing drawing since I was a sophomore in college. I loved drawing anthro characters (mostly drawing my sonas on sketchbooks 😖) so much that I started learning the basic fundamentals from DrawABox. It was boring at first, but I lasted until I completed 250 boxes of challenges. After that, college work started making me busy, so I stopped picking up the pencil until the final year capstone project. This capstone project was making me mentally exhausting, to the point that I began to hate this programming career and regret my major choice (imposter syndrome). I began to have intense stress and depression. I even planned to drop out in the final year. I felt lost. I saw no light on the career path I was walking. Everything felt so dark and fractured that it began to collapse. Then I looked at my sketchbook. I picked up a pencil and began to draw. Magically, the pressure on me lifted a bit. The darkness that clouded my mind began to fade. I saw a light. It felt warm and fuzzy, which made me want to keep drawing forever and made me forget about things that put pressure on my shoulder. It showed me the path I had planned as a child. I had wanted to work in an animation studio and become the light of inspiration for many people around the world. I teared up. The fractured darkness shattered. My mind was then lighted with a doodle of my childhood planned path. I didn't follow that path for many reasons. But I knew what I had to do. I refined my path. I endured. And I finally graduated. Looking back at the drawings I did in dark times, they didn't look very nice, but somehow they lit up the hope of my dying inner child that I neglected.
I graduated. The boss of my dev team rushed me to sign the full-time contract. I signed, but the path in my mind had already begun to change. I planned to work for a few years and make some money until I felt confident about my art skills. I took a 2-month evening art class that taught basic fundamentals. I quickly picked up the pace I left since my third year in college and improved my artistic skills from there. My artwork after that didn't look appealing, but at least I have basic fundamentals. I kept practicing and drawing in any free time I had. And eventually, I saw a major improvement gap between pages. I was really happy about this.
[Part 2]:
About my current job, I am still working there and still doing boring programming tasks that were assigned to me. I thought being a game developer was fun, but in reality, it was just repetitive tasks about solving stupid problems for making boring gacha mobile games that I didn't even care about (with the fact that part of the source code was already bought or taken from previous similar mobile games from other studios). I realize this and connect the dots: most of the game development studios in my country are likely the same as the one I currently work for. I haven't learned anything new about game development-related stuff since graduation. The working environment and my current job don't burn the passion fuel enough to push me to work enthusiastically. But I still work, for the money and the new friends I have made since part-time. Then my friends begin to disappear from my life; mostly, they move to another company or another country for an more exciting opportunity. I envy them, and I envy everyone who was still working a dev-related job passionately.
I began to question my life. I started having an existential crisis, which blended in with the depression. I do not love my job anymore. I have no desire to climb this career ladder. I felt like a drying corpse sitting at my desk every single day, waiting for the clock to tick by. I started withdrawing myself from every casual conversation at work. I began to shut myself in. But I still work to my ability, from 9 a.m. 'til 6 p.m., then I clock out and go home. I draw and practice whenever I have free time. It makes me feel carefree and happy. I even sacrifice some of my lunch hour just to have more time to draw and to stay away from everyone who does not have the same frequency (hobbies, interests, etc.) as me. Then I noticed something. My mind became dreamy. I couldn't focus on working and solving programming problems as well as I used to. I felt like an intelligence drop, which is fine with me because I was planning on leaving this place anyway. My boss noticed I changed. He called me into the office. He asked a bunch of questions. I answered that my mind and heart were syncing and pointing to another path I chose. He then tried to demotivate me on my own path, he said something about how AI art would replace me or something, he said I put too much emotion in my work...; I didn't care. I just wanted to be free and creative. He seemed not pleased with my answers. He threatened to end the contract and fire me by the beginning of November and began to shun me (in conversations and work, which means I go to work every day just to sit in front of the computer and not allow me to do many dev-related works). I didn't care then, and I don't even care now. I finally have a goal and a deadline, which motivates and pushes me toward the path I have already paved. I feel numb at work, but I feel happy doing anything art-related (drawing and browsing furry art or interact with this community). I feel a bit scared and uncertain about the upcoming future.
[Side note]: I don't hate game-dev jobs; it just seems like almost all game-dev studios in my country are bad and they don't motivate me enough to work hard, which leads to the feeling of learning nothing and having my intelligence drop (feel stupid). I know it was my fault that I didn't love working here. I don't hate my boss/workplace. I just hate the fact that he demotivated me. But he wasn't wrong. With the fact that AI arts have recently risen, there might not be a chance for me to survive out there. At the moment, I am not worried too much about money. My family is backing me up (they are very supportive and I really love them for that) if I certain about the path I chose. So I chose this path and am aiming toward its destination.
[[Present]]
It's been 6 months since I signed the contract, and I'll be quitting my job by the end of October. My friends and family support me if I play the right card. I know what I have to do. There are only six months left to endure at work, and I have to improve my art skills quickly and efficiently. My current drawings are okay-ish, but there are things I still don't know how to draw, like clothing, expressions, dynamic poses,... And then there will be coloring, shading, and lightning. Oh, don't forget about the background... Concurrently, I have to create several social media accounts to share my work and attract and grow my audience. And I have so many questions floating in my head. Which platform should I use? What should I post? Should I post WIP? Will my work get stolen? How do I know if my work appeals to people? Which brush should I use? How do I shade? What is art trade/adopt/ych/...? How and when do I start a commission? How not to disappoint my clients in the future? When and how should I use Patreon, Ko-fi, Gumroad, or other paying art platforms? How do I decorate my bio? How do I engage more with the fandom? How can I make friends who share the same interests online? ... There is so much to learn and so little time, yet I feel excited.
I start at 0 again. But I have a plan. I have hope, passion, and determination. I have already created some simple social art accounts that haven't been decorated much yet. I have already made some uncolored lineart WIPs that haven't been posted yet. I have already drawn my life road map: to become a successful artist (current goal), and the final life goal path is to become a successful animator by creating inspired cartoon series that touch people's hearts. And a final ingredient that may help me on this journey is you. Yes, you, and this wholesomely cute fandom. You and the fandom have helped me during my darkest times. Your arts, your creations, your wholesomeness, your friendliness, etc. have inspired me and given me a bit of hope to see another day. And I want to say thank you for being out there doing things you usually do (maybe being silly 😏). You are welcome to share any few tips, information, experiences, or head-ups that could help me on my art journey. It would be greatly appreciated ♥️.
[Note AGAIN]:
This is neither a self-advertising post nor a rant about my life. You don't have to find and follow, like, subscribe, etc. on every social media account if you don't want to or do it out of pity. I will remove this post and the series if it feels inappropriate.
[Summary]:

• My road map (short version): 0 (I am here) -> Advance/Pro Digital artist -> Animator.
• Current stats:
• Still working as a mobile game dev until November.
• Early-intermediate level in artskill. Focus on character designs/creation as beginning digital artist.
• Already created some simple social accounts. Start engaging more in the fandom.
• Having enough art resources to do and learn art.
• Strategy:

I divide my strategy into three main objectives: Learn, Do and Grow

• Learn art:

I mainly focus on learning anatomy, expressions, gestures, clothing, coloring, shading, background,... I learn during workdays (if I have no tasks at hand) or whenever I draw by watching Youtube tutorials, browsing artwork and reference sheets, or reading other free online materials. Learning to do art is not enough. I also learn the psychological aspect of doing art. This helps me maintain my motivation and keeps me from getting burned out during my art journey. I learn this mostly from watching Youtube videos as I draw along with them and hear them talk about their art journey, experiences, obstacles, etc., which helps me understand better about my ability to guide myself to the path I chose. Besides learning art, I also learn how to start commissions, how to use and interact on social media, etc.

• Do art:

I have a few sketchbooks. I have been drawing using pencil and paper. I only use my sketchbook whenever I'm out at work, during luchtimes, and on the weekends. I usually draw things to practice and train my muscle memory, to try out new things, or to sketch things out of boredom. Using pen and paper, I have an easier time controlling my hands, which trains me to sync in with my mind to lay out what I want to draw. I also have a tablet, which lets me gain access to doing digital art. The main problem I have with the digital art world is that it is so vast: it has so many art programs and apps (luckily I found one), and it has so many ways for me to experiment, to try out things, and to develop my own unique art style (like which brushes I should use, how to flip a canvas, how to color, how to shade, how to add bloom effects, etc. 😵). It expands into new horizons for me to explore. There is so much to learn, and there is so little time. The time I draw digitally is usually after work, before bedtime, and on weekends. I have made a few uncolored digital WIPs recently. I haven't posted them yet because I don't know what I should or should not do when posting art online, along with other related issues. I'm on my first step now, one step at a time.

• Grow audience:

To start my digital art career, I have to grow my audience. To grow my audience, I have to engage and make myself more well-known. My target audience is people who love the anthromorphic characters (furries), basically you (maybe) and this fandom/community, which I find myself more connected to and related to my art orientation. I have created a few social art media accounts (not self-advertising) and begin to learn it from there, through trial and error. I personally find Reddit to be the easiest platform to interact with the fandom. It took only 2 days on my weekends before I already received so much positive feedback, which makes me want to tear up from happiness 🥰. For the other platforms, I still have a lot to learn things like how to interact, how to hashtag, how to decorate my bios, ect. At the end of the day, I finally feel happy for the first time after years of stressful studies/schools/works/... Drawing, making artwork, being creative, learning new things, connecting with new people around the world, ect. - somehow I found the missing piece of my inner self, which gives me hope to go towards the future 🎈.
[Final note]: I'll do a next journal log after 6 months from now (when I quit my job). And hopefully it will be shorter than this, and I may attach some artwork to show progression. WARNING: I do not encourage you to quit your jobs or from doing schoolwork or to start dropping out. Everyone is different, so be reasonable and rational in your circumstances. Thank you for sticking around 'til the end, and I wish you a good day ❤.
[Note to my future self]:
I know it will be hard. I know there will be obstacles in your path. But I know that I am proud of you. I am proud that you took the path your heart desires. Just keep going forward, and eventually you will reach your destination and find a place where you belong 😊.
[Shameful note]: My English is not good, I have to use grammar checker online to write this post 😓. Any grammatical mistakes mentioned in the comment section would also be appreciated.