You can always workout. If u can’t go to the gym, go outside!!!! It’s always a good idea to have a good pair of shoes, some light weights to strengthen your muscles, and a yoga mat so it doesn’t hurt to lie on the ground. And find a routine that works for u!!! I use Kayla itsines bbg! I love it. Your gonna have to work for a good body, but YOU CAN DO THIS! Make it happen so you can become the better you. DO IT FOR YOU!
Hi y'all! So I decided to write a full length AU based on this short blurb I wrote last week. This is honestly one of my favorite things I have ever written so I hope y'all like it!
(P.S. if you want an added effect have Haley Reinhart’s cover of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” on hand. I’ll tell you in the story when to play it.)
Word Count: 2,735
The first time I saw him was on campus.
I was walking to the big lecture hall for my anatomy class and I saw him walking towards me. I thought to myself that he was very attractive with his ripped black jeans and his bright red Nike shoes, but I wasn’t interested in any boys. I wanted to focus on school, so I avoided his gaze and I kept walking.
The next time I saw him was the next semester in our shared psychology class.
He sat down right next to me on the first day and introduced himself as Calum Hood. He was still just as attractive as he was that first time I saw him. His hair was a mess of dark curls, but he covered them with a plain black snapback in an attempt to tame them. He had tired eyes that looked like they longed for sleep, but on this 8am Monday class, everyone else was tired as well. I sat through the entire hour and a half long lecture sensing that his eyes were on me. He would pay attention to the professor for little bits at a time, but his gaze would always return to me eventually.
“Would you want to go on a date with me sometime?” He asked at the end of that very lecture, his brown eyes staring into mine hopefully.
“Sorry, I’m not really looking for a relationship right now.” I said as I left the classroom in a hurry, not wanting to stick around to see his defeated expression. The next time we had class was on Wednesday, and Calum sat down right next to me once again.
“I know you don’t want to go on a date with me, and that’s fine,” he stated as I finally looked over at him.
“but, can I at least get your name?”
“Y/N.” I replied with a small smile. I wanted to be friendly, but not so friendly that he thinks I’m going to change my mind. I’m not going to.
“Y/N,” he repeated.
“It’s nice to finally have a name to the face.” He smiled and swiveled in his chair to face forward and opened his notebook to get ready for the lecture. He had a very nice smile. His eyes seemed to light up and crinkle in the corners when he smiled at me. You don’t want a relationship. I had to remind myself. I was finding it quite hard to remember that when he was around.
Over the next few months we had struck up a friendship together. It had taken him a bit to break down my walls, but I eventually let him in. He had become one of my best friends. I knew I could tell him anything without judgement, and he knew he could do the same with me. The best part about Calum though was that after that first time he asked me out and I said no he never pursued it any further. He knew that’s not what I wanted and he respected that, so I was ever so surprised when he tried asking me on a date again 6 months into our friendship.
“Okay.” I told him.
“Really?” he asked surprised. I nodded yes to him and he engulfed me into a bone crushing hug. I didn’t really know why I had agreed to the date when my feelings on the matter hadn’t changed at all. Sure we almost had slip ups sometimes, his hand grazing mine before quickly pulling away or me thinking late at night about what it would be like to call Calum more than a friend, but I still didn’t want a relationship, at least I thought I didn’t, but when I saw him standing there completely vulnerable and nervously asking me on a date, my heart said yes without permission from my head.
“I’m so happy you said yes. You won’t regret it!” Calum said as he rushed out of my dorm room.
In the days leading up to our date I kept going back and forth on whether or not I should call and cancel. I wanted to cancel, I really did, but whenever I picked up my phone and saw his contact name all I could think about was how his whole face lit up when I said yes and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t crush him like that. Internally, I knew that it was wrong. I was going into this date with the intentions of not carrying on a relationship, and he was thinking a relationship was a strong possibility for us. Canceling would have been the right thing to do, but whenever I tried a small part of me would scream no, and curiosity eventually got the best of me.
So there I was on a Friday night, sitting on my bed and waiting for Calum. I had the door to my dorm propped open so I saw him as he walked up, but he knocked on the door twice anyway.
“Hey,” he smiled shyly.
“you look great.” he said as he stepped farther into my dorm until he was right in front of my bed. He extended his hand to me and I took it as I stood up.
“You do too.” I told him, a bright pink blush spreading across his face. And he really did. He was wearing his usual black skinny jeans and a dark blue and gray checkered flannel, but he somehow managed to make even the simplest of things look magnificent.
“You ready to go?” he asked me. I nodded yes to him and we strolled out of my room hand in hand. I kept thinking that I shouldn’t be holding his hand because I didn’t want to give him the wrong message, but I couldn’t help but notice how soft and warm his palm was and how perfect my hand felt resting in his, so I kept it there. I kept it there until we got to his car and I was forced to let go.
We didn’t say a whole lot on the car ride, just our normal banter, but the air had a different feeling to it than it normally did when we were together. It took me a few minutes to figure out what it was but then it hit me: I’m nervous. I couldn’t help but wonder why. Why was I so nervous around Calum? The same Calum that I’ve been best friends with for the past 7 months. The same Calum that has seen me in my most embarrassing moments, so why was I choosing now to be suddenly self conscious? When I looked at Calum I could tell that he felt the same nervous energy that I had. He was fidgeting with the bottom of his shirt with one hand and drumming on his steering wheel with the other when he normally didn’t do that.
“Why are we so nervous?” I laughed.
“I have no idea.” Calum replied, his tense shoulders relaxing with the relief of me mentioning it first.
“So lets not be nervous anymore then.” I shrugged.
“Agreed.” he nodded as he pulled up to my favorite Italian restaurant. He laughed when he noticed my excitement.
“I know how much you love their homemade spaghetti sauce.” Calum said. I really did love the sauce. Some of mine and Calum’s fondest memories were made while laughing and eating takeout on the floor of my dorm room with this very spaghetti sauce dripping down our chins.
We got seated at my favorite table. The table was right next to a stone fireplace with twinkly string lights hanging from the mantle. Quite a romantic spot.
“I’m gonna admit I was really surprised you agreed to go on this date with me.” Calum said.
“Honestly, I’m a little shocked I said yes as well.” I replied as I unwrapped my silverware from the thick black napkin.
“But I’m glad you did.” Calum said as he looked straight into my eyes. I can’t lie to him.
“I always have a good time with you Calum, but I have to be honest,” I started.
“I’m still not looking for anything super serious right now.” I looked at him to see his reaction and he just smirked at me and picked up his water glass.
“We’ll see about that.” I heard him mumble as he took a drink.
And we’ll see we did.
The rest of that night ended up going really well, so well that he kissed me in front of my dorm room door and I didn’t pull away. I sunk closer into him. I savored that moment. During that kiss was when the realization hit me that I didn’t want to spend any more time pretending that I didn’t want to be with Calum when I clearly did. I spent so much time fighting with myself trying to decide what I wanted that I didn’t realize he had been standing in front of me for the past 7 months. I fell head over heels in love. Any moment not spent with Calum was a moment wasted in my book. We were the big couple on campus and we weren’t afraid to let people know it. We were in bliss, but that all changed as graduation day approached.
We had been in relationship heaven for two years before we realized that we weren’t going to work. Calum wanted to move to Los Angeles to pursue his music production career and I wanted to stay in my hometown to remain close to my friends and family. We were so caught up in each other that we hadn’t thought to ever sit down and have a real conversation about where we were headed in life and, unfortunately, that was in two different directions.
“I’ll always love you, Y/N.” Calum said to me on our last night together.
“Goodbye Calum.” I said to him as he walked away from me, his bags in his hands and his head hung low.
That was the hardest moment of my life.
5 YEARS LATER
I couldn’t believe it was really my wedding day. It had been a long time coming, but when those double doors opened and I saw all my friends and family sitting there, and most importantly when I saw Calum standing at the end of the aisle, I knew it was all worth it.
Let me explain.
Yes, Calum and I had broken up after college graduation. About a year after our breakup, Calum and I reconnected while he was visiting home for the holidays. It ended up being a very drunken night where we both confessed we were still madly in love with each other. We decided we wanted to give our relationship another go. After the holidays, Calum went back to LA and I stayed at home and we tried the whole long distance thing for about 5 months before I realized that it wasn’t going to work for me, so I moved to LA. It took me awhile, but I had realized that yes, I wanted to be close to my family, but Calum was my family too, and without Calum in my life my family didn’t feel complete. So fast forward two years and Calum proposed in our hometown in front of my whole family on our anniversary, and fast forward one more year and here we are: on our wedding day.
“I remember the first time I saw you.” Calum said nervously when he started his vows.
“You were walking to class wearing those ratty converse that you still even now refuse to throw out, and you had your head down and were refusing to look up at me.” Calum was speaking quietly so they pulled out a microphone from somewhere and held it up to him as he mumbled a ‘sorry’ in apology.
“And then when I saw you sitting in my psychology class that first day I knew that if I didn’t take a chance and sit next to you that I would regret it for the rest of my life.”
“And boy, am I glad that I took that chance.” he chuckled as everyone else laughed along with him. He continued on with his vows, some things he’d say would make me tear up and some things would make me embarrassed that he chose to even say them.
“I also remember you that day when you saw me walking to class.” I began, Calum with a confused look on his face. I’d never before told him that I too took notice of him that day.
“I remember seeing those red Nikes of yours walking towards me,” I said while gazing into the love of my life’s beautiful chocolate brown eyes.
“and I knew from that moment that I was screwed, and that you were going to be someone special to me.” Everyone in the crowd let out collective ‘aw’s’ as tears started to well in my eyes.
“You’ve been my best friend for 7 years now, and I wholeheartedly believe that there is no better man for me out there than you, Calum.” I said with a few tears finally escaping my eyes. Calum brought my hand up to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of it. The rest of the ceremony seemed to move so slowly until the moment finally came that I was waiting for.
“And now announcing, for the first time, The Hoods!” Our friends and family cheered us on and wiped tears from their eyes as Calum grabbed me by the waist and kissed me deeply. He dipped me down with one arm while the other arm shot into the air in a victory fist pump, his lips still locked to mine throughout it all.
Before I knew it, we were at our reception mingling with all of our guests. I was talking with my grandma when I realized I hadn’t seen Calum in a while. I told my grandma I would visit with her again later and started looking around for him. It was almost like he could read my mind because right then I saw him walk back into the reception room with my tattered up converse in his hands, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder, and you’ll never guess what on his feet: those damn red Nikes.
“I had Ashton go and pick these up for us quick.” He said as he approached me, a huge grin on his face.
“I thought it would be a good touch for our first dance together.” Calum said as he kissed me on my cheek and handed me my shoes. I had just enough time to slip them on my feet before I heard the DJ announce that it was time for our first dance together as a couple. We headed to the middle of the dance floor hand in hand, a soft ring of light illuminating us. Haley Reinhart’s cover of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” ( side note: start playing the song now for an added effect) started playing as Calum took my hand in his and pulled me closer to him, swaying back and forth with the beat.
“I still think this song choice was a bit cheesy.” He grinned at me as he spun me around before bringing me back close to his chest.
“It relates to us though.” I said.
“No matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t help but fall in love with you.”
“You and those damn red Nikes.” I laughed lightly as I looked down at the shoes currently on his feet. He laughed with me.
“It’s crazy because two days ago I was kissing my fiancé and now I’m kissing my wife.” Calum thought out loud as he brought his face down to mine and captured my lips in another sweet kiss, our reception guests cheering once again.
“You know, I think about what you said on our first date about not looking for anything serious a lot.” Calum looked down at me, and I looked up at him with a look of confusion on my face.
“You weren’t really looking for anything serious, huh? Well how’d that work out for you?” He asked with a goofy crinkly eyed smile on his face.
Summer explodes. The heat, the sun. The green on the trees. And in its aftermath, things slow down some. After winter’s cold, dark hand bosses everyone down the streets, people want to stop and take in the warmth. It’s no longer necessary to hurry or scuttle through the wind and snow, coats tugged tight against faces - now there are long, luxurious strides, more skin bared with the passage of every June day.
And with it, comes the inevitable douchebags. Showing up and showing off, right down Main Street, chests proud and arms swinging, lats spread beneath the thin white strings of tank tops. Basketball shorts. Somehow brand new looking sneakers, no matter the day, or maybe slide sandals. They do it to be seen, to be watched.
On the outside, Ethan watches, sees. He is scornful, in passing conversation. Sometimes laughs at a meme he sees online, scrolling through Facebook, with a close approximation of that type. Let’s be honest, he thinks. It’s the jock stereotype. The dumbass, muscle-obsessed, sports-ardent jock. And the jocks are on parade. Behind the wheel of shiny, glinting cars with music hammering the air. In uniforms, sometimes, black eye-paint streaked and pants muddy, cleats half-unlaced. Their fresh, aquatic colognes painting the air with invisible, heavy brushstrokes.
And yet, for all his disdain, Ethan watches them. He didn’t always. And in the winter, it almost feels like he gets a bit of a reprieve - but still, his eyes travel, involuntarily, towards them, whenever he sees a Jock. At work, stocking shelves, he sees a Jock go by, and there goes his attention. He sees the baseball cap - Red Sox! - fitted, dark gray, bright red B, flat-brim, over short, dark hair and dark eyes that sort of suck light into them. Red tank-top, showing off smooth, taut biceps and deltoids rounding slowly higher, still works in progress, but growing. Basketball shorts - gray with a bright Nike swoosh like a blinding white grin down the thigh. His calves lead down in tight diamonds to his Nike Roshes, also flame-red, the outsoles nearly sparkling, clearly well-maintained
Ethan’s face matches the Jock’s sneakers as he rips his gaze away from the bro. Fuck, he thinks to himself. It happened again. How long this time? He shakes his head back and forth to clear it of cobwebs and sets back to the task at hand.
But still, he thinks to himself, how fucking cool would it be to have a body like that? Being a Jock aside - he’d never dress like that, no way - just being fit, being in shape. Being in tune with the body, being agile, being corded with muscle. It makes a sort of practical sense, really. He wonders why he doesn’t go to the gym, actually.
(The Jock bro is crossing the parking lot, his shadow thrown back behind him like a long, thick sword. A brief smile dusts the corner of his mouth, and then he reaches up to curl the earbuds into his ears. Music swells up, the same thud and shout that accompanied his lifts not 30 minutes earlier. He stops at the edge of the parking lot, hikes himself up onto the top of the picnic table, head bowed, knees spread, nodding to the music. The Jock bro checks his G-Force watch, chunky and black against his tanned forearm.)
The Jock was wearing a lot of cologne, Ethan notes idly to himself. He doesn’t hate it. It doesn’t smell expensive, but it doesn’t smell cheap, either. The only words that come to Ethan’s mind are swimming pool, locker room, weight room, high school, mall. A splash of color and sound. The cologne is fresh, sharp, clean. That’s it, he thinks. It smells clean. Transparent, almost, like fresh glass. Like … like a mirror.
Ethan blinks and looks around. He’s in the bathroom. Must’ve wandered in here, he thinks to himself. And there in front of him is the mirror over the sink. “Gonna have to get these blackouts checked,” he says to himself, murmuring, chuckling. Ethan blinks at himself. Not scrawny. Wiry. Dark hair, a little curly, a little fluffy. Time for a cut. Long legs, long arms. Squat torso. Size 10 sneaker, currently a battered, low-top Chuck Taylor, the laces variegated with years. Black-rim glasses and a well-maintained goatee.
He flexes, then, pulls a double bi, right there in front of the mirror. He holds it. He puffs his chest out, he sucks his stomach in. He tenses all of his muscles in the vain, pathetic attempt to somehow envision his biceps inflating, suddenly popping out like found baseballs - or softballs, even! - seeing the veins fill and surge and rise out of his skin like fleshy worms …
The disappointment is nearly intoxicating, along with the rush of vertigo that hits directly after Ethan relaxes the flex. No, he isn’t fit, muscled. He’s got some wire under the skin, but so little mass.
Need to eat more, Ethan muses, the smallest trickle of a stream of consciousness beginning to flow beneath his thoughts. Proteinwould help the muscles grow. But because those thoughts are so foreign - they almost don’t seem to belong to him - his brain rejects them as important on a surface level.
Ethan shakes his head. Work, that’s what he was doing. And life outside of work, well, that’s going okay, isn’t it? Nothing too crazy. School, with its accompanying homework, all the flipping of textbook pages and the quick pace of keyboard fingering, face lit by the screen, crafting essays. Of course, sometimes it isn’t as quick a pace. Sometimes, it’s an argument with speed. He struggles. Everyone struggles from time to time. Just need more coffee. And he always has coffee after a good, hard workout. And that’s why he’s tired, of course. Balancing school and work and his workout routine is exhausting, sometimes.
Ethan feels himself slump a little as he turns to exit the bathroom, feeling a dull ache in his shoulderblades, in his neck. He reaches up to rub at them, digging in with his fingers, and issues an involuntary moan, a deep, throaty sound that verges on indecent.
(The sun is setting. The Jock bro cracks his neck from side to side, feeling the pull in his lats, his traps. He tilts his head to look up at the rapidly darkening sky. The first hot breath of night-wind skirls across his face. He tilts to one side, digs in the pocket of his shorts, and pulls out his phone. His fingers tap over the number pad, and he lifts it to his face, skin bathed in the eldritch, electronic blue)
“Fffffuuuuuck,” Ethan judders out, his upper teeth clenching against the lower, his lips pressed tightly together in order to stifle the noise he makes as he bucks back & forth in the bathroom stall. One hand has flung out against the tiles to keep himself steady as the other one jerks himself off, pumping wildly as his seven-inch cock, engorged in his hand, becomes like steel. Ropes of saliva spray from his mouth, his head flung back in the crescendo of the orgasm. It doesn’t once occur to him that he is fucking jerking off in the bathroom at work.
Ethan’s phone rings. At least, he thinks its his phone. Who else would have Turn Down For What as a fuckin ringtone? Well, him and Justin. Shit.
“Yo.” His voice sounds so far away as he picks up the phone.
“Bro! What the fuck, you get lost?”
(The Jock bro is laughing silently, knee-slapping. He fuckin loves the first Uhhh.)
“Well, hurry the fuck up. I’m waitin out in the parking lot. Pick me up some eggs, wouldja? I forgot em. Oh, and chocolate milk.”
“Uhhhh … okay.”
Ethan takes the phone off the side of his face and adjusts his backwards-facing hat. The bathroom is filled with the smell of his cologne, which - even though he’s been told that one spray is enough - he has sprayed on at least five times this morning before leaving the house, and another before work started. Now, of course, it mixes liberally with the strong, earthy musk of his cum, which has splattered all over the toilet and the floor. Ethan stares at it, confused, and then remembers, and a horking, jerking laugh spills up out of his throat and into the air. He turns on an immaculate, white and gray, Nike AirMax Wright, and leaves the bathroom without either cleaning up or washing his hands.
The night air is cool around Ethan’s bare arms. Still too skinny, he thinks to himself. The trickle of his stream of consciousness has suddenly become a whitewater rapid. A constant rising static, flooding out his other thoughts. Need more mass.
It carries from across the parking lot. The dark has fully descended now, like an eyelid shutting on the world. Ethan feels his Nike Elite basketball shorts swishing around his knees. “Yo!” He cries back, and the sound carries a lot further than he thought it would, surprising even him - but only for a moment.
“Fuckin course I’m ready.”
“Gonna fuckin hit it tonight.”
The world is breaking up into kaleidoscopic colors. Ethan rubs at his eyes, lifting his Ray-Bans to do it. Something feels wrong. Like two super-imposed images have become suddenly unmounted, and he is looking looking through through a haze of exhaust smoke. “Uh, hang on …”
Deep down, in the dark miasma of his brain, sullen red Klaxons have surged to life, and the alarm is cranked up to full volume. The clothes on his frame feel suddenly alien, the hat feels too large, the sneakers, too big. He feels like a kid, playing dress-up in an older brother’s clothes. His heart rate surges, and his eyes dart from shadow to shadow.
“Sup, bro?” The Jock bro is looking back at him, vacant eyes slightly curious, mostly bored.
“I’m not your … bro. Bro.”
The Jock bro moves closer. Ethan would, instinctively, move back, but he doesn’t, not quite, he doesn’t think he does, anyway. The Jock bro is standing so close now, so close that he can smell the entirely unnecessary aftershave under the cologne, so close that he can smell the residue of iron on his fingers, the rasp of slightly fruity pre-workout on his breath. His hand comes up, grasps Ethan’s bicep. His eyes fix, anchoring on something far down inside.
The anchor is being reeled back in, up through Ethan’s body. He feels giddy, dizzy. It is not an entirely unpleasant sensation, Ethan would reflect later - if he were able to reflect, later, beyond flexing in the mirror … and well, let’s be honest, every reflective surface …
“Come on, bro. Let’s go.”
An invisible cloud grows around Ethan as he nods, just once, and then grins, slightly vacantly. “Hey bro.”
Ethan flexes, as hard as possible, his muscles standing out in relief against his short, broad frame. The night flees from their laughter as they throw arms around each other’s shoulders and head towards the gym. And behind them, trailing a sweet, fresh, clean scent; mildly intoxicating, definitely distracting.
Hey guys, I know I’ve been gone for a while but I have a new goal: establishing dream contact with my brother lazy yogi! I’m excited but I wasn’t sure if I could still lucid dream as easily as I used to but having lucid dreamed without trying I’m happy and inspired. So this is what happened:
I guess I’ve mastered the technique: WBTB (wake back to bed) because I inadvertently or rather unknowingly used the technique this morning… Well let’s say ‘subsequently’ used WBTB because my girlfriend wasn’t feeling well and I stayed awake to make sure she was okay. When I finally fell asleep I woke up to loud music playing. I was annoyed and wondering who was playing music so loud while I was trying to sleep! The song was by an artist called “partynextdoor”. I got up out of the bed I was in and immediately I realize I’m dreaming. This house was not my house but my grandparents house upstate ny. Everything was exactly how I remembered it when I used to visit when I was a kid. I walked slowly into the living room where the fireplace was and stood there rubbing my hands together: dream stability. I recalled my goal: meet my brother lazy yogi to establish contact via lucid dream. (I had something I needed to tell him and there was something he needed to tell me and if when we spoke in waking life he told me the correct phrase, I would know that we actually met in the dream). I walked towards the front door to head to the porch. I noticed some bright colored Nike sneaker boxes to my left which I took note of; they were very bright and stood out in the dream, they also are actually in my house in waking life. I went out into the porch and decided to fly to where lazy yogi was, which in retrospect was a bad idea: if the dream is not fully stabilized or the dreamer not deeper in sleep, trying to fly or something like that can easily wake them up. As I was about to fly I looked to my left and saw my (deceased) grandfather sitting on the porch with someone else I couldn’t make out. He looked content. I figured I would speak with him another time. I flew into the air but my ascent turned into a sharp arc and I came crashing back down onto the porch, which started to wake me up! My lucid dream training and instincts kick in and I remember how to save an ending dream: spin in circles. As I started to spin in circles everything goes black. Then I hear the sounds of an old movies real. Slowly then faster the movie real spun in conjunction with me spinning in circles and then I saw different scenes in front of my field of vision. The first image started to come closer but then retreated as if it weren’t the correct one. It faded into the darkness and flickered away. Another image slid from left to right and replaced it; it was a scene of people on a basketball court. Slowly the image came closer and closer until it enveloped me. Then creepily and subtly sounds of basket ball sneakers squeaking on the court invaded my “ears”. I suddenly felt as if someone were sliding a very heavy flooring beneath me, it was sort of like props being placed on stage all around as I lay there unable to move while the scene was being built. Then I heard yelling “yo man! You’re in the way! Get off of the court!” My girls phoned rang and woke me up out of the dream.
A thought I had while writing yesterday’s post on moods: Do allistic children have favorites? Are they even capable of genuinely appreciating an item, sensation, or experience?
I ask because my own children, in addition to appearing to have “moods” dictated by such seemingly unrelated criteria as the weather, also seem to form no real attachment to or understanding of anything outside themselves.
For instance, Al Jr.’s current favorite pair of shoes is a pair of black Nikes with bright yellow stripes that his Nan bought him for his birthday. I asked him today why they were his favorite and he said (he is still working on expressive thought, especially in print), “Bobby has the same pair.”
Bobby is his best friend. I’ve seen this happen before: last month, Al was in love with a Spaulding basketball because Bobby had just gotten a basketball hoop in his driveway. This month, I’m not sure Al even knows we own a basketball - and to hear Bobby’s mother tell it, Bobby has forgotten all about it as well. Now they’re both into something called “Mario Kart.”
A normal child - like our youngest, Gracie - would have told me the sneakers were her favorites because they didn’t pinch her toes, or because the stripes reminded her of going to the beach with her Nan and eating lemon ice, or because these were the shoelaces she had in when her Grampy died and now she keeps them switched because if the shoelaces are in the same shoe they were on that day they would be sad. You know, normal associations that indicate a child is developing the capacity to think deeply about her surroundings and possessions.
With Al Jr. and Alia, though, “favorites” seem to depend solely on whether their friends approve or whether they saw the item on television (which seems to me to be an extension of whether their friends approve - television just being a wider circle of “friends”). It’s bizarre.
….I don’t mean that. I love my kids. I really do. But I despair of their ability ever to perceive or understand the world in anything like a normal way. Their ability to sense and associate is clearly impaired. Maybe it’s time I ask their school for accommodations in these areas - their test scores are obviously going to take a hit unless they have more time to think. (Poor focus seems to be closely linked to impairment in sensory perception and association.)
For children who spend a great deal of their time pestering other people to pay attention to them in rigidly stereotyped ways (saying hello, telling stories about their day, etc.), they surely seem to have almost no capacity for forming attachments.