In retrospect, looking back on it, Peter could see that signs had been there all along. But they were the kind of little incidents that just happen on a relatively small spaceship with seven people living on it, especially a group which included a curious baby, a tinkerer who liked to get his raccoon fingers into everything, and a woman who still hadn’t quite grasped the concept of personal property because she grew up on a world where everything was Ego and Ego was everything.
Little things like toys from his and Kraglin’s new-and-growing collection of trinkets (a sort-of memorial that neither of them talked about) getting moved around or turning up in different places. Little things like the playlists on the Zune spontaneously rearranging themselves (one time on the night shift it played that damned Cat Stevens song sixteen times in a row, which was creepy as fuck), or the powerpack in Peter’s blaster always being charged, or space suits turning up in their luggage on every single job even when they were just going planetside.
And in particular, there was that one time when a curious Groot somehow got into the cargo bay while Drax and Kraglin were putting it through its cleaning cycle after transporting a load of Hraxian slimefish, and it just stopped cycling right before the “vent to space” part of the cycle and absolutely would not proceed, even when Rocket tried to override it, ‘til they opened it and found out why. Given Groot’s unique biology, he probably wouldn’t have been hurt by getting accidentally vented into space, but it certainly would’ve scared him. Rocket thought they might have stumbled upon a safety feature nobody knew about, while Peter and Kraglin both insisted that if a safety feature like that existed, after twenty years they would’ve damn well known about it.
But it wasn’t until the LuXada job that things really got weird.
They were stealing an idol from a long-abandoned temple on LuXada, a disputed world along the Kree-Shi'ar border, and while the ancient security system was harder to deal with than Peter was expecting, things were going pretty well until the Kree battle cruiser showed up. And then they ended up with about a hundred Kree troops surrounding them. It was a fast, brutal fight that ended with Drax and Gamora down and hurt, and Peter on his face with a Sakaaran soldier digging a knee into his back and a pulse rifle grinding into the back of his skull.
“Trespassers!” the commander of the Kree troop snarled. She was a big, muscular type, sort of a female Ronan, and reminded Peter uncomfortably of an old Kree girlfriend he’d romanced briefly on a moon called Cindara. “You will be sold in the slave markets for your insolence in – what is that noise?”
That noise was a cascade of tiny rocks bouncing down from the hillside above the temple.
The Kree troops tensed; Peter felt his captor go rigid with alarm. Avalanche? Peter thought, raising his head as much as he could. But the rocks weren’t behaving as if gravity was drawing them down. As he stared, they swirled up into the air, a vast swarm of rocks ranging from fist-sized to sand. None of them were large enough to do much damage on their own, but they spun into a great whirling vortex of flying stone, and then swept down on the Kree, as if driven by the fury of the earth itself. They tore through armor, scoured flesh and bone, sent the Kree stumbling away in bleeding shock – and didn’t touch a single one of Peter’s crew.
And Peter wondered if he was the only one who had seen, right before the rocks ripped into the Kree platoon, that they’d formed up into the shape of an arrow.
It was some time later, with Gamora and Drax both doped to the gills in the Quadrant’s medbay, when Peter slipped off to the flight deck. He left Gamora sleeping, letting her fingers trail out of his hand as he ducked away. He needed some time to think. And there were a couple of people he wanted to talk to. Well, one person in particular.
He found Kraglin on the flight deck, sitting in the pilot’s chair and looking out at the stars. For awhile Peter just sat in the floor in a companionable silence, toying with a little figurine of a ducklike creature that he’d taken down from the console.
There were times when he really missed that damn troll doll.
“How are they?” Kraglin asked, finally.
“Asleep. They’ll be okay.” And he would’ve wreaked bloody vengeance on the Kree if they haven’t been. Some part of him would always be a Ravager.
After another little while, Kraglin said softly, “You – saw that, down there on the planet, right?”
Some part of Peter folded in quiet relief. He wasn’t nuts. “The arrow?”
He looked up to see Kraglin nod. He also saw that Kraglin was holding Yondu’s arrow, turning it over and over in his fingers, the way Peter was toying with the plastic duck.
“They tell stories, you know,” Kraglin said, and then lapsed into silence.
Peter didn’t answer; he’d heard stories too, all kinds of things. Stories of the Ravager afterlife, which was supposed to be mostly drinking and feasting (would Yondu be into that kind of thing? he wondered, thinking about how it sounded kinda boring to him, compared to all the interesting things to do here in the wide, wild galaxy). Stories, too, of the weird things that could have happened, maybe did happen, in the vast empty spaces between stars. Stories of things so close to magic as to be indistinguishable.
And one other time in his life, he’d seen an arrow he couldn’t explain – an arrow in the stars, against a backdrop of fireworks, glimpsed through his tears.
He wondered suddenly if Kraglin had seen it too, if it hadn’t been just a figment of his grief. But even in this moment of unusual intimacy between them, he wasn’t quite sure how to ask.
Instead he said quietly, holding out a hand, “Can I see that for a minute?”
Kraglin passed the arrow to him.
He’d had a few other chances to hold it, and as always, he was struck by how oddly alive it felt. He still didn’t know what it was made out of, something that didn’t quite feel like metal or plastic or anything else he knew of. Every time he’d held it, he’d found it ever so slightly warm to the touch. He had never quite been able to shake the feeling that it contained a little piece of Yondu’s soul, even back when he was alive.
Occasionally since Yondu’s death, and especially tonight, it seemed that the arrow glistened in a way it never used to, red light flickering like foxfire out of the corner of his eye.
Peter tossed the arrow into the air.
At the height of its trajectory, it seemed to hang for a moment – perhaps it was only a trick of his eyes, Peter thought … but then it spun slowly around once before it dropped back into his lap.
Peter grinned, though his eyes wanted to get a little misty. He carefully handed the arrow back to Kraglin.
“Thanks, old man,” he said quietly, and for a moment it seemed as if the silence on the flight deck was … listening. In a way.
They’d have to have a talk later about messing around with his playlists, though. ‘Cause, poltergeist or not, that shit just wasn’t cool.
Warnings: Bees, Sex on a car, smut, unprotected sex, public sex, getting caught in the act, honey as lube (seriously, do not do this), oral sex (male receiving)
Summary: Cas shows up naked and covered in bees
A/N: I don’t know why but this idea just randomly came to me and it checks off one of my squares for spn kink bingo.
Leaning forward you adjusted the dial on the radio of the Impala, Dean was off checking on some lead and had left you to entertain yourself, you knew the car’s owner would be pissed at you for changing the station but you wanted to mix it up a little. Classic Rock was great but occasionally you got in the mood for the type of bright poppy stuff that radio DJ’s liked to play.
The sound of a shutting door allowed Ink’s smile to widen as
she bounced in place, holding her clipboard close to her chest. She squealed
while her eyes gleamed with pride. After a few moments from coming down from
her high she took a glance at FS, placing a skeletal hand with a gentle smile
on the glass. She then placed her clipboard down on a nearby table and pressed
a green button on the control panel. Within the empty room a small bowl filled
with clear water like liquid was placed by a mechanical hand.
Fresh sniffed the foreign substance, careful not to suck it
up through his nasal cavity. He sneezed in reaction and turned away from it,
causing Ink to sigh in dissatisfaction.
‘Maybe a little too smart’ She thought as she hovered her hand
over another green button.
“Sorry.” She whispered, pushing the button for a small hatch
to open in Fresh’s room. It made a small humming noise, but then shot out a
small dart in his rear. Fresh yelped at the sudden uncomfortableness, but soon
grew numb as he calmly fell asleep on the cold floor.
Ink never did like tranquilizing the wolves, that was Error
and Dream’s job, but it was the only way to ensure her safety when cleaning and
transporting them and if the subtle drinkable liquid didn’t suffice, then the
dart was the next best thing.
Ink opened a small compartment, grabbing simple cleaning necessities
such as gloves, a bucket of water and a special soap used for sterilizing the
wolves quickly without the use of a towel. Almost like hand sanitizer.
She opened one of the
sealed doors with the cleaning supplies in hand and kneeled toward the sleeping
animal. She slipped on her latex gloves and began removing Fresh’s clothing.
Once all of it was removed she proceeded to drench them in the bucket of water
and soap. She kept this up for the entire outfit and even shined his glasses.
She giggled at the weird wording and set out the outfit near the ventilation to
Before Ink moved on to clean Fresh himself, she took a
second to admire how capable the wolf seemed to be. His tail seemed to proudly be
bushed and his fangs skillfully sharpened, clearly the aspects of a strong alpha,
but not of a ragged predator, a perfect specimen. After her moment of admiration,
she squirts a good handful of the special soap and started to rub it on his
bare bones and ecto-body. It didn’t take too long to cover his whole body, nor
for it to dry, however it was a little trouble some when she needed to clean
the other side. Skele-Wolves or skeletal Canis
Lupris, as the scientific name goes, are usually much larger than the ordinary
house dog, but smaller than the average monster, while females were usually
smaller than males, alpha males were quite large and with Ink’s small height
and Fresh’s large body it was difficult to move him without a little struggle.
Once it was done though, and his whole body was sterilized, Ink
settled Fresh in an experimental habitat or, as most of the scientist called it,
‘The meeting room’. It was used mostly as a trial run between two reasonably compatible
wolves to observe if they will get along or not, but it wasn’t nearly as big as
the actual enclosures. It had real plants and dirt in it as most of the
habitats did to make sure the wolves were kept as natural as possible. They
even put live prey such as pheasants, mice and fish. Each enclosure had a pond
or stream that allowed the fish to live and for the wolves to drink from.
After Fresh was settled in the habitat, Ink had noticed that
most of her associates were heading out of the building and flooding into their
individual cars. She figured it was closing time when she saw the night guards
go to their posts. Ink soon wrapped up her work and locked her office to join
her family in the car. Yes, family. Error, her loving husband and PJ, her
adorable son. It made sense as the facility was named ‘E.P. I. Animal Rescue Center’.
Ink quickly said farewell to all her co-workers and occupied
herself in the passenger seat of her husband’s moderate sized sedan Chevrolet.
Soon enough, Error took a spot in the driver’s seat, while PJ sat in the back.
As Error drove on the busy highway Ink turned in her seat to look at her son.
“So, was SB doing any better today, sweetie?” PJ looked up
to show respect to his mother.
“O-Oh, um…no… not really. I honestly think she’s getting
worst. She barely ate or drank anything when I was in the room. She’s also
starting to be a lot less sociable than usual. I don’t know what else to do,
Mom.” PJ frowned as he rested his arm on the arm rest with his chin on his
hand, staring out the window in worry.
“Well I know what will turn that frown upside down.” Ink
gently said. PJ turned his head slightly to look at Ink questionably.
“The head scientist has approved of the new wolf to be
paired with SB.” Even though it is a family owned facility, Ink never saw
herself as a head scientist and in return gave the position to Error’s close
cousin who had four Ph.D.’s within their field of science.
PJ’s face lit up. “Really? H-How’d you get him to do that?”
“Well, it wasn’t easy, but I have my tricks.” Ink said as
she poked her skull. PJ giggled in response as they drove home. They poured out
of the vehicle and trotted into the house, awaiting tomorrow.
I live in the U.S. ^ ^; I have lived in Japan before, and your experience will differ on where you live, just like any other country. It has its pros, like great food, access to merch (if you know where to go and what to do), super clean cities, amazing public transport. It has its cons, a lot of social stuff that clashes with my more or less American upbringing, a lot of red tape and hoops you have to jump through and tons of memberships and whatnot if you want to do a lot of things, and standing in a ton of lines…
So. It’s a New Year, time to begin a lot of shit, some of which will be a miss, but some of which will stay with you a long time. One of the traditional resolutions is to start a diary, and some of us feel like getting a bit fancy, writing with a fountain pen. So here’s to all of you who’d like to try it, just a few tips to avoid the most common mistakes.
DON’T BUY THE CHEAPEST FOUNTAIN PEN AVAILABLE.
You don’t have to take a mortgage to buy a nice pen but lots of those you see in supermarkets are intended for kids, at least in our country, and it is fully expected that they will get broken and/or lost within a few months. So the quality is not really high. If you are going to buy something, you should be able to use it comfortably. At the same time, don’t aim too high if you’re not sure you’d like it - some people don’t like the way the nib slides along paper, I have even met some that dislike the sound. Keep this in mind when trying to choose your writing instrument. Probably the best is going to a normal stationery shop, explaining to the salesperson what do you need, and get them help you. If you can’t for various reasons, browse e-shops carefully.
CONSIDER YOUR STYLE.
I am not talking here about colours and shapes you prefer but there are other things to keep in mind. You can have a metallic or resin body (many more but these are the most common ones) - where are you going to keep your pen? Do you have an orderly case or are you like me, and it will live on the bottom of whatever bag you are currently using? Is it possible that you might sit on it accidentaly? Do you have the habit of dropping stuff? Are you chewing your pens?
And then we should consider if you prefer holding a thin or thick shaft, can you write with miniatures or are you more comfortable with something longer in your hand? What about weight? Also, if you know you tend to press heavily when writing, consider the nib. There are even glass nibs; so far I’ve only seen them on antiques, and they tend to leak more ink than contemporary nibs but my friend assures me they are beautiful to handle. I wouldn’t know, I am a heavy-handed person who prefers long, thin, and heavy shafts, so I use mainly metallic bodies.
Another thing to consider is if you are left-handed in left-to-right writing system (or right-handed in a right-to-left one); the ink may smudge and your writing hand might be constantly stained…
IF YOU DON’T PLAN TO USE IT OFTEN, CONSIDER A DIPPING PEN INSTEAD.
Ink dries. When you don’t use your pen, it can dry inside the nib within a week or so, and clog it. If this happens, dismantle the pen and rinse it thoroughly in lukewarm water. You should get to the point where the water is flowing freely through the nib and it’s clear. Sometimes you can dip the whole nib part in a glass of clean water overnight and this can help to unclog the old ink. If it doesn’t, consider the price of your pen and either get it repaired professionally or buy a new one, sorry.
So if you know in advance you’ll be using your pen very rarely, buy a dipping one and don’t forget to clean it before putting it away.
Also, when you know you won’t be using your pen for some time, flush the ink and rinse the pen before stowing it away.
NOT EVERY INK IS COMPATIBLE WITH EVERY PEN.
Let’s skip all the talk about colours and let’s consider thickness. Ink, Indian ink, and calligraphy or illumination ink have different thickness. Indian ink is thicker, so using it in a normal pen might clog it. But there are calligraphy pens designed to work with these, or again, artistic dipping nibs.
Inks also have different lightfastness, means how long does it take for the ink to lose all the colour, and become illegible. The longest lightfastness have the so-called document inks.
ALL INKS ARE ACIDIC.
So rinse your nibs regularly. If possible, wipe the nib with some non-fuzzy fabric or a piece of buckskin after every use (not a chance for me, see the bottom of my bag line). You should rinse out your pen at least when refilling the ink or changing the ink cartridge.
This is also why most of writing nibs are gold-plated, or coated with some other non-reactive metal. If your nib is corroded, get it changed or buy a new pen, depends on price, and emotional value of the pen.
NOT ALL PAPER IS CREATED EQUAL.
Some will soak too much of ink and your lines will be too fuzzy, some will let the ink soak through to the other side, some have special coating which will not take ink well. You will want to experiment. If you are creating a chronicle (or expect your memoires to be found by your descendants or even want to be able to read that poem some years later), look for “acid-free” on the book or diary, as well as higher weight of the paper (the XX g/m2 info; Moleskine diaries are around 70 g/m2, FYI). And choose a light-fast ink.
IF YOUR NIB IS LEAKING TOO MUCH, IT’S DAMAGED.
You may get some blotches, especially if you press too hard or unevenly, or if you are talking with your hands and forget you are holding a pen, but if you get too much, or the flow of the ink is simply unstoppable, it’s time to change the nib or even the whole pen. Again, sometimes the pricier ones can get repaired, but. Yeah.
A FOUNTAIN PEN WILL LEAK IN HIGH ALTITUDES.
That’s actually why ballpoints were invented. You’ve been warned. If you absolutely must take your fountain pen with you on that flight, flush out the ink or remove the cartridge, clean it out and transport it empty or enjoy the impromptu tie dye.
HOW TO REMOVE INK STAINS FROM CLOTHES.
1) Blot it gently with a blotting paper or tissue or toilet paper. If the stain is dry, moisten it with water, let it sit for a while, then blot all you can, as with the fresh one. DO NOT RUB.
2) Treat it with something clear and acidic - lemon juice, white vinegar, etc. Let it sit for a while, about 1-2 hours.
3) Blot it again.
4) Wash as usual.
5) Some inks react better to diluted ammonia, clear alcohol or fresh milk. Try, let sit, wash.
All this is pretty aggressive, so it might eat the dye of your clothes along with the ink. You may want to try this out on some folded hem or some not easily seen piece of the garment first.
HOW TO REMOVE INK STAINS FROM YOUR HANDS.
Wash your hands, then rub lemon juice or vinegar on them. If this doesn’t help, you can try clear alcohol, oily creams or rubbing it off with scrubs, peelings or that rough stone you use for your heels. Don’t go to abrading your skin too fast though, sometimes it can take up to 15 minutes to dissolve the ink.
Funnily enough, sharpie ink is also ink. You can dissolve it by rubbing alcohol (pro tip: hand sanitizers have very high percentage of rubbing alcohol ; you can even use them as fire starters - just rub a bit on a piece of dry wood and light up the match), sunscreen, baby wipes or makeup remover wipes. Have fun.
So. These are the most important things about using a fountain pen, I guess. I hope this helps…
Are there any "good" forms of autistic therapy? like, ways to help autistic kids succeed in life and live a good life without forcing them to pretend to be neurotypical? I'm just genuinely curious, thank you <3
First off, sorry if I’m very late answering this, tumblr for some reason seems to be bad at alerting me about messages.
I think the big thing about therapy is that, in order to be really helpful, it needs to be working on goals that the person sets for themselves. Otherwise you’re wasting their time. Obviously this is harder with kids, who may not fully understand why a goal is important, but you should try to explain things in a way they can understand and give them a degree of autonomy, especially as they get older. If a child rejects a goal you should also be willing to consider that the goal may not be as important as you thought it was. And obviously choosing goals is going to be really hard for people who don’t have some kind of communication system in place to express their desires, so that should always be one of if not the first thing you focus on.
Creating a communication system usually falls under speech therapy, even though it’s not always speech. It might be signing, or using a communication book, or an AAC app. Whatever works best for them. You need to approach this as helping a person communicate, not as making them memorize and repeat back vocabulary, or point to things when you ask them to point to them. Remember: it’s not a test, it’s a voice. They need to be able to say what they want to say. Even if it’s things you may not like to hear, like “no”, “five more minutes”, “that’s boring”, or “i don’t like that person.”
What’s called “life skills” is a really important thing to teach. Things like hygiene, doing laundry, cooking, shopping, using the bus, applying for a job. Sometimes teaching this has to go beyond breaking down the usual way of doing things into steps. Sometimes it needs to involve finding other ways to do things that get the job done in a way that is easier for that person. It may mean teaching someone to wear earplugs and sunglasses to the store when they go shopping, if that helps reduce distractions and prevent over-stimulation and meltdowns. Sensory strategies can really make people’s lives easier- just make sure it’s tailored to their seeking/defensive sensory needs. A different example: I find it really hard to follow recipes, so I’ve made myself a flow chart that goes like “pick a meat, pick a way to cook the meat, pick spices to add when cooking, pick a carb and a veggie that go well as side dishes, etc”, and it’s a lot easier for me to cook with that than from a book. Work with people to figure out a way that works for them.
Physical therapy can be good for people with motor planning issues. It can also be difficult, painful, boring, or all three and more. I think this is a thing where it’s really important to explain to kids why you want them to do the therapy, how you think it will benefit them, and to give them the opportunity to say whether they want to do it, or at the very least to choose what activities they do in PT.
Social skills, I think, can be good, if it’s done the right way. It needs to be about helping the person do what they want to do, not about making them more palatable to others. Teach them how to find friends who have common interests; don’t teach them to never talk about the things they like for fear of being seen as weird. Teach them to resolve conflicts in ways that aren’t yelling and hitting but also aren’t just going along with whatever the other person wants and setting aside their own desires. You also need to be honest about how the world works, not pretend that ideals are reality (eg, bullies will usually not leave you alone if you ask nicely, or if you ignore them. Encourage teachers to defend the kid being bullied and send a message that bullying is wrong.) For teens, dating advice may be appropriate, but it can’t be sexist pick-up artist type stuff that teaches guy to devalue women; help them build real connections.
As kids get older, it’s very important to talk to them about plans for the future. Don’t discourage them because they don’t have the necessary skills yet; teach them the skills they need! If they’re going to be going to college, they need to be able to file a college app, work with disability services, manage their time, and have good study skills. If they’re going to work, they need to know about job applications, interview etiquette, benefits, income taxes, as well as job-specific skills. If they’re going to live partially or mostly independently, they need to be able to cook, shop, do laundry, clean, and have reliable transportation of some kind. Whatever their goals are, work with them to decide what skills they need in order to reach that goal, and help them learn those skills.
I think the most important thing here is the mindset of the people giving the therapy. It needs to be about helping a person accomplish the goals that they choose, not getting them to do what you think is best. A therapist provides a service. They should answer to their client, the person in therapy- not the other way around.
Anyway, that’s my view. Other people probably have their own thoughts on the topic. Can anyone else offer their perspective on helpful therapies for anon?
I resigned from my organization last august. In the last month of my work there, I had 2 patients who passed away just days apart from one another. Same ward, same bed. I was during my day shift and the 2nd one during my night shift (we do 3 rotating shifts).
I remember so clearly the look on the patient’s wife face when she came running to me and ask if the patient was going to go soon so she can call her children. I quicken my step and entered his room. The cardiac monitor shows asystole. I held her her hand and told her her husband has left. No amount of lesson in school has prepared me enough for this. I left her alone with her husband with tears welling up in my eyes. Soon his children came and we did all the cleaning and transported the body to the morgue. As I was walking back to the ward, she came up to me, held my hands so tight and thank me for taking care of her husband the past 1 week. I didn’t know how to answer her and the right words wouldn’t come out of my mouth (i can’t remember what my reply was). I went home that afternoon feeling somehow different. 3 years as a nurse and this was my first patient whom I did the last office. I cried on my way home, I cried while talking on the phone to my colleague. I cried in the shower. Part of me changed that day and I could not explain what the change was. A close friend told me it was the feeling of being alive and someone died. But I know it wasn’t that, it was something else and no words can describe that feeling.
The next day, I was roster-ed to do night duty. Handing over of report. Same bed. DIL/DNR. Family were advised to stay but they refused. They say to call them. I spend most of my time during shift with me. Deep inside me, I didn’t want him to spend the last moments of his life alone. That was the least I could do as a nurse for him. I left the room for 10mins to attend to another patient. When I went back to him, what I feared most happened. He spent the last moment of his life alone. I called his family to inform them. I did the last office and transported him to the morgue. I came back to the ward at 4am.
Headcanon that Peridot used to think human names work like gem names where all Gregs look the same and have the same job. And then when she finds out about another Greg that isn’t identical to the Greg she knows it blows her mind.
Peridot: So not all Gregs manage cleaning transportation devices?
Greg: No, Peridot.
Peridot: And not all Simons are used to judge in human singing competitions?
Peridot: And not all Patricks are star shaped pink creatures who wear trunks under the sea?
Greg: Definitely not.
Peridot: So I guess not all Spongebobs are square shaped absorbants who live in nautical fruits.
Greg: Actually, I’m pretty sure all the Spongebobs do that.
Peridot: Well, now you’re just being inconsistent!
The disingenuous logic of this attack on bedrock environmental law is that clean air is a costly job killer and drives manufacturers overseas. But almost all studies of offshoring have found that domestic companies move abroad for a host of other reasons — mainly lower wages, tax avoidance and easier access to international markets. The cost of environmental regulations typically ranks far down the list.
The cost to business is in any case a secondary issue, as anyone struggling to breathe on the streets of Beijing quickly discovers. The more important costs are the ones the public pays, which are deeply personal, and often permanent: Air pollution kills an estimated 4,400 people every day in China — and, even with our existing regulations, 548 people a day in the United States, according to a 2013 M.I.T. study.
Among the E.P.A. measures the Trump administration wants to roll back is the Clean Power Plan, aimed at reducing emissions from coal-fired power plants, which would shift production to gas-fired plants — and incidentally save American lives by further reducing fine particle pollution. The new fuel economy standards for the auto industry would cut gas costs for drivers and clean up the transportation sector that is now this country’s single largest polluter.
E.P.A. regulations make economic sense for two important reasons industry lobbyists (and their hired politicians) overlook when they stage their sky-is-falling complaints about cost. First, the new rules typically drive advances in technology and efficiency, making cost-effective what formerly seemed impossible. The result isn’t a job exodus; it’s a reshuffling, with productivity falling at coal-fired power plants, for instance, but rising at gas-fired power plants. Second, antipollution regulations move us away from the illogical idea that the unsuspecting public at large should pay the cost of pollution. Instead, that cost gets shifted onto the polluters themselves
As many of you know, I have been living in an open institution for mentally ill and developmentally disabled youth for the last year. I have never really described my experience with institutionalization before, but I have decided to write a couple posts on the topic in an attempt to answer your questions. In this post I will try to give an overview of what my organization is and how it works. Before starting, I want to remind everyone that there isn’t one unambiguous institutionalization experience, and that people will have different experiences depending on many different factors such as type of organization, country, income, etc. This is an attempt at describing life in my institution - an open institution for mentally ill and developmentally disabled youth in Denmark - not an elaborate attempt at describing institutionalization in general.
The institution is sponsored by the Danish state which means that your stay, including therapy, medication, food, housing, education and transport is free.
Each patient gets an allowance at about 300 kroner (40 dollars) a week that they can spend at will.
We also get 650 kroner (95 dollars) a month to buy new clothes and other necessities.
When moving in, we get to order furniture for an unspecified amount of money - usually about 5000 kroner (736 dollars) - to furnish our room.
My Institution has at least one therapist in the house all the time with very few exceptions. The therapists often work 12 hour shifts. During the day - 8AM to 11PM - 2-5 therapists are available. During the night - 11PM to 8AM - one therapist is sleeping in the building.
One psychiatrist is associated with the institution. He has little contact with us in our everyday life and his main task is diagnosing us as well as administrating and prescribing medication.
One cleaning lady is hired full-time to make sure that the bathrooms, main areas and the kitchens are clean.
The therapists don’t just provide therapy, they also help out with cooking, cleaning, laundry and transport, etc. You don’t just go to a therapist when you want to discuss your feelings, you also go to them when you need help doing your laundry or fetching a snack.
Each patient has two therapists assigned. They will work with and interact with other therapists as well but the two assigned therapists will be more actively involved with your life and treatment.
Currently 10 people between the ages of 15 and 19 are living in the institution. The maximum capacity is 14.
We each have a room that we can furnish and decorate at will, only limitation being that we’re not allowed to paint the walls.
The time a patient is expected to spend living in this institution is between one and three years.
Young people between 15 and 23 years old can be institutionalized here if they due to mental illness(es) or developmental disability need more support, help and therapy in their everyday life than their parents and an out-patient program can provide.
Examples of diagnoses that several current patients have are psychosis-spectrum disorders, anxiety disorders, Borderline Personality Disorder, depression, eating disorders and autism.
The majority of the patients have at some point dropped out of school or otherwise failed to keep up with the expected education level of someone there age.
The institution has a collaboration with a so-called special education school that kids and teens from various full-time institutions attend. The goal is to catch up on lost education so that the patient can take further education later on.
Each patient has a daily chore that they are expected to perform with the assistance from a therapist. Examples of those chores are: doing laundry, cleaning room, preparing dinner, doing dishes,etc.
If a patient is unable to do their chore, a therapist can take over or the chore can be postponed to another day.
The institution has free internet access from 5pm to 9pm during the week. Additional internet has to be bought and set up by then individual patient.
The patients cannot lock the door to their room under any circumstances. Everybody are required to knock before entering another person’s room, including therapists, but preventing a therapist from entering your room if they insist on it isn’t possible.
There are locks on bathroom doors.
I will end this post here, feel free to ask clarifying questions or tell me what you want to hear about in my next post on the topic. I’m open to talk about all the different aspects of being institutionalized.
My new job is going very well! It’s challenging but never gives me that “this is literally impossible, maybe I should just sit down on the floor and cry” feeling the old job did. Once I’m out of training, I’m going to work three days a week and be full-time. So that’ll be pretty sweet.
Also awesome: my new house! It’s huge and beautiful. Moving in has been a lot of work, though; it’s mostly little things like putting up blinds or getting weeds out of the lawn, but those things add up, in both hours and dollars. That’s a lot of the reason I’ve been incommunicado the last little while.
Also I am doing a lot of not-strictly-necessary household tasks like designing elaborate household signage, because obviously you need customized wall decals to fully realize the functionality, aesthetics, and user-friendliness of your domiciling system (i.e., “house”).
To add another layer of complexity, there’s three of us and it’s our first time living in a poly household. Which seems to be going well so far, although it’s hard to really know so early in the game. Artemis and I aren’t partners ourselves, but we’re close, and we’re both trying hard to be considerate co-partners. There’s obviously issues that come up with three adults newly having to function as roommates and family, but I think we’re adapting. We’ve got a lot of love to go around… and a lot of understanding that love alone is no substitute for communication and negotiation.
The issues mostly involve cleaning and transportation and home improvement. When it comes to sharing a sexual and romantic partner we’ve been very “no, after you, I insist” about things. We’ve been doing that for years now. The ordinary roommate issues are the part that’s new to us.
Life is busy right now, but exciting! I do plan to get back to writing soon, once I’m settled in my permanent work schedule and the house isn’t a giant pile of boxes.
For the sentence meme! BB-8 won't stop telling Poe how brave and kind and heroic Rey was.
BB-8 won’t stop telling Poe how brave and kind and heroic Rey was. It’s cute, mostly. BB-8 is like most droids, tolerantly judgmental about everyone around them, their life choices and haphazard attitude to maintaince protocols, but utterly biased when they like someone.
He mouths, “and then she rescued me from droid-wreckers, even though doing so put her at risk of starvation…” along with BB-8. He’s not sure if BB-8’s retelling the story because he likes it so much, or because of his general distrust of human memory— repeating it and repeating it until he’s sure it’s been safely stored in Poe’s permanent long-term memory. “Hey, can you hand me— thanks,” he says., taking the k2-adjuster where BB-8 nudges it towards him. He pats the side of the X-wing as he fixes the sticky air-break. They have proper mechanics and engineers, but most pilots like a little hands-on maintenance of their babies if they get the chance. And it’s something useful to do. If they spend too much time hanging around, the general gets this look in her eye— the same look Poe’s parents got if they saw him hanging around at home, the one that leads to them finding new chores, tidying the attic, deep cleaning the transport-rigs. With the General, it’s more tedious delivery missions or helping out sanitation with the ongoing issue leak in the biofilters. Much better to look busy tuning up the X-wings or the two freshly-stolen TIE-fighters.
“I’m listening, I’m listening,” he tells BB-8. “So then she fixes the—“ He stops as a familiar pair of boots appear, imperial issue.
“Hey, how’s it going,” Finn says, dropping next to him. “Can I help?”
BB-8 makes a little, I-doubt-it sound that makes Poe grateful Finn can’t understand droid and isn’t so good at picking up subtext generally. And then because Poe Dameron didn’t join the Rebeliion because he could leave well enough alone, he says, “So BB-8 was just telling me about how Rey got you off of Jakku.”
Finn’s face brightens, “Did he tell you how she flew us through this crashed spaceship? Because seriously, it was…”