Lizet's Place

Ficlet: A Dawn of Her Own (Lucy Pevensie, The Chronicles of Narnia)

2025-09-01T04:19:37Z

Title: A Dawn of Her Own
Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia
Character(s): Lucy Pevensie
Tags: Post-The Last Battle, Self-Discovery, Finding Independence, Hope, Quiet Strength, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Compliant
Rating: General
Word Count: 370
Summary: After the end of Narnia, Lucy Pevensie learns how to build a life for herself in England, carrying both grief and hope as she grows into the person she was always meant to be.
Author's Note: Written for seasons_of_fandom 's Round 1, Challenge #1: Royal Rumble

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Lucy had always been “the youngest,” “the gentle one,” “the Queen of Narnia.” But England didn’t care for titles, and sometimes Lucy thought the whole world had forgotten she had once ruled a kingdom of light. There were mornings when she stared into the mirror and almost expected to see her crown resting above her brow, her hair catching the sea wind, but it was only her, small and ordinary. And yet, she reminded herself, queenship was never about crowns.

In the quiet mornings, she walked the streets near her home, skirts brushing against her ankles, watching the way sunlight broke through the clouds. It reminded her of Cair Paravel’s towers gleaming across the Eastern Sea. The memory hurt, sharp as glass, but it also steadied her, like a compass pointing her forward rather than back.

Her siblings each had their roles: Peter with his grave wisdom, Susan with her modern poise, and Edmund with his steadiness. Lucy, though, had always been defined by her faith. When the wardrobe closed for good, she feared she would disappear without it. For weeks, she wrestled with the silence, with the ache of a door that would never open again. But she learned to look for Aslan’s presence in other places—the hush of an organ hymn, the laughter of children, the golden thread of kindness woven through even ordinary days.

So she began small. She volunteered at the church, helped children with their reading, and listened when lonely neighbors knocked at her door. She told no one that each kindness felt like planting a flag in her own kingdom, unseen but very real. Slowly, Lucy began to realize she was not rebuilding Narnia; she was building Lucy.

At night, she whispered prayers not for Narnia’s return, but for courage to face each day. “Let me shine, even here,” she asked, and in time, she realized she already was.

Lucy Pevensie would never be just “the youngest” again. She was a woman who had walked with Aslan, who had borne both sorrow and joy, and who now chose to live, not as a shadow of the past, but as herself.

And that, she thought as dawn stretched its golden fingers across the sky, was its own kind of magic.

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LJ Idol: Week 5: Toi, toi, toi

2025-07-26T16:54:42Z

Continuation of A Wolf in Silk with the concept of Toi toi toi (an expression used to ward off bad luck, often whispered like knocking on wood).

Title: To Ward off the Wolf
Summary: Haunted by Vincent Lane’s power and her own fear, Mira whispers “toi toi toi” before every risk she takes, as if it might shield her from his reach. But luck can only protect her so long, and courage must do the rest.

---

Weeks passed, and St. Leora shimmered on as if nothing foul hid behind the velvet curtains of its charity galas. Mira carried on at the Gazette, writing features about local heroes, restaurant openings, and the occasional human-interest piece that barely scratched the city’s polished surface.

But every time she pressed save on an article, she whispered softly under her breath: “Toi toi toi.”

The words, a tradition she’d picked up from her grandmother, felt like a frail shield of sound, a small ritual to knock away the shadow of Vincent Lane.

Sometimes, as she walked to work under the golden façades of old buildings, she would catch her reflection in a shop window, shoulders hunched, eyes darting, and whisper it again. Toi toi toi. Like knocking on unseen wood, like spitting out the bad luck that clung to her thoughts.

In quiet moments at her desk, she’d remember the call: Lane’s voice warm and unhurried, the threat wrapped in velvet. And each memory would tighten her chest until the words toi toi toi tumbled out like a plea.

Colleagues teased her gently about talking to herself. She forced a smile, claiming it was a nervous habit. But only she knew the truth: fear had become a silent companion, and those three whispered words were all that kept it from swallowing her whole.

And yet, even wrapped in fear, something stubborn flickered in her: a certainty that the truth mattered, even if the city itself seemed content to keep dancing under chandeliers, blind to the wolf in their midst.

At night, before sleep, she would press her fingers to her lips and breathe the words into the dark. Toi toi toi.

Not just to ward off danger, but to remember that courage still lived in her somewhere, waiting for the moment she’d dare to use it.

---

The whispers had begun the morning after Vincent’s call. Mira had woken before dawn, heart pounding, his words echoing like iron bells in her head:

“Don’t waste it on a battle you can’t win.”

She had poured coffee with shaking hands, staring at the cold sunrise outside her window, and found her grandmother’s voice surfacing in memory:

“When danger circles, Mira, say toi toi toi. Spit the evil away.”

So she did. Three quick words. Soft as breath, sharp as prayer.

The first time, the words felt thin and foolish on her tongue, almost childish. But something in them steadied her, like catching the edge of a ledge just before the fall.

That day at the Gazette, she whispered them before she opened her laptop, before she checked her phone for messages she dreaded yet half-expected. The words became part of her breath: a rhythm, a charm, a whispered pact with whatever small gods might still be listening.

In the silence of her apartment at night, she spoke them into the hush, voice barely louder than the hum of the city beyond her window. Toi toi toi. Against Lane’s threats. Against her own gnawing doubt.

But even as she whispered, the memory of his voice coiled in her mind: calm, certain, cruel in its softness. It was a warning, but also a promise, a promise that his power reached further than she could see.

And yet, under the fear, something stubborn refused to die. Each whisper wasn’t only a defense; it was defiance. A vow to herself that she wouldn’t look away, not completely. That the wolf might watch her, but she would watch back.

Toi toi toi, she breathed, over and over, until the words felt as familiar and necessary as her own heartbeat.

---

Despite the editor’s order to drop the Lane story, Mira couldn’t let it go. The photos from the warehouse were hidden on an encrypted drive; the contractor’s statement was locked in a drawer at home. At night, she reviewed them like talismans, each detail a knot in the thread of truth she was quietly weaving.

Toi toi toi, she whispered before she logged in, before she touched the files, before she dared imagine what would happen if she shared them.

Each image burned itself deeper into her mind: the shadowed crates, the logo of a shell corporation she’d traced back to Lane, the blurred figures loading what looked like medical supplies meant for the city’s free clinic. Supplies that never arrived.

She would close her laptop and sit in the quiet dark, breath held, listening for footsteps in the hall that never came. Fear stalked her constantly, like the echo of footsteps just out of sight, but the truth she’d glimpsed haunted her more.

Some nights, sleep refused to come. Instead, she’d find herself pacing her small apartment, the contractor’s voice replaying in her head: the tremor when he’d described what he’d seen, the hurried scrawl of his signature at the bottom of the statement.

Lane’s power felt like a shadow stretching over every bright street of St. Leora. And yet, each time doubt crept close, each time she wondered if she should bury it all and walk away, she whispered those three words, soft as breath but sharp as iron:

Toi toi toi.

It didn’t banish the fear completely. But it kept her moving, file by file, word by word, down a path she knew might lead to danger, and perhaps, if she dared, to something like justice.

---

The danger proved real soon enough.

One evening, as Mira left the Gazette, the city’s light rain misting her face, a dark sedan idled at the curb. Its window rolled down to reveal a man in a charcoal suit, sharp-eyed, silent. Without a word, he held up his phone: on the screen, a photo of Mira’s tiny apartment building.

She froze.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He rolled the window back up, and the sedan disappeared into traffic.

Heart hammering, Mira pressed her palm to her chest. “Toi toi toi,” she whispered into the wet night, as if the words could wrap around her like armor.

For a moment, all she heard was the rain pattering on pavement, the distant hiss of tires. Then the world seemed to tilt, fear crashing over her in cold waves. Her safe routine had been pierced. Lane’s warning had crossed from words to a silent, unmistakable threat.

That night, Mira checked the locks on her door three times. She pushed a chair under the knob, drew the blinds tight, and whispered the charm again and again until her voice turned hoarse. Toi toi toi. Not out of superstition anymore, but out of raw need, a desperate plea to hold on to courage.

Yet even as fear clawed at her, so did something else: anger. The photos, the missing supplies, the contractor’s trembling voice, they weren’t just evidence anymore. They were people being hurt. And Lane, sitting somewhere behind velvet curtains and polished glass, thought a single silent threat would be enough to silence her.

She powered on her laptop, the glow spilling across the dark room. The encrypted drive opened. For a heartbeat, her finger hovered over the delete key, but she didn’t press it. Instead, she opened a blank document, hands trembling, and began to type.

If she had to walk through fear, she’d do it word by word. And every paragraph, every whispered toi toi toi, became both shield and spear.

---

That night, sleep abandoned her. She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering: How far would Vincent Lane go? How many had tried and failed before her?

And then, the darker question: Was she going to fail too?

The thought hollowed her chest like a cold wind. She imagined headlines that would never be printed, files that would vanish into digital ash, and a city that would keep dancing under chandeliers, never knowing what had been stolen from them.

Her grandmother’s voice came back to her, softer this time: “Spit the evil away, Mira.” So she whispered again, toi toi toi, her breath catching on the last syllable. But the words felt smaller than before, barely enough to steady the quake inside her.

She turned onto her side, clutching her phone, thumb hovering over her contact list. Who could she trust? Colleagues? Too risky. The contractor? He was already terrified. The names blurred together until they all felt equally fragile, equally unsafe.

Outside, rain streaked her window, each drop catching the amber glow of a passing car. The city felt endless and empty at the same time.

Yet as the hours crawled toward dawn, something stubborn sparked beneath the fear. If she stopped now, Lane would win, easily, silently. And if the threat had been meant to scare her off, maybe that meant she was closer to the truth than she’d dared hope.

She swallowed hard, sat up, and pulled her laptop back onto her knees. The files blinked on the screen, waiting. With shaking fingers, she began drafting an outline, facts, sources, and gaps she needed to fill.

Every word felt like stepping onto thin ice. But she kept going. Toi toi toi, she whispered into the hush of her apartment, as if each syllable could stitch a layer of courage around her fear.

Maybe she couldn’t defeat Lane outright. But silence, she realized, would be a greater defeat than failure. And as dawn’s first gray light crept through the blinds, Mira decided: she would rather try and fall than never try at all.

---

The next morning brought an unexpected flicker of hope. A message on her personal email, signed only “K.”

I know what you saw at the warehouse. You’re not alone. Meet me tomorrow, 8 p.m., Riverwalk. Come alone.

Mira read it three times. Toi toi toi, she whispered, pressing her lips to her knuckles.

She weighed the risk until dusk, finally deciding: better to face danger with truth than live safely in silence.

That night, her nerves tangled tighter than ever. What if it was a trap? Lane’s people luring her out? She imagined the dark sedan waiting again, the man in the charcoal suit stepping forward. Her breath quickened; her palms went clammy.

But another thought pushed through the fear like dawn through fog: What if it wasn’t? What if K really was someone else who had seen too much, someone who might help her thread this story together into something unignorable?

She spent the day preparing. She printed copies of the contractor’s statement, hid one in a cookbook, and tucked another inside the lining of her purse. On a slim flash drive, she saved the photos from the warehouse and slipped it into her coat pocket, taped behind her phone case in case someone tried to take it.

By sunset, the city shimmered under bruised clouds, lights reflecting off the slow-moving river. Mira stood at the edge of the Riverwalk, jacket zipped to her chin, heart rattling like a trapped bird.

She whispered it again, under her breath, almost like breathing: toi toi toi.

Then she stepped forward into the night, toward the meeting that might change everything—or end it before it began.

---

At the Riverwalk, lights reflected off the black water, blurring into smears of gold and white. Mira’s breath puffed in nervous clouds as she scanned the path.

A woman stepped from the shadows, tall and dressed in a dark coat, her eyes wary. “Mira Walsh?” she asked.

“Yes. Are you ‘K’?”

The woman nodded. “My name is Kara. I used to handle accounts for Lane’s foundation.” Her voice trembled, though she kept it low. “I have proof. Transactions, offshore accounts. But he found out I copied them. I’ve been hiding ever since.”

Mira’s chest tightened. “Why risk coming to me?”

“Because I saw your photos. You have something too,” Kara said. “If we bring it together, we can bury him.”

The idea felt like a lit match in the dark. But fear curled cold around Mira’s ribs. “He’ll come after us.”

“He already is,” Kara whispered. “That’s why we must move fast. Tomorrow. I’ll send everything I have.”

Toi toi toi, Mira mouthed silently as Kara disappeared into the night.

---

Back home, Mira waited by her laptop, heart pounding. At midnight, the email arrived: files, spreadsheets, bank statements that glowed on the screen like forbidden treasure.

She exhaled shakily. “Toi toi toi,” she whispered, as if the words could keep Vincent’s gaze away.

But luck, Mira realized, was only a cloak; it couldn’t replace resolve.

Her grandmother’s charm could ward off shadows, but it couldn’t write the story for her. Fingers trembling, she opened the first spreadsheet: shell company names she recognized, transfers timed days before the clinic’s missing shipment, sums that spoke louder than a hundred testimonies.

Piece by piece, the truth formed in her mind, uglier and more damning than she’d dared guess. Lane wasn’t simply siphoning funds; he was bleeding the city dry through a lattice of fake charities, contracts, and silent partners.

The cursor blinked at the top of a blank document. Mira hesitated only a moment, then began to type: dates, names, amounts. Facts cold as stone. The story she’d been too afraid to finish was now too real to ignore.

Outside, the wind rattled her window. Fear twisted her stomach, but she let it sit beside her resolve rather than chase it away. Her whispered toi toi toi was no longer just a charm; it was a promise to herself: to keep going, even when the night felt endless.

And as dawn’s light broke across St. Leora’s polished skyline, Mira kept writing, ready at last to drag what hid behind velvet curtains into the morning sun.

---

She gathered everything, Kara’s documents, her photos, notes, and testimony, and wrote. For hours, until dawn bled through the blinds, she typed the story she had once been warned to bury.

A piece of truth powerful enough, she hoped, to break the wolf’s silk disguise.

She hesitated over the send button, fear rattling in her bones. Then, softly but fiercely, she whispered: “Toi toi toi.”

And clicked.

For a breathless moment, nothing happened. The draft vanished into the Gazette’s secure submission box, the screen flickering back to her tired reflection in the darkened monitor.

Mira sat frozen, listening to her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. The apartment felt impossibly still, as if even the air was waiting to see what she’d done.

Slowly, her shoulders sagged. She wasn’t safe, not yet, but she had done it. She had chosen truth over silence, her voice over fear.

Outside, St. Leora’s skyline gleamed gold in the first light, its facades still hiding a thousand secrets. But today, at least one would not stay hidden.

Mira whispered the words again, softer now, almost like a prayer of hope rather than fear: “Toi toi toi.”

Then she closed her laptop, drew the curtains wide to let in the morning sun, and finally allowed herself to breathe.

---

The story went live the next evening, first on her anonymous blog, then shared by a dozen smaller outlets that weren’t in Lane’s pocket. It spread like sparks on dry grass: accusations, evidence, questions no one could now ignore.

Lane denied everything, of course, smiling, charming, the city’s darling still. But the mask had cracked. Rumors whispered through St. Leora’s marble hallways and gilded dining rooms. Donors began to pull back. A councilwoman publicly demanded an inquiry; a clerk leaked more documents. The network Mira had feared was now splintering from within, cracks turning into fissures.

Late that night, Mira walked the Riverwalk where she’d first met Kara. The wind smelled of rain, the water dark and restless beside her. Fear still curled cold in her chest, but beside it, something warmer sparked, a fragile defiance, alive and stubborn.

She pressed her palm to the railing, felt the river’s steady current below, and whispered into the night: “Toi toi toi.”

Not just to ward off danger this time, but to keep courage alive. Because the wolf had been wounded, not slain. And tomorrow, she knew, the real fight would begin.

---

Two days later, Mira received another email from Kara. “They’re coming after me. I’m leaving the city. Keep fighting.”

Mira closed the laptop, heart heavy but steady. The wolf still prowled, but the flock had seen his fangs.

And Mira kept whispering, every time she felt the fear rising: “Toi toi toi.”

Because luck might bend. But courage, once found, could keep her standing. And as long as she stood, the truth still had a voice.

She knew Lane’s allies would strike back, with lawsuits, threats, and quiet whispers to discredit her work. But the silence that once blanketed St. Leora had been pierced, and there was no going back.

Every day, Mira returned to her desk, gathered new tips, and spoke to people who would once have never dared to talk. Fear walked beside her, but so did resolve, a quiet companion forged in long nights and whispered words.

At night, as the city lights shimmered beyond her window, she would press two fingers to her lips and breathe out softly: “Toi toi toi.”

And in that breath lived defiance, memory, and hope, a promise to keep the truth alive, no matter how dark the wolf’s shadow grew.

---

(2,880 words)

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LJ Idol: Week 4: Figure of Speech

2025-07-17T21:52:26Z

So...a figure of speech. Yeah. I got one of those. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. Additionally, I enjoy stories that feature some form of political intrigue. I think I got that with this?

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Title: A Wolf in Silk

Summary: In a city built on charm and deception, aspiring journalist Mira discovers the dazzling philanthropist Vincent Lane is not the savior he appears to be.

---

The city of St. Leora glittered at night like a spilled chest of jewels, golden windows, silver bridges, and emerald parks. But beneath that shimmer lay stories the bright lights tried to bury. Mira Walsh, fresh from journalism school and burning with the hunger to matter, wanted to dig them out.

She got her first real chance the evening she met Vincent Lane.

It was at the annual Mercy Ball, the event of the season. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the high ceilings of the Orpheus Hotel’s grand ballroom, and every guest wore hope as boldly as they wore designer gowns. Vincent Lane, of course, wore both effortlessly: the hope pinned to his lapel in the form of the hospital’s newest donation badge, and the black silk tuxedo that caught the light just right.

Everyone called him St. Vincent. Patron of the poor, hero of the hopeless. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, Mira’s editor had warned with a smirk. But looking at him now, Mira wasn’t so sure. He was charming, yes, too charming, but maybe that was the price of doing good in a cynical city.

When their eyes met across the room, Mira felt an unexpected spark, half curiosity, half fear. He walked over, glass in hand, and his smile was so practiced it seemed effortless.

“I hear the Gazette’s newest reporter is in attendance,” Vincent said, tilting his glass toward her. “Am I addressing her?”

“Mira Walsh,” she said, her voice stronger than she felt. “I’m covering tonight’s fundraiser.”

“A noble task,” Vincent replied, his gaze sharp and warm all at once. “Though I suspect you’re the sort to look for more than the surface.”

“And why do you suspect that?”

“Because you’re not looking at my watch or my suit,” Vincent said, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re watching me the way a hawk watches the field, waiting for something to move.”

It was so accurate that it made her chest tighten. He laughed lightly and excused himself to greet a donor, leaving Mira wondering if she’d just been seen or gently warned.

---

Over the next few weeks, Mira watched Vincent Lane’s legend grow. He launched a scholarship fund for underprivileged youth. He spoke at city council meetings, advocating for the establishment of more shelters and food banks. At every turn, cameras loved him, and the public loved him more.

Yet whispers reached Mira’s desk. Vendors who hadn’t been paid. A contractor whose invoices vanished. A woman, pale and frightened, who claimed to have worked late nights for Lane and was abruptly fired after discovering “something she shouldn’t have.”

Mira tracked the story until it felt like the threads were tangling around her wrists. What was she chasing? Proof that Vincent Lane was not the man St. Leora adored? Or was she chasing her own ambition, to break a story so big it would put her name on every front page?

---

The breakthrough came on a rain-heavy Wednesday evening. Mira waited in an alley outside Lane’s downtown office, the collar of her coat turned up against the wind. At ten-thirty, the building lights went out, except in one window on the third floor.

A silhouette moved behind the glass, then the figure stepped into the hall. Mira pressed herself against the wet bricks, holding her breath.

The back door opened. Vincent Lane appeared, his face a mask of calm. But in his hand was a slim silver briefcase, which he tucked quickly under his coat.

Something prickled in Mira’s gut. A certainty she couldn’t ignore.

She followed him. Through puddled streets, past shuttered shops, until he reached an old warehouse near the river. Inside, she glimpsed a group of men in suits, their laughter carrying faintly through the cracked window. Vincent handed over the briefcase. Money, Mira realized. Lots of it.

Her pulse drummed in her ears. This was it. The story.

But as she lifted her phone to snap a photo, Vincent turned. His eyes locked on hers through the dark glass, and Mira felt a coldness so absolute it stole her breath.

He knew.

---

The next morning, Vincent Lane visited the Gazette. He sat with Mira’s editor, smiling like a benevolent uncle. When he left, the editor called Mira into his office.

“Drop the Lane piece,” he said, voice low and final. “The man is doing too much good to risk his reputation over rumors.”

Mira’s chest burned. “Rumors? I saw him last night.”

“Then you saw him making a private donation,” her editor said. “That’s the story. Nothing more.”

Mira walked out, the city’s neon signs smearing tears across her vision. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, she thought bitterly. But who let the wolf roam free? The answer was in every politician who took his calls, every editor who refused to print the truth.

She could write the article anyway, but she’d lose her job, and maybe more. After what she’d seen in Vincent’s eyes, she didn’t doubt his reach.

That night, Vincent called her. His voice was gentle, almost pitying.

“You’re very talented, Mira,” he said. “Don’t waste it on a battle you can’t win.”

“Why do this?” she demanded, voice trembling. “Why pretend to help while you...”

“While I help myself?” Vincent finished, sighing softly. “Because good deeds buy silence. And silence keeps the city running.”

“And people suffer,” she whispered.

“People always suffer,” Vincent said. “But with me, fewer suffer than might otherwise. Think of it that way, if it helps you sleep.”

---

In the days that followed, the city glowed with more of Lane’s generosity: a new wing for the children’s hospital, a job program for veterans. The headlines were as glossy as ever.

Mira sat at her desk, words coiled tight in her chest, unspoken. A wolf in silk, she thought, remembering how effortlessly Vincent moved among his flock.

Yet even wolves can be watched.

She kept her notes. Saved her photographs. Bided her time.

One day, she promised herself, the city would see what lay beneath the silk, and the wolf would no longer walk free.

Until then, she sharpened her words, waiting for the day she could finally let them fly.

---

(1029 words)

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LJ Idol: Week 3: Here is the Heart

2025-07-08T18:04:24Z

Here it is *smirk* I was on vacation this past week. Sadly, not in Florence, but it was someplace just as, and seeing the colors of the shops in the Bahamas gave me some ideas for this prompt. Also, hearing people talk about wanting to go on a cruise to Italy contributed to the story's location. Then, when I got home Sunday night, which is when I was able to start working on this.

I used Google Translate, so...y'know, *shrug*

---

Title: Ecco il Cuore (Here is the Heart)

Summary: A young American artist living in Florence stumbles upon an old bookshop and an even older mystery involving a series of paintings signed only with the word Ecco. As she uncovers the story behind the signature, she finds herself entangled in love, legacy, and the question of what it truly means to be seen.

---

It started with the bell, an old, cracked chime that sang out above the door like it hadn’t been touched in years.

"Ecco," said the man behind the counter, with a flick of his hand, as if the very sight of her had completed something.

The word hung in the air like perfume, unexpected but not unwelcome.

Juliette blinked, pushing up the sleeve of her linen shirt, the one now smudged with charcoal and city grime. She had ducked into the narrow bookshop not for any philosophical reason, but because the Florentine sun had become unbearable and her sketchpad was threatening to melt.

She glanced around. The shop was a maze of crooked wood and dust, with old shelves leaning like conspirators. There was no air conditioning, but the thick stone walls offered enough relief to make her linger.

The man behind the counter was older, perhaps in his late sixties, with silver hair and eyes that seemed to have seen wars or, worse, the boredom of students.

He nodded again. “Ecco. I was wondering when you’d come.”

Juliette half-laughed. “Excuse me?”

He waved her over, and when she hesitated, he simply said, “Non ti preoccupare. Vieni. (Don't worry. Come.)”

She stepped forward, wary but curious, the way a stray cat might approach a friendly hand. He slid a book across the counter to her. It was a slim volume, bound in wine-red leather. No title on the cover.

Juliette opened it, and the scent of ancient ink hit her like a song she hadn’t heard in years. Inside were sketches, some rough, some detailed, some like half-formed dreams. She recognized the hand immediately.

“Who did these?” she asked.

The man gave her a small, knowing smile. “That is the question.”

Each sketch was signed the same way: Ecco.

Juliette traced the name with her fingertip. “Here is...what, exactly?”

“Ecco can mean many things,” he said. “Here it is. Look. This is it. A presentation, a revelation. Or perhaps just presence. The artist signed not with their name, but with a gesture...an offering.”

She didn’t speak for a moment, then finally asked, “Do you know who they are?”

The man tilted his head. “Some say a student of Botticelli. Others, a nun who painted in secret. One theory insists it was a young man who disguised his identity to escape scandal. But the truth?” He tapped the cover. “Perhaps the answer is inside you.”

Juliette looked at him, uncertain if she was being played or recruited into something. “Why give this to me?”

“You came in from the sun, sì? Uninvited. And yet, Ecco. Here you are.”

That word again.

He wrote something on a slip of paper and handed it to her. An address, an alley not far from the Arno.

“Go there,” he said. “Bring the book.”

She should have walked away. She should have thanked him, put the book down, and left the shop as if nothing had happened.

Instead, she tucked the book into her satchel and walked out the door without another word.

---

The address led her to a decaying palazzo wedged between modern cafés and careless traffic. The courtyard was made of cracked marble, but still beautiful, with ivy curling around its columns like whispered secrets.

Inside, the rooms were empty except for one. A small gallery faded but intact. A light filtered through stained glass, washing everything in the colors of melted gelato.

And there, along the walls, were more works. Sketches. Oils. Frescoes barely holding on.

All signed: Ecco.

She moved from piece to piece, breath catching in her throat. There was a woman holding a broken compass. A child lighting a candle against the wind. A mirror turned toward the sea.

Each one felt like a sentence from a language she once knew and had nearly forgotten.

And then she saw it. Her face.

Or someone who could have been her. Same jawline. Same mole beneath the left eye. The same look of stubborn longing. She stumbled back, heart hammering.

Ecco.

Here it is.

---

She returned to the shop that evening. The man was locking up.

“You knew,” she accused.

He smiled gently. “I suspected.”

“Who painted that?”

He leaned against the doorframe. “The artist used what they saw. That doesn’t mean they knew you. Or maybe they did.”

Juliette’s mind reeled. “Are you saying I’ve been...reincarnated?”

“I’m saying ecco is not just a word,” he replied. “It is a mirror. Some people run from it. Some people chase it. And some people live it.”

He handed her a small package wrapped in brown paper. Inside: new sketchbooks, brushes, and a single note: The past is not only behind you. Sometimes it waits to be remembered. Ecco.

---

Juliette never did learn the name of the artist. But she spent the rest of the summer sketching by the river, in cafes, in shadowed alleys and sunlit courtyards. She started signing her work differently. Not with her name.

Just one word.

Ecco.

---

(833 words)

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LJ Idol: Week 2: If It's Any Consolation

2025-06-27T15:59:38Z

I made it to another week. And I'm glad I have this time before I go on vacation to write this.

I'm in my feels about a breakdown in communication in my relationship, and when I saw this week's prompt, it felt like a poem was calling my name for it. I've never written a poem outside of learning about them in school and having to do them for classwork or homework...but here I go.

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If It’s Any Consolation
We used to speak in shorthand—
a glance, a hand on the small of my back,
the shared weight of silence meaning more
than any poem ever could.

Now, it’s static.

Words tumble like loose screws
from the wreck of our sentences—
I say “You never listen,”
you say “You always assume.”

And if it’s any consolation,
I still dream in the cadence of your voice,
still leave space on the shelf
where your laughter used to live.

I rehearse my apologies
like prayers to a god
I’m not sure still believes in us.

But the distance grew roots,
and we watered them with every misunderstanding,
every "I’m fine" that meant the opposite,
every "Forget it" that should’ve been "Please stay."

And if it’s any consolation—
I miss you in the quiet,
in the spaces between sentences
where love used to breathe.

But maybe
you stopped hearing me
long before I stopped talking.

---

150 words

comments

LJ Idol: Week 1: Quality

2025-06-16T04:02:47Z

An original piece.

The Measure of Quality

Marisol prided herself on precision. Each evening, she stood in her workshop, a narrow, sunlit room at the back of her house, and cleaned her tools, inspected her materials, and arranged her worktable until it aligned with her exacting standards. On the wall hung a tiny brass plaque she had crafted herself, engraved with the single word Quality. It served as both reminder and command.

Tonight was special. Tomorrow she’d present her latest creation at the citywide Maker’s Exhibition, a celebration for inventors, artisans, and tinkerers alike. Her entry was modest. A mechanical flower, delicate and intricate, with gears as elegantly arranged as petals, powered by a tiny clockwork mechanism. But to Marisol, it represented the pinnacle of her craft.

She watched the flower revolve gently under the soft glow of her lamp. With a fingertip, she traced the polished edge of a petal. “You're perfect,” she whispered.

Behind her, a cough. Her brother, Marco, stepped in, rubbing his eyes. He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded.

“You’ve been at it all night,” he said.

Marisol blew on one last smear of oil and set the piece to the side. “I need to get this just right. The judges at the exhibition...they’ll expect the same attention to detail you see here.”

Marco stepped into the workshop. “It looks great. But they also pay attention to presentation, story, charm...not just mechanical precision.”

Marisol frowned. “I know what’s important. The quality of the mechanism will speak for itself.”

“Maybe,” Marco said gently. “But people connect with a story. And with emotion. Don’t underestimate that.”

Marisol paused. “It’s just...telling stories feels sloppy. Unmeasurable. Mechanical quality, I can control that.”

Marco nodded, stepping over the threshold. “Control, that’s part of it. But craft is more than control, isn’t it? You’ve always been able to build the most precise widgets, but this...this flower is beautiful in a way your others weren’t. Maybe it’s because you let a little imperfection, some humanity, speak through.”

She tilted her head. “You think I should, what? Add a flaw on purpose? A smudge of paint?”

He smiled. “Not exactly. Let the mechanics bite a little, or let the petals cast a shadow. Show them something that feels alive.”

Marisol turned back to her workbench. “Alive,” she mused. “I can’t schedule that.”

Marco walked over and added, “Maybe you don’t schedule it. Maybe you let it happen.”

She closed her eyes, then opened them. “Alright. Show me.”

He flicked a finger at the wind-up key. The flower rotated, rhythmically, but with near-mathematical predictability. “What if you change the rhythm? Make one rotation take just a fraction longer, then let it spring quickly, like a heartbeat?”

She frowned again. “That sounds like a defect.”

“Or a heartbeat,” Marco countered.

She considered it. Then placed her finger on one crucial gear and shifted it. An imperceptible change. She wound the key and let it run.

For the first three revolutions, the flower rotated slowly. On the fourth, it sped up, then slowed again. The change was subtle but noticeable. The flower no longer moved like a machine. It pulsed.

Marco exhaled. “There. Alive.”

Marisol studied the flower’s motion under the lamp. She hardly recognized it. Her fingers trembled. “It's different.”

“It’s magnetic,” he said. “That’s what the judges will feel.”

She nodded slowly. “Let it be my flaw.”

---

At dawn, Marisol packed the mechanical flower in a velvet-lined box. She tucked her brother's advice in her pocket too, like a talisman. Then she set out, walking through the city’s cobblestone streets to the Exhibition Hall.

Inside, the hall buzzed with excitement. Booths displayed wooden automata, embroidered tapestries, holographic art, robotic pets. A steady hum of conversation and clinking cups drifted overhead.

Marisol found her assigned table. An oak slab with half a dozen other entries. She laid the velvet box carefully in the center. Around her, exhibits gleamed. She felt a flicker of doubt. What if mechanical quality wasn’t enough?

An elderly judge approached, Ms. Augustine, a slim woman with silver hair and sharp eyes. She stopped at Marisol’s table and peered down.

“Good morning, young lady.” She extended her hand. “I’m Aurelia Augustine. Would you tell me about your piece?”

Marisol exhaled. “It’s a clockwork flower. I built it to mimic the rhythm of life, with gears designed to pulse...”

Ms. Augustine’s lips curved into a small smile. “I’m intrigued. May I?”

Marisol lifted the velvet lid. The flower, at rest, seemed paused in slumber. She wound the key and stepped back. It began its dance: deliberate, then quickened, like a breath drawn in surprise, then slowed, receding, gathering power, then pause.

The judges and nearby visitors leaned in. Marisol’s heart raced.

Ms. Augustine nodded slowly. “There is...emotion in its motion. Not random noise, but something more profound.”

Marisol felt her breath catch. Her vision narrowed.

Ms. Augustine pointed to the mech. “Tell me, were these fluctuations intentional?”

Marisol swallowed. “Yes. I...I over-engineered many versions to be perfectly smooth. But my brother...he said life isn’t perfect. He said to let it breathe.”

A murmur passed through the crowd. Ms. Augustine whispered, “You've created not only a mechanical device but a living echo. That quality, the soul within craft, is what elevates invention to art.”

Marisol felt warmth flood her. She dared to look at her flower, spinning in gentle, uneven perfection.

---

Later, on the Exhibition stage, the winners were announced. Marisol’s table was already being cleared when she heard her name, “Second Prize for Innovation: Marisol Reyes, ‘The Mechanical Heartflower.’” Applause echoed off the walls.

She frowned. Second place? But she felt...accomplished.

Ms. Augustine approached again. “Congratulations. You've done something rare. But to place first, the top entry needed more scale, an expanded concept, a larger context.”

Marisol nodded. “I understand. And I’m grateful.”

Outside after the ceremony, Marco greeted her with a grin. The air smelled of summer blooms.

“You did it,” he said, pulling her into a hug.

She closed her eyes. “You were right.”

He squeezed her hand. “So what’s next?”

She looked up at the rotating Ferris wheel in the distance, its lights painting the dusk sky. “I think I’ll build a whole garden of mechanical hearts. Not perfect machines, but machines that feel. And this time, I won’t treat the wobble like a defect. I'll treat it like the point, the centerpiece.”

Marco laughed. “That sounds like something only you could make.”

Marisol turned back to the Exhibition Hall, where late stragglers lingered, admiring others’ works. “I want to invite people in. To let them wind a flower and listen to their own heart in its beat.”

He smiled. “Now that's quality.”

She paused, pressed her fingers to her pulse. “Yes. That’s real quality.”

---

(1120 words)

comments

Spinning Into the Chaos (and Kind of Loving It)

2025-06-08T23:59:50Z

Hello, fellow Idol adventurers—

I’m simplyn2deep, but you can call me Liz, and this is my second leap into the wonderfully unpredictable maelstrom that is therealljidol…but this time with more chaos! I’m here because I believe some of the best stories are born when you’re off balance, running sideways, and maybe a little bit scared—but still writing anyway.

A few things about me:

* I write like I breathe: often, messily, and occasionally with flair.
* I’m a fan of tangled emotions, mythological metaphors, found families, and characters who love hard and fall harder.
* I have a thing for drabbles and 50k epics, poetry and prose, structured chaos and chaotic structure—basically, if it’s written, I’ll probably try it at least once.
* In real life, I juggle school (starting my last 2 semesters in August), work (after-school substitute program leader for elementary students) and sleeping, but this? This is my creative breath of fresh air.

Looking forward to seeing what wild prompts we all get flung into and cheering each of you on as we try to make sense of the beautiful mess.

If you’d like to join the chaos, you can do so here!

Let the wheel turn. I’m ready.

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simplyn2deep @ 2022-11-11T09:28:00

2022-11-11T17:29:13Z

I had hoped it wouldn't come to this. I made a gofundme. My mom's been helping me with little things, but this one is too big for me to ask her for help with. My sister is already helping me get to FL next year to be able to go to our nieces' graduation, so she's out...and my brother has helped me LOADS with my education over the years.

Now...I've been working since 2017 (actually been working since 2000, but in this case, I mean my current job) as a live-in caregiver. I'm paid for my work and this has allowed me to take online classes to finally get my bachelor's degree and pay for my other bills.

Then the pandemic hit. I continued to work and take online classes and managed to keep on top of paying my bills, but then my storage rental increased for the second time this year and it was too much. It was nearly all of my paycheck and I had other bills I still needed to pay.

All of my possessions from when I lived with my parents are in this storage unit that I'm going to lose. I don't too much care about 90% of the things in the unit, but there are important family documents and pictures in there that I would absolutely hate to have taken away because I lost the unit.

There's a lien on my unit, that I've had since at least 2016 and it will be auctioned off within the first 10 days of December if I don't get the rent paid up (October, November, December).

If that wasn't enough, the laptop I bought last year for school is going to need to be replaced because the battery is swelling and I still have another 2 or 3 years before I graduate.

I have been looking for supplemental work that I can do from home, but because of the nature of my main job, it has been really hard finding actual remote employment that doesn't sound like a scam.

Please help me out if you are able to.

Thank you!

https://gofund.me/9d486b2d

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About Friday.

2022-09-12T05:53:31Z

LJ has been giving me a hard time with loading pages properly and trying to upload pictures and it's just too much aggravation...so I'm going to link to my IG where I have videos and pictures.

First, let's go back a little bit to Wednesday. Originally, my niece Jasmine and I were supposed to go to an Angels baseball game, but she bought tickets for the wrong day. She tried calling her bank to get it refunded, but couldn't. She called Angels Stadium and they exchanged or swapped the tickets to a future game. The tickets she bought were for a game that happened in August when it was supposed to be for 9-7. The new game date is October 2. That's a Sunday so I'll be missing church, but I haven't gone to a game since 2011!

Now, instead of the baseball game, we went to lunch at a place called Smoke & Fire Social Eatery. Very good food! It was my 3rd time going there. https://www.instagram.com/p/CiOIoJmPBNW/

Now Friday.

I go to a bilingual church. English service in the morning, English/Spanish Sunday School classes then a fellowship time, then Spanish service in the afternoon. Friday was a movie night. I was in with the kids watching Clifford the Big Red Dog while the adults watched The Passion of the Christ. After the movies, there was cake, pastries, and coffee.

My sister came for this part. Happy birthday was sung in English and Spanish (I almost know all the words in the Spanish version we do) https://www.instagram.com/p/CiUNES9rd5A/

Then the 2 shirts that one of my friends made me https://www.instagram.com/p/CiUR0fuu6b6/ She thought I was joking when I said I wanted them. LOL, I'm at the point in life where I'm okay poking fun at myself.

I thought I had pictures that another friend took, but I never shared them on IG...nor the pictures my sister took. Oh well. They are in existence lol

Then today some other friends treated me to a Korean BBQ restaurant after church. That was nice. https://www.instagram.com/p/CiYbzJBP42J/ this was my 2nd time going to this place or having Korean BBQ at all. Next time I want Lucille's BBQ. I haven't had that since before 2012 or so.

That's been it for my birthday weekend.

This week I'll be sorting the dirty laundry and hopefully Friday going to Lora's to wash after Kim's dr appt. I also have to go to CVS and pick up a prescription order that had a delivery canceled for some reason. I pay for the freakin' CVS Carepass to have my prescriptions delivered and they want to charge me for a delivery they canceled to re-deliver it. No thanks.

Another post will be about the drama/happenings from Family Camp 3 weeks ago.

I'm tired.

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If I had my way...

2022-09-11T04:29:01Z

Friday was my birthday. I'm 40, ya'll!!

If I had my way, I'd be on a cruise with my BFF but things didn't happen that way. I'm still excited that she got to go, surprise that it was for her. We'll get that cruise/girls trip soon enough.

In place of going on the cruise, I had professional pictures taken! I haven't that done since senior pictures back in 1999/2000 or one of the dances that school year.

A friend from high school is a professional photographer and I love all of her wedding pictures, so I contacted her about a session for my 40th. And I nearly forgot to follow up with her to set the date for it.

We went with August 23, when I got back from family camp with my church (that will be a whole other post because I have things to say about that!). The location was the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA)...more specifically, the Urban Light Display between LACMA and the La Brea Tar Pits. The time was during golden hour.

I had so much fun. There's a few things I'd do differently, but that's a me thing and not anything that the photographer had control of.

Anyway...after the photoshoot...like 2 hours after I got back to my friend's place (I used her car to get to the photoshoot location and Kim stayed with her), I had my proofs to look at! Talk about fast work! She said she couldn't wait to look at them and get them to me as I was on sort of a deadline to get the prints to my mom ON my birthday (my mom got them today)...and by the end of that week, I had my 15 poses that I picked. But wait! She said she included a few more poses that she really liked that I didn't pick so I ended up with 21 poses! Sweet!

( see me here )

On my actual birthday, I had cake, coffee and sweet bread at church following the movie night we had. That was fun, too. I invited my sister and niece, but only my sister came, which was nice. I'll have pictures/video of that in another post.

Tomorrow after church, a couple of friends are treating me to lunch. I think I told them Korean BBQ. Exciting! Will have pictures of that too.

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Note to self: not all comments the professor makes are about you

2022-05-04T03:11:26Z

I stayed after class to talk to the professor because he said that he knows students cheated because they either only gave the answers (and not the work) or they included information he never covered in class or THEY SOLVED THE PROBLEMS IN WAYS HE DIDN'T COVER IN CLASS.

Hi, that's me! I solved a few of the problems in ways he didn't cover in class, because frankly, I couldn't understand my notes, so I looked up videos on youtube on how to solve the problems. Well, if it worked and I understood it, I kept that in my head for when the exam came.

I explained that to the professor...or I attempted to before he cut me off and said that he wasn't talking about me because he knows I do the work and that I come to class (he said I was one of his top students which is surprising because I currently have a high C, but I guess he's taking that participation stuff into consideration too), so his comments weren't about me and he didn't want me feeling singled out and didn't want me to get discouraged.

Phew!

I can stop worrying about that and concentrate on this current chapter. We are almost 3 sections in and I'm getting stumped...but not discouraged.

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So...here we are

2021-07-29T21:03:58Z

Monday I went to the hospital to register for my upcoming surgery and take a COVID test. I was told I'd have the results in 2-3 days and that if the hospital called, that means the test was positive, but if I get no call, it was negative. I was given paperwork with information on what to do and where to go the morning of my surgery.

Tuesday we dealt with stuff for Kim.

Wednesday we dealt with more stuff for Kim.

Then the hospital called. Oh god! But no! It was good. The hospital was just confirming information from the registration and informing me that my insurance would be covering the surgery so I don't have to pay for anything.

While we were out for Kim's appt, my Doctor's office called. Another oh god moment, but this time to tell me that the doctor wanted to do the surgery earlier, so I had to come in earlier. I blame John and Colleen for this. They both said I was "lucky" for it being later in the day (10am) because when they had theirs, it was at 6 or 7 in the morning. *rolls eyes hard* So the nurse at my doctor's office said he wants to do it earlier which means I have to be at the hospital earlier...which means waking up earlier.

And on top of that, still with the 2 showers before. Once tonight and I use an antiseptic skin cleanser, then the morning of, again with the antiseptic skin cleanser. I can't put on any lotions/moisturizers, deodorant, or body spray. My skin is going to be so dry and hate me come Saturday.

Anyway, there was some drama with my family. specifically between me, mom, and my sister. Whatever. My sister can pick up the phone to call or text me just as easily as I can...and I shouldn't always be the one to have to do it.

I mean, FFS, my sister-in-law is on vacation IN SPAIN and she sent me a text on Monday as I was leaving the hospital asking how I was doing and who was going to be with me while everything was going on. And she said she was going to check up on me after to see how I was. Has my blood sister done that? Nope. No offer to take me to/from the hospital, just a "thanks for letting me know. let me know if you need anything." How about for you to be a sister? You're my big sister! You're supposed to be checking how I'm doing not telling me that you have work, thus making it seem like work is more important than I am! And I'm not saying that she could have or should have called out of work to help me, but she could have offered.

And the icing on the fucking cake is my mom telling me that I need to ask my sister if I'm important to her because it's important for me to know. That made me feel like my feelings don't matter. Then my mom tells me that my sister has been telling her the same thing - that I don't reply to her calls or message. FUCK THAT! The last time my I talked to my sister was in May when she asked if I wanted to go back to San Diego with them and meet up with my brother for dinner, but I couldn't because Kim was just discharged from the skilled nursing facility and there's no way Colleen would have been able to move Kim around and lift her if she falls. Since then, there were other outings, which she is not obligated to invite me to or tell me about, but there was lunch with the cousins that I had no idea about.

Again, whatever. My mom needs to accept that my sister and I are not close. We have never been close (with the exception of when I was little and she "took me everywhere") and probably never will be close. That's just how it is. If my mom wanted us to be close, she should have pushed for my sister to come to more of our family things...hell we should have had more family things but whenever I suggested doing something as a family, my parents said no. Damned if you do and damned if you don't.

Anyway. Surgery tomorrow. I have to be up at 4am to shower and be ready to leave between 5:30-5:45am to be at the hospital by 7am for 9am surgery. I'll have my phone and portable charger for the waiting. I should be home sometime in the early afternoon.

I'm going to go have lunch now.

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I'm going to have surgery at some point

2021-03-02T04:53:11Z

I got the results from the biopsy I had done last week.

Its mild endometriosis and I will be scheduled for Hysteroscopic Polypectomy at some point in time.

This is all really dependent on the Covid-19 limitations at the hospital where the procedure will take place.

So I'm still waiting to hear from my doctors.

I'm mad that it's taken 22 years for a diagnosis.

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How fitting

2021-02-26T23:54:21Z

How fitting

I put off talking about the health stuff I took care of earlier in the week and now I have an update on it.

Let's start with my teeth. I saw the dentist on Wednesday. There could have been a possibility that my crown could have been put back on, but in my haste to leave for the appt, I forgot the baggie that I put in it. But...the dentist said there's a crack in that's remaining of my tooth, so it could have fallen out again if/when it broke. So I was scheduled to have a full examination on March 8th with the eventual extraction of the broken tooth.

With that done/gone, I will have no upper back teeth to chew with so I'll have to get partial dentures or something. I don't know. The dentist said more will be known after the full examination.

I know my teeth are in bad shape.

Now for my inside lady bits. Tuesday I had a biopsy done. The dr said results could come as soon as Friday depending on how backed up they are.

What do you know, they aren't backed up. About 2 hours ago, I get a message from my dr saying that the results of the biopsy were in and that I have Uterine polyps. They/it will be removed by a Hysteroscopy. I don't know when as the it depends on the dr who will be preforming the procedure and the guidlines set by the hospital where it will be.

But I have money coming next week. My tax refund and a CARES Act Emergency Fund 2 disbursement through my college! Hell yes! New laptop come to me! And I can pay my mom back the textbook/online access she paid for so I could do my Spanish class/homework.

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Last dentist update for the day!

2021-02-12T22:50:46Z

Video dental consult done. The dentist thought that I could be seen later today or tomorrow but no.

I have to wait until Feb 24. That's the earliest appt 😕 I'm going to have to be creative with chewing of food.

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SUCCESS!

2021-02-12T20:59:30Z

Video dental appt today at 2pm and if I need to come in, it will be to the South Gate dental office my insrance is with!

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This is so frustrating

2021-02-12T19:50:01Z

Why does stuff happen in the middle of the month!?

I found a dentist who is accepting new adult patients but they don't accept mid-month insurance transfers...so if I was going to have any kind of dental work done, I'd have to pay out of pocket!

I don't freaking have $1300 or however much it would be for a crown replacement to be done!

And! I don't even know if it can be done because there's not much of my original tooth left for the crown to be attached to!

I'm over here tearing up wondering how I'm going to eat, and that's not me being a fattie either.

It's probably not healthy to live off of meal replacement shakes, but I might have to for a while until I can see a dentist and see what work needs to be done, how much it's going to be, and how much my insurance will cover.

Thankfully, a crown in my case isn't cosmetic, so I'm sure my insurance will cover it.

I looked up what my dental plan covers and it looks like as long as the whole crown process isn't more than $1800, the insurance will cover it.

But I'm still stuck as to what to do for the next 17 days.

I think this is a case of sticking with where I'm currently at, waiting for the video consult and eventual referral, and hope that it isn't longer than 17 days?

This is so stupid. Logically, I understand why dental offices aren't accepting new patients but when an emergency comes up with a patient who already has their insurance with you (and just hasn't made the first appt), an exception should be made to see them...which I guess that's what this video consult will be.

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Its not even Friday the 13th...why is so much going wrong

2021-02-12T16:47:14Z

I should have stayed with my previous dentist but I changed to one closer to me and now I'm paying the price.

Last night my crown came out. I can't eat, can't chew without back teeth and that's where the crown was.

So I call my dentist this morning and NONE of their offices are taking new adult patients!

They can schedule me for a video consult before coming to the office But oh! They aren't doing crowns because of fucking covid! The dentist can refer me to another dental office to have the work done.

AND they have no appts today or tomorrow for the video consult and the schedule for next week hasn't been released. I was told I could call later today to see if there are any cancelations and that the schedule for next week might be open then.

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lk;dsaDSFJK'lf!

2021-02-11T23:10:16Z

It should be a requirement that students take at least 1 online class in their college career so they realize just how much of a balancing act it is in regards to their other classes.

The downside of discussion boards for school comes when the instructor says that once we post our answer to the discussion question, to reply to 3 or 4 other people.

AND I CAN'T!

BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE HAS POSTED THEIR ANSWERS FOR ME TO REPLY TO!

It's not fair that I have to wait for other people to get around to answering so that I can complete my assignment...but they can post their response and do the required replies all in one go because they waited until the day of or the day before the assignment was due.

And I get it. They have work for other classes they need to work on. It's just frustrating having to wait and then worry about missing something because I wasn't constantly checking the discussion board for posts to reply to.

The posts are time-stamped so the professor can see who waited until the last minute and who is on top of things with their schoolwork.

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YOU GUYS!

2021-02-08T05:13:47Z

Let me tell you the boneheaded mistake I made...THAT WASN'T EVEN MY FAULT!

So...classes start tomorrow, so professors are opening up the online forum where we have our discussions.

The accounting class is going along nicely.

But Spanish 2...holy cow! One set of links take you to one location, but another set of links, actually provided by the professor, don't take you to the same location!

Now, since I was already on the discussion forum due to reading up on my accounting class, I clicked over to my Spanish class to read up on what's going on.

There's a tab called Modules. That's where the daily/weekly assignments are. The one for this week shows how to register on the website where we will actually be doing our assignments and tests...and it's also where we purchase the textbook.

Okay, let me purchase the textbook NOW because it's going to take like a week, from the order processing date, for it to ship. So I follow along on the video provided BY THE PROFESSOR, on how to set up my account and which book to order.

I get that taken care of (and my bank account is $159 lighter) and as I navigate back to the discussion forum and click to see the syllabus, THERE IS A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT BOOK LISTED! WTF!

I BOUGHT THE WRONG BOOK!

Que me freaking out because I've already used the activation code for the website! I find a live chat on the publisher's website and chat with them about what to do.

I return the book (or rather contact UPS once I get a tracking number to refuse delivery and it will be sent back to the company at no charge to me) and once the company receives it, they will deactivate the code that I have and it will take 30 DAYS TO GET MY MONEY BACK!

and in the meantime! I HAVE TO SHELL OUT MORE MONEY FOR THE CORRECT BOOK AND ACCESS FOR CLASS!

I also emailed what happened to my professor and she forwarded my message to her publishing company rep to see what can be done.

While ALL of this is going on, I'm searching the website to see how I viewed this incorrect video (meant for a higher level Spanish class) and what's going on.

I take a picture/screenshot of what I see and how I got there to the professor and she thanked me for being a self-advocate and they will get me set up, whatever that means.

A big take away from all of this is that I found out the correct book for my class is only $96!!! *SCREAMS IN LOST MONEY* I don't have to shell out another $159, but I still have to take out a quick payday advance loan to cover the course (it would probably be like $120) because I just don't have the money.

OH! I still have to buy the book/online access for my Accounting class! No way out of that $119.99!

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College Update

2021-02-06T19:50:29Z

I went from 12 units and being full time to 10 units and not quite making full time

**CRIES**

But! Now I'm only taking classes that I need.

I dropped English 1 (Reading Composition) because I took it at a previous college and passed.

I dropped Law 20 (Property Law) because I didn't need it for my degree. I still might take it at a later time because I'm interested in law.

In place of those 2 dropped classes, I added Spanish 2 (Elementary Spanish) as it's needed to transfer to UC Riverside.

I need an art class and Art 10 (Art Appreciation) was added to my Ed Plan, but holy cow is that course full and so is the waiting list...for both classes that are available, so I can't take it this semester.

Spring 2021 (February 8 to June 9)
ACCTG 1A Financial Accounting M/W 8-10:30am
SPAN 2 Elementary Spanish T/Th 9-11:05am

ALSO!!!

The counselor said I would have enough credits and all courses taken to transfer to the university next year!

Umm, what?!

I wasn't expecting that soon and I'm not prepared! Of course, this hinges on being able to get the classes on my ed plan, of which there are 5, not counting the 2 that I'm actually enrolled in: Art 10 (Art Appreciation), STAT 1 (Elementary Statistics), ACCTG 1B (Managerial Accounting), COSA 50 (Intro to IT Concepts & Applications) and MATH 47 (Calculus for Business).

Those courses will be split between summer and fall of this year. And try as I might, there's no getting out of Statistics or Calculus.

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Just call me Four Eyes!

2021-01-26T06:05:17Z

Went to the eye dr again.

Like I suspected, my prescription for my glasses needs to be changed. The Dr said "just a little" but I don't know what that means as she was going off of the prescription of my current glasses, which are like 5 years old.

In 2018/2019 I actually went to my previous dr and they updated my prescription, but I never went back to actually buy the glasses.

This time I went on and did it. No waiting until I have the money and it's a good thing I didn't because once I actually picked the frame I like (picture to come), I found out it was going to take 10 weeks for them to come back! WHAT THE HECK!?

( 10 week wait glasses )

I was able to keep the prescription sheet so when I got home, my BFF told me to use EyeBuyDirect if I wanted to get some faster than 10 weeks, so that's what I did.

Or what I will do once I pick a pair?

HELP!

I have 6 designs to pick from and need help picking THE ONE.

( back up glasses )

I've also decided to get some sunglasses, but those will wait until later. It all depends on how much the price of the glasses I order online increases when I add my prescription.

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That's life...

2021-01-24T02:25:39Z

Apparently, the fee for Spring 2021 is due ~~Jan 25~~ Jan 26. Thankfully I have a fee waiver that covers my classes, but I still have to pay the student health fee ($20), College Services Card (I think that's what they're calling the ASB as proof that they're a current student - $20) and Student Representative fee $2. That's $42 compared to almost $600 that I would have to pay for classes and fees...but I can't forget about books. I don't even know how much those are going to be or if there are going to be any. But I'll know in about 16 days when classes start on Feb 8.

Oh! I got an email about speaking with a counselor to make/update my Education Plan but by the time I saw it, it was too late in the day to do anything and then on Friday I just plain forgot. I really need to do something on Monday. The sooner I can do it, the sooner I can maybe switch classes around - if the counselor can do that but I don't mind taking class that I don't if it will make me be full time and help my overall GPA.

Monday I have an appt with the optometrist to check my eyes and update the prescription for my glasses. I hope they don't charge a lot for the actual glasses. I have VSP Vision Care for my vision care insurance and at the other optometrist I went to, they had specific lines of glasses that were "covered" with that insurance where I'd only have to pay out of pocket for the frames or something. I think it was like $80 and I had them in a week. So I hope this location (they're in the same building as the opthalmologist) is done the same way.

I still haven't been able to make an appt to see the dentist...but I also haven't been actually trying. I know I need to do it soon, but I'm still rather upset that I can't use the dental office I actually signed up with because they're no longer accepting new patients at that location. UGH!

I've been doing quite a bit of cooking the few weeks. Like, actual cooking, imo, with cutting up ingredients, cooking them and plating the finished product. It just so happens, that these meals have been done with help of the crockpot and 6-8 hours of cooking. Three meals here. My attempt at Caprese Salad (I was missing the basil). Last night's dinner (which is also dinner for tonight as well).

Now I have to help Kim with her shower, get our clothes ready for church tomorrow and heat up dinner.

Hope you all have had a productive/restful weekend.

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It's definitely genetic

2021-01-13T05:20:16Z

Went to the Ob-GYN today.

It was very eye-opening and I'm glad I asked my regular dr to make the appt for me to see the Ob.

There is a very high possibility that I have PCOS.

There is an equally high possibility that my mom had it as well as my sister and my niece could have it as well.

Why?

( Read more... )

So yeah. There's all of that.

Tomorrow I have a phone appt with a therapist at 2pm, then on the 20th I have a follow-up phone appt with the main dr. to discuss today's appt as well as tomorrow's therapy and how things went with the ultrasound and ophthalmologist last week.

I am so glad I have health insurance, even if it the basic one from the state.

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well I did that

2021-01-12T01:37:45Z

I didn't mean to go MIA since Jan 7.

Like...it just happened?

I went to the eye dr on Friday. They said there's no infection in my eye, but I could have a slight allergy to something? Neither the opthalmologist nor my regular dr is paying attention to the fact that the excessive eye discharge happens after I drink soda.

It doesn't happen after every time I drink soda, but that's when I notice it happening. So am I sort of allergic to soda? I drink soda at most, once a week. The rest of the time its Bubly or La Croix.

If I always had discharge after drinking soda, I would say no more soda as it's causing the problem, but since it doesn't, I don't know. And the ones who would know say it's an allergy to *something*.

Eventually, I'll have a new eyedrop prescription and an appt to go back to the opthalmologist in April. I also have an appt to see the optometrist on Jan 25 and get new glasses. It's been 4 years since I got my glasses and 2 years since I actually had them checked to make sure I have the right prescription. But now, even with glasses, my distance vision is getting blurry, so it's definitely time to have my eyes checked again.

Saturday I did a bunch of nothing. That's not entirely true. I spent more time doing the spreadsheet for my Color Street business. I worked 8+ hours every day from Wednesday to Sunday but I got all of 2020 sorted. I'll be ready with that information whenever I go to do my taxes. Sunday afternoon I got the spreadsheet for 2021 set up. I need to be on the ball about updating it every month so I don't fall behind and have to catch up at the end of the month or something

We didn't go to church on Sunday. Someone at John's work likely exposed them to covid on Monday or Tuesday and he found out on Thursday. Friday he went to get tested. I don't know if it was a rapid test or not. So yeah. No church yesterday. But we did watch it online. Or tried to. they had technical difficulties, but I got 95% of the service.

And now we're on Monday. More of nothing. I talked to my uncle for all of 2 minutes lol It felt like longer? I think halfway through he forgot who he was talking to? But it was nice to hear from him.

Tomorrow is my OB-GYN appt in the afternoon. Before that, I have an amazon fresh delivery and I'll start on dinner. Some chicken dish that's made in a slow cooker and takes 6 hours to good.

I'm really tired (it's only 5:30 pm here) but I need to start dinner.

OH! Law & Order UK is awesome! I'm on episode 10 of season 1 and it's been great!

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