Atw writes

There is no victory in skipping dinner, or lunch, or breakfast, or morning coffee, or dessert.

There is no victory in refusing heaters and air conditioners and fans and heated blankets.

There is no victory in denying yourself sleep, or showers, or movement, or water, or a comfortable bed, or taking the elevator vs. the stairs.

There is no victory in refusing pain meds and heating pads and ice packs and medical help.

There is no victory in punishing yourself needlessly, in telling yourself that this pain you feel is because you are bad to the core and deserve it.

There is no victory in choking back your laughter and your tears, to keep an imagined equilibrium of safety that is really just a dry, cracked, empty, endless emotional desert.

You are here. You are in this body, and this body is yours. You deserve good things. You are alive, and that is messy and loud, and messy and loud are okay.

I think what’s delicious about Ilya is his self worth related to these concepts. He thinks he’s lazy, messy, undisciplined. You listen, you don’t soeak. Yes. You need a haircut. Yes, Father. The problem is leadership. Yes, nod, yes. But repeatedly we are shown that Ilya is good. He’s an attentive lover, he’s a good friend. He tries to be a good son to a hard man. He gives his brother whatever he asks for. He inspires his teammates. He worries that Ryan Price’s book will fall on the floor and oh fuck Price is going to lose his place, I will help, oh fuck, I failed.

But his family tells him he’s no good, so it must be true. They have been the loudest voices in his life and that’s literally become his inner monologue. But then here comes Shane “I don’t know that side of you at all” Hollander and soon enough Ilya is monologuing into the phone on the street outside of his father’s funeral about how actually no. He’s given everything to his family. He makes everything perfect. And he couldn’t physically be there for his father all the time but he paid for it all. And yet they despise him. He knows why, or says he does. But I don’t think does, I think in that moment the seed is planted that Ilya is lovable. And he doesn’t have to be perfect, he doesn’t have to drain himself dry. The person who loves him is trying to fill his cup from thousands of miles away.

he doesn’t, of course, know what it is, only it’s definitely weird voices, and no one else hears it , and he’s sure he’s going nuts

he changes headset over headset and one day even shuts his office door and tries out tin foil

he’s trying to warn dean smith, which just would only serve to make dean more and more paranoid (a voice telling him not to trust anyone? to run? i mean, yikes)

cas ambushes the admin assistant, and apologizes profusely for the ‘almost-miss’

all the while fucking up the lids of dean smith’s coffee

so when dean smith inevitably takes a drink, there’s -predictably- a huge (very hot) mess

cas positions himself perfectly, as the closet building mgmnt to dean’s office, and as soon as he hears the pained yelp, he’s on his way to clean up the coffee catastrophe

Oh Janitor Cas is definitely getting surprise-kissed, and he’s like mmmmmmmmm? leaning pleasantly into it before he REMEMBERS

so Cas ofc breaks it off and Dean Smith panics, thinking he just dangerously outed himself and misread everything, Cas tries to soothe the distress with a half-truth, like:

“Dean, if you really knew me, you wouldn’t want this…”

#janitor cas

#dean’s world grows legs and the hospital materializes and cas finds himself meeting the spectre of dean smiths family

#and he’s so charmed but also heartbroken

Jacob with some spot-on Ilya character analysis (and general thoughts on sex-as-self)

we're looking to create an AI policy, and when we were talking about this, my boss (older millennial) was genuinely shocked to hear that younger people do not (seem) to view AI positively (a la the recent commencement speakers being booed)

please rb for larger sample size!

Question 1/3

Thank you for helping with this data collection. Please rb for as big a sample as possible!

The residents and servants knew which floorboards made a sound and avoided them. But a burglar, or assassin didn’t. If you heard the creaking of floorboards, you knew danger was coming.

At the start of my employment, my boss showed me videos of people stealing, and we both had a chuckle about it. How silly they were! There was a camera overhead, and it’s not to watch the shoppers. See, we can’t actually stop shoplifters. They get away with it maybe nine out of ten times. But we, who are watched and tallied and witnessed? We are always caught.

At first it was hard to hold one hundred dollars bills. An amount I had never seen before. An amount that didn’t exist in my household. It’s normal now. Here is something that is not for me.

“What the hell, I’ll take another,” says the man, pondering our 200 dollar watches. What the hell. Total comes to 580 and not even a flinch in his face. I have been working for 11 hours today and made only 110 dollars. It will go to my rent. Today I work for free, it feels. When I get my check, I will have 35 dollars left for food and saving.

The six hundreds he hands me go into the cash register. For a moment, I imagine having money. Then I put it away, counting out his change.

I know for a fact we sell our products for double what they are worth. That I could be making commission. That they could hand me those 580 dollars and change my life and not even mark the difference in their checkbooks. He’s not the only sale they make today, but I am the reason they made it. He’s not the only one spending 600 dollars, but if I hadn’t spent two hours with him telling me about his life, he wouldn’t have spent any. I go home. I don’t own a watch.

I have watched and rewatched a video on how to make salmon four ways. My shopping list is always the same. Pasta. Rice. Tuna. If I can afford butter it was a good week. I dream of the world I will never walk in, where I can throw the best fish fillet in the cart with a shrug. I hold hundreds in my hand and look up at the camera. I put them under the cash drawer.

I go to work. I scrap together my savings. I eat my bowl of rice slowly. My manager takes a paid week off from work just for his birthday. He owns a yacht. 

i was part of their college program. i moved to the state for it. they legally owned the building i was living in and still charged me rent. i ostensibly was being charged to work for them. it was a 2 bedroom apartment and they placed 6 adult women in it in forced triples.

as many as one in ten disney employees have experienced homelessness while working for the company. despite huge efforts to unionize, strike, or otherwise demand fair treatment; disney has refused to increase employee quality of life.

disney admits publicly that a good portion of their success is because the employees (“cast members”) are dedicated, passionate, and selfless. this is never reflected in pay. even “face” characters (ie those that are princesses etc) make barely above a minimum wage.

at the time that i worked there, i made $8.50 an hour. at one point i was asked to create a human shield around a bag because a bomb dog had alerted to it. for eight fucking dollars an hour.

i now work a very cushy office job. i have bought the salmon and cooked it all four ways.

i go to the store. i am nice to the person behind the counter. she looks up at the camera while she counts out my change. there is nothing fundamentally different about her and i.