I should have never been scared of you. I’ve been through SO much worse. Being brought back to square one and relearning everything has made me so much more capable of nurturing the relationships around me. And that came to fruition tenfold today. Today was probably my best birthday celebration of my adult life. Thank you to everyone making that possible.

But to be honest, one of the many things that have been instilled in us Millennial girls turned women has centered around not being enough. Needing to strive for better greatness.

Now, here’s the thing - I believe that the goal posts are continuously moved. We may check enough boxes for one thing, but never another. We’re always kept in the rat race. If Guillain-Barre Syndrome has taught me anything, it’s how you fare when you’re stuck back at zero, and how you bounce back.

These last 4.5 years of recovery have taught me that I had the tools, the “chutzpah”, and the wherewithal all along. And everything is coming up roses… or daffodils… ;)

I cannot wait to see what the last year of this 30’s decade has in store for me. If I can only guess on the way it’s opened - my 11 o’clock number before 40 is gonna be a STUNNER.

As I’ve been wont to do, my feelings after my acceptance speech post have shifted. Grief and emotions come in waves, and while I understand they’re all valid feelings, I’d like to continue on a bit from my last post about my Guillain-Barre Syndrome. To address the less “rose-colored glasses” version of my GBS recovery.

I am confident in my past endeavors - I have accomplished many things I craved for, fulfilled goals, nurtured friendships, made it through WAY too many “unprecedented, once in a lifetime events” to count (shoutout to my fellow Millennials) but the hellbent, driven girl I used to be is burnt the fuck OUT. I have absolutely no clue how to step into this future, and with my isolation and lack of work (or help) from the powers that be…

*cue Millennial grumble*

…After performing the way we were guided to - hopefully guaranteeing our “success” in our human experience, I find that I’m absolutely out of gas. A perpetual eldest daughter, people pleaser, and performer - I want so much more, but am now finally forced to ask for help. I have gotten much better at communicating this, because GBS rips your independence away from you. However, my mobility is much improved and I’m not as limited… I still feel the crippling grips of failure, even with the celebration of little victories. Pride in my journey, but within isolation anyone can be tested and tempted into their worst mental health symptoms. Especially if you’re a Isolated Extrovert Sun, Anxious Moon, and Mildly Depressed Rising.

Something’s got to give, but I’m not sure what or how.

“To my body - Here’s why I’m proud of you.”

————

Guillain-Barre Syndrome doesn’t define me.

But my resilience does. My stubbornness does.

My fight defines me.

Maybe I’m not gorgeous, taller, smarter, or wise - but I am warm, I give more than I get. I put myself out there, even when my body limits me.

I put it all on the floor. Center Stage. Sacha Radetsky guided. Heart and all.

I push for quality over quantity - I may only be able to make small moves most days. But I push through the pain, that effort alone means more to my inner circle. They remind me that I should be proud by showing up. That’s just one reason why I’m proud.

Sure, Body - we’re not perfect. But we show up. We women have tended to be shut down, “supposed to” and told to be quiet and not take up space. I have been far too happy to be trying to fill the room that I have at the moment. Taking up space again has been a blessing. Not apologizing for being here has been the most difficult thing to conquer, but being able to take up the space we need, and you’ll be so grateful to hear that I can ask for help and set boundaries more comfortably.

But back to the point - I’m actually proud of my body for the first time in forever. The 90’s diet culture may be coming back, and Ozempic is haunting me constantly… but my body can still breathe. I’m one of the lucky ones being able to pick up the fight again tomorrow.

I may not be able to feel my hands or feet today, I may be feeling a ton of spasms - sometimes debilitating. Honestly, it feels like a “Charlie Horse Bonanza” - I guess they’re my boyfriends now?

Body, I am so proud of us. But I miss feeling the floor. Dancing was my safe haven, and the floor grounded me. How can I calm myself when I cannot feel the things beneath me? That question haunts me daily, but then my body reminds me that my heart, my pulse, and the emotions that exist within me can be my grounding forces even if my nerves have given up. I’m proud of my body for that - because maybe GBS canceled out my nerve endings, but it didn’t get my mind and the muscle memory I possessed. I’m proud of my body today.

My body has carried me through the best of times and the worst of times. I am incredibly grateful that I can constantly find a way to sparkle through the dimmed shine, to reframe it. Even if others can find me off-putting, there are those around me that can appreciate me. Their support bolsters me when I’m down.

But to my body: Thank you for fueling my fight. Thank you for reminding me of my worth. Thank you for calling up my empathy. Thank you for engaging me to push myself forward. I cannot wait for us to be in sync again.

Love, Jenn.

An electric heart will always yearn to rewrite the stars, but a young woman will always yearn and remember the best kiss she’s ever had - It will always be in the back of her mind as she bites her lip, or puts her hand in her hair.

Now, there are always romantic moments that linger - but everyone remembers the sparks that fly from a great kiss. It’s the high we’ve been chasing, the reason why we read smutty books, or watch Disney movies - so we can feel our hearts palpitate again. With hope.

Let me tell you about my last one…

I was about to move out of state for the first time - I may have traversed counties, but never state lines. But I still had one toe in both ponds, West Coast and East Coast. One toe into the dreams that were smothered by my last beau - white picket fences and a cheating scandal which led to his happiness… and the other in the hopeless romantic dreamer that I chose to be once I was indoctrinated by Old Hollywood & Disney movie tropes.

It was a friend’s birthday party - and my last week before I made my big move into New York City. Of course it was a 90’s theme party - an elder millennial will never be able to resist a theme party with a great DJ and red Solo cups.

You can fill in the blanks however you’d want the party - but let me get you to “This Kiss”

I’d said my goodbyes for the night, and was headed to my car - but the fabulous moonlight wasn’t done with me yet. It was waiting for me to dance with it tonight.

He walked me out like a gentleman with a promise. He believed in me - that I had what it took to survive and thrive in The Big Apple. That I could be a rock star or a Broadway one.

So I hesitated before I placed my key in the lock - because I needed to lock eyes with him one more time. I needed to say how much his support meant to me, even though I was still leaving. Knowing that someone still loved me unconditionally enough to let me go but also let me know that I was worth it… I needed it to give me that last push to NYC, and beyond. I keep it with me always.

That’s when I leaned back against my car - and his hand went to catch me, because I had moved a bit too quickly. One hit the lid of the car, and the other had his wrist brushing against my waist, which caught my gaze before dragging it right back up to his. I am still surprised to this day how he can clock where his hands need to be. Our eyes never left each others once they met - but heat was very prevalent near my left hip and my right carotid artery.

Did I want this? … Not exactly… Do I want to find out? … Absolutely.

Hesitation hint, be damned - I was locked in now. I took in his full bottom lip visually, and I cannot wait to take to take advantage of it. So I lean in, pressing my right arm behind his built shoulder blade. I’m happy to have something sturdy to grab onto as I take his lower lip into mine. I cannot wait to find out what that lip might do and yearn for when we don’t have a timeline. What could we find within each other’s eyes if we had the time til our hearts grew cold?

Feeling frigid enough from being away - I leapt to his lips, and feeling his response in his, I let him lean me back deeply into my car. Having two hard surfaces against me was more than any 20-something could bear. I was glad to take his fingers around my waist and into my hair - I was waiting for him to tilt my head to he could take me.

I was glad to take his lower lip, but even more grateful when he finally took his thumb and dragged it down my jugular. My neck rolled to the left to make sure you had some relief - I’m hoping he could choose my collarbone next - because I know I’ll remember how he kisses me there for years to come.

Of course he strokes the bone first, because he makes this moment last. It’s been 7 years, and my body has changed so much - but I remember how well I was held. How wonderful it was to feel your blood being stroked through your veins.

Having your back slam against a wall is both dangerous and hot, consent allowed me to tempt fate here before I tempted NYC. I am forever thankful for that city to find my foundation so I can take on these physical difficulties and still sparkle and be nurturing for my circle.

“Okay?” He asked.

“Abso-fuckin-lutely.” I answered, deeply buried into his chest.

I couldn’t meet his lips, much less his eyes, But my hands were glued to his hips, because I knew I didn’t want disconnection from him. In fact, I couldn’t do more than just buck my hips against him, so he knew I wanted him closer. Placing my right foot around his ankle ensured him dipping closer to me - making him off balance enough to clutch me tighter.

I wasn’t upset by that at all.

I also wasn’t upset when he lost his balance more and decided picking me up and pushing my legs around his waist was the right move to make sure I didn’t fall. Being held was a clench able moment, but this was another thing entirely. Being surrounded by this man was fucking wild.

I was surprised when I got pushed up to a car, but feeling your solidarity in your body and your lips guided me through. But then you twisted me so my hips were against yours - I loved leaning against you. Even meeting your hips over clothing, it sent electricity through me. How can you spark this? A SnapChat pigeon, maybe?

At this point, I have sparkles daily thanks to GBS, but nothing like this moment - a million dreams weave that last kiss into something that keeps my heart alight in my darkest moments.

Thank you for the sparks,

<3, Jenn

“The bell rings, a man dies.”

—————

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

There go my fucking heartstrings - and the moment those bells started, he fell. Not via cyanide tablet, or the lead pipe in the Library. I wish I could have poisoned him via Manhattan/Negroni or, to be honest - a Cosmo.

How is it that I’m attracted to someone who orders an extra sour Cosmo? Did you really need me, the in-the-weeds bartender on a Friday night, to squeeze that many lime wedges into your beverage? The fact that you can barely ring my bell? Well, good news is that I have finally rung yours.

I never could deal with how sour you were, every night you showed up to my bar. I’m glad your bell has been rung, because you always left the sourest taste in my mouth.

“How do you promenade if you were meant to hate each other?”

First, you meet eyes. Then you take each other’s hands. The gaze meets again as you make a point to turn about the room. Then, it’s a lean - perhaps she’s as off-balance as I feel? It’s the graze of her fingertips.

Suddenly, you step into her scent. I’m embedded in it. This was one of the first times someone had surrounded me without touching me. It’s got to be some witchcraft - that she has this much control over me.

The next song begins, and I’m enthralled once more. She tries to hold my gaze, but I’m worried she’ll read deeper into my glance. Is this just a slot on her dance card? Or is it more? The question is - did you just want to dance? Do you want me at all?

“Are you just fulfilling your duty? Or are you curious for more?” I ask.

“I’m hoping that you prove to be more interesting than previous floor partners. Do you feel up to the task?” Her emerald doe eyes meet mine, both a twinkle and a challenge in them.

I force myself to keep eye contact as I reply. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to fake it ’til I make it.”

That’s when the change of balance happens - I needed to mambo instead of treading gently.

Remember that lean in? It felt so right to be this close to her, in her space like this. Like I’d be so happy to do her the solace of warming her hands. How can I feel this way, knowing she’s meant to be my enemy? I cannot understand how I’m duty-bound to ignore this exquisite creature in front of me, and not give her the moon.

That moon is highlighting her beautifully - poised against the hedges and wildflower gardens behind her, we’ve managed to promenade to the edge of the outdoor dance floor. I would be hard pressed to not take her against the weeping willow tree to her right.

Keeping someone off-kilter is like keeping someone surrounded in their scent - night jasmine, if I were to guess. I know I’ll be ruminating over the scent for days after this encounter. Between her scent and her figure in the moonlight, I feel seduced and drawn in. I can’t help but drink her in - every edge and curve has me spinning.

And then it’s as if time stands still - the lights around us seem to twinkle and expand. Heartbeats grow exponentially, and it feels like minutes stretch between them. My lust transforms into an orchestral big band swell - and I need her in my arms again. I offer my hand with a small bow, keeping stock of the smile and the twinkle in her eyes again.

It’s just a deep breath, as I take it all in - clasping her hand in mine, my opposite finding the small of her back. Then it’s just a box step - four steps to ensure I make this memory last. Swooping her into my arms feels like second nature. I never want her to leave.

Three moments for me to glance into her eyes.

Two heartbeats to realize she has gold freckles neighboring her irises.

One moment where I finally fell.

It are her eyes that sent me into free fall, because I know that she feels me somehow. I’m lost again in this moment, knowing that she could break it off, and me in the next heartbeat. I just want her to know who I truly am, not whatever her family has told her.

Meeting her eye to eye made me feel like I was enough. I have to remember that. I am enough. I bring plenty more to the table than my reputation.

How can I place myself near her when I don’t feel worthy of being in her presence? She holds me prisoner with my emotions - I’m trapped in the gilded cage she’s placed me in - dancing a box step through this night as I continue to get lost in her emerald eyes. How could one not get lost in them? The fields of her eyes expand as her imagination flies, which I’m sure was brought on by me pulling her in flush to my heated body. Rolling hills lead to the treasure trove that is her gaze, as her expression flits as much as my heart beats.

Then, there is the heat. The way you jab and cling yourself closer to them. The way you never want to let go. The way that even a breath seems like it’s a step too far from them. I have fully gone tilt for this woman - I’ll fight to return just to find her eyes and to take her in my arms again.

She won’t slip through my hands with how she has changed me - I’ll never understand. But I’ll be forever in the debt of her eyes.

Try as I might, I’m never forgetting her.

ASIAGO!

Muenster been the dust in the air, or a pecorino of parmesan rind tickling my stiltoned senses! Could mozzarella brie the case of my roquefort discomfort? I gorgonzola feta get it together if my camembert and I are to have an appenzeller or two in this Danish Blue café.

Or have I already grana padano’d this whole neufchàtel? Cheesus bless!

I cannot gouda conceive my halloumined luck. You cheddar believe they will be telling this tallegio to their burratas later. Colby hell.

I know these are meant to be dedicated to others, but having been isolated and forced to rebuild myself from the ground up - I think that this acceptance speech needs to be made a bit more selfishly. I need to accept myself as I am now. I haven’t felt truly like myself in awhile, like I am enough. It’s incredibly important to acknowledge the nurture and care I’ve put into my friendships, relationships, and my physical recovery. I will never forget how others have stood up for me when I needed it. But, it’s time I’ve learned to stand on my own again- inside and out.

So, let me start by reiterating a caption from a TikTok caption I made on a post after completing my first CHOC Walk in the Park at Disneyland (that I wasn’t working at as a performer) in 2024.

“We’ve come a long way, baby. GBS took almost everything I love away from me. I had to learn how to walk again. I participated in the CHOC Walk 2024 - and I did it. Walked down the old parade stomping grounds with dear friends. Today was a great day.”

Sometimes, I forget what first steps look like. What the little victories truly mean. What rehabilitation and recovery really means. That’s another reason what I look back at it all when I feel like it’s not been enough.

I mentioned friendships earlier, and I am grateful as hell to have the support system I nurtured show up when I needed them most (in the tail end of the PanDemiLovato). It’s so much easier to do the work, to stand, and remember your body is capable of things when a superhero like Krystyn is behind you. (Also, the amazing OT & PT’s from Los Robles)

It is just one of many reasons why I started a list.

I know, Jenn… making lists? Groundbreaking.

I made a list for when I’m down, or frustrated - of compliments. Some people may refer to them as affirmations, but these are direct quotes from other people regarding my character and strength. They feel more tangible to me, and are able to combat my inner critic far better in tandem with meditation and therapy.

I do get overtaken by my critical voices, it’s something I’ve combatted my entire life - as I’m sure many people can relate to. Perhaps it’s being the eldest daughter, maybe it’s ballet and dance in general, or it may just be the anxiety/depression cocktail that’s made its way onto my medical chart.

Not that it granted me grace with disability benefits… they have determined that “my condition is not detrimental enough to keep myself from the workforce.”

I wish they could see the pain, see the hurdles and loop-de-loops my central nervous system performs on the daily. How does one enlighten someone on an invisible illness? How can I articulate the anxiety and drills I put myself through to just be in a crowd again? Every bit of my employment record has required me to be surrounded by people, to be physically active, to lift, to jump, to react quickly, to dance, to be sure-footed. I’m also immunocompromised, I’ve only been in industries where my face is the moneymaker - and people are still wary of masks, no matter how charming one can be. Humans can be judgmental as hell.

Almost 20 years, down the drain. I know you can reinvent yourself, but it’s daunting when served with the recovery I’m still trying to achieve. Rejection from the job market is harder to get over for me, currently - my basic, remote skillsets don’t seem to fit the bill. Yet. Yet is the word I’m trying to replace with the Enough I have been hearing nonstop recently.

And here’s where we get back to the point, darling. You show up every day. With whatever you’ve got. You are tenacity, resilience, and worth packed into a Jewey the Elf sized package.

You have made magic for thousands over the years, you still have that magic inside you. You are magic.

So workforce, here I am. Hire me.

“A magic sword you inherited, a noble lineage you come from, and an evil king that you can right. What’s the problem? The goddess explicitly told you: ‘You are not my chosen one.’”

————

“You aren’t my chosen one.”

That is a major blow - whether it be via an old, curmudgeon of a magic sword named Daniel, or the Goddess overseeing your noble lineage. I would like to think that one’s character, empathy, and morality mean more. This feels specifically relevant when mentioning an “evil king” who finds that I am not “broken dove enough” to be the fair maiden, and “not brutish enough” to need tutelage.

What is enough? At the end of the day, you are putting yourself out there, you show up for others, and either it is accepted or it is the end of the road. I need not the praise, nor the inner strength, but I do require guidance through mastering my next move.

It seems like mutually assured destruction when you place such solid brackets or definitions on yourself. I want to believe I am enough - I feel as though I have put in the work, the practice. I can navigate society as well as any other, and I am brazen enough to try my hand against the most devilish of tasks (especially when wielding my daggers). However, I can assess my own limitations and deduce that I require additional strength to get through what comes next.

I know that “should” is such a volatile word, and perhaps I am hypocritical for using it. But what should I do if I cannot be accepted by the world around me? if I am not made for this, then what am I made for? How am I to prove myself worthy?

Then there is the one question that plagues me most of all in the darkest hours: Why have you decided that I am not chosen?

And it is that why that spurs me on. I will not rest until I have found a way to prove them wrong.

To Be Continued…

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“Empathy’s worn, compassion is tired

All of my virtues are fuel for your fire

Kindness is torn, patience a liar

All of my virtues are fuel for your fire”

-Lyrics to “Secondhand Scars” by Citizen Soldier

-----

Defeat smells like ash - molten and smoldering. Like giving up, like death. Every “superhero landing” would never be enough, As if every blood, sweat, and tear were braved for nothing. There’s only so many times you can run into an obstacle, maintain injuries of the mind or the flesh, before you begin to doubt yourself.

The battlefield of life is vast, torn to pieces ripped and shredded by the shrapnel that eats at you day to day. I would like to think that I am a good person, someone to rely on, but half of the time I come back to that word.

*Enough.*

Could I have fought more? Did I need to pile on more niceties? Would that have made any difference? Or is it just the kindling that fought to burn me to my core? Would kindness have made any difference whatsoever?

Will I ever be enough?

————-

Flames from the Palisades Fire burn a building on Sunset Boulevard amid a powerful windstorm on January 8, 2025 in the Pacific Palisades neighborhood of Los Angeles, California.Apu Gomes/Getty Images

1. You are a tasty morsel of the universe - meant to be savored. (But not like Dahmer or Lecter.)

2. Unbeknownst to you - your next adventure awaits. (But don’t text your ex.)

3. Fear less. Strut more.

4. Life is a series of convincing yourself that even your failures are adventures in learning.

5. Smile more. Unless it’s the patriarchy or ICE… then, we encourage violence.

6. One foot in front of the other. Always.

7. Be wise enough to stand together when the time comes. Unity is strength.

8. Breathe. You can pick up your fight again tomorrow.

9. If you aren’t satisfied, fucking dive in to that next move you’ve been frightened to make. You’ll be surprised to find what you can on the other side of that leap.

10. The world is better and brighter because you make it so.

————

Now, I know what you’re thinking… fortune cookies? For fuck’s sake, Jennifer - why would you put your energy into that? Well, let me tell you: I’ve had to break down my walls a lot since being diagnosed with Guillain-Barré syndrome.

I have had to learn how to function from my most basic motor skills all over again, and I am still working on getting back to my original normal. I may not even achieve that, as most documented cases only reach a 97% recovery rate. I am well on my way towards that, but my road has been longer. Much longer.

I have fallen prey to the green monster on my shoulder, the demon of comparison, the villainous voice of self-doubt and failure. But making this short, quirky list made affirmations and mantras more digestible for me, and at the current moment - isn’t that fine? Remembering what we bring to the table, what relationships we have nurtured, what mark we leave daily… That’s what matters.

I am so happy that you are here. Find whatever inspires your fortune cookies - because this prompt really allowed me to do that.

If you’d like to find out more information about GBS or CIDP, or to make a donation - please visit: https://www.gbs-cidp.org/

I was trying to complete a “Summer of Yes” … Yes, cue your choreographed eye rolls. “Join a dating app.” The girls said. “You should just get back out there!” They said.

Picture this: Gastropub. Italian Fusion. A borderline Chad. His pictures don’t match. They most certainly lied. He painted himself as this Renaissance man, when he showed up as less than frat bro potential. He may have had no fish pics, kept his fellow “brethren” out of his photos, no red hat in sight… but for fuck’s safe was I wrong.

Catfish Chad made our casual date a definitive lecture/presentation of the benefits of macro-dieting and why the male loneliness epidemic is as bad as COVID. Also, why CrossFit would help me “cure” my Guillain-Barre Syndrome.

Despite my efforts, Chad was fully incapable of letting go of his mansplaining diatribe. Once again, Hinge had reared its ugly head - and I was forced to listen, yet again - to why my Moscow Mule was a mistake, macro-wise.

Too bad he’ll never listen when I say “no.”

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Mack could deal with many things: her stubbornness, guile and training had forever ingrained that into her… but that dripping noise was about to be ther death of her. About 20 minutes ago, it was just the bane of her existence. But, things had progressed rather quickly from there. She had resorted to mumbling swear words and prayers to whatever deity may exist or be listening.

Which is why she was startled (only minutely) when someone cleared their throat from just beyond the bars of her cell. Mack’s back stiffened against the mildewy, concrete wall she laid against - eyes snapping open wide to meet sapphire eyes. They were the last pair she would imagine she’d see.

“Aiden.”

It was difficult not to take in those eyes alone. The brown hair that reminded her of the the calm soil of the forest, the olive skin that crawled those grounds as they wriggled under her skin - Mack was immediately aware of the cuffs digging into her wrists as she tried to move to him.

“I didn’t expect to see you again. At least not until that next place.” Mack’s eyebrow raised of its own accord, challenging him, even though her heart was beating like a butterfly’s wings, struggling toward him.

If he were to enter her small holding cell, there were many benefits: the closeness required to dislocate her thumb and escape her bindings, the whiff of fear and his musk, the chance to tug his hair and plow his face into the stone wall. Of course, she filed all of these potentials away as she readied her hands into position behind her back, to use the wall for leverage.

“Were you flirting with me?” Aiden blurted, his face almost as red as his burgandy tunic. He even wiped his hands along the edges of his black slacks.

Mack had the best poker face of anyone. Not even it could withstand this. “What purpose does my answering serve me?” Her eyes clocked every single security and lock feature surrounding her. “Even if I defeated the physical obstacles, I’d never hear the end of it from your adoring public, much less my gag reflex.”

Aiden’s gaze zeroed in on her mouth, and Mack’s diaphragm betrayed her. "

“During the final battle, your eyes landed on my lips - and your gaze changed. I wanted to know if that meant anything.” Aiden’s sapphire eyes disappeared from hers as his gaze met the floor. Mack’s disloyal body betrayed her once again by fluttering once again. She gathered herself for her rebuttal.

“Oh, you’re an insecure little thing, aren’t you?” Mack tsked her tongue. “Oh, my challenger, let mummy help.” She licked her chapped lips in challenge. She used Aiden’s distraction to rise to standing with the wall at her back. She made the most out of her stiff legs and hips to milk every step to the bars. “I’ll repeat myself so you can see my lips more closely, Prince.”

She may have been overselling it, but she bit her lower lip to regain his attention once more… because even though she had already dislocated her thumb, playing with this man was like applause for her efforts - and she didn’t want to go home without it.

“What purpose does my answering you…” she made a point to to be sure her caramel brown eyes dipped to his jawline with a tilt of her head and a lift of her shoulder - like an artist gazing at their finished work.

“…Aiden.” She breathed out his name as a whisper, glancing up at his azure eyes from beneath her lashes. She readied herself to headbutt his nose through the bars…

“I have a proposition for you.” His voice challenged.

The unabashed declaration made Mack take pause. Which of course ruined the timing of her surprise attack on the Prince - her curiosity wouldn’t allow her to forget this and move on. She would need to fully investigate this through. So she took a deep breath, relocated her thumb into its socket, and met Aiden’s stare once again. “And to what end would I agree to any said bargain, deal, or fancy with my nemesis? The one who has caged me? Even if he is ‘my lord and land’s hero’?” Mack made sure to lay the last part on thick. She couldn’t have him knowing of her traitorous heart. Her glare and smirk left little to the imagination, even though her devilish organ was firing neural pathways and heated blood with the electricity and pulses of a metropolitan city.

“Because, Mackenzie…”

How DARE he use her full name??

“…you’ll never leave a clue unturned, and I need to know if there’s something here.”

Mack spluttered for a moment, then collected herself. The glare returned. “You know to call me Mack. Or should I begin calling you the nickname you despise? Prince, you’ve made me a caged animal now, a denizen of your own devices - you cannot believe I would ever be compliant in capture. No matter how delicious you may look.” She chomped her teeth at him, hoping it would send him backward. Aiden stood his ground. Her glare following shook him though, encouraging a small lean back.

“I would expect nothing less, which is why I am offering you a deal.” Aiden’s smirk set her own stance backward a bit.

Mack rolled her shoulders back as she attempted to crack her neck, in an attempt to be more comfortable, while her eyes gesticulated anything but - they rolled, but only to exude her annoyance. Then she met Aiden’s gaze with another quirked eyebrow suggesting go on… imploringly.

“I’m being forced into an arranged marriage. The only way I can escape being betrothed to this foul creature would be to prove that I have fallen in love with someone my parents deemed worthy of me.” By the end of his speech, Aiden seemed deflated, as if he had been dying to get this fact out for weeks, months, maybe years.

Mack scoffed. What in the actual fuck?

“What? Their words, not mine.” Aiden’s voice was raised. He was now pacing back and forth just beyond her bars, only to her small means’ end. Back and forth, back and forth. Mack’s eyes rolled, and Aiden clocked it. He grasped tightly onto the central bars, meeting her gaze directly. She could taste his breath, feel his heat. It tethered her to his following words. “I’m being perfectly serious.” Aiden cleared his throat, as if he had forgotten himself. He took a deep breath, as if trying to balance out his irritation.

Mack, while very aware of the man this boy had become, knew she had the ammunition she needed to get out of here and out of the Kingdom’s grasp. His desperation, her curiosity, and their combined interest of having the high ground made the most undeniable cocktail.

”And what makes you think I would be amenable to this arrangement? Why would I ever want to be falsely betrothed to you?”

….To Be Continued…

My Dearest Basil,

I am devastated to hear how wilted you have become in my absence. I apologize it has been so long since our last correspondence. I know there are days where the sun also does not graze my skin and bring me its embrace. I too feel its loss and lack of warmth acutely. But this does not mean that we are to shrivel up and perish! there are so many (myself included) who adore you and relish in your company! For what would Caprese, Pomodoro, or to be frank - the entirety of Italian cuisine be without you? This, and SO many more reasons, are why you must endure.

I love you, most ardently,

Jennifer

Again, I’m Irene - and I’m tired of having everyone tell me that I am not enough. All I crave is someone to accept me with my flaws, someone to truly see me.

My boss, Skyler - she was that person once… I remember the day I walked into her shop, before my magic had abandoned me and diminished my spark. It may have only been the entrance bell ringing, but when our eyes met - those bells kept resounding through my heart. No one had truly looked at me like that before, with a spark of reverence.

———— (flashback) ————

My bungalow was a long walking distance to the village of Cote Ynez, but that was the way I liked it. Mostly.

I had been brought up in a very different way - inheritance and bloodline pride was infused into my dictated path - but I had painstakingly carved out a bit of the world for myself through hard work and my own choices. I was made to hustle. One of the main staples of magics and their success within you was to be grounded, to find your power source within. The spark. Rampant emotions were a poison to a successful magic-wielder.

The scent of the wind changed as soon as you were nearing Cote Ynez. The ocean breeze spoke of the salt and brine of the seafood the coast was known for, the peaks of bright colored windmills peered over the horizon - waving you ever closer. I was edging nearer to my destination: Downtown. I hoped to find a job in one of their magical wine shops.

There were three stores in particular that I intended to visit: Viognier Lewellen, Chateau Mourvèdre, Rosé Residence.

I knew it the moment I walked into the shop - I had to work here. I could feel my magic singing. In my chest, interluding with the store’s own magics. I felt warmth, a sense of belonging, of welcoming.

It rang through its cozy interior, the floor to ceiling mahogany shelves housed wine bottles labeled with their regions and grape varietals. The vino nerd in me was reeling with excitement at the prospect of exploring them all - learning their stories, their flavors. The store even smelled musky, ancient - lasting remnants of harvests past.

Then she appeared. Skyler, as I would soon learn. But at first glance, she appeared as if she were one of the Goddesses, welcoming me home. The sun knew exactly how to highlight the auburn in her long hair, cascading past her shoulders. Her chocolate brown eyes held depths within that I craved to discover - like an archaeologist approached unearthed treasure. I had two goals now: I had to work here, and I had to know her.

As it were, I’ve found myself up shit creek again, without the wherewithal to navigate a paddle. Having a manual - even if it was one from IKEA - would be a better option than this twisted labyrinth. The mind-reeling, the panic attacks, the inability to truly sleep all becomes tied to my physicality and those Guillain-Barre Syndrome symptoms.

The biggest takeaway is that I can never know what’s coming. It’s an uphill battle of assessment and adaptation, fighting against flareups. I don’t know how to fix what’s broken. Or exactly how to exist in a world where I’m not broken enough.

Enough.

Previously in my recovery, I “broke up” with the word should - to dampen my inner critic that was so impatient in getting back to “normal”. I’m finding now that I may need to do something similar with enough.

It may be easier to regress, to fold within myself - but I refuse to stop - to dim myself so I fit into someone else’s box. It feels like I have a deeply rooted grudge, and the difficulty moving forward is ensuring I don’t let it poison me. I want to continue moving ahead by being kind. Showing up for my people and myself. Giving the energy the my strings allow, until I can finally be freed from these physical restraints.

Hi, I’m Twyla. And I’m a genie, between masters at the moment. Which means that while I may have the unfortunate square footage, I technically have a pinky’s grip on freedom at the moment. That is, until someone rubs my lamp - then I’m at their mercy. So, I bathed in the luxury of my personal time & days off, because once some doofus rubbed my lamp I would be forced to be at their beck and call.

Now, I know all of you Millennials & Disney Adults saw Aladdin, but for those not as well-versed, let me reiterate the rules of a genie.

1. I cannot kill anyone.

2. I cannot make anyone fall in love with you. (I know dating apps are the worst, I wish they would change this rule too.)

3. I cannot bring anyone back from the dead. (Necromancy is SO not the ticket, honestly.)

In my past history, too many people forget these three simple rules regarding wishes.

On this particular Monday, I had three wishes of my own:

1. Perfect climate in the lamp. (I prefer a range between 67-71 degrees Farenheit)

2. Cozy blankets.

3. Unlimited books, drinks, and snacks.

Genies aren’t allowed all-fulfilling wishes. Simple comforts, yes. But they last mere moments in my immortal existence. No more. It was like being brought to the edge of pleasure, only to have the magic carpet ripped out from underneath you. Literally.

You have no idea how many times I’d wished for a partner only to have them disintegrate at the worst possible moment. Which is why my magical, minute living space was covered in shelves - filled with novels, knick-knacks, films, vinyls, and any other materials I could get my hands on. Keepsakes were coveted by me, almost to the point of being a hoarder. These treasures would be my company, my hope. Something to spark me and light me up.

So… Here we were, just another Monday, as my magic primped me into what was considered “perfection” by beauty standards - the Genie Order clearly hadn’t updated or caught up to more modern standards…

Although, if I were to judge from my last client, an American - they seemed to all be flushed down the same golden toilet as our Order as well. So as many do, I found myself falling into the pages of a book to escape - all to find some mental getaway & a magic I could finally fully turn upon myself, so I could experience it for once.

Which is the current conundrum I found myself in - what fictional realm was I about to dive into today? My eyes glazed as I took in my collection of faelords, monsters, and dragons - oh my! I needed to feel as torn from my comfiest chaise as possible, I wanted to fly. So, dragons it was.

I returned to my aforementioned chaise, placed directly next to my nightstand with overflowing snacks & a steaming cup of tea. I felt like settling myself into the imaginings of something rainy & grey - so with a snap of my fingers, I changed it to some Lady Grey tea. Of course, my magic allowed for the perfect amount of honey & milk - and with that, I was ready to reread about crossing the Parapet.

Several shadow daddy moments and compliments to the author later, I was on my third refill of tea and very much enjoying myself. The snacks had been adjusted from savory to sweet and back again more than once. A content smile settled upon my visage hours ago - today was shaping up to be a perfect day.

Which is of course when the earthquake started.

‘Because why would you ever get complacent, Twyla?’

I snapped the evidence of my cozy afternoon away, thick socks and slippers et all. This could only mean one thing - I was about to be in Master DefCom 5, and I could only hope the doofus that found my lamp wouldn’t rub me the right way.

It was always the same hope - and I was desperately trying to beat my guesstimate until they’d figured out how to activate my lamp. The shortest time was at about ten seconds (I see you, Disney Adults, and enjoy you immensely for making my schpiel infinitely shorter), the silver medal median belonging to 25 seconds to one minute, bronze at two minutes (normally caused by distractions by other jewels or treasures surrounding me), and of course there was always my golden goose - where they’d leave me the hell alone.

But of course, today was not that day.

The familiar warming of my skin reacted to the friction on the lamp, and our newest contestant had clocked in at 45.8 seconds, thanks to the glittering blue LED scoreboard I’d installed when I started timing my new potential masters. It was motion/heat sensitive to immediately start once the lamp was moved or grabbed.

I switched back into my uniform with a snap of my fingers, just as my skin started to tingle with the electricity & as the pyrotechnics and purple smoke used to guide my frame out of the lamp’s spout. In my last moments before my big appearance, I smoothed down the bedazzled cobalt blue crop top formed to my precious parts of my torso - lined and accented with adornments of amethyst and gold. The same would be said for my harem pants which allowed for movement & included a view of my midriff for my newest client. (Not my choice, but I definitely wasn’t mad about it. The fit was cute.)

The smoke cloud of violet swirled up into the sky in front of this newest specimen for me to add into one of my many journals to keep track of my comings and goings - I have notebooks and lists aplenty - I’m a data collector for sure.

So here I am, once again - in front of one of these men who were lucky enough to find me here, and while this seems like the same old song, this one standing in front of me seems more confused than the others. Perhaps this one will be different.


—

To be continued…

Queen Amarys perched upon her obsidian throne, overseeing the grand room with a disinterested gaze. Midnight nails - sharpened into claws, of course - clacked rhythmically on the throne’s arm. A trudging tarantella warning all who dared approach her. Her loyal guards lined the Throne Room’s walls, her brutes, mostly there because she liked to watch. She was perfectly capable of doling out torture, bloodshed, and brutality with a flick of her manicured finger - her magic made it so. In fact, she was no stranger to violence occurring in front of her dais - in her 300 year reign, she had committed many atrocities, and before that, she served as her father’s Hand/Magick Commander. Nothing surprised her anymore.

Almost.

She didn’t let her mask slip, but her eyes spotted a figure that should not be anywhere in her property’s boundaries being frog marched towards her through the grand double doors.

‘It couldn’t be.’

The guards holding her deposited - well, threw her - down at their Queen’s feet.

“How rich, seeing you here before me so plainly. No ruse? No overarching plan? Nothing at all from my little plaything?” She tutted her tongue as she rose from her throne.

“My dear Beatrice, I am deeply disappointed in you. I shan’t even take joy at ending you. It’s just too boring when you don’t even try to thwart me.”

Beatrice seemed to shift, not in discomfort, but to an almost reverent position.

‘Was this bitch kneeling?’ Something was definitely amiss.

“I need your help.” Beatrice muttered to the floor.

Amarys’ hearing was perfect AND magickally enhanced, but she had to hear again. When Beatrice refused to give up her sudden adoption penitence, Amarys flicked her finger to raise the childish Fae Warrior’s chin up so those devilish eyes met hers.

“Darling, you’ll have to do better than that. I’ve heard your rally cries and speeches, don’t play the little dormouse now.” Amarys placed herself directly in front of her plaything, forcing her hazel eyes to meet her magic-glazed black ones.

To be frank, Amarys loved to play with her food, but she was hoping for more spice from her little parasitic nemesis feast this evening. Amarys hoped to draw out something, otherwise she’d have to find herself a new rabble-rouser to entertain her.

“I can’t stop them alone my own.” Beatrice’s voice rang clear through the whole hall this time, but Amarys wasn’t remiss to notice the silver glint in her narrowed eyes.

This time, Amarys bent at the waist - choosing to touch the Fae’s chin. From her step on the dais, Amarys was pleased that their breaths could intermingle for this next exchange.

“Say that again, Warrior Princess.”

It was a marvel to experience her silvery disdain up close.

“I can’t stop them all on my own!” Finally, the reverberation that Amarys was looking for. She inhaled the sound as it filled her hall.

“There you are, my beast.” Amarys hissed, before throwing her cape back and stepping towards her throne. Arms outcast, she proclaimed -

“The Fae Warrior has finally found her teeth! Shall we not hear her out?”

The Guards along the wall nodded slightly, but the insipid members of her court scattered throughout the hall hopped to make their applause known. Booze inspired cheers followed.

Amarys twirled on her dais, as she was won’t to do - mostly because the fabrics needed their moment - then dipped as much as her corsetry would allow to gaze back at Beatrice. “What’s wrong with you?”

“The daemons are somehow taking on more power than before - no magics we’ve ever seen or encountered even explain it.” Beatrice whispered through the slightest smirk of her lips, maintaining the glare she reserved only for her.

With a dramatic swipe of her cape from her right hand, she covered the the moment she caressed Beatrice’s chin with her left. That gloved hand was the only way she could feel her warmth. But it was always made inevitably appeasing by a vapid, yet attentive audience.

She would always have her fun, morals or ethics be damned, Amarys would always get her way. But nothing challenged her anymore.

Except her.

For hundreds of years, Amarys had hunted for a serious opponent, it was only a few decades since she assumed her father’s throne that had brought her to the noxious fumes of verbal sparring that came from Beatrice Walker.

She’d never truly admit it to the deepest parts of herself, but finally being able to access the most despicable, hopeful, giving parts of herself made her feel more alive than misery and torture ever could. It was the chess game she could never win.

To see her opponent kneel made her feel uneasy.

“And why,” with another twirl for dramatic pause, “would my court assist your sniveling, pathetic resistance?”

Amarys had to admire the pin-drop quiet her nemesis allowed in her pause. It gave the moment … something.

“Because you love power. You want to survive. You want to live to remind the other pathetic creatures of your story.” Beatrice barked it out, but there was a rasp and growl that hadn’t been there before.

Like someone had tortured Amarys’ toy before she arrived. Her eyes darkened further, while she turned away from Beatrice’s gaze to her court’s on stage right.

“I think I should like to entertain this quest on my own.” Amarys threw her cape back with her left hand to stare at Beatrice again. “Bring her to my chambers. I’ll also require my chest from the Royal Room - have it retrieved henceforth.”

Beatrice’s eyes flickered.

“Or I’ll be forced to chop, instead of play.” Amarys let her fangs fly through her smile as she placed herself down on the throne as Beatrice was carted away.

CHOC Walk 2025. A 5K through Disneyland Resort. My old stomping grounds - where I danced, thrived, sweated, and survived - all while making magic for thousands of guests daily.

Before Guillain-Barre Syndrome. Before full-body paralysis. Before my battle to relearn everything again - to rebuild neural pathways again. To walk once more.

Spoiler Alert: I made it, I fucking did it. I finished the course, all of it. The inclines, that brutal decline by the Incredicoaster, battling all of the different waves of grief and loss… all of it.

I was happy to have my friends by my side, especially Krystyn - who was with me for my first steps in the hospital (seen below) and both CHOC Walk ‘24 and ‘25.

I felt the joy of unencumbered laughter again. Joyful tears, rather than those of fury or pain. I danced with LL - our reason to walk - in front of Sleeping Beauty’s Castle, raced down Main Street USA (well, most of the course truly) to the cries of “Auntie Jenn - make your big wheels go faster!”

Of course, Lawrence repeated this as we made our way down Route 66 into Cars Land. When we made it into the stretch of the gorgeous Radiator Springs Canyon, I saw that waterfall - cue the waterworks. I realized I might actually finish this course this year. I had that confidence, and my legs felt steady.

In 2024, Krystyn and I fell behind our crew, and took a shortcut thanks to an AMAZING cast member who understood my plight. Just like Disney magic can provide, we made it back through the shortcut just as our crew were passing the exit of our shortcut, and we got to cross the finish line together.

Despite that inner devil of doubts, I kept persisting. I kept walking.

So here was the scorecard by this point:

• 2 stops for shoe-tying assistance

• 1 castle dance party

• 3 moments of happy tears

• 2 blisters on my heels

• 1 sit down to adjust leggings to cover said blisters

• 3 stumbles on my walker skis

• 1 collision with a RunDisney cone

• unmeasurable amounts of unabashed laughter

• too many smiles to count

• 1 VERY big hot air balloon

The CHOC Walk a cause for celebration in both Lawrence’s recovery and my own since last year. It made me want to try harder, to embrace whimsy and magic once again. I want to try and pirouette in six months time. I remembered that I can be pretty. That I can take up space. I deserve to. I am worth it, and more importantly, I make things interesting. I make connections and make people happy.

I can possess magic.

I may have weaknesses, fuck knows I feel them constantly… but I’m not about to only focus on them, especially when I can bring so many other things to the table. I didn’t realize that I made a place or an impact until the last year or so. But I’m glad that I’m beginning to see and feel the people who have enjoyed me being here.

Guillain-Barre Syndrome ripped me of a lot of things - confidence, capability, dignity, spark… But within my recovery, I’ve found a new strength. One that I’m sure all Millennials understand - I’d love just one precedented time in this flood of our unprecedented collection (it can sit right next to my Princess Di Beanie Baby) - relearning to exist, breathe, move, and walk has ensured I’ll never take my body for granted again.

There’s joy in finding out you can make it across the finish line, but grief can exist too. Memories hurt, just like tearing stitches - or having your myelin sheaths stripped because of GBS.

Suffice it to say, we’ve come a long way, baby. To compare my recovery between CHOC Walk 2024 and 2025, it was a WILD difference. I finally felt the impact of my recovery. I’d been measuring the small wins for so long, it was finally fulfilling to realize how far I’d truly come in something I could physically measure.

I’m nowhere near ready to land a pirouette, or do any of my favorite choreography from my favorite musicals, but I’m not Bambi on the ice anymore. I can see the potential of my muscle memory coming back, and that’s all I could ever ask for.

I can’t wait to see what’s next.

See you at the finish line, y’all. ;)

Each seem to portray smoothness and seem to be attainable, reachable. But they’re never truly within reach. They’re a dream, a hope, a wish. A whisper carried on a wind.

With the way emotional storms were swirling inside me, I found myself wishing they were fulfilling their most braggadocios qualities. I needed crashing waves to hide and squash my tears, lightning to flash and blind those around me from my traitorous eyes, thunder to quash the guttural outbursts of my rage.

I had been betrayed. Again. I may be a siren, but no one needs to be told their worth by a man - I may have had a body of a dancer once. Yes, I’ve succeeded in my struggles. I don’t need you to revere what I used to be, or what I am currently.

I do not need your condolences nor kindness, nor what you think I may or can be. I don’t need to have you hurry me to the ending by the breath of your final line on the back of my neck. It was grotesque, as was the scent of your cigarettes and regret.

Wind - hurry home to your clouded repose. I wish you’d cover me in your fog now - because my memories that were once closeted feel as though they were re-opened anew.

I have known what it’s like to be violated like that, but this betrayal was new - like a black mark from a widow luring one into its trap… I fell into the casual conversation and stepped RIGHT into it.

What a fool am I.

“You have the body of a dancer… you’ve got that fire in you.”

I have never felt so exposed, so disintegrated. That breath on my neck will make me cringe for far too long after this seemingly harmless conversation.

What liars they are, the men and all their casual conversations.